Cancun

(Xplor is an adventure theme park on the Cancun tourist trail. We gave it a miss, but the sentiment applies).

Disneyland was now a distant memory: we were off to Mexico!

En route to Cancun from L.A., we had a short layover in Dallas, Texas. There are some BIG homes on the outskirts of Dallas! I was excited about adding Texas to my list of U.S. states visited, even if it was only the airport. As it turned out, the airport itself is pretty cool, with funky sculptures:

See, we’re in Dallas!

They even have a shoe-shining station.

As it turned out, there was a small problem with the plane, so a short layover turned into a slightly longer one. Thank goodness for Qantas Club and the One World Alliance, and for the Texan hospitality. They were certainly friendly folks.

On the plane, I found myself the centre of attention, as our immigration cards were in Spanish only. Despite my Spanish being, well, non-existent, I was managing to nut out the questions with a combination of common sense, Latin, context, and the help of a dictionary. Suddenly, everyone around me began asking what the different questions meant. In the end, I got tired of repeating myself, so I held a mini-tutorial for those in the surrounding seats. I was astounded, because pretty much all American people learn Spanish at school. I quizzed the kids next to me (Sean and I weren’t seated together) and they told me they only learned the absolute basics. Humph. American Airlines should pay me for my translation services (and I got all the questions correct!)

Late that night, we finally touched down in Cancun. After disentangling ourselves from the rather over-zealous Federal Tourism Agents, who work on commission and are thus very keen to book you on tours and even to get you to change your accommodation to Mexican-owned hotels, we grabbed a shuttle, checked into the rather divine Royal Sands, and collapsed.

We woke up the following morning to this:

(this is the view I saw immediately as I opened the front door of our room).

The Cancun hotel district is on a long, narrow, limestone spit. On one side is the Caribbean, and on the other is an alligator-infested lagoon!

(still at the front door, looking across the spit to the lagoon)

You move to the hotel balcony, and the view is thus:

Yes, the water really is that turquoise. The photos aren’t doctored. It’s seriously, insanely, blue. I’ve never seen anything like it in real life, even in Queensland.

We lost no time in getting ourselves poolside.

It really wasn’t too tough a gig getting into the Cancun groove.

The hotel was so swish, we even had our own personal concierge, May. May was a sweetie. The only problem is that the poor concierges again work on commission, so they’re under the pump to pimp the hotel’s restaurants and tours. Getting an objective opinion is nigh-on impossible.

Still, we wanted to help May, so we agreed that she book us into the Sisal Restaurant for dinner. By Australian standards, it was pretty cheap, with mains US$14-16, but by Mexican standards, it was a hike.

But the restaurant itself was pretty darn speccy, with an artificial night sky, and a huge screen playing sappy romantic Mexican music videos, featuring Latin heroes wooing babes with their (supposedly) sultry good looks.

I had to get amongst the margarita action. I think there’s even some kind of law against coming to Cancun and not sampling a margarita. As a law-abiding citizen, I was happy to do my duty.

Tip for the unwary: Mexican margaritas are HUGE!!! And they include a serious dose of (real) tequila. Wowser. They catch a lot of the American tourists out: we saw many, many exhibitions of staggering drunkenness.

And while we’re on the topic, not all the views from the pool were especially attractive:

Blogging poolside - this is how the action is coming to you, folks:

Sean, naturally, is the "MASTER at Relaxation" (as per mate Wayne's 7 yo son, Marcus, while we were on Heron Island):

While relaxing by the pool, we kept hearing a whistle-like chirp. At first, we thought it was part of some kind of resort game or activity, because it sounded almost artifical. But it was indeed made by a bird:

On the second morning, I went in for a swim in the irresistible Caribbean. The water was WARM. There was a bit of a current running, but it was easy to keep abreast of it. Apparently the lifesavers only know basic CPR and aren’t especially strong swimmers. This may have been why they commented on what a good swimmer I was when I got out. I couldn’t understand why, with such a beautiful beach right outside the hotel, most guests eschewed it in preference of the pool. You can’t beat the real thing, I say.

Each afternoon, we would depart the Royal Sands and catch the R2 bus from the hotel strip into town.

The buses were CRAZY! The drivers compete with one another to get to the stops first, and they absolutely fly down the road at breakneck speeds.

The buses came at least every 5 minutes, dropping hoardes of tourists off at Walmart (so they could stock up on supplies, and perhaps feel more at home).

While we did our share of Walmart grocery shopping, we also hit up the infamous Market 28, which is a tourist trap if ever I saw one. And the hawkers! Man, did they try it on. After a while, it became amusing.

“Meeeees, meeees! Senorita! Come and have a look, just a look, no problem looking. I have cheapest prices -  even cheaper second time! Almost free!”

“Come on in, I have airconditioning, cheaper than Walmart!”

“What you want? Tell me what you want, I have! Just tell me, what you like?”

“Hola, honeymooners? Not honeymooners? You look so young! Some silver for your beautiful wife?” (“beautiful wife” looking less than beautiful with hair plastered to neck, dress stuck to back of thighs and sweat beading on forehead, complete with Perm-A-Frown-Do-Not-Approach-Body-Language).

We did do a little bit of shopping, and although we bargained hard, I’m never convinced as to whether the “best prices” are genuinely good bargains. Nonetheless, it was fun in its own tacky way. The main problem was that all the stalls sold pretty much the same stuff, so that it was difficult to get your bearings within the market, especially with the distraction of dodging the constant soliciting.

At least on the bus you get a glimpse of real Mexican life, as opposed to the sanitised 5-star bubble of your hotel. I loved catching a glimpse of a donkey and a sombrero in the back of a ute:

Although you do have to watch your groceries while being thrown around on the bus:

After our first night, we avoided the hotel restaurant trap and sought out more genuine dining experiences in town. We spent two nights trying to get to Checandole, as recommended by our good mate, Lonely Planet. The first night it was closed, so we had very cheap and yummy tacos at a roadside stall instead. The second night we were more fortunate.

I had a traditional chicken and lime soup. It was delicious, and must have had half a chook’s worth of meat in it. Sean had fajitas, and I had another speciality meat dish, involving a lot of melted cheese.

Delicioso!

Our Spanish, which was, despite my Awesome Immigration Form Translation Efforts, woefully and regrettably minimal on arrival, was coming along with our exposure to the people and with necessity being a great motivator. However, Sean really took the proverbial cake. He had a slight accident and broke a drinking glass. Very embarrassed, he proceeded to write a note of explanation and apology to the maid. It was an impressive effort (and we didn’t have to pay for the glass!):

After three days of sun, swimming, relaxing and braving the downtown district, it was time to farewell Cancun as we headed off on our 7-day Mayan Ruins adventure.

Here I am in the lobby as we waited for our rental car to arrive.

There was evidence of trepidation on my countenance as we were severing the 5-star cord and heading off into the unknown. At the same time, we were eager to get out amongst it and start experiencing the “real” Yucatan.

So it was Adios Amigos to the Royal Sands, and onward to more adventures!