Travel Channel

Life in Cancun

Having a house in Cancun makes traveling just a bit easier. Also allows for some innocent fun at the Cancun International Airport.

It works like this; show up at Customs with no baggage and a return airline ticket for a return date 30 days in the future. Have your paperwork that you filled out on the airplane completely filled in with a local address, not a hotel. Kick back and watch the agents attempt to figure it out. They are polite, courteous and very curious. After a few debates among themselves and more than a few quizzical glances my way, the senior customs official comes up to me and asks me to push the button on the “Customs stoplight” and says in perfect English; “I don’t know exactly what we are going to do if it shows red- so let’s see what happens.” I laugh and push the button, it turns green. With a visible look of relief on his face, the customs agent makes a sweeping bow and says “Welcome to Cancun and benvedios.”

Now the next option is rental car, taxi, or shuttle? No buses run to and from the airport. The Taxi lobby won that fight several years ago. I opt for option 3. I only have a few days this time around so public transportation suits my needs for this trip. Much cheaper than a rental car.

I can’t get a taxi from the airport to my house. And a taxi is 40.00USD for a 17 km ride to the Hotela Zona. I don’t think so.

The Hotel shuttle? $9.00USD. Sure why not. I watch as the van loads up with tourists and their entire closets in fine hand tooled leather cases, the usual count I believe is one piece of luggage per day per person. The driver asks me where my luggage is and I smile and say I don’t have any. He looks stunned, then smiles and asks where I am going. I tell the driver I am going to Plaza Flamingo. He says, “You mean Margaritaville.” He and I laugh and high five. He gestures the “shotgun” seat and I climb aboard.

Five stops later we pull up to Margaritaville. I get out and wave, he honks the horn, gives me a thumbs up and whips back out into traffic. I laugh and duck inside for a drink before I get on the local bus and head home.

Fiftieth Birthday in Cancun and how to make friends in several different languages while waiting for a bus. It’s my birthday and where to spend it? For an aging Parrothead- it is a no brainer- which is good in my case as I have been accused of having that medical condition for many years now. The answer is of course, Margaritaville- the Cancun branch. But first I need some batteries for my camera. Now of course there is only one shopping Mall in Cancun that carries the particular type of camera battery I need. So off to the Pan America Mall I go.

Tiki, my girlfriend’s daughter-in-law has to go to work so she drops me off at the Mall and tells me to look for a bus that says Hotela Zona when I am through shopping and I can get to Margaritaville. Sounds simple doesn’t it?

Obviously there were no batteries to fit my camera at the Mall. After an hour of furtive and futile wandering about, I head for the exits and the bus stop where I plan to make my get-away. I find the bus stop easily enough, there are more gringos lined up there then at La Bomb’s on a Saturday night. All waiting for the legendary bus with the Hotela Zona sign. Sure enough, buses are sighted with great frequency, but none bearing the non- de- plume we are seeking. The street side vendors are making quite a bit of money as it is a typical Cancun evening- warm, sticky, and no coastal breeze to be found. The crowds surge and recede like high tide on a full moon night with each bus sighting. Taxis swarm about buzzing and daring in and out like sharks in a feeding frenzy. The cost to go to the Hotela Zona from the Pan America Mall- 13.00USD. Not what I want to pay for a 3 mile ride.

Leonard, an Antiguan gentleman and I strike up a conversation. After an hour of waiting, and a deepening thirst, we decide to shove off and navigate our way to the next bus-stop about a kilometer away. We chat, talking about who was a better singer, Bob Marley or Peter Tosh, and the nuances of the various Caribbean rums. We disagree on Bob or Peter, but agree that Mont Gay is a good general all-around rum, and any of the Appleton Estates are great for sipping.

The bus stop finally looms in the distance and we tie up to wait. Thirty seconds later a Hotela Zona bus screeches to a stop and off we go. We share a bench-seat for a couple of kilometers and then we shake hands and I bid him farewell as he disembarks before me.

Plaza Flamingo looms in the distance and I make my exit from the bus and head for my “One Particular Harbor” Margaritaville.

So what is the big attraction for Margaritaville for me? It is a haven where I can go and spend a few hours listening to a musical set list that I would have selected if I were in charge of the joint. Jimmy Buffett’s music seems to fit my soul like a favorite old tee-shirt, stains, rips, and all. I can get Gulf-coast and Caribbean style cooking that I so dearly love to cook and eat.

It is still rather early in the evening, about 8 PM and my girlfriend doesn’t get off work until 8:30 or so, and it is a 15 minute bus ride from her restaurant to Margaritaville. So naturally I order a margarita with a side of fried calamari and chat with Carlos, the waiter. The bar is quiet so Carlos gets to practice his English and I get to practice my Spanish- he wins the exchange. I still find it interesting that while Corona Beer has been sponsoring Jimmy Buffett’s tours in the USA for at least 25 years, you can’t get one in the Cancun branch. Sweet ironies and mysteries of life.

A few sunburned gringos wander in and out of the bar, laughing and talking about the color of the ocean and the coolness of the beach sands.

Nine P.M. arrives and so does my love, Zayda. I order her a Margarita. She has come around to getting used to drinking margaritas- seems I converted her the last time we were in Margaritaville. We order some food, and talk for a while. The crowd starts to thicken up and the margaritas are flowing from the Volcano above. Then the Senior Frog’s bar–hopping bus pulls up and 50-60 partying animals crash through the door like the surf on the north side in winter. The place starts rocking and I drag Zayda from her chair so we can dance- she protests saying “I am an old woman and I don’t dance any more.” This from someone 2 years younger than me, and whose first husband was a rock and roll drummer for one of the most successful rock and roll bands in Mexico in the 60’s and 70’s.

About this time a woman in her 70’s goes sailing by dancing the watusi with an 18 year old. She has moves that is putting the young boy’s moves to shame. I point this out to Zayda, and she laughs and starts swaying to the music.

It is now about 10PM Tiki cruises up, having just off work as well. She orders and then we end up on the dance floor all dancing with a group of Parrotheads.

About 11PM I get dragged up in front of everyone along with a very sunburned woman. It turns out it is her birthday as well, and we toast each other with shots of Tequila while the crowd cheers.

A bit later in the festivities she wanders over to the table and hands me her business card and asks me for the name of my hotel and phone number. Zayda is sitting next to me, and it is all she can do to keep her seat. She is laughing so hard she is in danger of falling off her chair. I politely thank the woman for the interest, pick up the business card and give it to Zayda.

Around 1 in the morning, Tiki looks over at me and says” I really like Jimmy Buffet.” I explain to her that it is Jimmy BUFFETT, not Buffet, buffet is a type of dinner and Buffett is a singer with a different menu.

The place starts winding down around 3 AM so we are getting ready to leave. Zayda and Tiki have been talking with Carlos, the waiter, during the evening. When we leave the club, we notice Carlos waiting for the bus so we offer to give him a ride home, which he accepts.
All in all, a great birthday was had by all.