Sunday, March 8, 2009

Cancún: round one

Cancún, a summary to possibly be expanded upon later:

The plane trip to Cancún was filled bow to stern with douchebags and as such my vacation was off to a grumpy start.

"Someone's ready for some brewskis!" a woman behind me brayed.

"I'll get the first round once we land!" a nearby guy shouted.  "Who's gonna to get the second?"

"I'll get the second, you get the first on the plane!" another guy answered.

"I'll get the first once we land," the first guy clarified.

"No, I mean the first on the plane," the second guy answered.

"When we land."

"I mean on the plane."

Behind me, the brewski woman decided a brewski was in order but then declined when she discovered that the only light beer options available on the plane was Bud Lite.


There was one saving grace on the plane and the saving grace was this:  the woman sitting directly across the aisle from me was startlingly beautiful.  I don't really remember what she looked like beyond a certain ethereal quality, but once I noticed her I wanted to do little more than gaze at her for the remainder of the trip, drinking in as much as I could before our time together drew to a close.

It was more of a visual fascination than an attraction, if that makes sense.  It wasn't that she was beautiful so much as she was striking.  I would have felt the same had she been shockingly ugly or adorned with a pig snout for a nose.

On second thought, the pig snout would have been more interesting.


Cancún was a surreal six days of complete removal from what can reasonably be called "The Normal Life."  No snow, no job, no bills, no driving, no cooking, no appointments, just large expanses of white beach coupled with time stretching off into forever.

And a constant stream of alcohol.

It's not that much of the trip was spent drunk--far from it--but it was rare that an alcoholic drink of at least some potency wasn't being sipped on, regardless of the hour.

This has a bit of a cumulative effect.

"Reality is ripping at the seams," I said somewhere around the fifth day.


The lowlight of the trip, or perhaps the highlight, if you ask my friends, was when I awoke sleepwalking around the resort in my Batman underwear.  I had no key-card slipped into my boxer-briefs and was therefore locked outside my room, so I tried to break in via the sliding side door but the chain latch actually proved to be an effective deterrent to breaking and entering, so I eventually had to resort to stumbling down to the front desk--in my Batman underwear, remember--to ask for a new key-card.

This is not the first time my Batman underwear has gotten me into trouble.

It might be time for me to admit I'm not Bruce Wayne.


My last plane back to Madison was on a tiny jet with ancient leather seats and landing gear that shook the plane violently with a deafening KRA-KOW whenever they were pried open or closed.

Things you do not want in a plane ride: deafening KRA-KOWS accompanied by violent shaking.


Mexico must have been very fond of me because Mexico is proving quite resistant to letting me go, and I apologize and beg for your sympathy if you know what I mean by this.

It started Friday morning and is still going strong, three days later.  I do think I'm on the mend, but I still have to tear for the bathroom with clockwork regularity.

While in Cancún I told some fellow vacationers, "This resort is nice, but you've really got to get off the tourist strip to truly appreciate Mexico.  Take the bus into downtown Cancún and find a small restaurant on a side street to eat a meal.  Dine on some true Mexican food, and drink in the heartbeat of the city.  You won't regret it."

You won't regret it.


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