We had originally booked a snorkeling trip for Wednesday, but had to postpone it to give Jett a day to recover.  That turned out to be a good move as Wednesday was mostly cloudy but Thursday was impossibly sunny and clear.  I don’t think Massachusetts ever gets that sunny.  It was like someone had removed my eyeballs, polished them with a soft cloth and put them back. My sunglasses needed sunglasses.

We had snorkeled in Cozumel before, but as a tour from a cruise.  This one, booked through the hotel and leaving from the hotel dock, was both longer and less expensive than the other.  Given the beauty of the day and the low price, we decided to go all in and booked the 3-reef tour. We left at 12:50 – 20 minutes late because, the staff claimed, the boat had had a flat tire.  In charge was “Skinny Winnie” – a rotund jolly man (yes, if he grew a beard he would make a wonderful Mexican Santa) who proved to be talented as both a free diver and mixologist,

Our first stop – and the only reef whose name I remember – was Columbia.  The bottom was 40 or 50 feet below the surface, but the coral formations were towering and in some cases had peaks just 10 feet beneath the surface.  The colors were spectaular, the water was crystal clear and the fish were plentiful.  I found myself wishing, for the first time in a long time, that I was in my scuba gear so that I could inspect these formations more closely.

I also found myself wishing that I had brought an underwater camera.  I didn’t take one this time because the pictures on my previous trips were underwhelming – gray panels with vague shapes and maybe a spot or two of color, like something a very depressed Mondrian might produce.  But I think I would have gotten some nice shots on this trip.  Damn.

Sometimes fish are scarce.  I have done snorkel trips where very few fish were seen.  On this trip I put my face in the water and was startled to find a fish staring back at me, within arm’s reach.  Some chum may have been tossed in the water to attract them as I noticed pickish particles floating around, but the fish seemed more interested in the people than the food. Inquisitive little buggers.

The second reef ended in a cliff, dropping off to over 100 feet.  Snorkeling always produces a “flying” feeling, but swimming over the edge of the cliff made me feel like I was heading toward Europe.  Which I was, I guess… just a few thousand more miles to go.

The third stop was a sand bar.  The booze had started to flow by this point and it got a little weird here.  We all got into the water (except Jett who stayed on board to keep out of the sun). Skinny Winnie joined us, holding a bag filled with bags of potato chips and towing a boogie board loaded with mixed drinks and cans of beer.  We stood on the sandbar, chomping on potato chips and drinking.  Just to say I did it, I put my face in the water and kicked a bit, holding my can of beer and my bag of chips out of the water.  Snorkling with potato chips.  Another first for Sparky.

We had one more stop at a reef that sported LOTS of huge starfish.  And a few sand dollars (or are they sand pesos in Mexico?).  It was unlike any spot I have ever seen before.  Surreal.  But I was getting tired, so I stayed just a few minutes.

The trip back to the hotel was surreal in a different way.  Skinny Winnie convinced a suprisingly large percentage of these married, middle-class parents on Mexican holiday that this would be a good time to do tequila body shots.  So Jett and I got to watch (because we most certainly did not participate) couples licking lime juice off of each others’ thighs and sucking tequila out of their navels.  What would their kids think if they could see them so engaged?  I think at 15 I would have thrown up.  If a few of the photos taken that day get to Facebook, families will be destroyed.

One of the couples on that trip went on a pirate trip the next day.  They said it got even weirder… some woman, traveling with husband and family and under the influence of too much tequila, tried to limbo in a short dress and thong panties.  Most of the paying customers got a crotch shot that they really didn’t want.

Mexico makes people crazy.

The “back island” of Cozumel is the east coast of the island – the one facing the Caribbean Sea.  It is a lot of nothing… scrub trees, rocky beaches and a lonely two-lane highway that is in the process of being rebuilt. And, in the charming Mexican way, appears to have been in that process for about 20 years.  Only in Mexico and Massachusetts can a relatively minor road construction project take longer to complete than the Great Wall.

The entire east side of the island is conservation land.  Only a few structures are found, presumably built by people with connections that could get around the regulations (another Massachusetts similarity?). There is one tiny hotel, right on the beach, that looks like it has maybe 10 rooms.  And a string of bars, evenly spaced and equally unique.  One could kill a day very pleasantly by hopping from one bar to the next.

Which is how we killed Tuesday.

We weren’t alone in this endeavor.  Someone with a love of drink and an entrepreneurial spirit has commercialized the idea.  Along our way we encountered a busload of American tourists with “Drive to Drink” T-shirts. They were traveling in a bus and were doing their level best to drink themselves stupid.  But, being lightweights when it comes to drinking, we weren’t far behind.  We trusted that our taxi driver could find his way back to our hotel to deposit our corpses.

The first bar we encountered on our counter-clockwise tour was Marley’s, a charming rasta bar on the beach where one could, if he was so inclined, be served while swinging in a hammock.  The place is officially the Ohana Bar and Grill, but with pictures of Bob Marley everywhere and reggae playing continuously, it is no mystery why it is called Marley’s.

The decor is Old T-Shirt.  The entire underside of the thatched roof is covered with autographed T-shirts, presumably left by patrons who either carried a change of clothes with them, didn’t mind going topless or were too drunk to notice that their shirts had been boosted.

We didn’t donate ours. We each had a margarita and went on our way.

The second bar, at Playa Bonita, had less charm but a beautiful view.  We did like the large crucifix over the serving window, surrounded by posters of nearly naked women. “We thank Thee, Lord, for the food we are about to receive.  And these really big bazooms.”

Another margarita for each of us. And some salsa and chips to keep the margaritas company.

The third and final bar (I told you we were lightweights – we skipped a half dozen others) was Coconuts, which came highly recommended by several.  It had the distinction of being perched on a cliff.  Given the low-lying, featureless nature of the rest of the drive, the cliff seemed out of place. The Gibraltar of the back island.

We had to climb a long, uneven staircase of rock to get to the bar.  By this time we needed a pit stop, to make room for another margarita, so we visited the banos.  It had a charming sign that indicated that used toilet paper should not be flushed… it should be deposited in the trash bin.  I stayed long enough to take a picture of the sign, then got out.  But the image remained in my head.

Ewww.

We encountered a group of travelers from Wisconsin who were posing for a photo at the edge of the cliff.  One of the staff was taking the picture, urging them to smile by saying – what else? – “cheese”.

We ordered two kinds of ceviche – conch and shrimp – to go along with our drinks.  I switched to beer, but Jett and her sister soldiered on with another margarita.  The ceviches were excellent, but we couldn’t finish them. Like punch-drunk boxers, our bellies were screaming “No mas!”

We encountered a gentleman there who was wearing a wacky parrot hat.  I thought maybe he had started his tour at Margaritaville, but it was deeper than that.  He was, in a way, the reincarnation of the Birdman of Alcatraz.  He pulled out a small photo album and showed us pictures of his parrots.  Well, not actually his.  They were the “wild parrots of San Francisco”.  Apparently San Francisco has a wild parrot population and they all flock to his place in the lower bay.  Who knew?  We will look for them when we get to the bay area in December.

The taxi driver drove us to town where we had a frustrating hour looking for the Bernard Passman Gallery which both Jett and I thought existed in Cozumel but apparently does not.  We got some Starbucks to temper our disappointment and went home.

It was a fine day, but Jett paid for it on Wednesday.  She wasn’t hung over, but her delicate stomach put her on notice that the back island experience was not to be repeated.  We spent the day at the pool, reading.

Our week in Cozumel is half over, so I thought it would be a good time to mention what we have been up to.  Let’s see…

Eating.

Drinking.

Sleeping.

Swimming.

That’s about it.  The emphasis is on the eating and drinking.  I am going to have to do some serious gym penance when I return.

We are staying at the Occidental Grand Cozumel, a lovely all-inclusive resort near the southern tip of the island. We are here primarily because we are members of the Occidental Vacation Club, a time-share vacation club, which means that we stay here for the price of the all-inclusive portion of the stay – about $1,100, which is a big discount over what others are paying. I overheard someone say that their week was over $2,500. And we were able to bring Jett’s sister along for just an additional $550. A very good deal, especially considering that as member we get free access to a lot of amenities that are not available at all to the hoi polloi. Like access to free internet, which I am using to post this.

Actually, the WiFi is not very good, which may be the case at many of the RV parks we will visit when we hit the road.  Keeping current with this blog will probably be a challenge.

Anyway, just to prove that we are here, I have a couple of vacation photos to share:

The iguana is named Sam (by Jett) and he is clearly the Alpha Iguana on the property.  We have also seen a tarantula, so the property definitely has some appeal to those who like exotic animals.

The food is very good and, being free, is impossible to eat in small quantities.  Same with the alcohol.  Our room comes stocked with beer and soda, plus bottles of vodka, rum, scotch and tequila.  We are able to control ourselves when it comes to imbibing, but I have to wonder about how some would deal with this temptation.  The only drunks that I have seen so far, however, were New York Giants fans who were excessively happy about the Patriots failure to play well in the Super Bowl.

Ah, well, it’s just a game, right?  But if I lose any more sleep thinking about Tom Brady, Jett is going to wonder about my orientation.

We did a “back island” tour yesterday, which consisted of getting a taxi for 4 hours so that we could bar-hop our way up the uninhabited east side of the the island.  There may not be any residents over there, but there are certainly some interesting bars.  I will get some shots of them uploaded in the next post.

Jett and I, along with Jett’s sister, made it to Cozumel yesterday.  It wasn’t easy as we had to roust ourselves out of bed at 3am and the flights were packed, as usual.  But we got to the hotel (the Occidental Grand Cozumel) unscathed and immediately started enjoying the life of leisure.  We were tired, of course, but Jett found enough energy to enter and win a blackjack tournament.

Which may not be as impressive as it sounds as there were only 6 participants and the grand prize was a T-shirt.  But a win is a win and it certainly got Jett’s vacation started right.

I don’t have any photos uploaded yet, but they will follow.  I’m sure that if I could drive the rig to Cozumel we would visit every year.  But we will probably have to content ourselves with a week every few years, to take a vacation from our vacation.