Tengo una secreta: there are no secrets. It could be a line from one of Jorge Luis Borges´labyrinthine short stories. An enigma bound by itself — much like Cancun. There exists, of course, the wildly accurate lore of sexo, drogas, y fiestas of Cancun, yet despite the gaudy, skyscraping apartment buildings — and in addition to the flesh traffic — is a remnant of that ancient biosphere which still contains yellow tanager-like birds, lizards galore, subtropical mangrove swamps, shoaling and jumping fish, human males bathing stone-age nude in the Carib., crabs, pelicans, and what appeared to be skinks. The commericialism and ecosystem coexist.
The bike and I arrived, and I put it back together. All went well at that stage, but otherwise, it had been a day of unusual occurences: in the airport, a tall lean man with a beard and thick black cotton socks was cursing volubly to himself. Filthy, noisy curses as he scrolled through his iPad. He then sat directly behind me on the flight from Tallahassee to Atlanta. The curser was polite during the flight, on which he ordered two bloody marys that seemed to soothe him, and to make this nosy correspondent wonder about the condition of the curser´s liver.
On the flight from Atlanta to Cancun, the flight attendant was playing with dry ice, because “There´s no movies for us to watch on this flight.” Indeed we all need entertainment.
And the hotel in Cancun had separate signs in Spanish and English that advised guests to respect opossums, describing them as “Mexico´s only marsupial” and continuing on to say that a marsupial was “an animal that carried its young in a pouch like a kangaroo.” It´s a wild world.
No clubbing, a dinner of lime-soaked cerviche and a beer, bed at 9:30 after continued reading of Ty´s book, Aku-Aku: The Mysteries of Easter Island, which is enthralling, and an early start at 6:00.
Many thanks to my mom and dad for their help in making this adventure a reality! Thanks!