I have just returned from the 'Mayan Riviera' as the eastern coast of the Yucatan Peninsula is conceitedly known in resort-speak. It is an area of Mexico completely devoted to the cultivation of hangovers and suntans. The only buildings here are shops, restaurants, bars and hotels. Tourists can have themselves pierced and tattooed in between shots of tequila. In the souvenir superstores they can purchase ersatz Mexican culture and almost anything with Frida Kahlo's face plastered across the front. Natural flora is hidden behind a forest of flip flop trees, sombrero bushes and inflatable cacti.
To attain a moment of tranquility it is essential to rise with the Zapatistan lark, since walking abroad any later than daybreak means sharing the beach with obese hedonists sucking contentedly on overpriced bottles of Corona. There are sunburned Europeans stumbling along the sands with their burden of scuba diving equipment. Persistent locals hawk full body massage and other sybaritic services. Meanwhile, pop music from the numerous beach clubs fills the air with a jumble of different songs; their enormous sub-woofers struggling for aural prominence with the jet skis and outboard motors of sports fishing boats.
At six in the morning, however, the shoreline is mostly serene and deserted. You might encounter the odd exhibitionist performing tai chi, but they don't bother me. Neither do the squinting pelicans, bewildered rock pool crabs, creaking palm trees or lapping waves. A welcome adjournment from kitschy commercialisation, however brief it may last, and certainly worth the trip south of the border in an economy seat with a layover in Newark.
To attain a moment of tranquility it is essential to rise with the Zapatistan lark, since walking abroad any later than daybreak means sharing the beach with obese hedonists sucking contentedly on overpriced bottles of Corona. There are sunburned Europeans stumbling along the sands with their burden of scuba diving equipment. Persistent locals hawk full body massage and other sybaritic services. Meanwhile, pop music from the numerous beach clubs fills the air with a jumble of different songs; their enormous sub-woofers struggling for aural prominence with the jet skis and outboard motors of sports fishing boats.
At six in the morning, however, the shoreline is mostly serene and deserted. You might encounter the odd exhibitionist performing tai chi, but they don't bother me. Neither do the squinting pelicans, bewildered rock pool crabs, creaking palm trees or lapping waves. A welcome adjournment from kitschy commercialisation, however brief it may last, and certainly worth the trip south of the border in an economy seat with a layover in Newark.
'...completely devoted to the cultivation of hangovers and suntans.' hahaha! That sounds like certain beaches in Spain, Greece or Portugal here in Europe.
Posted by: Laurent | January 27, 2013 at 16:23
You'll find them the world over. I often think I envy them.
Posted by: american fez | February 05, 2013 at 16:26
I have just returned from Hawaii and only wish I was on a plane going back. I can not complain of a harsh winter tho for it is 48 degree's.
Posted by: Giric | February 08, 2013 at 21:37