Cancun - Houston - LAX - Sydney (Day 26 - 23/1/14)

One of my only photos of Houston

It's morning, and the Duck remarks to me, "Enjoy this relaxing moment. It will be your last piece of calm today".

Cancun has become grey, cloudy, and quiet. All the kids and their cocktail-county parents have disappeared. Our checkout is smooth, pleasant, and without incident. The taxi driver jokes with us about Outback Steakhouse as he takes us to the airport. All the warning signs were there to be seen. Things were going too well, too smoothly. The Duck was right - our time in the airport would be a hairy mess.

Even on paper it looked stressful. Cancun to Houston, Houston to L.A., L.A. to Sydney. How was it all going to fit together? The travel agent had only given us 1 hr between arrival and departure in Houston... which was completely unreasonable in hindsight.

Tower at Cancun airport, complete with massive Corona advertisement

In Cancun airport we hit a snag straight away. The system doesn't like us; our names and information don't come up on their computers. First one, then two, then six check-in staff are scratching heads and talking in rapid Spanish. Our wait at the desk stretches out; it gets to 11 am, then 11:15 am, then 11:30 am. Our flight leaves at midday. I'm very conscious of the clock, as always, but increasingly more so as we begin to race it.

When something like this takes so long you begin to notice every little detail about the person serving you... the fact that their tie is patterned with the names of various international destinations, the blemishes on their skin, their name on the tag, the stoop of their shoulders. Our two main helpers are Rafael and Guadalupe, both anxiously doing their best, ears glued to the phone and nervously joking that we might have to stay another night in Cancun.

Eventually, Duck and I are shuffled along to another desk and told that this is a common problem with Australians checking out of Cancun. Their system isn't compatible with us. We'll have to wait for a later flight.

Duck is on the verge of exploding when suddenly, joyously, our passports are accepted and we're rushed along onto our plane.

But the next stop is worse.

Forrest Gump's actual suit?

As we're coming into America from another country, even if it's just to transfer to another airport, we're subjected to customs and all its post-9/11 hoo-ha. The lines are astronomical, hundreds and hundreds of people nose-to-back, the line snaking back and forth without end.

The clock ticks by. We have less than 20 minutes until boarding. I think of all the stops we must go through - border control, bag pick up, carry-on check, finding the right departure gate. And all the while as time slips away so quickly our line moves so very slowly.

Boarding time comes and goes. I start to feel very anxious. Duck suggests that I talk to someone after I time the person's border interview at the head of our line, then multiply that by the people between us and them, and conclude that we won't make it. The airport lady monitoring the queue is amazed when I tell her our flight has already started boarding.

"Oh, you need to go!"

Yes. Very much so.

Miraculously, she pushes us through to the head of the queue. I ignore the stares burning into my back from the hundreds of commuters, and I fume as inwardly as possible as the Duck's little bag is redflagged, checked, and re-checked again. From here we follow the signs, handover our declaration form, and make it to the security point to re-check-in.

But where are our main bags? We haven't passed a luggage terminal and we're told we won't. Duck asks a staff member nearby and they rush off to find them. Long story short, they reappear with the luggage and we're off running, running, running to the departure gate.

Two other Australians are running alongside us, themselves in a similar time-poor predicament. We reach the gate just behind them. Ten minutes to departure.

The guy on the desk looks mildly offended at our arrival. A French woman is already there, making demands of him as he tries to do something on his computer. He looks up and tells her, in a short manner, that she is no longer getting on the plane because of her behaviour.

The other Australian couple are waved through after a moment, the guy on the door confirming with a colleague that they'll be the last to go through.

Two seconds before us.

The last to go through.

Duck isn't having it. She interrupts, explains in a quavering voice that we have battled our way here, we ran, we had other staff help us to get to this point. Her foot is broken.

He looks at us briefly, sighs gruffly, and begrudgingly says that he'll see what he can do.

And then we're on. Seated next to a manic orthopedic surgeon who talks a streak with the Duck as we fly to L.A. and, then, home. What a trip.

I loved America and Mexico, but it was good to home and welcomed by this lovely sign.

Cancun and Isla Mujeres (Day 25 - 22/1/14)

Sunrise over Cancun

Let me introduce you to Juan Carlos. This guy works for the resort. Yesterday he came and introduced himself to us after we got to our room in Cancun, and told us he would take us out to a nice breakfast at one of the resort's other Cancun venues as a complimentary extra to our stay here. Good service, huh?

Well, today is our complimentary breakfast day courtesy of Juan Carlos. The Duck thinks it's a meeting where the hotel will try to get us to invest in something. I vaguely remember Juan Carlos mentioning something about investment yesterday, but I naively assumed that he was just making conversation. He is very loud and chummy, trying to force a personal connection at every opportunity by latching onto everything we say and trying to link it to himself, illustrating how similar we are. It's weird but Duck and I do enjoy a free breakfast. 

It gets to 8am. We've been up a while already, having watched the sun rise over the Atlantic. Juan Carlos calls our room, and tells us to come down to his office so we can meet and go to breakfast. Sure.

Jetty near our hotel

We get down to his office and there are about 4 or 5 other Juan Carloses (Juan Carlies? Juan Carli?) meeting with other patrons. Most are older couples. We feel out of place. 

Juan Carlos brings out a contract for us to sign.

"What's this?" I ask.

"It's just some details, we just need your credit card and some I.D."

"We don't have those. They're in our room." I reply.

"Oh... well, you'll just need to go get it."

"Why?" (I'm confused by this whole conversation).

Juan Carlos slides his piece of paper towards me ever so slightly, "It's just for this slip of paper".

"What is this paper for?"

More evasiveness. This absolutely reeks of dodginess. Still confused and not really thinking straight, I hand over our travel money card. Juan Carlos looks at it and frowns, handing it back, "No... we need a real credit card". 

The Duck and I both lie, "We didn't bring out credit cards to Mexico. They're back in Australia". 

Juan Carlos laughs nervously and shuffles off to confer with his supervisor - a stern, no-nonsense woman who tells him just to get our I.D.

Still thinking this is standard procedure to get a free breakfast, I duly go upstairs to get our identification. While I'm gone, the Duck talks to Juan Carlos. He keeps trying to work on that 'connection' with us. He tells the Duck that he likes the outdoors just like her, likes people just like her, travels with a backpack just like her. He also feels it important to tell her that he was in the military.

I return with the I.D.s but before I hand them over the Duck shows me the all-important slip of paper and its fine print about a 90 minute seminar.

"So what's this 90 minute thing?" I ask.

"Oh, it's just after the breakfast, we tell you all about the hotel and opportunities for you". 

I nod slowly, then say, "We're not really interested in that".

He seems shocked. 

I continue, "Like... I think you think we're someone else. I thought this was something else, just a free breakfast, but I'm getting confused about what this is really about. We're not interested in investing in anything". 

"Oh, it's not an investment - we just want you to see the hotels and all that we have to offer, we want you to keep coming back here - to become members". 

I look Juan Carlos right in the eye, and give it to him straight. Nothing else is working here, "Look... we're not interested at all. We're never coming back here. Not because it's not a nice place - because it is - but we're not those sort of holiday people."

Juan Carlos looks broken. All his energy and invigorating conversation melts out of him. The look of disappointment in his eyes speaks louder than any of his phony friendliness. The silence that now sits awkwardly between us forces even more words out of me by way of explanation.

"I just feel like we're wasting each others' time. We're never going to buy anything off you. We travel to see new things, we don't normally come to resorts like this. We're never coming back to Cancun because we've seen it now, and next time we'll go somewhere else, somewhere new - a whole other country". 

Juan Carlos goes to his supervisor. He comes back, a new determination in his eyes, "It's just a 90 minute presentation. You will enjoy it". 

I'm in Cancun for two days. There is absolutely no bloody way that I am spending 90 minutes watching a business seminar. Duck interjects before I can say this, "We're only here for one more day, we don't have that much time to waste". 

Juan Carlos continues, "Here is what we do for you, we have a $500 prize pack..."

"No, we're just not interested".

"But you can win a cruise around Cancun". 

Through gritted teeth, I say, "We are never coming back here". 

Silence. More awkwardness. Juan Carlos goes back to his supervisor again. This time he comes back defeated. They hand back our I.D.s and we leave to have our breakfast at the hotel by the pool. It's a nice breakfast.

Streets of Cancun

Tacky, themed restaurant

These little terrapins were dotted around the hotel premises

22 minutes east of Cancun is Isla Mujeres. The ferry takes us out along the glowing azure Caribbean sea towards this 5-mile long island. It's a little wonder, with its own roads and taxis and hotels. Another hundred identical shops full of Mexican skull sculptures and crude T-shirts. Overpriced restaurants, yachts and a thousand loutish white tourists clamour around the small harbour.

Island life

 

We hire a taxi for a couple of hours and head south to Centro de Investigaciones Pesqueras, a Sea Turtle sanctuary. There are three kinds of Sea Turtles here (Loggerheads, Green Sea Turtles, and Hawksbill Sea Turtles); some have been rescued and others are bred in indoor concrete pools. One turtle is bent awkwardly into an L-shape. We become sad at first, thinking that it's dead, but then it swims to the surface and takes some air. This guy has been rescued from the wild and given a more comfortable home where he'll actually survive, which is nice. There's also a building nearby full of baby turtles, crayfish, horseshoe crabs, fish, seahorses, etc. Outside, in a walled-off pool of sea, we observe a shark lazily hanging out with a huge green sea turtle. Best buddies!

Note the bent back

That's a Shark

Horseshoe Crab

Albino Sea Turtle

Our other main destination is the southern tip of the island which ends in clifftops covered in rusting metal art sculptures and a small single Maya ruin. Duck and I edge our way around some crumbling pathways set halfway down the cliff face. We stand on the easternmost point of Mexico here, and see a green snake uncoiling onto the path before it decides to slink back inside a hole in the cliff face.

Afterwards we go back downtown on the island, spend some time beachcombing for shells, lay indolently in the still island water along the white sands o Playa Norte. It's a really nice day.

About 12 000 people live on this tiny island

Some of the houses on the island are quite pretty

 

The only remaining Maya ruin on the island is found at the very edge, the easternmost tip of Mexico.

 

Cancun (Day 24 - 21/1/14)

View from our room in Cancun

Why take the bus when you can ride in style, in the back of a cab? I'm over lugging our luggage to bus terminals, waiting in lines, struggling to make myself understood when collecting tickets, stressing about the whereabouts of our bags during transit, trying to find the next hotel from the next bus station. So when Bamba (the company we've booked out interchanges through) informs me that we need to get to Playa del Carmen a bit earlier since there might be a chance we'll be relocated to a different bus station, well, I actually decide to take a taxi driver up on his offer to drive us directly to our hotel in Cancun for a "Super good price!" It's a lot more of a relaxing journey than any Mexican bus.

Cancun is strange. I expected something like Playa del Carmen - like a Surfer's Paradise on steroids; huge malls with touristy outlets and lots of activities. But it's not like that, at least not in the parts we end up seeing. The action is centred on an atoll-like landmass on the north-eastern coast of the Yucatan peninsula. This narrow, long strip of land is caked in hotels, the huge white buildings growing along the beach like masses of coral. We grab a taxi to try and check out the city but the driver is not really able to give us any recommendations. Eventually he understands us and takes us to a restaurant in town, which is nice, but afterwards we wander to the markets and they turn out to be the rundown-flea-market kind of markets - not expecially big or amazing or even all that busy. Is this Cancun? The city is a real non-event.

The Duck's favourite Mexican drink

 

I figure the Cancun that is famous, the idea of the party town, refers to the collection of resorts along the atoll - and perhaps specifically to a certain time of year? We head back to our hotel, which opens out onto a beach, has big rooms, and a big pool with a swim-up bar. I wasn't a fan of the hotel at first as it's full of seniors and families but it grows on me throughout the afternoon as we chat to a guy from North Carolina in the pool-bar. He, like most, seems mildly shocked that we have traveled over land all the way from Mexico City rather than just flown direct to Cancun. Everyone in Cancun speaks English, and all non-staff at the hotel are American or Canadian or British. The guy from North Carolina has been to Cancun before but has mainly just stuck to the resorts. He's thinking of heading out to Chichen Itza, which we recommend. 

Most people on the Maya Riviera don't seem interested in travelling around Mexico. In fact, looking around the resort, most are just here to escape the Northern Hemisphere winter. I guess that's fair enough. It's not why I travel, but there are different reasons to travel. Some people travel to get somewhere, others travel to get away from where they usually are. 

The pizza joint in our hotel was named after me.