Couch Surfin' Cancun
After an overnight Mega Bus from Omaha to Chicago followed by a cold nights sleep on the floor of Chicago’s O’Hare Airport, I could not have been more surprised (or grateful) when the Continental Airlines rep offered an upgrade…FIRST CLASS BABY! Shocked and in economy class disbelief, my mouth rattling off a triumphant, “yes”, before the rep could even finish the question. “But Mam, I see you are traveling with another party. Will he mind?” Are you kidding me? After years of domestic and international travel I have never once received an upgrade and no one, not even my beloved boyfriend, would prevent fate. Two seconds of cordial consideration, followed by, “No sir, he won’t mind at all”.
The upgrade only extended from Houston to Cancun which meant I had to capitalize! 4 top shelf margaritas, a glass of sauvignon blanc and a posh lunch later, I was in first class coma. For the first time in all my travels, I did not want to arrive at my destination. “Make another pass captain and while you’re at, margarita stat!” After a reluctant landing, I was on a literal “high”, breezing through customs in a tipsy haze and practically prancing to the baggage carousel. Round and round and round it goes, where’s Reggie’s bag…nobody knows! The airline I was just singing praises of, lost my bag. Alejandro, the baggage claim attendant, assured me the bag would be on the next flight and delivered promptly to my residence in Cancun. An easy fix if you have a residence to send it to! All we had was a telephone number of the never before met dude we were meant to couch surf with. No address. Giving Alejandro the couch surfers digits, I walked away frustrated but the irony of the situation kept my humor alive. Two “firsts” in one flight - First class and first lost bag. Catching a bus into Cancun, our first order of business was finding a pay phone. Enrique, our couch surfing host, answered the phone politely but carried a strange tone. His slurred speech and inability to recall direction to his house, provided our first clue to his favorite past time, but it wasn’t until meeting him, that our thoughts were confirmed. With a huge smile and glazed look in his eye, we met our half-baked host. |
Spent the evening getting to know each other over greasy Quesadillas and jumbo Superior beers but come 10:00 p.m., Enrique was out cold. Still awaiting a call from the airline regarding my bag, Enrique was the only contact point and his comatose state wouldn’t have heard a bulldozer in his room, let alone the jingle of his phone. Nothing more I could do, I retired for the evening. Sweaty, smelly and in desperate need of a change of clothes.
The next morning, I awoke bright and early, anxious to call the airlines. Enrique had already left for work and a street side payphone would accommodate the necessary phone call. Bounding from our floor-based mattress to the front door, I grasped the knob but try as I might, could not open it. Looking around the room, three keys lay on the coffee table. Surely one would unlock the dead bolt. Sliding each key into the lock yielded the same result. The deadbolt would not budge. So there we were. Marooned in a third story apartment with only hot sauce for provisions and 4 deciliters of drinkable water.
8 hours later, when Enrique arrived home from work, he was in disbelief. Convinced one of the keys would work, he tried all three in the lock only to realize his folly. “Sorry man, guess I shouldn’t have got so stoned”. Ya think?
Laughing off the situation through somewhat gritted teeth, Enrique made up for the apartment lockdown with a party. A rooftop fiesta full of other local couch surfers along with a huge possy of Russians. I guess Russians are the new Americans in Cancun and to fit in with that crowd I needed cigarettes, stiletto heels and loads of makeup. Instead, I associated myself with the local crowd. A perfect opportunity to practico mi espanol. With inhibitions down and linguistic confidence up (beer always helps in these situations), I began fumbling through my rusty Espanol. “Una mas cerveza por favor.”
The next morning, I awoke bright and early, anxious to call the airlines. Enrique had already left for work and a street side payphone would accommodate the necessary phone call. Bounding from our floor-based mattress to the front door, I grasped the knob but try as I might, could not open it. Looking around the room, three keys lay on the coffee table. Surely one would unlock the dead bolt. Sliding each key into the lock yielded the same result. The deadbolt would not budge. So there we were. Marooned in a third story apartment with only hot sauce for provisions and 4 deciliters of drinkable water.
8 hours later, when Enrique arrived home from work, he was in disbelief. Convinced one of the keys would work, he tried all three in the lock only to realize his folly. “Sorry man, guess I shouldn’t have got so stoned”. Ya think?
Laughing off the situation through somewhat gritted teeth, Enrique made up for the apartment lockdown with a party. A rooftop fiesta full of other local couch surfers along with a huge possy of Russians. I guess Russians are the new Americans in Cancun and to fit in with that crowd I needed cigarettes, stiletto heels and loads of makeup. Instead, I associated myself with the local crowd. A perfect opportunity to practico mi espanol. With inhibitions down and linguistic confidence up (beer always helps in these situations), I began fumbling through my rusty Espanol. “Una mas cerveza por favor.”
Next stop, Playa del Carmen, where another couch surfing host awaits…
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Day two afforded our first day at the playa (beach). Strolling down the acclaimed beaches of Cancun, I felt completely out of place. The resorts were overwhelming and the all-inclusive, multi-colored bands signaled beachside acceptance or rejection. Plates of fried goodness in one hand, colorful cocktails in the other, these gangs of resort goers basked the day away until their painful shades of red required hotel room retreats. Despite the commercialism, it is hard to deny the beauty of Cancun. White powder sands met by a backdrop of shimmering emerald and azure hues. Que linda!
A proverbial check for most Americans, I can now say I have been to Cancun. No topless Spring Break antics or all-inclusive luxuries, just local people, local cuisine and one hilarious local lockdown. |
* If you want to watch all the drama of the Cancun lockdown unfold, check out my latest you tube video... _