March 04, 2004cancun [t/w]TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 24
DANCE MACHINEThe plans for windsurfing got SHOT by the weather. It was too windy to do anything with that storm moving in. They shut down everything from sailing to windsurfing to snorkeling by noon because the seas were too rough. So we spent most of the day lazing about the beach. I fell asleep in a lounger for about three hours, heh. Much to the dismay of my coworkers. I was the only one that did NOT get burned. Most of them had been in the water that morning and neglected the addition of sunblock (since all the surrounding waters were part of a nature preserve for the sea reefs and inlet lagoon, you weren't allowed to wear any oil-based sunscreens because it killed the coral).
Man, seems the weather follows me when I travel. Wherever I go it rains. The storms that were supposed to blast Cali skipped right on down to the Caribbean. Same thing happened to me when I went to Texas - I brought the rains back with me to help battle the fires.
There was a pre-dinner show that night. GM team trivia. The GOs each had a group of 9 chairs, and drug in any passing GM to be on their team that wasn't fast enough to get out of the way. I gave the excuse I was waiting for my friends to show up, and Jorge (captain of snorkeling/scuba) said he would give me new ones. My response was that Club Med really WAS all-inclusive if they were offering new friends. My new friends that night consisted of several Canadians, one New Yorker, and a lovely French couple along with another GO, Fith (yet another Canadian, director of entertainment). Out of 8 questions, we got 6 right, and came in second place to DC and Tanny's team who got 7 and won a bottle of niiiiice champagne for the team to share.
Mexican buffet at the main restaurant that night. Nothing more eventful than my continuance of putting away five plates. Penny and I were the main attractions, it seemed. She's slender, too, but only about 5'2" or so. Nobody could fathom where we put all the food. Our excuse was shoving it into our big toe. The club photographer was making rounds, then, with simply enormous and extravagantly tacky sombreros to put on all the couples for a snapshot. Since I was the only one at the table stag, Larry (husband of one receptionist, nice Brit that reminds me of my dad) grabbed a beer and we both toasted the camera.
The GO show that night was a Tennis Comedy. It started out with the disovery of tennis. Two cavement in white shirts and those monster-fur animal print wraps (that must have been miniskirts) finding out the pleasure of a little neon green bouncey ball. What epiphanies came with seeing how it would roll back and forth in response to their monkey cries. Yes. I spent a few minutes being one of the targets the ball was rolled back and forth to several times. It must have been the purple hair that singled me out. Then little skits showing different scenarios one may run into on a tennis court - decidedly NOT at Club Med. Mean instructor, the instructor that was too nice, newlyweds, playboy instructor, and then the tourists: French (wine and a baguette loaf a part of tennis playing equipment), Italian (several pairs of sunglasses, cell phone, and a bunch of attitude demanding there be a/c on the outside courts because dammit it's all-inclusive), Moroccan (pots and pans of varying sizes, and a ladel, used instead of rackets), Canadian (on rollerblades, in a maple leaf jersey with hockey stick.... yes, he beat up the poor ball boy), and last but not least: American. Most specifically New York complete with ghetto box, sagging pants, and thug attitude which lead to catching the served balls and launching them back at the poor instructor or, even better, over the buildings and into the lagoon.
Big Al had more than one floaty toy, we discovered the next day.
Bit of a change in our nightly plans. The disco was closed because they threw a beach party at La Palapa that night. I was already beginning to feel the ride, and we had an ungodly early wakeup call the next morning, but Patrick, Tami and I toughed it out and hit the party to at least say we were there. Well. We stayed until around 1ish. We couldn't help but get into the music, with the sound of the crashing waves harmonizing the beat as they rolled beneath the deck. That's it. Yeah.
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 25
THE WEATHER COMETH, BUT I'M DOING SWIMMINGLY, THANKSToday was the day of our first excursion. The ONE thing Tami wanted to do while we were down here was to go horseback riding. I told her I'd love to go with her - we both loved horses and that way she wouldn't have to go alone - though warned her I may get to the stables and completely break down, or, if the horses were in terrible condition as they are in some touristy places, I may simply refuse to extort them. We found out Sarah wanted to go, too, so turned it into a technician's day out.
It was drizzling off and on throughout the morning. But that didn't really phase us. I had ridden in the rain many a time, and the smell of wet horses was far more pleasant than wet dogs.
I had to admit I was pretty sketchy on the busride to Rancho Loma Bonita. I've seen the horses used for tourist shit in Tijuana, I've heard the horror stories of those that have been rescued in other third world countries. Seeing the sheer extravagance of the ranch put many of those fears to rest. I was pretty sure Club Med wouldn't endorse a place that didn't keep its horses in good condition, but you can never guarantee until you see it, y'know? It was also the first horse I would have ridden since Bentley, too. But once I smelled the stables and horses, I felt a lot better. Bonus the rain had stopped.
The 30 total riders (collected from various hotels along the strip) were separated into groups after orientation. Beginners, Intermediates, and Experts. Sarah and I were among the four lone experts. Tami got worried she wouldn't be able to keep up. I told her these were trail horses, and the only different between them for the levels was probably how spirited they were. All of them knew the route by heart, and could probably walk it without a leader and return the rider safely to the stable. Tami got a little bay mare called Spider (funny, since she was afraid of spiders). I don't remember the name of Sarah's gelding. And I got a part Paso Fino chestnut gelding named Amulet. Luckily Amulet was chosen for me because he was one of the biggest they had ready for the group, so I didn't have to explain to the guide why I didn't want to ride a white horse.
The trail from the ranch to the ocean wound through the Yucatan jungle. Mangrove forests so dense you couldn't see five feet off the trail much less the birds or frogs or even lizards making the haunting calls. Sarah and I had to keep circling back to let Tami catch up. Spider was a far more sedate animal than either of ours. But I got Amulet to collect up and Fino for a good portion of the ride, and the staccato mixed beat of his hooves on the packed trail was simply music.
Once on the beach, we rode up the shoreline for about half a mile before turning back towards the corral. Once there we were split into groups. Those that wanted to swim with the horses were to dismount and give their steeds to the ranchhand to be tied to the rail and allowed to rest. Several horses from a previous group had already been unsaddled and were being rotated to go into the ocean. Those that wanted to go for a gallop back up the beach formed another line.
Obviously, I was going for a run on the beach. Sarah was game, as well as the other two expert riders, and Tami went for the gold and joined us, too, even if she was a little intimidated by it. I told her to just hold onto the saddle horn, raise up in the stirrups a bit, and enjoy the view. A secondary guide rode alongside her just in case she ran into trouble.
Amulet kicked up his tail and FLEW along the water's edge, wind whipping through his long mane.
A lady from New York got put back into her place, too. She had been bragging to the guides how she had been riding for years and was very good at it, and that she planned on coming back every day that week. She was one of the ones pushing to go on the gallop. She wanted to go so fast and keep up with the leader's horse - and got so close she kept getting mud kicked into her face by his horse. The main guide and I just snickered.
By the time we walked them back to the corral, the rain was back. And this wasn't any drizzle. Now was the fury of the Rain God and it outright poured. I was totally. soaked. through. At least we didn't have to strip down to our swimsuits then try to struggle back into jeans with wet legs. Well, I didn't. Tami and Sarah insisted on getting pictures taken in their bathing suits. The horse they gave me was Diablo. Stunning liver bay that had been giving everyone else problems. He'd go as deep into the water as he wanted to then turn back around and head to the beach; even with the other expert riders. The guide told me to show them it was the rider and not the horse and I took him out far enough to actually be swimming.
He practically danced back onto the beach, head and tail high, water pouring off us in sheets with the storm-driven waters and boiling skies as backdrop.
Tami and Sarah took nearly 20 minutes to worm back into their jeans, much to my amusement. Tami just gave up and rode back in pure beach style with her towel thrown over the saddle to provide some protection. I had to use my towel to protect my camera - much to what would be my next morning's chagrin. We got back to the Village just in time for a quick shower and hit the pre-dinner lesson on making guacamole. It's something everyone had been eating more than their share of with every meal and this way we could make it at home and pretend we hadn't returned from the tropical paradise just yet.
La Palapa served dinner as well as lunch, but you had to make a reservation for it earlier in the day. We got a table for ten and decided that those of us going on excursions tomorrow may run the chance of not getting back in time, so were the ones to attend, and we'd try to get the whole group together on Wed for dinner as about half were still off-site on the catamaran cruise to La Isla Mujeres. It was cruise style sit-down service as compared to the endless buffets. Azteca soup, shrimp ceviche, herb and butter braised Robalo (the local fish) and more flan than one can shake a stick at. I was STUFFED.
The show that night was a GM talent show. Freaking hilarious because most of the GMs really didn't have a lot of stage experience, nor more than that afternoon to practice. Those that had been taking Salsa lessons showed off their moves. Others participated in a "female instrument" skit in which men played women as whatever instrument was coming over the loudspeakers. A group of women did a striptease under blacklights which highlighted the white clothes they were taking off, but not the black bodysuits underneath until the end - much to the male audience member's dismay. There were more acts which I can't remember off the top of my head, but it ended with a magician who was phenomenal.... even if his rather tipsy assistant drawn from the crowd kept trying to expose his sleight of hand.
Met the only other punker at the Village, too. This guy, Tony I think his name was, came right on up to me and simply said "Punk or Industrial?" I... blinked, really. Answered "Both." with just a liiitttle bit of skepticism. He told me he saw me at the beach party and that it took guts to wear the boots with shorts, but that's how he knew I had to be one or the other cause we're few and far between in the tropics. I just had to laugh, agreeing that both cultures are far too attached to their leather to survive in such heat. I wore my boots with the board shorts because my feet hurt too damned much to even think about wearing anything else to go walk all the way to La Palapa much less do any dancing.
I earned my nickname at the disco that night. More than one GO noticed that I was back again, with my crew in tow, and spent most of the time on the floor when they were at the bar. Housef (Moroccan, the assistant Village Cheif) and Angel (one of our group, boyfriend of a client that came with us) started calling me Dance Machine because it seemed like I just wouldn't quit. One of the guys from my trivia team approached just then.
There's a saying I remembered just then. I don't remember where I heard it, or where it came from, but it outlined the fact you will meet people throughout your life that will affect it and even change it - whether for 20 minutes or 20 years. It seems tonight I was that person. This guy - I never caught his name, but an Indian fellow, late 20s/early 30s, probably traditional Seikh by his turban, excellent taste in dress and impeccable manners - came up to me and commented he was amazed by my moves on the floor. I raised a brow at this at first given the situation, but he went to explain he had a hard time getting into it and it seemed that I was just so free on the floor and having a ball. I was, of course. And he asked how I could do it, because he was somewhat self-conscious and simply couldn't make it work, and if I could teach him some moves. I told him there was no way to teach him the moves. The secret was to just listen to the music told you, and dance like there was nobody watching. It doesn't matter if you look like a flapping chicken, a beached fish, or a formally trained Russian ballet master - the important part is that you were enjoying yourself, and basically expressing such joy through your body. We had a short conversation about trance dancing and then Tami and Patrick drug me back onto the floor.
Several nights later, the same guy came up to me and expressed the deepest thanks for teaching him how to freely dance.
Posted by Wolf at March 04, 2004 12:20 AM
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