March 04, 2004cancun [sa/su]SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 28
ADVENTURES IN THE URBAN JUNGLE - or - HOW TO MAKE ENEMIES... AND FRIENDSAfter lunch (you think I made breakfast?) I opted to go into the city and get some shopping done with Sarah and Neal. They had $100 extra bucks to spend anyway. We took the bus, since that was 6 pesos ($0.60) compared to a US $30 cab ride for round trip. I was warned to think of this as another "adventure" by Neal.
In America, buses pretty much hit every stop. Not in Mexico. After being in the Phillipines, I was fairly clued in on how wild public transport can be, and knew that pedestrians had anything but the right of way. After flagging down the bus, running on still throbbing ankle and now throbbing knee to catch it, and literally diving on before the driver took off again... I started to form the opinion that such driving was normal in Spanish colonies. Neal, having never been out of the US before much less to Mexico, was simply floored at the multitude of "close calls" the bus had with other vehicles, the side of the road, and various near-unlucky people. I just strategically braced my weight and proceeded to wrap a five-mile long ace bandage borrowed from the infirmary around my ankle.
I've played video games drunk and driven less dangerously, I swear.
Neal and Sarah needed a bit of time to recover after hopping off at our stop. Thus.... we head to Wal*Mart! Gotta pay homage. Actually, they needed an ATM and I needed to exchange some money so I wasn't flashing $20s at the market. So they searched out the ATM and I grabbed a couple bags of candy and a coke to get change in pesos, since the city rates were far better than those at the hotel (10.25 vs. 11.20).
Market 28 was like an extension of Wal*Mart. In fact, at several stalls the vendors said "Welcome to Wal*Mart" as they waved you in. Others had "Blue Light Special!" signs above their doors. Neal found another Panama hat, and the scuba diving shirts he had passed up when at the Market earlier in the week. It was souvenir time, for me, and I haggled my way into paying half asking price for just about everything. After spending time in that hammock between the palms at Xcaret yesterday, I was determined to find one here. I had seen them at other places, including the flea market on Thursday, and hunted a nice one down like a Jaguar after a small deer. I found one, finally: two-person, silk/nylon threads hand woven and hand dyed to this deep, rich emerald green. It actually matched our carpet at home and was long enough to fit between our apples trees, and on the corner of the deck that's got the best view of the valley. The vendor wanted $50, but I talked him down to $23.
My grandmother would have been proud of my madd haggling skillz.
Sadly, downtown Cancun is not as well-kept as the more tourist oriented areas, even if Market 28 is a tourist trap. It was the first place I actually felt dirty in the entire trip. The tropics lend you a certain degree of stickiness simply from the humidity, but here it actually felt like filth clinging to your skin from the grime and poverty, or the obviously sick animals wandering the streets hoping to find a scrap of food. More than one tourist got duped into giving up a part of their meal to a dog or cat's begging eyes.
More money than I should have spent later, we ventured back towards the busstop at Wal*Mart - it is the center of everything, after all, no matter whether or not you can decide if it's run by Sam Walton's Christian values or the Devil himself. I approached a policeman to verify our sense of direction, and it took Neal about 2 minutes to realize just what the man was packing. His jaw. DROPPED. Apparently, I don't find it quite as amazing to note a policeman is standing on the corner with his hand on a fully automatic weapon. I've seen it in other countries. I've seen them used, even. The policeman and I shared a laugh at Neal being practically beside himself at the picture.
The bus I flagged down was already full when it arrived. But that didn't stop the driver from taking more passengers, no sir. All 20 or so people getting on at our stop simply arranged themself in the aisle and held on for dear life. Yes, my comrades were once again amazed at the wonders of third world countries. I... just held on and tried not to fall into the driver's lap everytime he stomped on the brakes.
Neal was a Hard Rock Cafe fan, so both he and Sarah were more than agreeable to my suggestion for stopping there for lunch. Sure, it would have been pricey, but it was really worth it. Maybe I should have known better that things were going a little too smoothly in this trip and something was bound to go wrong at sometime. Our waiter was obviously, raging, flaming gay. My gaydar was going wild, and solidified by the rainbow bracelet on his wrist. No worries, right?
As the guy left, Neal makes a rather derogatory comment. More than one, really. Grumbling that the Bible tells the story of Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve, and how that's just wrong. Rather than reaching across the table to slap him - as I wanted to do - I suggested the conversation should stop here and, seemingly, he listened. Seemed even cordial when the waiter was around. I let Neal's comments slide as ignorance of anyone else's opinions on the subject, manners, and well, everybody gets a strike one. It wasn't enough to let ruin our meal since no other comments were made.
Got my HRC shirt. Also kept the Hurricane souvenir glass my drink came in. Exploration of the mall that HRC was in lead to this wonderful little shop dedicated to the more primitive and tribal end of things. Picked up an exquisite CD of aboriginal chants overlaying didgeridoo and contemporary dance rhythms. Not exactly a Mexican souvenir, but I'm a sucker for tribal music.
Catching the bus back was another exercise in my cab hailing skills. Thankfully I'm tall and didn't have to rely on a whistle.
Saturday was the day most people arrived at the Village, and given that this was the first official weekend of Spring Break - it introduced a much younger set to the club. Mostly I had been surrounded by middle-aged couples on vacation, and found that I was at the younger end of the spectrum. The Cancun Village was adults only, so now there was an influx of college kids. After dinner at an International Buffet, we hit the welcome show which had skits portraying different ways different places said hello to each other.
French people ignoring each other. Italians picking each others pockets. Canadians digging their way through snow. New Yorkers doing it to the tune of ghetto blasters. San Franciscans......
I was expecting too much, earlier, when I supposed the subject had been dropped. Soon as San Francisco came up, Neal's comments began again. This time, I told him to shut the fuck up - and he wigged, further going into his opinion on how homosexuality was morally wrong and such people shouldn't be at the club. He wouldn't listen to Sarah telling him to be quiet. I let it slide at lunch, but I let my temper get the better of me and verbally bitchslapped him which only resulted in his raising his voice and continuing on the little tirade within which he publically made an ass out of himself. Cussing me out at this point.
I just sat and smiled at him until he stormed off to the bar. If he couldn't handle sitting next to someone that was bisexual and wanted to throw a tantrum infront of the entire theater - I wasn't about to stop him. Petty battle of wills, I'll admit. But I wasn't backing down. Out of respect for the Club and DC for bringing us, I didn't make a scene and tie him into a pretzel though my GOD I wanted to. Between skits I excused myself from Sarah and went off to smoke a cigarette and chill out before I slugged him one should he return. He didn't until I was clearly out of the way.
I was so fucking pissed, at first. Then hurt. It's hard to hear someone you were considering a friend say such vile things about you and your beliefs. Wasn't hard to get over, though. I didn't particularly want to call someone that was such a narrow-minded, homophobic bigot my friend. Nor did I want to associate any further with him and allow his presence to ruin what was left of my last night.
Instead of joining everyone at the bar, I sat on the beach and smoked a cuban cigar by myself. Letting the tension roll out with each smokey breath offered to the rolling waves. Found that grounded center which I was working all week to establish. Life was good again.
Met up with everybody at the club for our last outing before the flight tomorrow. Ignored the very existance of that asshole. Though in the course of making an enemy - once we got home there'd be no quarter if he started shit again - I did make a slew of new friends. I had so many people come up to me and ask if I knew the jerk mouthing off to me at the show, and that they didn't believe he was saying such things.... jerks like him didn't deserve to be at a place like this. They were amazed he was actually in the group of people I was attending with. Found out that if anything had actually escalated between us, I would have had about 25 people backing me up.
I really did appreciate the kind words and support. We all agreed he was trash and not worth the effort but it sucked something like that happened on my last night at the Village. Made sure each and every person that talked to me about it knew how I was affected by their little asides. Remember what I said about meeting certain people that will affect your life in some shape or form for varying amounts of time? Every single one of these people turned my night around.
Fell in with a bunch of college kids on the dance floor... or so I'll call them college kids cause they were all about 21-23, heh. Bunch of male and female friends that had gathered together for a vacation from reality. One of them happened to be one of the first people to come to me - whom I swear was a tall Ryan Phillipe - and they became my group for the night. Bounced back and forth between hanging out with them and my coworkers. Whenever Neal would return to our Cali group, I'd just walk away and join the college kids. Yet again we formed a circle with each taking a turn busting a move or three in the middle which got the entire club watching and clapping and making general fits of noise. Even pulled in a few unsuspecting older couples that lingered just a liiiitttle too close to the perimeter.
Tami requested her last song. DJ Wet addressed it to her, and stated that it was very special because it was Tami's last night at the Village, so everybody had to join in. So yes, we all barked along with "Who Let The Dogs Out" like there was nobody watching... or listening.
Somewhere around 3:30 Tami, Patrick and I... the last survivors of our group.... called it a night and staggered back to our rooms. Well. They staggered. I bounced. I finally gave into the call of those neon-blue devil drinks called Vodka Boosts and was still raring to go, but I didn't want to hang out at the club alone for a variety of reasons.
SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 29
LOOKIT THE LITTLE PEOPLE!I had packed and checked out the night before, so upheld my tradition of completely missing breakfast and anything resembling morning. Lunch with the group was nostalgic. Relating stories of the week and lamenting it was too soon to go home. I was ready, though. I missed my wife and kids. Grand as it would have been to stay - I did have kennels covered for the next week in anticipation of participating in jury duty - a week was more than enough when you're there by yourself.
Couldn't help but be a little smug at the fact Neal preferred to drink his lunch at the bar instead of sit with the rest of us.
I made the comment to Bob (DC's husband) that standing in line at the airport was much like standing in line at a theme park, yet, the ride wasn't quite as eventful at the end. I should have known better. On take-off I was deathgripping the arm rests and holding that bloody wing on. Kee-rist. Five and a half hours later, the landing was just as eventful. Got that lovely weightless feeling as the plane bounced off the runway before settling. Just about leapt off the plane and kissed the ground.
The lines at LAX were just as atrocious. A triple-jumbo 7billion7 United jumbo jet with like.... 800 passengers... landed just after us and still the airport only had about half their immigration lines open. Not only were half open, but they were the half at the total opposite end from where we entered the building, which was also at the total opposite end of where we could claim our bags. We were absolutely convinced there were people sitting up in some booth somewhere watching through their myriad of cameras all the little people scurrying towards the shortest lines, or the new one they casually opened when nobody was looking. Got my passport stamped in about 1.2 seconds and scurried off to claim my bags and find my better half who was, I was sure, at this point panicing and trying to find me since we did not land at the terminal previously assigned.
Again, the airport gods were pointing and laughing. Since there was that enormous jumbo that had more passengers than necessary, all of which of course had connecting flights to make after going through immigration and customs, we were convinced all the baggage boys and carts were attending to their stuff. We had the last boy (who was a cripple and blind) and cart (which had flat tires and no steering mechanism) delivering our bags (five at a time, I shit you not) to the claim belt.
Ah, yes, lookit the little people suffer! Aaahahahaha!!!!
Ahem. A ridiculous forty-five minutes later, I FINALLY got my bag. Zipped through customs in five seconds flat and without a second glance from the official. Made a beeline up the ramp, out the door, and down two terminals and straight into the arms of my beloved.
You know those romantic reunions in movies, where the guy and girl veritably throw themselves into each other's arms before diving into the deepest, most passionate of kisses because the rest of the world disappeared just then?
Awww yea, baby.
Posted by Wolf at March 04, 2004 12:22 AM
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