Two tickets to Cancun and no girlfriend to go with. With Christmas three weeks away. Aren’t the holidays the greatest? So I am off to Mexico alone – oh joy! First, I have been to Cancun; this was my birthday present to the woman I had been dating for 18 months. That blew up in my face so here I go – no option to change the reservation or change my traveling companion. My daughter and I talked about going but I discovered it’s either the original traveler or no one.
So I am about as excited about going to the sun and out of this snow as though I were having root canal. Actually I’ve had root canal and this is no root canal. Much more like a kick in the nuts. I am giving myself the same pep talk I gave myself when I went on my first cruise alone; the worst that can happen is that I will sit outside for 2 ½ days and read and work crossword puzzles and get a tan. I can write as well. Anything beyond that will be upside.
So I am about as excited about going to the sun and out of this snow as though I were having root canal. Actually I’ve had root canal and this is no root canal. Much more like a kick in the nuts. I am giving myself the same pep talk I gave myself when I went on my first cruise alone; the worst that can happen is that I will sit outside for 2 ½ days and read and work crossword puzzles and get a tan. I can write as well. Anything beyond that will be upside.
Here I am in paradise – or as we call it in the Midwest, Hell! Now I think I clearly recall – and then some – why I swore I would never take a vacation alone again. Of course, I wasn’t planning on being alone now was I? Travel day was an energy draining nightmare. Eleven hours from door to door and only four hours of flying time. I nearly missed the whole thing by going to the wrong terminal – and at Detroit it’s not just Terminal 1, Terminal 2, etc. It’s the civilized terminal and the shithole. The shithole made Travel and Leisure’s list of Eight Shitty Wonders of the World. The Black Hole of Calcutta was ahead of Detroit’s second terminal. For once I had the foresight to circle the terminal and re-read the airlines sign to confirm that Delta is now amongst the civilized. So I avoided parking in the wrong garage and missing my flight.
On the other end, it took two hours to get through customs, get a car – well if you call a Hyundai Atos a car – and find the hotel. The hotel was on the one and only cul-de-sac of the whole fucking Zona Hotelera and I drove by it three times. By the time I checked in, I was ready to check out.
Cancun, Mexico. Riviera Maya. What a place! The appearance of South Beach with an undercurrent of Myrtle Beach. Opulent but cheesy. The hotel is luxury class and the shops and cafes are Daytona Beach. At night you can walk through the flea market – hoping not to catch fleas – and be accosted by those melodious phrases: “I know what you are looking for, Senor.” and “Do you want to see something you have never seen before.” Amusing when you’re with friends; annoying when you’re alone. I must say I feel like I’m Gulliver in Lilliputia. I have never seen such short people. Being touched and grabbed by the arm are not my idea of charming nor acceptable, but what ya gonna do?
Next morning: Ok, Ok, I confess. The weather here is terrific. Eighty-six on December 8th – not bad; but the real pleasure is the late afternoon and evening when it is cool and breezy. Really calming. What an adventurer I am –aside from recuperating in my room playing solitaire for hours, I venture out to eat at exotic local eateries like Friday’s (twice), Hard Rock Cafe and that tacky excuse for the worst food in the world – Hooters (twice). And my waitresses were – are you ready? – petite and demure . . . and didn’t seem to understand me very well. Time to strike up a conversation with a stranger. More than 50% of my “vacation” is over and I haven’t uttered more than “hola” or “no, gracias” to a soul. The pressure is on tomorrow. By the way, does anyone know what these colorful stringy things are that these women with small children try to sell along the sidewalk?
Just to be really harsh let me say that you can sunbathe topless all you want, but it still doesn’t make you good lookin. Just an observation from earlier today. Sunday was a perfect day for me to be outside because there were strong ocean breezes and partial cloudiness, so the eighty-seven degree temperature was bearable and pleasant. Had I realized that I wasn’t getting burned I would have stayed in the sun longer. Begrudgingly I have to admit that the facilities at the hotel were exceptional. There was no beach on their property because the shore was rocky, but there was a sand beach built about 12 -15 feet above the shoreline with chaises and these big king size shaded beds that were comfortable for sun or shade. It was not at all crowded and of course you could order food and drink from your chair/bed. Actually it was elegant.
Oops. No stranger contact. Does three sentences about Cormac McCarthy’s books on the plane count? Speaking of which I am 98% through No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy and it’s pretty good. Very nice Texas homespun dialog with an interesting lack of punctuation. Periods at the end of sentences and that’s it. No quotation marks; no apostrophes; nothing. Even a grammar snob like me can appreciate good dialog with hillbilly speak. He does a nice job of describing gun violence in a way that you can picture what he’s talking about. Most authors describe settings and action that is incomprehensible to imagine. The plot resolution is not what you expect; now I need to see the movie.
Sunday after excellent sunbathing I set out for downtown Cancun thinking I should go there while I was in Cancun, although I couldn’t think why I would go there. Just seemed like a necessary part of being there. I couldn’t think of one thing I would buy – but I could think of a thousand Mexican hawkers trying to convince me to buy crap. How can there be so many stores that have nothing in them but shit? Does anyone over the mental age of twelve want a Cancun T-shirt? In any event, once I hit Cancun proper and couldn’t see any more road signs that said Cancun Centoro, I said “fuck this” and headed back to Zona Hotelera. I returned to the mall I had been to on Saturday -- and still resisted buying a La Coste knit shirt -- they’re cheaper at Von Maur. So I watched the Steelers Patriots game In English at the afore-mentioned Hooters. I recommend the Buffalo Chicken Sandwich; the curly fries suck.
All and all, a less than fulfilling three days. Of course I had buyer’s remorse – complainer’s remorse? – as the plane left the ground and I realized the hellish weather I was returning to. I wanna go back!
On the other end, it took two hours to get through customs, get a car – well if you call a Hyundai Atos a car – and find the hotel. The hotel was on the one and only cul-de-sac of the whole fucking Zona Hotelera and I drove by it three times. By the time I checked in, I was ready to check out.
Cancun, Mexico. Riviera Maya. What a place! The appearance of South Beach with an undercurrent of Myrtle Beach. Opulent but cheesy. The hotel is luxury class and the shops and cafes are Daytona Beach. At night you can walk through the flea market – hoping not to catch fleas – and be accosted by those melodious phrases: “I know what you are looking for, Senor.” and “Do you want to see something you have never seen before.” Amusing when you’re with friends; annoying when you’re alone. I must say I feel like I’m Gulliver in Lilliputia. I have never seen such short people. Being touched and grabbed by the arm are not my idea of charming nor acceptable, but what ya gonna do?
Next morning: Ok, Ok, I confess. The weather here is terrific. Eighty-six on December 8th – not bad; but the real pleasure is the late afternoon and evening when it is cool and breezy. Really calming. What an adventurer I am –aside from recuperating in my room playing solitaire for hours, I venture out to eat at exotic local eateries like Friday’s (twice), Hard Rock Cafe and that tacky excuse for the worst food in the world – Hooters (twice). And my waitresses were – are you ready? – petite and demure . . . and didn’t seem to understand me very well. Time to strike up a conversation with a stranger. More than 50% of my “vacation” is over and I haven’t uttered more than “hola” or “no, gracias” to a soul. The pressure is on tomorrow. By the way, does anyone know what these colorful stringy things are that these women with small children try to sell along the sidewalk?
Just to be really harsh let me say that you can sunbathe topless all you want, but it still doesn’t make you good lookin. Just an observation from earlier today. Sunday was a perfect day for me to be outside because there were strong ocean breezes and partial cloudiness, so the eighty-seven degree temperature was bearable and pleasant. Had I realized that I wasn’t getting burned I would have stayed in the sun longer. Begrudgingly I have to admit that the facilities at the hotel were exceptional. There was no beach on their property because the shore was rocky, but there was a sand beach built about 12 -15 feet above the shoreline with chaises and these big king size shaded beds that were comfortable for sun or shade. It was not at all crowded and of course you could order food and drink from your chair/bed. Actually it was elegant.
Oops. No stranger contact. Does three sentences about Cormac McCarthy’s books on the plane count? Speaking of which I am 98% through No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy and it’s pretty good. Very nice Texas homespun dialog with an interesting lack of punctuation. Periods at the end of sentences and that’s it. No quotation marks; no apostrophes; nothing. Even a grammar snob like me can appreciate good dialog with hillbilly speak. He does a nice job of describing gun violence in a way that you can picture what he’s talking about. Most authors describe settings and action that is incomprehensible to imagine. The plot resolution is not what you expect; now I need to see the movie.
Sunday after excellent sunbathing I set out for downtown Cancun thinking I should go there while I was in Cancun, although I couldn’t think why I would go there. Just seemed like a necessary part of being there. I couldn’t think of one thing I would buy – but I could think of a thousand Mexican hawkers trying to convince me to buy crap. How can there be so many stores that have nothing in them but shit? Does anyone over the mental age of twelve want a Cancun T-shirt? In any event, once I hit Cancun proper and couldn’t see any more road signs that said Cancun Centoro, I said “fuck this” and headed back to Zona Hotelera. I returned to the mall I had been to on Saturday -- and still resisted buying a La Coste knit shirt -- they’re cheaper at Von Maur. So I watched the Steelers Patriots game In English at the afore-mentioned Hooters. I recommend the Buffalo Chicken Sandwich; the curly fries suck.
All and all, a less than fulfilling three days. Of course I had buyer’s remorse – complainer’s remorse? – as the plane left the ground and I realized the hellish weather I was returning to. I wanna go back!
