We made our way through Chicago, stopping to grab a bite and a bicker...we can't do anything without bickering about something. Next stop Mexico!
Ahhh but there is in flight paperwork to complete for immigration and customs...damn, I forgot about this. So, I have no ink pen. I borrow one from the very nice lady sitting beside me...problem solved, right? Of course not. When we arrive, the nice, helpful, speak no English, ladies inside the terminal stop us all and tell us there is a new form...this is communicated by having the form pushed at you. Do they have pens? Of course not. This leaves me to begging to borrow a pen from other passengers that are in a hurry to get going too. I finally found a gentleman, that hovered the entire time but was willing to share his ink with me.
Sweet freedom! Playa, here I come...right after I stand in the immigration line. A new stamp in the passport, an hour or so later. Then the customs line...just a few hundred of your closest strangers. I did take the opportunity to warn people about the 2 legged vultures just waiting on the other side. Time shares are a big thing in Mexico and these people make used car salesmen look like anointed saints. They will tell you anything. As I sailed right past swatting verbal lures away like so many flies. Steve was almost snagged by the lady that proclaimed she had to verify our documents. Anyway, back to customs. You pass through screening like most airports, but at the end of stating you have nothing to declare and getting metal detected and such, you are told to push a button. This ordinary white button set in a white console. It looks so very innocent...until you push it and the red rectangle appears. Your life as you know it has changed forever. Nah, not really. But you are kindly directed towards inspectors wearing rubber gloves and are directed to open your luggage. This is Mexico's idea of random screening. When you push that white button, you get a green light or the dreaded, you're going to be later than you thought, red light. Fortunately, this is only a search of your possessions...and those of anyone traveling with you. So I suggest you know your travel companions. The inspectors only had issue with one item in my luggage...he wanted my Pepperidge Farms chocolate chip cookies. I wasn't about to argue, but he tucked them inside and sent us on our way...through the sea of vultures.
We made it outside where the sun is turned to high and located our transportation. After last year, I'd learned my lesson and paid extra for private transport. No waiting for everybody to get their act together. Finally we are on the road to heaven...is it supposed to be this hot?
It's a 45 minute ride to Playa from Cancun. Thankfully the air conditioning in our van works...that is not always guaranteed. The Royal is a shining oasis on a stretch of white sand and blue sea to tired eyes. Guess what? Room isn't ready...they had a late check out. Okay, the Royal is really good at trying to make things right. We are given our bracelets and sent to the Lobby Bar. Where a wonderful bartender made us absolutely incredible cold drinks. Including the best margarita Steve says he has ever had. I wish we had gotten his name. I think I would have stalked him all week.
About an hour, and three drinks later, we are shown to our room. We are assured it is a quiet room, the last one on a hall on the third floor...in a building without an elevator. But it looks promising. One of the most annoying things last year was the foot traffic, rolling carts, outside our door. There is no reason for anyone to be outside our room. A quick look around, very similar to last year, as expected...except no chaise lounge. Steve is disappointed, it was his favorite place to read. But there is one pleasant surprise...we have an ocean view.
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