Monday- Market and Spa
By the fourth day we decided that it was a fine idea to venture into town. We wanted to explore the idea that the Surfer Lady from the first day had given us; to ride a bus to Talum and Akumal, instead of booking and expensive excursion from the motel (Monday was just about exploring the idea. We didn't follow through until Wednesday). We grabbed a ride from a cabbie by the name of Fransisco to the Cancun Ado Bus terminal.
Upon getting into his cab (where Deana was able to sit in the front seat to avoid getting carsick, a luxury no bus would give us), Fransisco offered the price of $200 for a whole day of his services to where ever we wanted to go instead of using a bus. This was still a deal, because just an excursion to Talum was priced at $100 each from the motel.
The bus turned out to be quite a lot cheaper, but it would also put us on a stricter schedule, and most likely make Deana miserably sick for the whole day. So, after checking out the bus schedule and prices, we instead took Fransisco up on his offer. Fifty bucks each for a driver/interpreter/freedom to do whatever for a whole day in Cancun/Talum/Akumal.
After that (for me), this day took a nose dive.
We made our way to a local market, Mercado 28. I researched it after getting home, mostly to see of I was too sensitive in my perception of the place. One commenter on TripAdvisor.com expressed it better than I think I can: "My wife and I spent about 20 minutes there constantly harassed by merchants and "assisted" by unsolicited "guides" looking for tips who seem to have cousins and uncles running most of the shopping stalls.. Stay away unless you do not enjoy being left alone to view the the wares. You will get no respite whatsoever. It was like being in an Amsterdam red light district. OK, maybe not, but we left quickly anyway... Trust me, you will not enjoy this place. I would rate this place NO stars if I could."
To my fellow unknown traveler, I say "Amen Brother!!" It was like a Saturday Night Live Roxbury skit with Will Farrell and Chris Kattan, only instead of getting bounced between two geeks at a nightclub it was being yelled at by dozens of aggressive merchants rudely trying to make you buy their wares. YUCK.
After the market (cause) and my subsequent near panic attack (effect), we drove back to the part of town where our motel was located. Deana and I had been planning on doing a semi-spa day, but since the spa services at our motel were crazy expensive, we had decided to find one in town instead. We ended up going to a place called Bamboo Spa, located about five blocks from where we were staying.
The guys went back to the Hotel, Deana went into the spa to choose what we were going to do, and I sat outside the shop, still trying to calm myself down.
At this point, I should have taken stock of where I was mentally/emotionally and hauled myself back to the motel, put on a swimsuit, and went to the beach with a drink in my hand. The sound of the ocean and the sand under my feet would have been the perfect balm to my soul. But... I also really wanted to do the Spa Day. A facial and massage seemed like they would also be a pretty good balm. In theory.
The lady who did my pedicure, the first part of my manicure, and my facial was Marianne. She spoke a little English, so that was nice (After rereading this, I feel compelled to once again interject that I NEED TO LEARN SPANISH. Going into another country without knowing their language is seriously crippling. Every time I meet a person in Mexico who has gone through the trouble to learn even a little English, I am grateful and a little sad with my inability to reciprocate very much). She was blond haired and green eyed; not your typical Mexican woman. She also, turned out, had the strength of ten men. I found that out during my facial.
I had never had a facial before. We were off by ourselves in this quiet darkened little room, with me laying down on a table and covered with a sheet. Marianne was sitting on a high stool at my head. She placed a super bright light about a foot from my face, and when I looked up at her, she had super strong magnifying glasses on, peering down closely at my magnified pores. I closed my eyes, hardly daring to open them again as she would (in English) tell me to close them again immediately anyways. At first the facial felt nice. She massaged some stuff on my face, and rinsed gently. She did some sort of mask on my face and then left the room for around fifteen minute. I actually fell asleep while she was gone. At that point I was thinking that Facials Are The Bomb.
But then she came back.
After rinsing my face, she donned the big glasses back on and shined the ultra bright light back in my face and ordered me to close my eyes. Then then squeezing started.
I'm not talking light, playful squeezing. I'm talking about a woman with the strength of ten men holding two small squeegees in her powerful hands, and scraping them together along every sensitive inch of my face. She seemed especially keen on tearing the skin from my forehead.
After about 30 seconds of this torture, I involuntarily blurted (somewhat loudly) "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?"
Marianne stopped for a moment, and in her sweet accented voice asked,"Um, You... you not have this done before?" When I admitted I had, in fact, NOT ever had this done before (if I had ever experienced this, you can bet I would not be alone with her in that room at that moment), she explained as best she could that she was removing the impurities from my face. She said it with an enlightened voice, as if she finally knew why my face was so toxic that she was actually going to leave work with sore arms that day from all the work of squeezing years of back build up from it. And then she went back to work.
As she worked and I held my screams inside, I resigned myself to the fact that for the rest of the trip (if not my life), I was going to most likely have purple skin (in the places where skin was left), a bulbous nose, and most likely would have a break out of cystic acne from all of the skin torture.
Fortunately, when she was done with the squeezing, she laid a piece of gauze over my face (ironically to protect it), and brought out a zappy machine that was supposed to close pores and heal capillaries (??? I think that is what she was saying it did when I asked her).
When she left the room, I sat up and looked in the mirror and was very relieved that my face was mostly just red. However, even as I write this around ten days later, I still have bruises on my forehead from this very very very strong woman.
As soon as I was done with my facial, they moved me to a different room for a massage. I liked this room better. There was soothing spa music, aromatherapy, it was a little warmer than the other room, and the lights were a soft warm glow. I felt confident that this was going to be the room where I would finally be able to calm down.
I can't remember the masseuse's name. She was a smallish, sweet looking woman with a soft voice. In retrospect, I think that this particular spa hired women on some sort of strength scale. As small and sweet as she looked, if I were to bet on her and Marianne in a fight, I would have a very hard time choosing.
She had me take off my clothes and lay face down on the table with a sheet over my body. I love massages, and I can honestly say she was very good. It takes a lot to physically hurt me (regardless of how I reacted to my facial), so I quite enjoyed a lot of the massage, even with her inhumanly strong hands and elbows. The only part that was too intense for me was when she was working my forearms. She seemed to be squeezing certain pressure points and then pulling away, all the way to my wrists, over and over. It was the only point of the massage where I was unable to hold in the sounds I wanted to make. Instead of the yell/gasp that would have made more sense, I started to laugh.
I think she'd been waiting for some sort of feedback from me, and I started to regret not having been more vocal through the rest of the massage (although she spoke no English), because she then started to focus on my arms more than any other part of my body. She'd massage a little on my legs (nice), then back to my arms (torture). She'd massage my lower back (heaven), then back to my arms (screaming silently inside).
I started wondering how many minutes had passed, and I was conflicted as to how much more I could take. Finally, however, on the last pass along my arms, the pain wasn't there. I don't know if it's because she achieved her goal with the massage, or if the nerves in my arms had finally snapped off, or if my brain had finally sent me some sort of chemical to shut off the perception of pain. I do know that around ten days later, I still have a small bruise on my right wrist.
I was a bit dizzy as I wobbled into the main lobby. I still had to get my fingernails shellacked, and as I sat there having them done I realized it was after five and I hadn't eaten since breakfast that morning.
When my nails were done, Deana came out briefly and we realized she still had another hour to go with her massage (there had been some sort of snafu with the polish they'd used on her manicure, which had taken much longer than normal) while I was essentially done with my spa day.
When she left for her massage and I was once again the only English speaking person in the room (besides the somewhat somewhat fluent in English speaking lady at the front desk), I realized that my brain had hung up it's "Closed For Business" sign, and I was done braining for the day. The words, they did not come. No words. Trying to pay for the services rendered that day, with the exchange of pesos to American money, my brain no like. Brain want food and quiet. Brain want someone else to do talking. Brain search for solution. No file found. Finally, brain remember husband. Brain messages Rob to have husband call (instead of calling husband in the first place). Husband call, but words still no work. Husband knows brain is broke, has seen brain like this before.
Husband and Rob rush to where brain is, but they can't quite remember WHICH Spa we are at.
At this point in their journey to find us, a man approached Derrick and Rob and asks them "You looking for ladies?" Derrick's brain is also a little out of commission at this point, because what he hears is "You looking for YOUR ladies?" and is surprised and a bit touched that this random man is going to help them out with the finding of their ladies.
Derrick looked at the man, and while I am not sure if he actually said 'Yes Indeed, I am looking for ladies', the look on his face said 'Yes' to the man's question. It was at that point the man pulled out his book of available "ladies", and pointed up to the windows where the said ladies were.
Rob and Derrick started doing the 'quick, get-away shuffle' that we all got in the practice of doing when out in town, talking about "Espouses" and then bolted off, fortunately right in our direction.
When Derrick and I finally got back to our room, instead of eating right away, I finally was able to shampoo my oil saturated hair (from the massage), and wash the day off of myself. I was starting to feel human again when we made it down to the beach.
They were having Mexican food and a show that night. In retrospect, I think that was my favorite food while we were at the resort. I had some pretty good chicken mole. We also had some pretty good tequila shots and margaritas.
We decided at dinner that the next day would be nothing but beach time.
By the fourth day we decided that it was a fine idea to venture into town. We wanted to explore the idea that the Surfer Lady from the first day had given us; to ride a bus to Talum and Akumal, instead of booking and expensive excursion from the motel (Monday was just about exploring the idea. We didn't follow through until Wednesday). We grabbed a ride from a cabbie by the name of Fransisco to the Cancun Ado Bus terminal.
Upon getting into his cab (where Deana was able to sit in the front seat to avoid getting carsick, a luxury no bus would give us), Fransisco offered the price of $200 for a whole day of his services to where ever we wanted to go instead of using a bus. This was still a deal, because just an excursion to Talum was priced at $100 each from the motel.
The bus turned out to be quite a lot cheaper, but it would also put us on a stricter schedule, and most likely make Deana miserably sick for the whole day. So, after checking out the bus schedule and prices, we instead took Fransisco up on his offer. Fifty bucks each for a driver/interpreter/freedom to do whatever for a whole day in Cancun/Talum/Akumal.
After that (for me), this day took a nose dive.
We made our way to a local market, Mercado 28. I researched it after getting home, mostly to see of I was too sensitive in my perception of the place. One commenter on TripAdvisor.com expressed it better than I think I can: "My wife and I spent about 20 minutes there constantly harassed by merchants and "assisted" by unsolicited "guides" looking for tips who seem to have cousins and uncles running most of the shopping stalls.. Stay away unless you do not enjoy being left alone to view the the wares. You will get no respite whatsoever. It was like being in an Amsterdam red light district. OK, maybe not, but we left quickly anyway... Trust me, you will not enjoy this place. I would rate this place NO stars if I could."
To my fellow unknown traveler, I say "Amen Brother!!" It was like a Saturday Night Live Roxbury skit with Will Farrell and Chris Kattan, only instead of getting bounced between two geeks at a nightclub it was being yelled at by dozens of aggressive merchants rudely trying to make you buy their wares. YUCK.
After the market (cause) and my subsequent near panic attack (effect), we drove back to the part of town where our motel was located. Deana and I had been planning on doing a semi-spa day, but since the spa services at our motel were crazy expensive, we had decided to find one in town instead. We ended up going to a place called Bamboo Spa, located about five blocks from where we were staying.
The guys went back to the Hotel, Deana went into the spa to choose what we were going to do, and I sat outside the shop, still trying to calm myself down.
At this point, I should have taken stock of where I was mentally/emotionally and hauled myself back to the motel, put on a swimsuit, and went to the beach with a drink in my hand. The sound of the ocean and the sand under my feet would have been the perfect balm to my soul. But... I also really wanted to do the Spa Day. A facial and massage seemed like they would also be a pretty good balm. In theory.
The lady who did my pedicure, the first part of my manicure, and my facial was Marianne. She spoke a little English, so that was nice (After rereading this, I feel compelled to once again interject that I NEED TO LEARN SPANISH. Going into another country without knowing their language is seriously crippling. Every time I meet a person in Mexico who has gone through the trouble to learn even a little English, I am grateful and a little sad with my inability to reciprocate very much). She was blond haired and green eyed; not your typical Mexican woman. She also, turned out, had the strength of ten men. I found that out during my facial.
I had never had a facial before. We were off by ourselves in this quiet darkened little room, with me laying down on a table and covered with a sheet. Marianne was sitting on a high stool at my head. She placed a super bright light about a foot from my face, and when I looked up at her, she had super strong magnifying glasses on, peering down closely at my magnified pores. I closed my eyes, hardly daring to open them again as she would (in English) tell me to close them again immediately anyways. At first the facial felt nice. She massaged some stuff on my face, and rinsed gently. She did some sort of mask on my face and then left the room for around fifteen minute. I actually fell asleep while she was gone. At that point I was thinking that Facials Are The Bomb.
But then she came back.
After rinsing my face, she donned the big glasses back on and shined the ultra bright light back in my face and ordered me to close my eyes. Then then squeezing started.
I'm not talking light, playful squeezing. I'm talking about a woman with the strength of ten men holding two small squeegees in her powerful hands, and scraping them together along every sensitive inch of my face. She seemed especially keen on tearing the skin from my forehead.
After about 30 seconds of this torture, I involuntarily blurted (somewhat loudly) "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?"
Marianne stopped for a moment, and in her sweet accented voice asked,"Um, You... you not have this done before?" When I admitted I had, in fact, NOT ever had this done before (if I had ever experienced this, you can bet I would not be alone with her in that room at that moment), she explained as best she could that she was removing the impurities from my face. She said it with an enlightened voice, as if she finally knew why my face was so toxic that she was actually going to leave work with sore arms that day from all the work of squeezing years of back build up from it. And then she went back to work.
As she worked and I held my screams inside, I resigned myself to the fact that for the rest of the trip (if not my life), I was going to most likely have purple skin (in the places where skin was left), a bulbous nose, and most likely would have a break out of cystic acne from all of the skin torture.
Fortunately, when she was done with the squeezing, she laid a piece of gauze over my face (ironically to protect it), and brought out a zappy machine that was supposed to close pores and heal capillaries (??? I think that is what she was saying it did when I asked her).
When she left the room, I sat up and looked in the mirror and was very relieved that my face was mostly just red. However, even as I write this around ten days later, I still have bruises on my forehead from this very very very strong woman.
As soon as I was done with my facial, they moved me to a different room for a massage. I liked this room better. There was soothing spa music, aromatherapy, it was a little warmer than the other room, and the lights were a soft warm glow. I felt confident that this was going to be the room where I would finally be able to calm down.
I can't remember the masseuse's name. She was a smallish, sweet looking woman with a soft voice. In retrospect, I think that this particular spa hired women on some sort of strength scale. As small and sweet as she looked, if I were to bet on her and Marianne in a fight, I would have a very hard time choosing.
She had me take off my clothes and lay face down on the table with a sheet over my body. I love massages, and I can honestly say she was very good. It takes a lot to physically hurt me (regardless of how I reacted to my facial), so I quite enjoyed a lot of the massage, even with her inhumanly strong hands and elbows. The only part that was too intense for me was when she was working my forearms. She seemed to be squeezing certain pressure points and then pulling away, all the way to my wrists, over and over. It was the only point of the massage where I was unable to hold in the sounds I wanted to make. Instead of the yell/gasp that would have made more sense, I started to laugh.
I think she'd been waiting for some sort of feedback from me, and I started to regret not having been more vocal through the rest of the massage (although she spoke no English), because she then started to focus on my arms more than any other part of my body. She'd massage a little on my legs (nice), then back to my arms (torture). She'd massage my lower back (heaven), then back to my arms (screaming silently inside).
I started wondering how many minutes had passed, and I was conflicted as to how much more I could take. Finally, however, on the last pass along my arms, the pain wasn't there. I don't know if it's because she achieved her goal with the massage, or if the nerves in my arms had finally snapped off, or if my brain had finally sent me some sort of chemical to shut off the perception of pain. I do know that around ten days later, I still have a small bruise on my right wrist.
I was a bit dizzy as I wobbled into the main lobby. I still had to get my fingernails shellacked, and as I sat there having them done I realized it was after five and I hadn't eaten since breakfast that morning.
When my nails were done, Deana came out briefly and we realized she still had another hour to go with her massage (there had been some sort of snafu with the polish they'd used on her manicure, which had taken much longer than normal) while I was essentially done with my spa day.
When she left for her massage and I was once again the only English speaking person in the room (besides the somewhat somewhat fluent in English speaking lady at the front desk), I realized that my brain had hung up it's "Closed For Business" sign, and I was done braining for the day. The words, they did not come. No words. Trying to pay for the services rendered that day, with the exchange of pesos to American money, my brain no like. Brain want food and quiet. Brain want someone else to do talking. Brain search for solution. No file found. Finally, brain remember husband. Brain messages Rob to have husband call (instead of calling husband in the first place). Husband call, but words still no work. Husband knows brain is broke, has seen brain like this before.
Husband and Rob rush to where brain is, but they can't quite remember WHICH Spa we are at.
At this point in their journey to find us, a man approached Derrick and Rob and asks them "You looking for ladies?" Derrick's brain is also a little out of commission at this point, because what he hears is "You looking for YOUR ladies?" and is surprised and a bit touched that this random man is going to help them out with the finding of their ladies.
Derrick looked at the man, and while I am not sure if he actually said 'Yes Indeed, I am looking for ladies', the look on his face said 'Yes' to the man's question. It was at that point the man pulled out his book of available "ladies", and pointed up to the windows where the said ladies were.
Rob and Derrick started doing the 'quick, get-away shuffle' that we all got in the practice of doing when out in town, talking about "Espouses" and then bolted off, fortunately right in our direction.
When Derrick and I finally got back to our room, instead of eating right away, I finally was able to shampoo my oil saturated hair (from the massage), and wash the day off of myself. I was starting to feel human again when we made it down to the beach.
They were having Mexican food and a show that night. In retrospect, I think that was my favorite food while we were at the resort. I had some pretty good chicken mole. We also had some pretty good tequila shots and margaritas.
We decided at dinner that the next day would be nothing but beach time.
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| Group at mexican food night on the beach |
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