I can’t say enough about how tiring it is to jump aboard an airplane at 6 a.m. and take a trip somewhere you’ve never been. I guess in an ideal world you could teleport yourself wherever on the planet you want to go, but would that be as much fun as the long lines you face in going through Customs?
Perhaps not.
Still, I know well that it’s not the travel itself that drives me; it’s the end of the travel. I never bought that maxim: “The journey is the destination,” because why even get on a plane if the destination isn’t the journey?
OK, that’s high-minded talk that’ll get me nowhere, and I’m somewhere today: specifically, Cancun. I’ll admit, though, on days when the sun ain’t shining — and it hasn’t shined here yet on my first full day — I can think of a lot better place to be than in a hotel room waiting for the rain to stop.
For Cancun has plenty to see, to do and to enjoy. Then again, I’m just guessing on all of this, because I’ve never been to Mexico, which means I’ve never been to Cancun. I have no idea what awaits me.
It doesn’t take long to see that Cancun has a bit of Miami to it. Lining the causeways are condos and hotels — all buildings of a recent vintage. Looking across the aqua waters, you see those tall building rising in full bloom, and on the water itself, you won’t find it short of big boats.
Of course, you can’t tell a country by the sleek, high-rise building in its most affluent ZIP codes, because if you could, Miami wouldn’t have Little Havana and Los Angeles wouldn’t have Compton. I’m sure I’ll see the divide that will explain why Mexicans have looked at the United States as their fleet to a better life.
And like other places I have been where poverty borders wealth, I’ll glimpse here what will be the side of a tourist spot that no one wants visitors here to see.
Yet to squirrel yourself inside this cocoon of affluence would be to disregard the blood, the sweat and the tears that got this place where it is nowadays. You’ll miss the rich indigenous influence on the architecture, the food and the culture. You would gloss over the Technicolor bazaar that keeps those old ways alive.
For instance, how long would European and U.S. chefs have taken to concoct a dish like, oh, Lime soup? In all my travels, I have never heard of it; I had certainly never tasted anything like this traditional Yucatán favorite, which the rich favors of spices and strips of turkey dominate the flavor profile more than the lime does.
I could sell gallons of Lime soup if I took the recipe back to The States with me and opened a restaurant. No matter, I do know that I have plenty of additional Mexican dishes to sample and lots of its history to pore over. I’m looking for a way to appreciate the differences — the colors, the traditions, the foods — no Beijing duck here — that separate peoples around the world.
Through what separates people, I can see what binds them, and it starts with understanding and appreciation of differences. It’s hard to dislike dim sum if you’ve never tasted it.
In eight days, I’ll be heading to the international airport in Cancun and boarding a plane back for Cleveland. I’ll be leaving behind temperatures in the 80s and sunshine in January. In their place, I’ll face ice, snow and daily highs, if I’m lucky, in the low 30s.
What I hope to have in tow are memories of a place that draws more visitors here in winter than Cleveland does. I’ll also say to myself what other country can I explore that also isn’t what Cleveland is or isn’t Cancun either.
