An incessant noise woke me at the bright and early hour of 6. I rolled over sluggishly, turned off my blaring alarm, and began to peel back the covers on the bed. Before long, our bags were packed and ready to be loaded onto the coach; it was time to leave Mérida. Today we were heading to Cancún, but not without making a few stops along the way. On our route to Cancún was Chichen Itza, arguably one of the most well-known archaeological sites in Mexico, and home to El Castillo, one of the New Seven Wonders of the World. Our knowledgeable and entertaining guide educated us on the history of the ruins as we Instagrammed pictures with the intention of filling our friends back at home with envy. Shade was a precious commodity that day, and we embraced it at every opportunity to avoid falling into a state of heat-induced delirium. After our guided tour, we were given forty-five minutes of time to explore independently. Some of us wandered around the markets on site, our eyes glancing over the colourful blankets, ceramic sugar skulls and handmade jewellery as we passed by. Being called “princess” and “sweetie” by the salesmen was commonplace, as was their compelling sales pitch: “one dollar, almost free.” Talk about a bargain! Our time at Chichen Itza soon came to an end, much to the relief of us who were dripping in sweat. After spending our morning sweltering in the sun, we were desperate to cool off. Luckily for us, a swim at Ik Kil was next on the agenda. We arrived at the popular cenote and peered curiously over the edge of the sinkhole we would soon be swimming in. I carefully made my way down the slippery stairway that had been carved to allow access to the water, using the flimsy chain rail to guide me. The platform at the bottom was full of people, all eager to submerge themselves in the inviting water. Some of my tour mates were daring enough to plunge into the water from the diving platform, causing some of the most catastrophic splashes. I opted to use the ladder for entry instead; I was certain I would lose my strapless bikini top if I didn’t (either that or break myself). The water was crisp and much chillier than I anticipated. It very nearly took my breath away. I watched the playful catfish swimming around my feet as the light from the sun glistened against the surface of the water. Countless vines dangled from above, motionlessly suspended over our heads. It was like a scene out of a fairy-tale. We soon dried off and gathered for lunch before hopping back on our trusty coach to continue on to Cancún. It was still a good two hour drive to reach our destination, so it seemed like the perfect opportunity to catch up on missed sleep. It felt as though we had only closed our eyes for a moment when we suddenly heard the sound of our tour manager’s voice over the loud speaker; we had arrived. Our coach drove us along Boulevard Kukulcan, the main thoroughfare in Cancún. The seemingly never-ending street was lined with glitzy hotels, luxurious shopping centres, and, of course, picturesque views of the Caribbean Sea. Our hotel, like many others, was located right by the ocean. My assigned room was on the ground level near the pool and only a short walk away from the beach. It was paradise. I took some time to feel the sand between my toes before getting ready for dinner. We crammed into the bus, paid our ten and fifty pesos to the driver and zoomed down Boulevard Kukulcan to reach our dinner venue – Carlos’n Charlie’s. Drinks were the main priority of the evening; soon our table was flooded with some of the most outlandish cocktails I had seen. This restaurant was ridiculous, in the best of ways. If our waiters weren’t making us obscene balloon hats, they were pouring tequila down our throats, or having a boogie to “Cotton-Eyed Joe” on the bar top. During our dinner service, myself and the other girls in the group were lured away from our tables by our whimsical servers to dance. They took our hands, lead us outside the restaurant and span us around in circles until we couldn’t see straight. My dance partner, a lovely little man named Angel, complimented me on my moves, though I’m sure I missed more than a beat or two. We returned to our seats in fits of laughter, and continued to sip on our larger than life cocktails. After finishing our meals, we headed over to the infamous “show and disco” Coco Bongo. I, of course, had never heard of it, but I could tell we were in for a treat judging by the colossal Spider-Man statue guarding the entry of the nightclub. We received welcome drinks as we were ushered into a small bar area. It seemed pretty quiet for a place that claimed to put Vegas nightlife to shame. Little did we know what was yet to be discovered around the corner… The music grew louder as we followed a passageway to a multi-storey dancefloor. It was absolutely packed with people, probably more than you would see out on a Saturday night in Auckland (and it was only Monday here). We had each paid for open-bar service; as soon as one drink was finished, a replacement would quickly find its way into our hands. The party was only beginning, as we were about to learn what the “show” in “show and disco” really meant. Our attention was captured entirely with each performance. One minute we’d have Batman flying over the crowd to battle his nemesis Bane, and the next, we’d be watching a burlesque performance from the musical Chicago. We were spellbound. Confetti and balloons fell from the ceiling, contributing to an atmosphere that could only be described as magic. As we continued to party into the night, I was asked by one of the nightclub’s staff members if I would follow him to come and dance. “Yes” I replied with the kind of enthusiasm that only rum and coke could muster. He grabbed my hand and took me up the staircase to the main stage. It was shielded by two large projector screens, though there was an opening between them. “Wait here” he said as he walked away and the classic hit “Mambo No. 5” began to play. I danced to my heart’s content until he came back. “Go ahead” he said, directing me to the light that illuminated the exposed part of the stage. The Spice Girl’s “Wannabe” was up next and I knew it was my time to shine. I stepped onto the small platform that jutted out between the projector screens to see the entire crowd before my eyes. Naturally, I wowed them all with my awe-inspiring talents. But in all seriousness, I was having the time of my life (and we can thank Dutch courage for that one). Unsurprisingly, the remainder of the night was a bit of a blur for me. I was informed, however, that by some miracle, at least seven or eight of us managed to squeeze into a 5 seater taxi on the way home. Tomorrow I would be going to do some shopping as my clothes supply was running low, and I was getting sick of having to hand-wash what I had every other day. Unfortunately, it meant that I would miss out on a day of the tour – a trip to Playa Del Carmen. But as far as silver linings go, the chance to have a sleep in was a pretty good one.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
B is:A 26-year-old tea drinking writer of words trying to find her place in the world.
Archives
April 2020
|