Tag: travel

Day 1:

It’s fucking cold in Calgary. Solid minus 10, brother and I have shoveled the driveway 4 or 5 times, and all of a sudden I’m getting onto a Westjet plane coming from Calgary to Cancun. So of course I can’t wipe a shit-eating grin off of my face. We’ve been locked inside with a curfew back in Montreal for at least the last six months, and I’m chomping at the bit to taste some freedom, COVID be damned.

I have an entire row to myself due to a combination of COVID protocol and an absence of travelers, so it’s a pretty uneventful flight that I sleep through most of.

Touch down. First impression of the airport is that security is lax, and they are much more worried about drugs being smuggled out than in. Apparently, everyone loves Canadians, our passport is a fast pass to paradise. Then, as I’m waiting what seems like forever for my hefty grey Ricardo luggage bag, I see her; a Mexican Mamasita security guard, who has her light brown German Shepard that’s barely under her control, off leash and bouncing around between the other new arrivals.

I’m assuming it’s sniffing for bombs or drugs, but maybe she’s just taking her for a walk. Dog comes right up to me, and it’s hard not to be a little bit nervous. I’m obviously clean, but there’s always a chance a dingus back in Montreal dropped a baggie back into my luggage as a joke. I give the Shep a pet and a “there there, baby girl”. My gentle touch and lack of illegal scents on my person are enough to mollify her, and soon enough the Shep and my first Latin love are off to searching the next person. Suitcase with the broken handle finally arrives on the turnstile, and I start walking my way through the busted concourse.

The concourse is surprisingly low lit. I thought Cancun was supposed to be a major tourist destination, but it’s relatively quiet so far. The calm is shattered as I near the exit; I’m bombarded by proprietors from car rental and taxi companies shouting fares at me in Spanish and broken English. As a rookie traveler, I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing, other than that I’m supposed to get to The Mayan Monkey hostel. Like a total chump, I let myself get led to a booth where I’m convinced that my only chance of salvation is to take a cab with this one specific company… for the low price of 500 pesos. In all fairness I was pretty lost anyways, and it’s a 30 minute drive, so after hacking a quick dart I agree on the fare and hop into the cab.

My first thoughts driving in from the airport into the hotel zone. Bright lights, glitzy glamour, and absolutely no one on any of the beautiful hotel balconies. It’s just an infinite strip of road, palm trees, and emptiness, probably like Hollywood without the actresses.

We make good time and I’m already prepaid, so I hop out post ride with my suitcase and spark another dart underneath The Mayan Monkey’s green neon lights. Check in is quick. I pop up to my room and I’m pretty impressed, never been to a hostel but I imagined it to be much worse. It looks like a standard hotel room, bed is made, there’s a bathroom with a shower, and hey, if I peel open the white curtains there’s a view of the street, aka Skid Row, in front of me.

I check in briefly on my phone with my friends Deanna, Jeff, and Ashley, that I’m supposed to meet tomorrow around 3pm… and then I say fuck it and make my way down the stairs to the bar to take it all in.

The bar is an open concept, ground floor situated around the actual bar, a cafeteria table in the back, ping pong and a super broken foosball table up front, all laid in front of an impressive looking water slide that no one has used in ten years because it leads into a poorly fenced off section of the lagoon that’s apparently filled with crocodiles.

It should be worth reiterating, I only heard about the freshwater crocs from my Mexican friend Nelda. There are no warning signs posted. The slide goes from the second floor, a fifteen foot, bright fluorescent yellow, sans water flow, trailing down all the way into a the water where absolutely no one dares to swim, even in the so called “fenced off section”.

I’m take a seat beside the outdoor “pool”. It’s a little chilly for Mexico, maybe around 25 Celsius, but that’s tarps-off weather for most of us Canadians, and after ordering from the bar, I’m relaxing and having my first sip of a Corona all by myself, despite the hustle and bustle of other hostel patrons around the bar area.

I’m fucking shy. Contrary to popular belief, I’m can have a bit of an introverted side in me, which often comes back into play whenever I’m back home in Calgary. After a few minutes without any social interaction, my instincts are just screaming at me to finish up the drink, bounce out of there and wait til tomorrow when the homies roll in.. and then it happens.

I’m sitting at a table by myself, and some beautiful bastard named Ed comes up to me and asks me if he can borrow a light. He’s some semi balding dude from England probably in his early thirties, and not particularly interesting, but we swap war stories and that gets me into the social vibe a bit; it turns out everyone at a hostel is just dying to meet new people, and it’s like first year university residence all over again. We chat a bit and he doesn’t last much longer than his dart; buddy is on his way back home to England after a two week adventure in Cancun and Tulum. But he’s done me a big favor; now I’m socially acclimatized.

After parting ways with Ed, and watching several people play that cornfield game involving chucking a bean bag at an inanimate ramp (cornhole, duh), and failing, I eventually introduce myself to a solid dude, Luca, a lanky 6’3” European bearded bastard, and a couple of girls he’s obviously met at the hostel. I’ll call the one “The Asian” cause I still to this day don’t know her name, FOB from Vietnam and just enjoying life, and then Angie, who has some south American blood in her but is living somewhere in Quebec. She gets a little excited that I’m in from Montreal, but the absolute zero work I’ve put into French over the last decade as part of a silent ‘Berta protest tempers that excitement a bit.

Somehow I stumble my way into their crew, the crew merges into a bigger crew, and after some more liquid courage we head out for the night. Going out involves taking a left out the door of The Monkey, walking down the barren hotel strip about five minutes past all the “taxi drivers”, and then holy fuck, we’re in the middle of the club zone, and it’s pandemonium.

Greasy fuckers are yelling at us from every direction for our patronage; we are rolling deep and have tourist written all over us. All clubs are created equal when you don’t know any of them; we plow into a random one where I end up saying fuck it and throw down for bottle service. Bottle service at this joint is a 26 of Don Julio with no chase, pretty shoddy, but the kids are happy and so am I.

The Asian starts grinding on me to some Latin bop, and a combination of tiredness and drunkness takes over. At some point I’m back home, and so is she, most likely just to escape the 8 bed dorms, and its lights out on night one in Cancun.

Day 2:

There’s a burrito place across the street called “Surf Shop”. I can’t express how happy I am to run into Mexican cuisine, but that runs out in about a day. Four tables and standing room, Mexican style, right next to the cab drivers trying to sell you cocaine. Easy boys, it’s ten in the morning, we’ll get there later. Anyways, I mow a very average burrito down, pray that I won’t get the shits, and still have about five hours to kill before Deanna, Jeff, and Ashley are primed up to get in, and a few hours before Felix, a buddy from Chessbrah, is down to meet up for some blitz. So I roll back to the hostel, confer with Luca, The Asian, and Angie, and we decide to beach it up.

Beach is super nice, about what you’d expect from a Mexican vacation. There’s a minor traversal over some hotel property and then it’s white sand and baby blue waves, crystal clear water… it’s phenomenal. Oh, and there’s this cute girl from our club squad involved too, Mar, but we’ll get to her later. So anyways, Asian, Luca, Angie, and I are just floating in the baby blue, Asian is in yellow bikini top and making moves on me, but I’m just not feeling it without the Julio goggles. Glance over at Luca and Angie who are doing the beach ocean things right, he’s floating around with her legs wrapped around his shoulders. Seems like a good time.

I’ll be honest, didn’t see much of the new couple after that for the next couple of days, good on Luca for finding someone. After a little lie down on the beach, and a short wait for the Viet lass to get back from her long solo walk on the beach, we all roll back to the hostel where my Chessbrah buddy Felix (Ubitzya) is waiting for me with a board set up.

I get a handful of speed chess games in with Felix (Ubitzya). Apparently he’s a 1900 over the board and not someone you can totally sleep on… but I slept on him anyways. I had my eye on the barmaid and not the chessboard, and definitely lost a few more games than I was supposed to, which made him super happy. I guess I do my best to please.

The full crew for the trip finally arrives; Deanna, Ashley and Jeff roll in at about 5pm, drop their bags, and we all start getting trashed after some high fives and “fuck yeah’s!”. We grab dinner at Surf Shop and continue getting lit, fire off a pleasant goodbye to Ubi, and then as we rally a crew of hostel degenerates to go out with disaster strikes; Deanna’s missing from the group.

I go back to her room to scoop her, but she ain’t there, and when I get back everyone is gone, lost deep into the club zone. I briefly think about running them all down, but then realized I’m sauced as fuck and it’s my second day in Mexico. Completely bagged after a day in the sun, I pull a soft one and retire to my room.

Ash and D end up in some sort of scuffle that Jeff avoided cause he hit the rippers, and that’s the end of night two for Brando.

Day 3:

Luca and Angie are a couple now. Deanna Ashley Jeff and I booked a boat tour the previous night, so we pack day bags and head out down to the rally point, where we quickly realize we don’t have tickets. Sorry, this is after Ashley does her best… Ashley impression, twerking like a coked out stripper next to the “pool” at Mayan Monkey. Honestly impressive stuff, she can really make that ass move.

Anyways, we negotiate our way onto the boat, and after getting upsold, we’re on an adult boat with free drink service to Isla Mujeres, with a snorkel stop halfway. Jeff and I dive into the baby blue, it’s my first time in the ocean since my mom forced me to watch Jaws when I was six years old, and we’re in the middle of buttfuck nowhere. But I’m reasonably lubed up alcohol wise, and its pretty sick as long as I make sure I’m surrounded by juicier targets.

Meanwhile the girls are blasting gangster beats on a portable speaker, and everyone thinks we’re American, but one of the reasons we love Deezy and Ash is that they bring the energy unapologetically.

I see some cool fish and nothing else, which is fine by me. We escape the snorkel unscathed, and get onto the first of a couple islands where we rip around on golf karts. Karts cause they are about 150CC with no working breaks and we go past tit goddess island, which is what I call the island with the statue of the tit goddess (groped. didn’t bring me luck), and snap a couple pictures. Honestly best tour of the trip, we got a boat ride, all you can eat meal, all you can drink on the boat, and a little spin in golf karts, tough to beat.

After the second island where we buy additional darts and Deanna gets a salamander man to lure his lizard onto my arm (no euphemisms, a fucking iguana) we make it back, where the girls promptly KO, having gone way too hard that day.

I end up slamming drinks at the hostel bar and make friends with a German dude (big, punk rocker style that I name rammstein) and an Ohio farm boy who looks suspiciously like my friend Devon (Jaq, fake Dev). It ends up being them, Jeff, myself, and some hippie ass Brits for club night number two, where we can’t get in fucking anywhere cause its late, without a bottle.

I end up caving and picking up another bottle, we dance and swing unsuccessfully at the terrible ratio, and that’s a wrap on night number 3.