The Real Las Vegas

Cancun in a nutshell: see title above, subtract casinos, add beach. Also, subtract Internet--at least from this hotel. I'm posting this blog from an "e-photo postcard" machine in the lobby. Which is only debatably a lobby, as it lacks walls, but does have festive marble flooring. The machine only allows one paragraph, and I'm not sure how much text I can squeeze in, so we'll see what happens. Outside the hotel, about a mile down the strip, is a giant Mexican flag. The government probably put it there to remind people they were actually in Mexico. Almost all the signage is in English, and restaurants such as the Hard Rock and the Rainforest Cafe are joined by Papa John's Pizza. I imagine they do well during spring break. After a week in Chiapas, the prices seem impossibly inflated, but more importantly, something about the place (I'm guessing the fact that it was a master-planned resort community?) doesn't ring true. For instance, there's a group of street stalls downtown, but they feel like sanitized, overdecorated imitation stalls, as if Disneyland were doing "Main Street Mexico." Sanjai, who flew in his first propeller plane today, agrees--and like me, he really enjoyed the more classic backpacking part of our journey. We'll definitely have a good time here, especially since we plan to spend tomorrow mostly in the ocean, and you can't discount the value of high water pressure and numerous soft pillows, but we also know that the heart and soul of our trip are probably behind us. In other news, we both did laundry in the sink--probably among the very few guests at the "Fiesta Americana" that ambled in with backpacks on, then proceeded to wash their clothes before checking out the pool. The taco count: none today. Really. But for breakfast near Tuxtla Gutierrez, I had layered tortillas, eggs, ham and fried bananas, drizzled with red sauce. I'm going to try making this at home. To post this blog, I first tried borrowing an ethernet cable from the concierge's computer, which was off for the night but unguarded. Sanjai, holding his "Mexican water" very well, was my very skilled accomplice, distracting people while I fumbled under the desk. All for naught: the cable didn't work, alas. Earlier we had a minor scuffle with our "colectivo" driver from the airport, who took us to the wrong hotel. Working hard for a tip, he had also said some things that would enrage anyone with a decent respect for women's rights. He then refused to take us to the hotel where we had our reservation. Poo him. But it still worked out okay when a kindly valet whose coworker witnessed this exchange offered us a ride to the right hotel in his Hummer. Those things are big: Sanjai and I both fit in the back even with our backpacks sitting between us. (Congratulations to Sanjai's mom for passing the first part of her final at culinary school!) What we talked about at dinner: Dr. H, Ayn Rand, Hawaii, Sanjai and ballroom dancing. What I'm reading: still Ludlum. Our hero has been shot in the shoulder.