Monday
I looked at my watch; it wasn't even noon yet. But I was thousands of miles from where I started the day. The transition from the February cold of La Crosse, Wisconsin to the tropical jungle paradise of Cancun, Mexico had me coated in a fine layer of sweat. I was in a shuttle van, driving north of the city, away from the airport and to my destination - a resort on the gulf coast. I was treating myself to a much needed three days of rest and relaxation.
The vegetation became thicker and the weather steamier as we drove further from the city. I kept my eyes on the scenery, this being my first trip to Mexico, and with each resort we passed my anticipation grew. How long would it be until I was poolside with a drink in my hand?
There was one other couple in the shuttle with me and the driver. I assumed they were honeymooners, based on their age and displays of affection. I was guessing they were in their mid 20s, their accents made me think they were from the northeast. I felt a pang of shame when I felt my own 30something year old ring finger, unadorned.
Then the shuttle slowed, and I saw a sign with words that I recognized. We turned through an opening gate and the foliage parted, revealing a circular drive leading to a covered entry, at which waited two well dressed attendants.
The honeymooners exited the shuttle first and were quickly ushered through a door to the left, their bags following them. I was guided to a door to the right, the attendant whisking away my suitcase from the back of the shuttle. I wouldn't see it again until I entered my room.
Inside I was greeted with a cool towel and a glass of ice water with lemon and cucumber. Another well dressed man gestured toward a plush chair in front of his desk and started the check-in process on his computer.
"Welcome to Playa Mujeres, is this your first visit?"
"Yes," I responded, taking a sip of water.
"And is it Miss Gomes?" he asked, pronouncing it with two syllables, like first name of the progenitor of the Addams Family. He had a puzzled look that I had encountered before when meeting people from a spanish speaking background, trying to square the seeming ethnicity of my last name with my pale blonde midwestern appearance and demeanor.
"Yes, Meredith Gomes," I answered, rhyming it with "homes" and correcting his pronunciation. I had my passport and a printed copy of my reservation confirmation ready to hand over. He reached out for them without asking, and after what I thought was more time and keystrokes than necessary, he struck one more key with a flourish and announced the process complete.
He passed my documents to me and then presented a wrist band that would serve as my room key and perform any other function needed during my stay. He ensured that it was securely on my wrist, then led me on a quick tour. His place at the door was taken by another employee waiting in the wings, lest another party need checking in during his absence.
The resort was as beautiful as I hoped it would be when I made the reservation almost a year earlier, on the recommendation of a member of my congregation. Just inside the entry was a large hall, high ceiling, a lot of overstuffed leather furniture, and a well stocked bar. The wall opposite the entry, behind the bar, was three stories of windows, overlooking more jungle, and with the Gulf of Mexico in the background. A uniformed man and woman behind the bar nodded and smiled at me as we passed. Several other guests were spread out, sipping on drinks or coffee and enjoying the air conditioning.
He first showed me where several of the restaurants were. The resort was all-inclusive, with different dining options, including restaurants featuring local Mexican food, Asian, sushi, Italian, a classic American steak and potatoes place, and near the pool a restaurant with lighter, Mediterranean style cuisine. There were a few stand-alone bars mixed in also. He showed me the spa and explained how I could make a reservation for any spa services using the tablet ouside the spa door. He also pointed out several other tablets where dinner reservations could be made and other information found. He then made a oint of taking me up to show off the roof top bar. Honestly at that point I really just wanted to get to my room, but he was adamant. In hindsight it was worth it, as the rooftop bar featured an amazing view of the area, and included hot tub seating for patrons along with the normal stools and tables and couches. Then it was back down the elevator and to my room.
He showed me how the wristband unlocked the door just by being waved in front of the sensor, then we entered. There was a small entryway with two closets for storage and a bench. Past that the room opened up to a large bathroom with movable walls, so that it could be kept open or made private. In the bathroom was a large soaking tub facing a walk-in shower that could easily be used to wash a MINI Cooper. A separate room for the commode and long, two-sink countertop and makeup mirror completed the room.
Past the bathroom was the rest of the suite, featuring a king sized bed in the middle of the room, unencumbered except for a small night stand so that it could be circled on foot. Beyond that was a small desk, a large sofa that appeared to be upholstered in leather or vinyl, a small circle table with two chairs, and the patio door that lead out to the private balcony. I looked out the patio door and could see the beach and water beyond, with the pool just below.
Already in the room was my suitcase, and on the table was a bucket of ice, bottle of champagne, and two flutes. I ignored it; I guess their reservation system wasn't properly updated. I attempted to tip my tour guide, but he advised that there was no need. He said that I was free to tip the bartenders, and that since they didn't expect guests to carry around cash, a single gratuity could be paid at checkout that would be divided among all the bartenders and servers, but any other service was otherwise covered with what was already paid. I thanked him and he left me to unpack.
The door closed behind him and I promptly made sure that it was secure, adding the extra deadbolt lock. Then it was off with my clothes. I had changed into shorts in the Minneapolis airport, and now they were on the floor, quickly followed by the tshirt that completed my outfit. Now, in just bra and panties, I could breathe.
I lifted my heavy suitcase onto the luggage rack and unzipped it. I opened the door to one of the closets, in which I found two plush white robes waiting for me, and slid open a few drawers. Into the first drawer went the underwear I packed for the week, ranging in style and coverage depending on what I thought might be needed. The second drawer got the swimwear I packed. This included a modest green one piece swimsuit (and matching mesh floral skirt that I could wear with it for a more complete outfit) and two more modest bikinis, one in blue and the other in a pale pink that matched my skin enough to give the impression of nudity. They showed less skin than my bra and panties (high waist, full seat coverage) and were determined to be appropriate for swimming parties with a pre-teen church group (but not the teens) as they covered my naughty bits and the small tattoo on my hip.
Also into that drawer went a new purchase, the proverbial itsy bity teeny weeny yellow polka dot bikini, which was also a literal itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka dot bikini. I had purchased it online late one night, and was surprised to discover how well it fit and how much I liked how I looked in it. Last into that drawer went an oversized men's white linen shirt, nearly see through, and with the arms ripped off. That was my designated cover up for getting to and from the pool.
Another drawer got a few tshirts and shorts that I brought just in case, as well as the clothes I just discarded, and my return trip clothes - a sweatshirt and jeans to get me through the cold back to my car. To the hangers I added several light summer dresses that I was really looking forward to wearing. Sundress season in Wisconsin is too short, so I wanted to get the most out of them this week. One was light blue with a floral design. Another yellow also with a floral design, covering less of my thighs, and the third was a classier little black dress, should an evening event call for it.
The contents of my makeup and toiletry bag were spread across the large countertop, and a few pairs of sandals and heels and sneakers were set on the floor of the closet. My phone charger was set up on the small nightstand, and I plugged in my phone, then turned on some music. I spun around the room and took it all in. I had arrived and could feel the tension leaving my shoulders.
I moved back to the patio door and looked out to the beach, then the pool. I had all afternoon... and the pool looked so perfect. I took a quick survey of everyone in the room and it was a unanimous decision; time for the pool! (I could get used to travelling alone.)
I moved to the full length mirror next to the closet and shed my bra and panties. I took it all in and messed my hair, posed with hand on hip, turned 90 degrees clockwise and took another view. Not too shabby... Like all the women in my family, I inherited a pear shaped body and smaller breasts, but with it came a slim midsection and thighs that were unaffected by my inconsistent diet. I did yoga and pilates regularly, which definitely had a positive effect on my rear end. But as I'd tell anyone who asked, I thought my best feature was my slender neck and shoulders. I kept my wavy blonde hair in a bob to ensure my neck was always visible. I guess I was on the shorter side, about 5'4", but I'd say that it all worked well together.
I spent another moment in front of the mirror, examining the result of the brazilian wax I'd received the Friday before. Everything was still smooth and bare. I let my fingers brush over my pale skin, then slid them around my back and down my bare cheeks, letting the touch linger for a moment. The air conditioning had dried that layer of sweat, and my skin was soft and smooth to the touch. I thought about taking a break for some alone time, but there'd be plenty of that later. I was wasting daylight. It was pool time!
Oh, yeah, another thing, sunscreen. Still standing in front of the mirror, I located one of the two full bottles of sunscreen I brought with me. My Norwegian DNA screamed for the highest SPF possible, and I didn't want to disappoint, lest I immediately transition from pale to burned. I liberally and methodically applied the sunscreen to every part of my naked body, studying myself in the mirror closely to ensure that it was all rubbed in and there were no unsightly white patches of unabsobed lotion remaining.
