Mexico - SPRING BREAK

Delightful.

I feel slightly compelled to defend our choice of going to Cancun in late March by saying that:
a) It was cheaper than our first choice (Key West)
b) As an expat, The Gentleman cannot be in the United States for more than 30 days within a calendar year. Coming home for two weeks meant that leaving the country for 6 days of those two weeks buys him a little more time on another visit.
c) After our last few vacations, I put my (admittedly spoiled and bourgeois-y) foot down and declared that I wanted to lie on a beach and read chick lit and have drinks brought to me. I do love history and museums, but I also love "Doing Nothing." And by "Doing Nothing," I mean all of the aforementioned activities. 

We picked Cancun based on the sole fact that the flights weren't outrageously expensive, and we could find something all-inclusive. But herein lay a conundrum: Cancun? In March? The Gentleman and I are both well above the requisite Spring Break Age Limit of 23 (argue all you want - that EXISTS), and I didn't want any wet T-shirt contests or drunken bro's to disturb my daily regimen of British chick lit and Bloody Marys beachside. After some thorough research (any hotel that bragged about ENDLESS, BOTTOMLESS, or TOPLESS was immediately rejected), we discovered that the resort where we'd stayed in the Dominican for a wedding last May has a sister resort in Cancun. Our vacation had been incredibly lovely, and nothing like the all-inclusive nightmares you've heard. The food was delicious, the service impeccable, the rooms spotless, the beaches pristine. 

And so, we arrived at 8pm on March 26 at Dreams Cancun and discovered that we had certainly picked the right resort for charm, beauty, and no SPRING BREAKKKKK-eyness going on.

Unfortunately, we went a bit too far in the other direction....

The Gentleman and I were slated to stay in a fully-booked resort for six days, and apparently we had forgotten to bring children under ten. Because EVERYONE ELSE HAD THEM. IN SPADES.

Far away from fountains of tequila shots or sexy contests involving whipped cream and bananas, we found ourselves at Cancun's Familiest Friendliest Resort. Not once could I get into the hot tub - because it was completely full of small children. A small children stew, if you will. The first night we went to the resort's on-site night club, we were treated to a lip-synced sing-along rendition of Grease, complete with a blonde-wigged Sandy whose dark Mexican curls kept springing out from under. As I lay on the beach reading child-inappropriate literature and drinking fully-liquored Bloody Marys, I was kicked with sand as children ran by, and at one point nearly clocked in the head with a stray horseshoe from a nearby game.

BUT - and I will fully admit this - it's pretty hard to complain about much of anything when you're at a beautiful beach resort with unlimited food and drinks and the person you love. We had a truly fantastic time. And if we find ourselves someday having seventeen children under the age of ten, we know just where we'll go for vacation.

And, to be fair, any resort that claims to be "adults only" is, well....slightly dodgy. Maybe next time we just won't go on vacation the week of Easter. That's all I can think of, because everyone in Cancun kept talking about how it was the "slow time of spring," and that the "spring break rush" was over. Not at Dreams Cancun. That place was hopping with virgin pina coladas and limbo competitions on the beach. Which is completely unfair, because not only are those kids all hopped up on sugar (and no liquor), but they are VERY SHORT and can OBVIOUSLY LIMBO MUCH BETTER BECAUSE OF THE SHORTNESS.

Not that I'm mad about that or anything.

Anyhoodle. It was a lovely vacation. I read three books and drank a lot of cervesas.

Oh, and our room? It overlooked a dolphin pen.

A DOLPHIN PEN.

Up early on the first morning to enjoy my coffee...

....with the dolphins hanging out below. DOLPHINS.

The dolphins do shows throughout the day. More on thiss in a later post, wherein I kiss one of said dolphins. (See side panel of blog for evidence.)

Day One was overcast and slightly chilly.

The Gentleman made an attempt to stick a foot in the water, but alas - the Caribbean on this particular day was a LOT colder than it looks....

We stuck it out, lying determined by the beach, until it started to rain on us. Cold and clouds we could handle...rain we could not.

So we went for a walk. This was a giant lamp in the hotel lobby. I took about 17,467 pictures of it. In fact, The Gentleman became annoyed because everytime we walked past it, I wanted to get my camera out and take another picture. "IT'S DIFFERENT LIGHT RIGHT NOW." 

A walk just out of our resort led us to where all the kids hang out (although not today, apparently....)

Nothing. Makes. Sense.

The weather was not lovely on the first day.

But the SECOND day.....  !!

Dolphins having their breakfast.

View of neighboring resort from our balcony.

I  MEAN, WE ARE OVERLOOKING A DOLPHIN POOL. HOW COOL IS THAT?!

Much like the Dominican, the resort is absolutely beautiful and brings the outdoors in. Light and airy with plants and birds everywhere.

The dolphin pool sucks salt water in from the Caribbean, and it drains slightly when the tide goes out.

One of the restaurants had an albino catfish. He was not on the menu.

The same gray sea - a day later.

I don't know what compels me to take pictures like this. I just need to.

Nighttime.

The third day we were there, I decided to try out the resort's yoga class. They said to be at the gazebo at 9am. This is the gazebo. Where they do yoga. Outside.

DOES IT GET ANY BETTER?! (Obligatory foot pic)

This is the view from the gazebo. Where they do yoga. Outside.

Bird!

 Stay tuned for: Adventures in Coco Bongo, the Food (of course), and my cuddle episode with a dolphin.

Oil Slick

Photo courtesy Associated Press.

People seem not to see that their opinion of the world
is also a confession of character.
-Emerson

Several of my friends have asked me recently what my reaction is to the Gulf Oil Spill, and my inclination is always to answer: "Visceral."

My anger towards the responsible parties, my bleeding heart that cracks open at the sight of every bird that cannot fly or fisherman who cannot make his wage, and my now-personal (however small) investment in the Gulf coast after contributing my own sweat and tears (and a tiny bit of blood after banging my thumbs numerous times putting up siding) are all palpable sensations for me.

And yes: I have looked into volunteering. But all of the literature I've so far come across has stressed two major things:
1. The bulk of the work that currently needs to be done (outside of plugging the f*&%ing leak in the first place) has to be handled by Haz-Mat or other professional clean-up teams.
2. The burden of the presence of volunteers in the coastal area, at the present time, would outweigh the benefits. This means a drain on already-taxed local resources, a surge of tourists that cannot be accommodated, and a presence of bodies with little to do but wait out the situation.

So, no, I will not be flying back to Louisiana just yet.

But the more I read, the more I discover about BP, the more I am convinced of the notion that radical change must be enacted from within. Attempting to think too far outside the box denies the current system, and all of its far-reaching complications. People are quick to dismantle big business, to crucify the responsible parties (as well they should) and to point to our gluttony of oil. But, the thing is, it goes beyond that. We, as all progressive countries, have become dependent on a limited resource whose readily accessible reserves have dried up thus pushing us to pursue trickier measures to gain access. And by "trickier," I am referring both to the physical practice of said pursuance as well as the political/ethical/social landscape of such measures.

It is true that we need to seek alternative fuel sources. But, more than that, an even more radical viewpoint needs to be established: besides fuel, we need a replacement for petroleum products. Everything you own, from the computer you're reading this blog on right now to the Lean Cuisine you might eat for lunch, is derived, at least in part, from a petroleum product. Our dependence on these reserves has gone beyond mere need to frantic existential reliance.

I'm just as guilty of it as anyone else. I don't live on an ashram, eating food that I cultivated myself out of earth I myself tilled with all-natural tools. I live in a city, I recycle when bins are readily available, and I eat a lot of Lean Cuisines. I'm just as much a part of The System as anyone else.

The guilt, however, spurns me not towards making clothes out of the hairballs I comb off of my cats, but towards a general thoughtfulness of where we are at this space in time. I am conscious of our gluttony as a nation, of our consistent and horrendous urges to spend disgusting amounts of money on luxury products. But I am also conscious of our dependence on these finite sources for everyday objects as well. Pens. Napkins. Cup holders.

Hell, even recycled materials have to be processed in some plant SOMEWHERE. And I guarantee you, that plant runs on electricity. Which runs on....finite fuel sources.

It never ends, this chicken-or-the-egg philosophy of environmentalism.

So, to answer everyone's questions, I don't have a particular standpoint on the Gulf oil spill. I have seventeen of them. And they rotate. The problem, much like the perfect storm that was Hurricane Katrina, is so manifold that any distinct conclusion that anyone is trying to draw will undoubtedly be uninformed, unfeasible, or both.

In the meantime, I am just saddened and enraged and perplexed by the continuance of the situation. And that's about all I can say at this point in time.