Day 7

Tired. Catamaran. Big. Free drink. Free food. Snorkelling. Coral. Turtles. Sun. Hotel. Pool. Dinner. Gourmet. Typing. Blogging. Bed.

Home tomorrow, fat cats.

Day 6

Well, today was a mixed bag off things that come in bags and which would be less royale if they were mixed.

It was an 8-hour trip and we had the choice between mayan ruins on the morning or afternoon, and swimming in a huge river the rest of the time. We elected to do the ruins first, and to cool off swimming later.

I have never been so hot in my life. The tour around the ruins passed through tantalising patches of shade but out guide only paused to lecture us on this building or that ruin when we were all in the full glare of the sun. I fried like a puppy on a car on a hot day with the windows closed (I like this metaphor) and nothing, not even the beautiful vista, could raise my mood.

But then, the river. Envisage a stereotypical white-sand paradise lagoon. Then imagine it surrounded by a mangrove rainforest. Then imagine it where the alcohol and food is free. This is what I experienced this afternoon, snorkelling through crystal clear waters, seeing a giant stingray, swimming very fast away from a giant stingray, etc. Of course, the downfall of super-cold waters on a super-hot day is that you burn, and burn I have. However, thanks to my amazing sun-block, I don’t have tan ffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.

Not much else to say besides a brief fracca with no one having a room key to get in our rooms, but we soon located one. Dinner, and here I am now. And tomorrow, I sail a catamaran that can carry 40 people

Day ?

So, today was pretty metal. I’ll warn you now, I’m pretty damn mashed now as I write this so good bless auto correct.

The half 7 start seemed painful at first but after a hearty breakfast, getting into the air conditioned mini bus seemed alright. A short drivelater and we were somewhere, not entirely sure where.

At ths place we did a Mayan purification ceremony (smoke and lots of gibberish), 3 massive zipwires into water, snorkellingin underground rivers, rappelling into underground rivers, having a massive crush on the cute american girl but being too English to even say hi (though I did call her heavy and make her giggle) and have my balls bashed in by an ex-army off roader.

Then back to the hotel for a nap, swim on the sea, talk with my brother about relationships and so much beer and cocktails thart my face is numb. Good bless.

Beef

By rights, beef should not melt. But the mexicans cook beef so tenderly that it did. In my mouth. Life is good.

Day 4

Tits. Well, now that I have your attention, I shall begin.

And now I’m finished. Yes, that pretty much sums up my day. I woke up, I wrote about yesterday, I had three beers, I walked song the beach to book a catamaran, I had breakfast.

I swam in the sea, the clean, clear sea. I had un otro cerveza and swam in the pool. I had another beer and a buffet lunch. The sea again, then on to the catamaran with one brother, my father and his wife.

The sea was rougher today. Waves above my head obscured my view of the buoys that marked out the reefs. The wind caused the rudder to fight my grip and my fingers were soon sore. For me, it was exciting. If a man lives as if he were never to die, he would die before he knew how to live. I thought I might lose control of the craft, but of course I kept that little titbit of information to myself. I can be selfish with knowledge, especially if the sharing of it might cause my passengers to shit.

We came in early. After a half-hour of waves battering us like cod in a fish supper, the adults called time on our excursion and instructed me to plot a course for shore, for sure. Easier said than done, but I manged to pass off my inability to turn the boat around as reluctance to do the same. But eventually I was master of the wind, the sail filled and, with the sun on our backs, we jibed and headed for the beach. And beach we did, running the hulls half-way up the sand, before disembarking off (not a little saddlesore) and making our way back to the beach to sunbathe some more.

Weird, I honestly thought this would be a short post.

It’s 5pm as I write. Now is a shower, and later is dinner at the italian a-la-carte, meaning long pants and a collared shirt. Maybe a show after, but definitely nothing else to write home about, so get some sleep and check back here later.

Day 3

Sweat. A tiny, cold rivulet runs down my back in the baking sun. At 8:30am, the Mexican weather is clearly taking the piss.

We’re waiting for a coach just outside the hotel lobby, to take us on some kind of magical adventure to some ancient ruins. It’s been almost a year since I saw ancient ruins (in Rhodes) so there is definitely some excitement in me somewhere.

Mercifully the coach is air-conditioned. We depart.

Not a lot occurs on the journey. A light continental breakfast of cakes and unlimited free beer. I’m not sure where Mexico got this particular impression of the European diet, but I approve. Three or for cervezas later and my mind becomes blissfully numb to whatever shit is going down at home and on facebook currently, and I find myself able to look forward to the day.

The ancient ruins must wait, though, as two-and-a-half hours later the coach pulls into a car park near a cenote. Mexico has an astonishingly large network of these underground rivers, and the state of Yucatan (Mayan for “I don’t understand what the hell you’re saying to me”, unwittingly named as such by the Conquistadors because it was the response they always got when they asked – in Spanish, bless their naive little cotton stockings – “what is this place called?”) boasts the most impressive of the lot. I’m not sure if this one is it, but it IS huge. A sink hole in the rocky ground, about 15 metres across and falling maybe 40 metres to the surface of the water. Trees grow right to the edge, their long roots dangling long, long over the lip and down to tickle the top of the pool. The water itself is deep, over 150 feet to the bottom, but slightly murky, limiting visibility to a couple of yards. Finally as body of water here that is refreshingly cool to swim in, hidden from direct sunlight as it is. And a diving platform, 10 metres up.

Strangely enough, the fear here is completely the opposite to a rollercoaster. I feel nothing on the ascent, nothing even as I peer over the lip. Nothing as I run and leap. And then, my mind asks me what the f*ck I think I am doing thank-you-very-much, and perhaps I would like to let it take charge of me once more. The surface rushes up like smooth, solid obsidian, and I can’t help but flinch in the instant before I strike. The air I so carefully held in me is inconveniently forced out of me, and I fight the urge to inhale, looking up to the surface only two metres or so above me, and I swim, breaking through and sucking something fantastic ban into my lungs. Of course, I ignore my brain and repeat the jump three more times, feeling slightly more masculine each time until I see a girl of about 6 do it, at which point my ego deflates like a stuck balloon.

We move on. After a brief buffet lunch in front of some traditional Mayan dancers from can clock their fingers, apparently even in sync, but little else, we make our way to Chichen Itzá.

The 5th modern wonder of the world is somewhat underwhelming. Having seen some colossal forts in India and beautiful temples in Japan, my incredibly American attitude towards historical structures is a little disappointed that the Mayan pyramid is not.. well, huge. The ball court is, however, and the fact that the losing team gets executed is intriguing. I’ll get on to the FA about that idea. There are many pillars and carvings. However, what the pyramid lacks in astronomical size, it makes up for in astronomical nature, the number of steps on its 4 sides adding up to 365 days, the sun on the equinox lighting up a particular stone snake at a particular time of day. Some seems more coincidental. There are 9 tiers to the structure, yes, but that doesn’t necessarily mean the Mayans knew there were 9 planets.. especially as Pluto is now a mere asteroid or whatever.

Thunder threatens as we make to leave, and as ever thunder proves to not be one who makes idle threats, opening up on us just as we clamber back on to the coach with something that apparently is called “rain” but which I struggle to resolve with the usually dry climate. Another two hours and innumerable free beers later, and it’s back to the hotel for a welcome dinner (complete with Mariachi band), a quick write up of the previous day, and bed. Now it is the morning of day 4 and I sit, having been awake since half 5, with a coffee and cake, free internet and breakfast looming. Stay tuned.

Day 2

… came and went like a blur. Not the kind of blur you get after drinking too much meths and waking up cold and shivering in the Argos car park with one sick on your hand and nothing else and wondering where your clothes are and wondering did you really sleep with that fat chick from the bar and wondering why am I writing this. No, it was the kind of blur you have when you have fun on holiday. And the alcohol is free.

I say it went by as a blur perhaps as an excuse for not having much to write. We woke up as early as only the jet-lagged population can, went down for a two-hour breakfast, and hit the beach. The water was warm. Not the ‘warm’ your parents lie to you about in Blackpool to get you in the sea; not even the ‘warm’ you’re pleasantly surprised to experience in, say, Greece or France. The water was warmer than a puppy locked in a car with the windows closed on a hot summer’s day. Also, the water was clear and the sand was white. It’s the kind of stereotypically perfect beach you suspect the photo in the brochure of YOUR hotel’s beach was taken at as you pick grit and seaweed from out between your toes. Foot-long fish swim inquisitively around your legs and that’s about it really.

The pool, incredibly, is hotter. Like a jacuzzi but without the bubbles and awkward proximity to bikini-clad family members.

The constant mid-range level of intoxication continues. With 21 bars, one would be quite surprised if it didn’t in this resort. Of course, the only sensible thing to do when so drunk is hire a catamaran. I say hire, but it’s free like the cocktails in this amazing place. An hour with the waves pounding us like a premature hangover and it’s back in to shore, a drink, dinner and an early night. More to come tomorrow (which has already happened as I write this). Hasta la proxima.

Day 1

The alcohol is flowing freely. The resort is all inclusive.. the kind of all-inclusive where the beer taps face outwards and there is a large tray of glasses on the side. The pool water is almost body temperature and it’s a new kind of heaven to get yourself a free beer and relax in the shade.

“Mexico” as a concept, as a stereotype, was realised for me within an hour of landing. 6pm and still 30°, the heat somehow managing to give an air of age or poverty to the clean marble airport. But it was not complete then, not even on boarding our bus, “El Speedy Gonzales”. No, two things made Mexico Mexico for me.

First, Corona. There isn’t anything quite like cracking open a cold Mexican beer in Mexico.. maybe it’s the reduced carbon footprint, if you believe in that sort of thing. Second was almost terrifying.

The road from the airport on which our hotel is situated is long, long and dead straight. It suddenly became apparent that all the traffic on the opposite carriageway had disappeared, and the road was totally empty. Looking out of the front of the coach there was a tall plume of thick, black smoke. Approaching out, at the bottom of the smoke there was the vague outline of a mid-sized car, blackened shell still burning furiously, the bodywork almost entirely gone leaving the framework and done of the cab. Army and police milled around, m16s dangled nonchalantly around their necks as the traffic backed up for a mile behind. Somehow the whole scene did not seem at all out of place.

A word on Akumal. It literally is carved out of the rainforest. Anything that is not civilisation – road or residence – is tree. There are few, if any, natural clearings. Even the entrance to the hotel is just another road, a driveway that winds for another 5 minutes through almost claustrophobic flora before ending at an entrance to a lobby bigger itself than most hotels. Check-in and buffet dinner goes past in a blur, and then it’s time to take the golf cart to or rooms. Yes, with over 2500 apartments, lazy-man’s transport is available all over ths resort. After calling dibs on who sleeps where, I find myself in a comfortable single bed and, having being awake for nearly 23 hours, sleep comes easily. Day 2 awaits.

This week

… has been touched by an Angel. More to come I’m sure

All My Dreams – The Pretenders

My attention got drawn to this song, and I kinda like it

all my dreams still relive you
if this is what you left for me, i forgive you
never do i despair when i kneel to say my prayers
when slumber fills my head, i’ll be visiting your bed

all my dreams recollect you.
and so darling, in a way, our love remains new
funny little things
you touch my fingers and fondle my rings
then tenderly without violence, we make love in perfect silence

come, come into my room again
come, come again
oh, come, come into my gloom again
end this solitude again

i finally took that picture down
i’ve been staring at it for hours and hours
slipping in and out of consciousness
but what i can’t figure out
why did you do that?
disappear on me like that
oh baby, please come back where i can touch you
right here where i can see you

all my dreams of your affection
never have i known such sweet perfection
no drug induced bliss could ever reach the heights of this
eternal and so pure
help me to endure, to endure all my dreams