The Plight Of The Urban Iguana

With an extremely critical eye on the Mayan Riviera, there I was, nevertheless, swimming in the bluest and most beautifully resplendent waters possibly anywhere in the Western Hemisphere.  Cancun has never been on my list of  "must go to" places. In fact, even now, I might accidentally forget to add it to my list of  "have been to" places. Yet, here I lay, on a broadly striped lounger at a touristy beachside resort. This was my first experience staying at a place like this and the contagion of slothfulness was apparently, not being wasted on the cynic.

I went there with my teenage daughter, in an attempt to "get away from it all". But whether anyone can ever really "get away" in Cancun,  is another question entirely. The term "getting away" is most often used to describe an escape route to somewhere--you go from where you presently are--encumbered by responsibility and pressures to a new place, a magical place defying gravity, away from all encumbrances and above and beyond the piles of unfinished business. This magical place is reputedly filled with silence, uniquely peaceful, and optimally bestowed with environmentally ideal conditions. It is beyond human touch; virginal. The promise is that upon returning home, one will walk through one's door feeling much refreshed and ready to battle those same piles which, undoubtedly will loyally await you.

I am by no means an expert on these types of vacations and the unfairness of my preconceived prejudices toward these easy "getaways" does not escape me. I confess that the option of traveling for the sake of a sedentary hiatus has never motivated me to leave the comforts of my overheated urban cave or to abandon my mornings of reliably strong lattes and cozy underground human chaos. That potential isn't what inspires me to abandon my comfort zones. I have always been biased in my belief that vacation resorts do not constitute any portion of a genuine travel experience. I've notoriously considered resorts the equivalent of transferring one's lethargic body from one comfy familiar space, across town to another pleasant, but slightly less familiar room with a few additional conveniences thrown into the mix.  It's a clever way of fooling one's self into thinking that one has had a different experience, when in reality, it is but a way of staying exactly where one is; in a state of entropy. A way of running, though not in place- and temporarily hiding, only to return to your original point of departure with unchanged perspective. The potential of participating in this little game had never before aroused the least bit of interest in me, until now. 

That the lack of challenge afforded at these places bestows not just the obvious physical comforts, but some significant psychological comforts as well, is undeniable. For one, I absolutely love the little cash card that enables one to wander about without need of actual cash. I could eat, swim, walk and run on the beach without having to worry about carrying money, losing it or being robbed. Your bill has been "prepaid", leaving no need to keep track of expenses. How liberating is that?! What wondrous denial! 

One of the saddest truths is the large number of Mayans working along the strip of the hotel zone. But without the resorts, would they be employed?
Just as it is at home, our experiences are guided by our perception; and perception is very subjectively molded by our emotional barometer.
My 14 yr. old contends that being unable to distinguish the real palapas from the ones that have been built for the sake of the tourists, is a sad predicament. I hadn't realized that she'd been registering these subtleties. Indeed. 

We venture out of the complex to catch a bus to the boat landing. The traffic is as thick and swift as in midtown Broadway. While we wait at the bus stop, we busy ourselves with watching the locals construct one more mammoth hotel along the strip. A curious iguana, now two, then another, weaves its way among the stones, weeds and debris that litter the construction sight. They are slow, fat, and not very discerning in their choice of snacks. We watch them and are filled with wonder at their perseverance and unperturbed tenaciousness toward survival.

 So many buildings, so little room to roam, yet they are resilient and will not be excluded.

Back in our room just before sundown, from our balcony we gaze upon the infinitely blue waters and blindingly resplendent sands of the Caribbean. I can't help but envision what these strips of land might have been to the native people, before the sprawling of condos and the rows of umbrellas. Now Thoreau's insightful words come to mind: "A stereotyped but unconscious despair is concealed even under what are called the games and amusements of mankind. There is no play in them, for this comes after work. But it is a characteristic of wisdom not to do desperate things."

My eyes are open. But I am feeling truly exhausted.