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.
