December 17, 2012
You wake up somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean realizing that it might have been a bad decision. Your nose is runny, your knees are smacked in the back of the poor soul sitting in 23H, the baby screaming in the background (no, it was sadly not a nightmare) is doing everything within its powers to scratch whatever shred of humanism away from your. You hear the captain confessing that the flight will take 11 hours and 40 minutes. You curse somewhat too loudly, there goes the idea of “that corner of Mexico that is way north-east and really, “not far from Europe.” Oh well, you’re on a plane flying away from winter and into a tropical summer, life can not really be that wrong now can it?
The flight, sadly not operated by your favorite airline, but by a daughter-company, that’s really more of a step-daughter, the one you don’t like and forget to buy Christmas presents for, is actually more pleasant than expected. The airline, Condor if you must know, is very apologetic for not loading your special meal on the plane, and is happy to compensate you with a nice piece of salmon swimming in cream based sauce, leek and potatoes. Yes, it’s a German airline. The movies, displayed in the TV screens the poor Boeing 767, not in individual screens, are actually up to date and mildly amusing, and between dozing in an out of sleep and watching your own entertainment center, you manage to make it to Cancun, Mexico.
It’s 17:21 local time when you land. The air is sticky and your multiple layers of clothes are immediately showing their utter uselessness. It’s summer, get rid of the layers. Passport control goes off without a hitch and with minimal wait (the Israeli passport control and US immigration services should really learn from the Mexican) but then, having picked up your luggage, you face the next hurdle: an X-ray machine for the passengers luggage. Now you question the logic behind screening the poor folks who just got off a plane from Germany, having spent 11 hours and 40 minutes being tortured by a screaming baby and seats that were designed for midgets, for some unknown substances. What is it that you’re actually looking for you ask. Drugs they answer. Wait…WHAT? Is Mexico, the land of drug wars, the land that will benefit the most from a time machine destined to 1971, to that pitiful day that Nixon, yes Nixon, declared drugs to be public enemy number one of the United States, is screening for drugs. The flow of drugs, according to all current reading material is actually reversed. You look for some zen, some inner calm to get you through this.
60 minutes later you leave the terminal, greeted by a huge number of taxi drivers, find your own transport, and land in the Westin Cancun.
Now dear reader, before you roll your eyes at this, there are a few things that have to be made clear. There are two Westins in Zona Hotels in Cancun. You stayed at the quiet one, away from the party zone. Second, and this is important, you wanted a smooth landing and one that is somewhat familiar. Yes, the Westin has great beds that justify their name “Heavenly Beds.” Yes, you obsessively collect points with the SPG group and yes, you wanted a smooth landing. The Westin fit that bill perfectly and to drive the point home you are upgraded to a top floor room over looking the sea.
You’re barely able to keep your eyes open and the world seems to be spinning just a little bit off as you open the door to your room and realize that you are now the inhabitant of a room with a balcony and that balcony is overlooking an amazing sea. With the last battery power you still posses you jump up and down proclaiming everything to be amazing, you forgive the screaming baby, the midget seats and the drug control on the way to the country. The sweet smell of a warm sea, the sounds of the waves crashing into the sand literally underneath your balcony and the wetness in the air all point to the realization that you have arrived. Hola Mexico!