We hated Cancun.
Oh, balmy air, sand so fine it felt like refined flour. Ocean water with all the blues your kaleidoscope can contain, and birds chirping so loudly and melodiously that I thought Micah’s “Big Business” app was perpetually on.
It wasn’t the balmy air, fine sand and melodious chirping of course; it was taxi drivers who tried to charge $22 for a ride down the block. It was the overwhelming ostentatiousness of it. It was the feeling that we were in Las Vegas, sans casinos, by the water.
It didn’t feel like Mexico At. All.
The McResorts, roads smoother than a baby’s butt, gleaming malls with product straight out of Paris.
We hated it.
So we stayed at Puerto Morelos, which is right in the vicinity but not in the heart of it. We stayed in this tiny campground that charged us a whopping 560 pesos/night and could easily get away with that, being flanked on either side by places that were charging around US400/night.
It was harder on Mikey than anyone. Mikey was the one dealing with the cab drivers, he was the one doing with all the cooking, cleaning, shopping and diaper duties.
He is the one who figured out we’d save 300 pesos a night for renting my Mom’s apartment by dealing with the apartment owner directly, rather, than going with the “referral” from our campground.
On my Mom’s and the kid’s part, I think they all had a fine time.
Beach, sun, ocean, sand. Bliss. Our camping neighbors were incredibly nice. Canadians again – I swear, are there any mean Canadians? Anywhere? Nicest people, ever.
Then there was this iguana in our campground that was the first live, wild iguana I have ever seen.
Such a cool creature! I adored that little guy. He hung out on the roof of a shed that was outside the camper, so since I was on my back with my leg elevated, he was totally in my eye reach. I felt like he was my buddy, hanging out there with me and throwing a pity party while everyone else was off doing something interesting.
And then, Mom and the lady whose apartment she was renting became friends and that was all heart warming.
Another thing that pulled me out of my crankiness was my kick-ass podiatrist. Truly awesome – and his first class (private) care only cost US$50 –
and when wandering around another part of Cancun looking for a medical supply store, we came upon what felt like was a real Mexican town. I guess it’s the original Cancun? It felt okay. Not double dipped in vats of ostentatiousness. Just regular, complete with Feliz Pollo.
AND THEN instead of going for the Comfort Inn (one tiny room, two beds, unsecure parking, 1,500 pesos), we went for “La Cerezas” (- “The Cherries”), a hotel that charged by the hour but gave us a special deal: a full suite, 2 rooms, 2 showers, secure parking, 700 pesos. Yeah, SEVEN HUNDRED PESOS. They even blocked the porn channels!
Now, La Cerezas kind of re-affirmed my belief that this world can be FUN, Mexico is a mighty fine country, and the Cancun area doesn’t totally, completely and utterly suck.
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