The consular officer who was supposed to pick up Matt at the airport was a no-show. Matt texted Agent Keller, then made his way past the luggage turnstiles crowded with travelers waiting anxiously for their bags. He stopped at the rental car counter, but they had no vehicles available. The rental agent told him that Tulum was about two hours away, and cabs and shuttles were just outside the main exit.

He careened around the frazzled masses and through the surprisingly small doors that led outside. Bright sunshine assailed him.

Near a cluster of vans, a man holding a clipboard approached him. “Welcome to Mexico,” he said in accented English. “Do you have a reservation?”

“I don’t. I need to get to Tulum,” Matt said.

The man grimaced. “We’re booked solid, my friend. This is our busy season.”

Matt let out a breath. “There’s nothing? I’ll take anything you have. It doesn’t have to be nice.”

The man paused, like he was thinking. He unclipped a walkie-talkie from his belt and said something into it in Spanish. A distorted voice responded.

“It won’t be very comfortable,” the man said, “but we can probably fit you in. Three thousand pesos.”

“Will you take US?” Matt asked, showing the man a twenty-dollar bill.

“Yes, one hundred sixty dollars.”

Matt had five hundred dollars in cash, the ATM’s daily maximum. “I’ll take it.”

“Bus cinco,” the man said, pointing to a line of vans. They were larger than standard vans, but smaller than buses.

Matt didn’t speak Spanish, but cinco was easy enough. What college kid hadn’t been to a Cinco de Mayo party? Matt paid the fare and hesitantly tipped the man a twenty—he didn’t have smaller bills—leaving Matt enough for a shuttle back to the airport and dinner. He found the van with a sign displaying the number five.

The driver was leaning against the vehicle smoking a cigarette. He sported an impressive mustache.

“I understand you have room for one more to Tulum,” Matt said, looking back toward the man with the clipboard.

The driver crushed out his cigarette on the sidewalk. Without saying a word, he led Matt to the back of the van. Matt could see the outline of travelers through the tinted windows. The shuttle looked packed. The driver then opened the back hatch and gestured for Matt’s duffel bag.

Matt threw it inside, and the driver started rearranging the other bags. He was piling them to one side in a very particular way.

“Oh,” Matt said, realizing that the man was making room for him. He climbed inside and sat in the cramped space surrounded by luggage. It wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. At least he could stretch out his legs. That was more than he could say for the Spirit Airlines flight.