Shopping: yesterday we caught a taxi to the market and I ended up with a nice Christmas present. Our shopkeeper had the most bizarre compliment for me, “I like you because you’re tall and not skinny at all.” Yep, that’s right, my ghetto booty is sexy in Latin America and for once I am not considered vertically challenged. We left some money in his store and continued on our way.
Fishing: usually when we wet our lines it results in frustration, sore arms from fly bashing and slight inebriation. In Mexico, it took four hours for us to haul in four mahi mahi, or dorado as they’re known here, plus three barracudas… Young Benny Potter was more excited than a garbage collector after a full moon. Perhaps even more happy than a lottery winner. The fight was much tougher than I’d cockily anticipated and when I jumped into the fray to claim the second fish, I quickly realised I’d bitten off far more than I could reel. It took me about half an hour to haul my beast to the boat and my arms did not stop shaking for about 2 hours. They’re still tender.
Post-fishing entertainment: we return to shore elated and search for a restaurant that will cook our prize catches. Zamas will do it for $10 each so we take our seats, order a cerveza and sit back to watch the waves roll in. We got dinner and a show. To add to the feel-good mood for the boys, a pair of fit young ladies took their shirts off and decided to sunbath in their g-strings. As if this wasn’t enough, the beds at Zamas must have been rough because one of the ladies was in desperate need of a massage. Her topless friend happily obliged, pushing the day’s activities onto a different level of wonderful. We needed a siesta that day.
Mayan ruins: for once we decided to hire a guide. Our new friend Martin took us around the seafront Mayan village ruins and gave a comprehensive outline of how they lived and the series of events that led to the demise of the village. It was a fascinating tale of religious battles, sacrifices, wisdom and ultimately the tragic death of a culture. There are just a handful of pure Mayans left. It was a stunning vista over the sea and we enjoyed a few moments strolling around after the tour before our stomachs called us away. Quick suggestion, always get breakfast before a tour, especially if includes a 20 minute bike ride.
The festival: we check into the Hard Rock and are given stacks of complimentary food and booze, just to get us into the mood. The place is massive so Benny and I decide to stroll around the entire thing looking for our room. There are six restaurants, stacks of pop-up bars and heaps of food stalls. Everything is included in the price, such as the liquor in our mini bar and room service. We catch a bus over to the other resort and listen to Cole Swindell, apparently the next big thing and clearly a big deal with the American country music fans here. Benny takes delight asking these diehards who the guy is. They’re incredulous and wax lyrical about how awesome this guy is. He’s ok. The next night we get Luke Bryan, the headline act, and he is quite good. We rock out with a stack of our mates from Oz and kick the sand up, grabbing a few beers or cocktails from the passing waiters. Then the waiters start bringing tequila shots, proving that responsible service of alcohol clearly means the waiters have the responsibility to ensure patrons always have alcohol. Finally, someone gets it.