So here's how this airport situation goes down. After 3 trips here, I've got this down. I take the bus from Playa. This time I happened to get a shitty bus. By that, I mean the TVs were blinking in and out and the air conditioning didn't originate from the Arctic. And the bus driver dropped us off at Departures instead of Arrivals. That makes more sense really, but I inconveniently needed to be at arrivals. No worries, I batted my eyelashes and looked all doe-eyed at el securidad hombre and pretended I didn't understand that he was telling me I couldn't go over to arrivals and he let me through the gates. I caught the bus at 1:30 (read 1:45 because the aeropuerto bus is invariably 15 minutes late). I got to the strategically placed Margaritaville outside the Arrivals door at 2:50.
Modela Negro por favor. Yes, Ill pay twice the price here. Esta Bien. Hashtag worthit. The hubs flight isn't due for about an hour. It's late. It was supposed to arrive at 3:30 but it isn't. And he will have customs. And anything else he does inside that door that I could probably get through with eye lash batting, doe eyes, and feigned ignorance. But Margaritaville is out here. Uno mas Modela Negro por favor.
I'm surrounded by Americans and Canadians and Europeans all looking shocked at the prices the taxi drivers and shuttle operators and tour companies are quoting them to make the 7 or so mile trek to Cancun Hotel zone. Ugh. Why are they going there anyway? And they should be shocked. $67 US dollars to go 7 miles? "Ok, ok, I give you deal. Just for you. $55 US because I like you." I keep considering just telling them to take the bus for five bucks but I'm too busy snickering to myself and drinking my overpriced beer. So far, only one guy has offered me a taxi. I looked at him like he was nuts. He moved on.
Modela Negro Tres. I may be drunk by the time my husband arrives! Damned flight delays. There's no chairs out here. I guess no one but me gets cozy and drinks a six pack. I'm sitting on the ground smiling and enjoying cervesas with shocked and confused tourists. I kind of feel like a local. Cool!
Maybe I should get some gum for that hello kiss. Nah. He probably drank on the plane. We will have drunk breath kisses in paradise. Well, I mean, in the cesspool Cancun airport that is the last stop before paradise. Another beer and Ill start offering unsolicited advice to people about the bus.
The woman in the picture (who I am certain after quatro cervesas I have very stealthily taken a secret picture of like a ninja) has been here as long as I have. I wonder what she's waiting for. I bet she wonders what I'm waiting for. Since it's much more fun to wonder, I'm not going to ask her. I am instead keeping silent and pretending (in my own game because I doubt she or anyone else cares) that I don't speak English. Or Spanish. I speak Shanoan. A little known language that very few speak. Lord, waiting at the airport can be boring in any country. Thank Buddha I'm ridiculous. What do non-ridiculous people do when they are in this situation?
He should be here soon. I hope so. My ankles are swelling up and I'm getting a beer belly. Pardon. A Cervesa belly.
Yeah. Wrong. Cervesa cinco. The woman who was with me has left. That guy over there on his bluetooth talking too loud on purpose has been here almost as long. He clearly has a personality disorder. That's probably why he keeps looking at me like he'd like to take me in the bathroom, or marry me, maybe marry me in the bathroom. I am crazy bait, should anyone ever want to capture one in the wild. I should be a new Disney Princess. Instead of Snow White having butterflies and birds while she sings a beautiful tune, I will be Shano Negra, having all sorts of men with various mental health diagnoses and at least one addiction landing on my vagina and ring finger while I sing bad karaoke. In the end maybe 7 midgets can break dance with me on 5th Avenue and I can live happily ever after.
Dear Lord, let us not let me get to Cervesa Seis. Why do you guys even read these blogs anyway?
Cervesa Seis. Sigh.
And I finally shared my gems of wisdom about the bus with someone else. They're going to Playa del Carmen. I felt it my six pack duty!!
Dos ahoras later.... where is that red bearded fucker? Sheesh! Is he ever coming out that door?
Fast forward one week...
The personality disorder ordered the same beer as me, and struck up an inevitable conversation with me. Well, technically a random woman from California struck up a conversation with me and he used it as an in to start speaking to me in response to things I was saying to her. He conveniently was also living in Playa for a year and then also wanted to go to Ecuador but he was already a dive master and was looking for a dive shop to buy and all a manner of other lies seemingly meant to make a connection. He failed. Poor fella. He probably didn't even realize that it wasn't his fault he was attracted to me. I am just a siren for nutbags. He was under the mean spell fate dropped on me. All the same, I knew better than to make eye contact with the creature in the wild. He might have followed me home.
And the bearded wonder finally arrived. Life stops when it arrives. Or life begins. Or some combination of those two. We've been diving and parasailing and zip lining and arguing a bit and laughing a bit. And eating a lot. And not sleeping much. I slept on the toilet once because Mexico believes in Mescal or so that waiter told me. When in Rome and all that...
Now I'm back on the ADO Aeropuerto bus (that was 15 minutes late) to meet a couple coming to visit us and to likely have another double priced six pack at the Aeropuerto Cancun. At least this time I will have company at Margaritaville with no chairs.
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