The Real Cancun

We arrived in Cancun on another first class bus, this one had extreme air conditioning but also had free tea, coffee AND a mens and ladies bathroom up the back. Such luxury! It reminded me of the time my friend Liz and I decided to bus it around the north island of New Zealand only to find the bus was actually a Tarago. While it turned out to be an alright experience, the humiliation we both felt at being shuttled around in a Tarago was our unspoken reality. Liz was once proudly Tarago people so I guess she was kind of used to it.

The NZ Tarago Experience was pretty funny, I guess that is what I miss when taking "first class" style transportation, its the ability to laugh at the hokey ways the operators save a quick buck, kind of like the camping chair experience on the people mover in Merida.

So, Cancun.

There is one thing I have noticed about places that claim to be relaxing and no hussle and bustle. Personalities cause the conflict, not the language barriers, nor the differing cultures. When there are huge language barriers and cultural differences that seem to make absolutely no sense at all (like Romanian road rules) there is a kind of camaraderie that takes place among the weary traveller.

When there is nothing to worry about and everything is taken care of, for a premium price of course, that is when the real issues begin. I was aware that on entering Cancun, it was not as calm and serene as it seemed.

We got off the bus in the swelteringly hot Cancun bus station and the immediate clusterfuck of local official and unofficial taxi drivers began, which of course raised Tania's ire to the point of almost suggesting we walk or catch a local bus ("its the principle of it...") when we were miles and miles away from the touristy part. We were all in on this currency induced indignation until we collectively realized that the exchange rate was like 10 to 1; yet again, we were getting upset about nickles and dimes.

Its funny how the exchange rates are almost perfectly calculated when we are in a shop ("CAN YOU BELIEVE HOW CHEAP CALVIN KLEIN IS??? $5 BACK HOME - HAHAHA - LETS SPEND SPEND quick.. BUY BUY BUY" etc) but when it comes down to the necessities in life like 'get me the fuck out of here... NOW', the exchange rate all of a sudden becomes a problem.

We arrived at the Fiesta Americana Condessa, a really flash and over the top western style resort where we had a total bargain booking due to Tania's friend Antonio's connections - his dad helped build the cone pergola thing out the front, which was MASSIVE - so he got discounted room rates and 3 pieces of laundry for free.

While 3 pieces of free Laundry sounds like not a big deal to anyone else in the world, in Tourist Cancun where money open doors, it talks English, it washes clothes...money does absolutely everything you could ever need to do. Its really funny how people who "no comprende englais" all of a sudden speak fluent English when a greenback is up for grabs, and while the Peso is still the Mexican currency, the rules are different in Cancun where it is US$ Dinero the whole way, baby!

Tania recommended we go to a place called Senor Frogs for dinner and some dancing, which sounded truely hideous but given we were on the arse end of busses, hokey hostels and Mexican "charm" (dirt and filth) it sounded like a good idea to go out Americana style and eat a burger and listen to some music.

It turned out to be how I imagined hell to be. The entire experience was so American it farted Britney Spears first album. Having spent a fair amount of time in America and believing them to be, generally speaking, a misunderstood people - the experience at Senor Frogs made me see Americans in the eyes of the Muslim Jihad.

Spring break, every night.

The black MC who rapped badly over the R&B music, the girls who bumped and grinded ANYTHING that moved (including waiters) and who took part in the various games run by the MC which included, top swapping, sculling beer and bursting the balloon in the waiters lap, by straddling him.

Whenever people had an opportunity to talk on the microphone they excitedly honked the name of their city/state like they were on Oprah -

"CINCINATTI, OHIO... YEA-AH!!!"
"WOOOO clapclapclapclap" etc

There is something Americans just *love* about screaming out the name of their home town, like there is any pride associated with yelling "FRESNO, CALIFORNIA! WOO!" or "BUFFALO, NEW YORK! YEA-AH!".

I know a chick from Wangaratta in Victoria and if she EVER went on say, Kerry Anne Kennerlys show, screaming out "Wangaratta, Victoria -YEEEAAAH! FOR THE WIN" I would completely abort the friendship. Its not that Wangaratta is as bad as say, Fresno or Buffalo (believe me, i know) or any other American city that is not San Francisco or New York, its just really appalling that people carry on like their hokey home town is some kind of badge of honor when they are public.

Everyone whooped it up as the girls got on stage, the cliches AND the tits came out.

Some really bored and uninspired waiter chick came around blowing a whistle so obscenely that I just had to see what it was she was carrying on about, and I found out she was selling shots. Why the hell not? This place could not get any worse. Basically, she would pour the most syrupy shots down my throat while rubbing my hair and slapping me all over and blowing that god-damn whistle.

It was almost the final straw before i stormed out of there, hoping to bump into the first Akbar, Mohammed or Jaleel with a crop dusting license and a butter knife.

I've gotten more drunk off mouthwash than those shots, that's for sure.

The final straw came when they started playing some cool disco music, while the Americans were doing a choo choo train around the venue, so we hit the newly cleared dance floor. As the choo choo train made it back, the vile slutty writhing of the young, drunk girls was just too humiliating to watch. Also, the bad dancing of the B-White-Boy wannabe's was so delusional that like Jesus, I wanted to die for having to witness their sins.

I was super righteous by this point, I'll tell ya that in English for nothing, a rarity in Cancun.

We left and walked along the lake commenting on how vile, nasty, horrible etc the whole place turned out to be, despite making a mean hamburger and fries. We had to walk back past Senor Frogs to catch the bus back to our resort to find one of the sluttiest girls passed out in a pool of her own vomit on the fake grass out the front. There was justification in this scene, and more self righteousness than a royale with cheese.

I wondered really a-loudly how many people would be pregnant by the morning.

Simone and I shared a room and Tania and Antonio shared another, a really flawed arrangement as both Antonio and I smoked and as such the two non smokers got stuck with 2 smokers. I did my best to smoke on the balcony, which was less than 1ft wide, but had the most amazing view of the ocean, the aqua sea, the white sand, the resort next door and copped the amazing sea breeze. It wasn't so bad, I have smoked in worse places like the smoking room at Madrid Airport which smells like burning hair.

Smoking "outside" gave me a good excuse to enjoy the view and linger a while longer; while the view was amazing, there is only so much ocean, sand and resort I can handle before it all gets a bit same-samey.

The girls and I motivated ourselves into a taxi one morning (read: early afternoon) to go across to Isla Mujeres, a small island about 30 minutes by ferry from Cancun. Once we had negotiated the local OXO (7/11 Mexico Style) and sourced more Peso (to avoid the outrageously bloated USD currency exchange) we were on the boat. It was a really pleasant ride and well worth whatever it cost, which was not much.

Once we arrived I spotted a place saying "GOLF CARTS FOR HIRE" and I knew I had arrived in heaven. I have always wanted to drive a golf cart around a Caribbean Island and as my future travel plans had changed some what, to not include a trip to Belize and Honduras, this was my only opportunity. More on that later.

I was kicking myself that I forgot my license AND my passport, negating the possibility of being the designated driver, but Simone who enjoys organization like I enjoy sleep, she was prepared and so for 450 pesos ($45AUD) we had ourselves a cart until 5pm.

We all took turns at driving the golf cart, which was speed restricted to the pace of a small child, unlike basically everywhere else in Mexico where the general rule of thumb when it comes to speed is is "just don't hit anything". The speed allowed us to take in the view and did not cripple us so bad that we did not get to see the entire island in one afternoon. We hit the furthermost most point and saw some Iguana's and a really shitful outside art gallery thing which offered basically nothing, except a view, which we already had.

We drove on past a flying fox which looked amazing, but given our propensity to save a quick buck here and there, we decided the only thing that the flying fox had going for it was the view, which we already had. It was my turn to drive and I wanted to take that bastard golf cart off road, so we did, going down the side of a mountain on what Lindsay Lohans PR rep would call a "paved road" where we found a nice, quiet beach and an opportunity to jump in and laze around in the water for a while.

I'm not sure why we left that beach, which appeared to have a restaurant, but we collectively decided to move on to a more popular area for lunch, hoping that the food would be of better quality or something. So we found that place, parked the golf cart under the shade (like it was gunna get so hot inside with all the windows up? der) and found ourselves a table.

This restaurant looked like it had it all - outside eating on the beach, heaps of people, lots of amazing dishes on the menu. The service was totally hopeless and the food tasted like something a shark ate and shat out, if it arrived at all. The girls grilled fish came, no problem. The prawns we ordered defied eating, even with lemon, tabasco, hell even being coated in sand and deep fried would have made those prawns taste better. They left the shit shaft in as well, which I think is gross, and so I sort of passed on the prawn dish.

The girls tried to politely not eat while they waited for my dish to come, which never came despite my repeated attempts at getting the waitresses attention, actually speaking to the waitress, and speaking to what appeared to be the "big island mama" in charge.

It is a total mystery to me what happened to my lunch because they had about an hour of me complaining while they responded with "just a minute, it will be minutes" before we got up and tried to do a runner. We left some money, but not the entire bill and tried to sneak off to the golf cart.

Unfortunately, due to the aforementioned speed restriction its not like we could discretely bail on to the door less and windowless golf cart and fang it the hell out of there, leaving an impressive sand storm in our wake.

When Big Island Mama came rolling over to the golf cart, I knew we were in trouble. Given the speed Big Island Mama had, it dawned on me that possibly the worst thing to do at that point would be to drive (roll) off because she could catch us quite easily at her pace.

She started complaining about the bill and how we were short and I started swearing in a variety of languages hoping she would understand one of them, Tania started up with her "its the principle of it" rant and Simone knew the only way out was to give this woman the money so we could drive (roll) out of there. I can't remember, but when we had enough distance between Big Island Mama and the golf cart I started yelling at the top of my lungs various words which despite language barriers, tone can still convey sufficient indignity and offense.

I did not want ANYONE in that restaurant to enjoy themselves as I did not have a full belly and paid however many pesos's (fuckin PRINCIPLE of it) so i could look at a dodgy plate of prawns sipping a warm coke.

Hows the calm and serentity now, ya f***** f** s****** c*** b**** s*** w****!

More off roading , this time onto what I now know to be a construction site, but which at the time looked like it would be a bit more fun. There were a couple of guys on another golf cart, but given the speed restrictions they were having real difficulty managing a burn out, so we turned around and went back to the beaten path.

Towards the absolute end of our day on the island, we found the most magical beach. Murphys Law. Of course, to be able to enjoy the beach cost a number of Peso's and given my self induced indignity due to an empty stomach, I was not going to spend another 0.0001 Australian cent on anything. "Fuck 'em", I'd say.

Magical.

We started taking photos on the underwater digital cameras when we realised that on the boat in the background, a couple were straddling each other. They appeared in the background of almost all of our photos as the boat looked calm, serene and gave the photos a sense of perspective.

I wonder if they saw us taking photos and thought "dirty pervs!" while we looked on thinking "get a room!". Funny - and then it was time to get the cart back to the ferry terminal and catch the boat back to Cancun.

All I remember about the boat is that it took forever for it to come and the heat on the jetty was almost unbearable, and we were about 5 metres away from the most beautiful blue water you could see. We were right up front on the queue, which ensured we would get a great seat for when we get off the boat and could bolt for a taxi and avoid any more queues. The boat left, then came back because a few more people wanted to get on. By this time, everyone was beyond over it having waited in the sweltering jetty.

The late comers took their fucking sweet time to walk down to the boat, laughing, stopping to take photos. The boat errupted - people were so collectivley pissed off by the time the stragglers arrived on board, absolutely everyone let them know what they thought. Tania dropped a C-bomb which paled in insignificance compared to what some of the other people came out with, even though it was in Spanish, the tone conveyed it all.

We didn't do much else in Cancun, what else is there to do when the beach and pool are free, and everything else costs the world? We did go clubbing one night to a place called Coco Bongo's which Antonio had recommended - $40USD for "all you could drink". This was both good, and bad.

The club itself was something I have never seen before - Vegas style shows every 15 minutes and a variety of top 40 and urban music inbetween. We were inebriated to say the least.

Michael Jackson, Superman, Elvis, Beetlejuice, Madonna - all had their shows. It was spectacular.

We were pretty drunk and I'm not going to go into it too much here, except to say "there were words". It was kind of awful and I could have been a bit more of a man and tried to avoid what happened sooner or all together, but I was pissed.

The Real Cancun.

We were all in some way involved in what transpired and it was unfortunate that it had to happen, but it did. At the very least it put everything on the table, there were no assumptions, there were no unreasonable expectations or misunderstandings for us to deal with in the future. And that is that.

A day or so later it was time for me to depart Cancun for the USA, instead of Belize (Puh-lease!) and Honduras.

A friend of mine, Chris2, who had been to the area before, conveyed his sense of shock that someone like me would be going somewhere like that, and sure enough, as I discovered - it really isn't my scene.

Maybe another day. But not today.

I was booked on American Airlines (Aerolineas Gringa's) to San Francisco via Chicago to meet up with Cousin Stephanie given that she was mourning the loss of family-en-masse as everyone had gone back to Australia after the wedding. It worked out perfectly because I was mourning the loss of cable tv and flushing toilet paper, so we could both offer some comfort to each other.

Cousin Stephanie and I had unresolved business to attend to, mainly relating to being idiots and cracking each other up with the various characters we create, but also the most pressing issue: the end of days.

We had 2 entire seasons of Jericho in which to watch and take notes, for future reference. We had seeds to buy, endless discussions on the merits of a "panic room" and solar panels.

There was In & Out Burger, Starbucks and Satellite TV.

I needed to be me again.

Cancun

Senor Frogs

Golf Carting!

Coco Bongo's Nightclub

Chitchen Itza

VIDEO SECTION: Coco Bongo Nightclub