Day 27 – Museo de My oh Maya Cancun

Excellent news hit my inbox overnight. The Scooby gang at Qantas’ fraud squad cracked the case of my missing cash!!! Well, Fred didn’t unmask any actual thief under a white bedsheet and Velma didn’t solve the puzzle of how the criminal mastermind who probably spent 1k on Havana Club and cheese Pringles managed to get my PIN, but all the money was back in my account to spend on Scooby snacks!!!! Problem was I couldn’t access it without a card and Qantas would only send it to my Australian address. It didn’t matter. I had a backup card. I had all my money back with minimal effort and no need to suffer the torturous emotional agony of a travel insurance claim. I was absolutely stoked!!!!!

Today I had planned to check out the nearby Mayan museum and hang around – even this loose plan was colour coded on my spreadsheet. Nerd!!! The weather was perfect. Maybe 25 degrees Celsius. It was not the peak season for Cancun, which tends to be a lot warmer and more conducive to guests to do bombs (or cannonballs for translation purposes) into the pools. Although judging by the age of the clientele in the resort, it was more likely some of them were headed for a triple bypass than a triple pike into the pool.

Check out my view from the double junior (way to make it sound like a kid’s burger meal) room with sea view and breakfast included discount package.

After the luxury of the hairdryer and the high powered toilet flush – two things a Cuban might never experience in their lives – it was time to brave the breakfast buffet. For starters, I had a wonderful conversation with my waiter about the return of my money and the helpfulness of the reception desk staff. He laughed when I explained my bacon and capsicum omelette in broken Spanish, appropriate guts gestures and animated head shaking. Huevos good, waffles make Americano gordo (fat). I told the waiter that the best huevos in the world were huevos motulenos, that unbeatable combo of eggs on tostadas with peas, ham and plantains. He told me that tomorrow I would dine on huevos motulenos because he would get the cook to make me some, even though it was not on the menu. I smiled and winked knowingly, acknowledging the promise of a future illicit egg transaction as if a drug deal was going down. Dona Hock would have those eggs. In the meantime, she would drink a lot of coffee refills.

Today’s Mexican offerings involved Yucateco pork and plantains!!! Possibly not an ideal combo with the runny orange sauce and the fried fruit on the same plate, but I stocked up on the protein and potassium, knowing it would be a really long time until I would eat next. Since the weather was so nice, I then decided to grab a table for one outside. An elderly American gent – weren’t they all?? – came past and greeted me with a “Good morning!” Then he cast a very weird glance at the orange achiote Yucateco mess on my plate, which happened to be the same colour as his leader from the shoulders up. Well mate, Yucantake your judgment elsewhere. “Buenos dias!” I retorted with a friendly smile! I was a genuine pork-eating foreigner and proud of it!!!

My guts were starting to accumulate more rolls than a black market cart out the back of a Cuban bakery. Time to start today’s adventures.

As stated in previous blog posts, I picked the Royal Islander Resort simply because of its walkable proximity to the museum and access to the daytrips out of the city that I wanted. There are a good many resorts on the main beach strip – I figured this one was close to what I needed, had an airport shuttle, and the price was ok. I didn’t intend to spend too much time there. Enquiries were not particularly in-depth. No evidence of legionnaires disease or Redrum homicidal rampages? Tick.

So I left the artificial bubble of the gated community for the first time, exiting the lobby. What was the real world like? I felt like a prisoner escaping with a giggle and pair of flip-flops/thongs (note: international word conversion provided to prevent confusion and offence!!!) Immediately, I felt the rubber begin to rub the top of my foot. Well, it wasn’t a long walk surely …

I turned onto the road with my old mate, Mr Google Maps providing directional and spiritual guidance. I loved having access to 3G again!!! (Vodafone was supported in Mexico. Everywhere else on my trip would be wifi only.) This was a pretty big road. More like a 4 lane carriageway. I think. I don’t drive a car so I am just babbling car related words like a toddler copying what they hear really. I limped along the footpath with the rubbing getting worse. Rookie move there … Was far too excited to wear thongs after strapping into the clompy walking shoes so many times.

The Museo Maya de Cancun (yes loyal readers, there have been other Museo de Maya like the one in Merida but they are all a bit different with regional variety) has a big sign stating that it doesn’t accept US dollaroos because it’s not legal tender! Let me explain money stuff. I had a wad of US that I lugged around from Australia, virtually useless in Mexico and risking downright hostility upon sight in Cuba. Now, in the gated community of the resort, it seemed to be the preferred legal tender. The Royal Islander was like a weird American Embassy where the currency, culture and plumbing of an entirely different country soiled foreign soil. Back to my fat cash wad. It was in large denominations and, as the next tour to uncharted countries loomed, one thing was for certain – nobody would take my Ben Franklin one hundred or my classic foldable fifties. Like MC Hammer, I needed to break it down. It just wouldn’t be here at the museum. So I pulled out handy Mr MasterCard to buy my ticket.

The museum was awesome!!!!! First, it was a long walk up an external circular ramp up to the very top of the building to a singular doorway. To the right was a section on the Maya in general. It was the very model of a modern Maya general! (I really hope somebody got that one …) No hablo English captions but I hit on the brilliant idea of brandishing Google Translate in front of the Spanish captions. The Spanglish danced before my eyes like sugar plum fairies but helped me figure out what each artifact was. Stoked! The sections were the standard ones on the material culture of war, death rituals, astronomy and other bits pulled from buildings and I loved it all!!!! I was a particular fan of these braziers.

Next to this brazier, was a giant mega brazier behind frosted glass. Photo looked like blurry brazier taking a shower behind frosted glass so no point posting it here. You can imagine it in your minds. No caption to explain the giant size or bizarre frosted glass presence so that’s one for my Mayan mystery memory bank.

Oh boy, was I excited to see the next room! An exhibit of MesoAmerican codices on a road trip from the National Museo of Anthropology! These rare Aztec and Mayan texts explain things like creation or migration history. They are rare because the Spaniards burnt as many as they could find in the interests of converting them to Catholicism. The Dresden Codex (named after the city where the ancient text is located – this one is probably a facsimile) is one of four ancient Mayan codices to survive the enlightenment of the Spaniards. It’s a bit of a Rosetta Stone for Mayan glyphs with linguistic experts using it to crack the meaning of the Mayan numerals and short /long count calendar. It contains ceremonial information, astrological tables and 134 representations of Chac, the rain god. So another Chac attack like at Uxmal and Kabah! Baby got Chac? (I am here all week, try the veal …)

The other side of the building was dedicated to the local Maya in the hood. Cancun is located up the top of the state of Quintana Roo, also known as the Riviera Maya. The first exhibit is a sabre toothed tiger! Cool and unexpected!!! Other exhibits include obsidian traded from the north, a tiny engraved needle and this awesome plate!

I don’t normally dig the ceramics that much, although the archaeologists clearly did (boom, tish)! A short film screened on a TV next to it. The centre of the dish depicts a bird up a tree trying to survive an onslaught from the hero twins on either side. But it’s a bad bird so it’s ok to celebrate trying to shoot it. It’s a demon macaw!!! The macaw essentially proclaimed itself lord of everything and was vain, egotistical and generally up itself. He had jewelled teeth and a metal nest! The twins didn’t go for this, deciding to ambush the demon and shoot it in the face. Plan backfired spectacularly with the evil avian severing one of the twins’ arms and fleeing the scene instead. But they had wounded him in the face. The twins then disguised themselves as an old couple (element of not dying of blood loss from amputation of femoral artery somewhat glossed over), offering to fix the vain bird’s injuries. Apparently swapping out the magic eye and teeth with corn sucked his power dry and the demon macaw died. Truly a-maizing!!!!

With the Museo exhausted and my archaeology spirit soaring, I descended to the ground floor. The Museo is attached to the only local ruins, the San Miguelito Archaeological Park and Gardens. It’s more like a garden with staff raking leaves away from some foundations of original homes but a nice relaxing vibe.

No climbing, no big temples. Just the basic foundations and some walls where people lived. It’s a pretty recent Mayan site – 1250 to 1550 AD which puts it in the ballpark of Tulum, the more famous beach ruins neighbour for age. Lonely Planet refers to it as an “underwhelming” “cultural diversion” which is true if you compare it to the big all-you-can-eat-cultural buffet of Chichen Itza for example. But look around the 4 lane carriageway, LP. It’s the only thing other than the Oxxo convenience store to visit on the way back to the resort. It’s this or the 350 peso taco buffet and fake Mexico of the gated community that was even more artificial than the plants in the resort lobby. I enjoyed every minute of my underwhelming cultural diversion. Actually, with nobody there, it was 500 times more relaxing than sitting by the pool!!!

Readers of my previous post may recall a photo of a faded stelae at Cobá. I mentioned that it looked a bit like the ruler was carrying an AK47. I was thrilled to discover a clear reproduction of the same stelae on the way out. Now I could see it was actually more like a bazooka and also make out the figures on the bottom. No, they were not up for a spot of apple bobbing – they were bound captives.

Despite the increasing gordo status of my bags and the knowledge that I had half the trip to go, there was a HockTales peso payday haul for the Cancun Museo shop. A small mug of the Dresden codex, some small booklets, magnets and best of all, two beautiful sketches of a head from Palenque and King Pakal of Palenque! Easily the best museum shop of the trip. Random discoveries in a fairly remote little place with nobody around. Happy as Larry!!!!

After a strategic snack shop at Oxxo to avoid the high cost of the resort’s mini mart, I trudged back to the gated community. I was hungry for a real lunch and not thinking straight. I regret not taking my life in my hands with a cheap sandwich from Oxxo, rather than sitting down for the massive, expensive and average plate of nachos that I ate at the resort. Why did I even do this? I think I was eating culturally appropriately for the location, adapting to my environment, figuring that bad nachos with American cheese had to be eaten here if anywhere. Guilt was high. I felt like I had betrayed the Mexican people and myself as much as my digestive system.

It was time to explore the resort. I walked around the pool area, checked out the massage area, saw shuffleboard tables, and walked on some mysterious green stuff that felt like mini-golf surface. I could see the beach from the weird green AstroTurf. All the spots were taken. Back to the pool. I saw a lounge and sat there. I noticed everybody was sporting blue pool towels. I was the only sad loser carting a white shower towel from my room. This is how infrequently I swim or hang out poolside. I have no idea of etiquette. Where did these blue towels come from????

Frankly, it’s always a pain doing this poolside gig alone. If I get up, there is the threat of somebody flogging my seat, room key or my phone. I bet those geriatrics could move fast – they knew how to hit an early bird dinner special with real speed and agility. My phone would be down some budgie smugglers (Speedoes) butt crack and I wouldn’t want it back!!! If I continued to sit there, I wouldn’t get served as all service stemmed from counters and there would be no swimming. The latter didn’t really upset me too much but the former certainly did.

Solution. I dumped my towel all over the chair and walked to the pool bar in the picture above, carrying my phone. I intended to grab my drink and go back but got chatting to two guys and a girl in town for a railways convention. I wondered if they were the descendants of old railroad tycoons. One was the lady’s security guard, going by the name of ‘tough motherf******’, according the other one. Maybe the lady was next gen Vanderbilt??? I don’t know but railway money was good money. It kept me in at least three scotches and two weak tequilas, as I watched the three of them frolic in the pool and earn stink eye from the pool guard. Tough mofo was particularly livid that the younger guy had accidentally booked this resort, which he discovered to be a timeshare. Hence the presence of geriatrics on holidays with their grandkids in a safe space and the behaviour of the pool guard who was possibly not accustomed to such high levels of frolicking. Lady Vanderbilt nearly lost her bikini bottoms, perilously close to full-blown underwater nudity at one point. (Instinctively, I double checked my own knots. No shame imminent.) I had a good chat with Tough Mofo who was comparatively in control. They all left for a conference dinner, which would have been fascinating to watch given how much they drank in the pool. Sadly, none of my best scam attempts could get me in as a plus one. I headed back to my room.

I couldn’t face going back to the restaurant again. It was time for the time honoured tradition of room service. The only menu item for delivery was a pizza. Lame!!! Where was the club sandwich?!?! I told myself I didn’t have to eat it all. That the leftovers could be a snack. Dear reader, you and I both know that reality of implementing that thought after a few beverages was on par with me performing a triple jump at the Olympics. I knew the entirety of that delicious large pizza with all the salami, olives and anchovies was going down the HockTales gob hole the minute I made the phone call of shame.

But it got worse … All the salt had to be counterbalanced by sugar. I got the craves up for a sweet treat and did a mini mart run for a Sara Lee sized container of chocolate ice cream and god, it was divine!!! I scoffed half of it down my face like a two year old in s high chair, forcing myself to shove the rest back in the fridge through sheer willpower alone. See, friends – when I go for calorie and soul destruction, I really go to town.

So it was with bloated stomach and guilt-ridden heart, that I crept into bed to dream a badly digested dream.

In the next post, we venture deep into the centre of the Yucatan to climb a temple with jaguar jaws at the top and swim in a freezing cold cenote. Oh yeah – riding all day in a bus with free all-you-can-drink tequila!