No Rooms, No Changes, No Refunds
It is customary in Mexico to look at a room before checking in. I almost always do and in fact, I did in Xpujil. But we did not check GregÂ?s room. Silly us, thinking that one room would be the same as another. They sort of were, except his air-conditioning did not work. Â?No problem,Â? I said, they canÂ?t be full, we will just get another room. The bellboy disagreed. They were full he said, even though the parking lot was empty. (I forgot that we were in the land of European backpackers who take busses).
Greg had spied that there was a copy a book for a support group I belong to (no, not DumbAsses Anonymous, which many people think I should join) on the bed stand. Although I had never heard of the organization being like the Gideon�s who put Bibles in hotel rooms, I knew they did things differently down here. I asked who was in the program. The bellboy proudly said it was the dueña or owner of the hotel. I said that was great, and I would like to meet her.
We followed the bellboy down the red-tiled corridor with the blond wood railings and steps in improbable locations to the back of the kitchen. The hallway behind the kitchen was guarded by a black iron bar gate as tall as I and with really sharp, pointed spikes on the end. If you were foolish enough to try to break into their alley by climbing the gate, you would be impaled and have to change your name to Vlad if you survived. There was also a shrine with candles, a statue of Jesus and the photos of a young woman in a grotto to the right. (Later that night, I walked by the shrine and heard the weeping and wailing of someone in terrible emotional or spiritual distress, but that is another story).
The dueña had her back to us. She was busy bent over a table shredding a leafy spice with great gusto and cries of blood-lust satisfaction. She threw the mutilated greens into a blue plastic bucket. Mexico is the blue plastic bucket capitol of the world.
The dueña had her back to us. She was dressed in a severe black dress, wearing severe, sensible black shoes. She shouted commands at the top of her lungs. ¡Sergio, ven aca! (Come here - NOW)
By God, if I was Sergio, I would ven immediately at her command. She was no one to be trifled with.
Our bellboy smiled as if to say, Â?So you want to tell HER you donÂ?t like your room?Â? Then he told her our plight.
No hay curartos. No hay cambios. No hay reembolsos, she shouted. (No rooms, no changes, no refunds).
The bellboy asked again and she repeated the same thing only with more conviction. This was not going as I had envisioned. It was obvious that she was the boss and Greg and I had a vision of Don Corleone from the movie The Godfather. This little old lady was the powerhouse of the establishment. Every few moments, she barked orders to someone. She seemed to have been born without a volume control
Señorita, I shouted over the distance separating us (here is a cultural tip � no matter how old a woman may be, unless you know specifically that she is married, do not call her Señora). I wish to talk to you about something other than the room. I noticed the book in the room. I also am a member of the same society. I have been for 29 years.
¿Si? She shouted. ¿No me digas? (Polite translation � You are not kidding me?)
No Señorita, eso es la verdad. I am telling the truth. I just wanted to meet a fellow member.
¡Julio, tonto! She shouted even more loudly, abre la puerta! (Open the gate, fool!)
After a brief disagreement over whether the gate was padlocked with the padlock the size of both my fists, someone found the key and we were admitted to the inner sanctum. I stood in from of the Doña and she extended her had. I repressed an impulse to kiss it. That�s what they did in the movie. Instead I very gently, almost lovingly grasped it in both my hands and said hello. Her hand was greatly disfigured by arthritis, something I have seen many times among elderly women in Mexico.
We chatted for a moment in the secret language of our society and she decided that I was for real.
¡Julio, tonto! You know we have rooms for these nice gentleman. See if #2 is clean. If not, #6 is free.While Julio went for the keys I chatted with her and asked her what she was doing. In front of her was a metal Superior beer table covered with a green leafy herb. She told me what it was and said it was used in the shrimp soup they made there. I told her that if it was made with her young hands, it must be good. She smiled for a time so briefly that a second was an eternity. She inclined her head slightly and it was obvious that the audience was over. She returned her full attention to shredding the defenseless green plants in front of her. I resisted the impulse to kiss her ring and backed out.
Surely enough, there were two rooms available. When we got ready to move, the air conditioner in Greg�s room was working again so we didn�t have to move after all. I was afraid not to order the soup but took a chance and ordered fish instead. The Doña did not come with a ruler and smack my knuckles.
No matter what happens in Mexico there is always a way and always a room. You just have to know how to ask.
To localize us on the trip, we are now leaving Sandwood Villas, www.sandwood.com, in Xcalac, Quintana Roo. We are a few miles from Belize by water. It was great visiting with old friends, though both Andy and Ruth Sanders, the owners, are younger in spirit and more spry than I. Friends from the old days, I should say. This is an absolutely mellow location and the villas (2 bedrooms with kitchens) are a bargain at $85 off-season (April 16 Â? Dec 15) for 2 people and $139 for up to 4 people in high-season (Dec 16 Â? April 15 Â? do your taxes by the Caribbean!). They are steps from the inviting blue Carsibbean (good snorkling a few feet from shore) and near the best "Grand Slam" fly-fishing (permit, tarpon, bonefish)
There are also a couple of hotels in town, Costa Cocos ($95 off-season for 2) and a retreat for Â?intimate couplesÂ? with a Â?European-style beach.Â? For those of you who are not as worldly as I, that means clothing optional. I did not dare go check that place out.
Xcalak (it is spelled both ways) renewed our spirits, especially mine. As we were leaving the really good restaurant at Costa Cocos, the ownerÂ?s mother said, Â?MexicoÂ? Mike Nelson, I know you. IÂ?ve been reading you for years.Â? Like I said, I have a way with octogenarian chicks. I feel young at a mere 60.
Andy is also a well-connected and savvy honest real estate person here, so should you wish to buy a piece of this lovely peninsula, he is your guy.
Next post will be from Playa del Carmen, we hope. There is a storm in the Caribbean and we are watching it to decide when to return to Chiapas, San Cristobal de las Casas and Agua Azul before heading north to drive up the Pacific Coast of Mexico to Arizona.
