You Have Been Warned…

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I took my four-year-old son to a local fair at the weekend (it was more for my enjoyment than his!!). After going mad on the dodgems and spending vast sums of money on pointless games involving guns, sticks and ball pits, we arrived at the ‘hook a duck’ game. You’ve seen the game before, I’m sure. It has a simple premise: take a long stick with a hook on the end, hold it over the ‘pond’ of plastic ducks (without accidentally hooking the wig of the stall owner) and pick up a duck.

Now, I was realistic about our chances. Although the sign said “prize every time,” I wasn’t expecting that we’d end up winning a speedboat. No, I’d have been quite happy with a giant cake in the shape of a ferris wheel or a year’s supply of toilet rolls…

So, what did my son win? Well, he had the opportunity to choose a prize from around the edge of the duck pond and he chose, perhaps unsurprisingly, a big, plastic gun.

As I inspected the gun that we had won (see how I’ve changed my son’s victory to become “ours”!), I was pleased to note that warnings signs were clearly marked on the packaging. For example, there was this warning…

Plastic Gun Packaging Warning 1

And I was thrilled to discover that the gun was very energy efficient, simply working off a mixture of flour, egg and milk…

Plastic Gun Packaging Warning 2

I’m pleased to be able to report that the gun DOES fire in a straight line… ;)

Rolled Or Folded?

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Present - Wrapped

I stared blankly at the shopkeeper, with a confused smile; I was experiencing a moment of sheer perplexity. My conversation at the till in a local card and gift wrap shop had been very interesting and going well until it came to a sudden and abrupt halt. I was asked a question to which I was struggling to find an answer. The question was this…

“would you like your wrapping paper rolled or folded?”

I’m sorry, what? Can you not start me off with something a bit easier, like… ‘what causes gravity?’ or ‘if a one-legged hen laid an egg and a half in a day and a half, how long would it take a monkey with a wooden leg to eat a packet of Maltesers?’

I felt unprepared for such a demonic attack on my grey matter. When you’re on a quiz show, such as ‘Who Wants To Be a Millionaire’, they at least start you off with a simple question, such as “how do you spell ‘moron’?”, before moving on to questions of higher complexity.

After a long pause of bewilderment, and with a fleeting evil grin, I turned the question back onto her: “well, I really don’t know. What would you recommend?” I could see her brain short circuit as she stood there with a blank, confused look. It appeared that no-one had ever turned the question back onto her. After a spell of silence, she replied, “do you know what, I never can decide that myself!” Suddenly, I felt less alone in the world… :)

So, what should one answer? Well, let’s look at the options available in the world of gift-wrap carriage (that’s ‘carriage’ and not ‘carnage’). I could choose to have the wrapping paper rolled. I could then carry it home, wielding it like a weapon, tripping people over as I walk by and hitting old ladies over the head. I have discovered on previous occasions that there’s something special about carrying it like a baton that gives one an incredible sense of power. I suddenly transform into a superhero; ready for a bank robber to run out of the local Natwest so that I can bludgeon him to death with my flowery, pink wrapping paper roll. “I can take anyone on… oh, shit, it’s started to rain…”

The alternative option is for the shopkeeper to fold the wrapping paper. That’s much more sensible, allowing me to easily fit it into my bag. However, when I go to wrap the gift, it’s going to end up with great big folds in it. Still, if I have it rolled then it’ll end up battered anyway. So, maybe it’s the best of a bad bunch.

Do you know what? The real reason I can’t ever come with an answer to the question “would you like your wrapping paper rolled or folded?” is because I don’t care. That’s right, I don’t give a shit whether they fold the paper, roll it or make it into a giant paper hat so that I can wear it home. I mean, sod it, come up with something creative: “Would you like your wrapping paper rolled, folded or crafted into an origami swan? If you like, I can set fire to it or blu-tack it to the neighbour’s cat.”

Creativity is what is required here. Now, where did that pesky moggy go… ;)

Unexpected Idiot In Bagging Area…

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Supermarket Checkout

I was using a supermarket self-checkout today, processing my items to the repetitive drone of “please place your item in the bagging area.” Next to me, an older couple were battling to put through their items of shopping, some (most) of which included bottles of alcohol. Most of you will be aware that when you buy alcohol at a self-checkout the attendant has to check your age. So, in this instance, their checkout light went red and a message popped up on their screen. Here is a transcript of the conversation that followed:

Lady: “Why is it telling us that we have to wait for assistance?”
Attendant: “We have to check your age to ensure you aren’t underage”
Lady: “Ah, ok. I suppose I should take it as a compliment, really? Ha ha ha…”

For some reason, I took umbrage at her stupid remark. I just about managed to hold back from vociferating in response:

“So, you think this piece of electronic equipment has a brain, do you? That’s mistake number one. Mistake number two is thinking that if it did have a brain, it would be stupid enough to think that you, a haggard old alcoholic woman who smells of musky piss and morning fresh, are actually a voluptuous 17-year-old woman with the face of an angel.”

“Oh, and, by the way, you should assume that the card payment machine thinks you’re trustworthy, that the supermarket’s automatic door likes you and that your trolley knows where your car is parked. Good luck!”

A Towel Too Far…

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Rapport can be described as a state of harmony achieved when the people involved appreciate and understand each other’s feelings and ideas and communicate on the same wavelength. Here is a story of how I established rapport with a room maid during my stay in Cancun. I was feeling a little cut off and lonely at the time, so it meant a lot to me.

During my two-week hotel stay, I occupied a twin room all to myself. This meant that I received two of everything, or in the case of bath towels, four of everything. It seemed a little extreme.

My first few evenings in Cancun were spent outside of the hotel. However, on my fifth night at the hotel, I was enjoying a rest before dinner when there was a knock at the door. I opened the door to a maid, who presented me with a towel before wishing me a good evening (in Spanish). “This is ridiculous,” I thought, “what the bloody hell do I need ANOTHER towel for?” Despite this, deep down inside me I felt a tingling sense of increased security: if I should need to have 10 showers a day, I could! Furthermore, if I ran out of money, I could start my own laundry shop… ;)

Opportunities can appear when you least expect them to. As I stood there, towel in hand, a childish idea came into my head – ‘towel origami.’ I could have some fun with this towel and put it to good use. So, this is what I made…

Enrique - Towel Origami

Say “hello” to my towel man, Enrique; made from one bath towel and one hand towel (together with a few bits and pieces from the complimentary bathroom pack). I left Enrique sitting at the top of the second bed; to greet the maid the next day. Next morning, I went out for the day, returning in the evening. As I walked back into the room I spotted that Enrique had disappeared… to be replaced by Mariana (complete with flirty eyes)…

Mariana - Towel Origami

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Cancun Holiday 2011

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Swimming Pool and Sea

My Caribbean Coast holiday is almost over – it’s time to start thinking about heading home. It has been a delight to leave behind the cold, wet weather and enjoy some sun and luxury in Cancun; a truly relaxing break for the mind, body and soul.

Back home, the UK is in the grip of winter. It’s winter here in Cancun too – both places share that in common. However, that is where the comparison stops. Winter here means balmy temperatures of 26c compared to England’s 5c. The liveliness factor is also very different. I live in a town where a special offer on denture cream at the local pharmacy is considered ‘breaking news’. Hardly comparable, then, to yesterday’s news from Cancun – a lady being bitten by a 9ft shark as she stood waist-high in the sea.

As i come to the end of my Cancun holiday, I look back with fondness on the time that I’ve spent here. I count myself lucky to have enjoyed a holiday made so special by the people I have met and the experiences I have shared. Granted, they weren’t all entirely pleasant; thinking back to the incident with a transvestite hooker at 4am outside Coco Bongo. He/she grabbed my hand and wanted a piece of me for $15. I gave some to her for free – some lip, my middle finger and a clean pair of heels.

Coco Bongo

Despite that ordeal, Coco Bongo was a definitive highlight of my trip. Now into my thirties, I no longer enjoy the experience of loud clubs and dancing next to perspiring drunks; pre-vomit. However, this club was delightfully different – a mixture of theatre and some classic music. Truly spectacular and highly recommended.

The great night at Coco Bongo compares to a fairly average night at another club called Basic (Cancun is full of clubs). The venue was nice enough, situated as a pier on the lagoon, but it’s the people I’m with that helps make the experience. At Coco Bongo, I was accompanied by the delightful Natalie and her brother Andre. At Basic, I was with a group of strangers and over-fussy bar staff with OCD. Leave your drink for 10 seconds and you’d come back to find it gone, the table empty and wiped and the chair tucked neatly underneath the table; your very existence expunged from the scene. I just about resisted the temptation to defenestrate members of staff into the lagoon outside, giving the crocodiles a late-night snack.

I must confess that I haven’t found it entirely easy in Cancun. The first week felt very daunting because of the mixture of cultures and languages; making communication tricky and frustrating. However, perseverance (and learning to talk slowly) was the key to overcoming these barriers.

Food-wise, I’ve eaten a lot of delicious meals in Cancun. The steak here has been mouth-watering and tender. I’ve also kept up my tradition of eating strange food when the opportunity arises. Leaping enthusiastically onto my list of unusual foods is the humble frog – delicious.

I’m going to talk about some of the people who have made my trip special. A series of serendipitous meetings has led to some truly memorable moments. For me, the enjoyment of a holiday is hugely dependent on the people I share my time with. So it proved here…

Chichin Itza
  • Christian, my business partner. It has been a pleasure to experience his life in Cancun and get to know all of his friends.
  • Natalie, Christian’s niece, with her warm smile, and her brother, Andre. Our trip to Chichin Itza (the Mayan archeological site dating back 5,000 years) was one I will always remember. Not just for the amazing, mathematical constructions and the strange ideas for flattening foreheads of the upper class children (Wikipedia), but also for Natalie’s decision to buy handmade napkins from the little, old, Mexican native ladies. The problem with that idea was that, having bought from one, others quickly appeared (her twins – they all looked the bloody same!). I think Natalie went home to Brazil with a suitcase full of napkins (if her family are reading this, they know what to expect for Christmas this year).
  • Sofia, a young Argentinian lady. Having only been learning English for 1 month, I was impressed by her understanding and use of the language. We ate a lovely Mediterranean meal together and had a great night out.
  • Nicolette, a delightful, young, American lady with a bright future (though, not at ping pong!). I met her following her deft little dodge through the lift doors, as they were closing. We subsequently struck up conversation, bumping into each other at regular intervals. I have to admit that I’m grateful for the snow storms that hit her home city of Chicago; delaying her return flight by two days. She left yesterday and it’s very quiet here without her cheeky banter and endearing smile. Still, at least she now has the opportunity to finish reading her 1000-word book – A World Without End – without interruption. What she doesn’t know is that I ripped out the last page – it’s now ‘a book without end’… ;)
  • Paola, the cute Mexican lady who is part of the Riu Hotel’s entertainment team. She has been tremendous fun; always greeting me with a big smile, despite me murdering her favourite Sinatra song at the karaoke event (serves her right for choosing it for me – :-D ). Paola has grown an innate hatred of my name because she struggles with pronouncing it properly. I gave her the option of calling me Frank (after the karaoke), but that just confused her more. At times, she resorted to calling me Nigel, though she doesn’t quite know why. Whatever, I’ve enjoyed spending time with her.
  • There are many, many more people that I’ve met and spent time with during my trip – too numerous to mention – but all of whom have contributed to my time here.

So, as the curtain comes down on my holiday in Cancun, what are my overall impressions?

When you get over being hollered by taxi drivers and the annoyance of being addressed as “amigo” when walking past street sellers. When you get away from the ever-present, grotesquely Westernised commercialisation in the hotel zone. When you discover the real beating heart inside and start to soak up the warmth, the atmosphere and the sunshine. That’s when it becomes truly cleansing for the soul; diminishing any levels of stress and leaving one totally relaxed.

Chatting to one man in the hotel lift, he likened Cancun to the scene at the end of the movie ‘The Shawshank Redemption.’ I was pleased to note that his partner was with him in the lift. So, he wasn’t comparing himself directly to the movie’s lead character who was jailed for murdering his wife, later escaping to the sun-kissed beach the man was referring to.

There is something very quaint about Cancun, the beaches and the sea. Indeed, as I strolled out to the sandy beach on my last night, with the sun setting and the sea lapping against the shore, it was hard to imagine a more romantic and delightful place to be. Almost perfect, with only one thing/person missing…

Karaoke In Cancun

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Karaoke

I can’t sing. I like to think that I can, but I really can’t. In addition, I hate watching other people sing when they’ve clearly got the musical talent of a drunk Labrador. So, imagine my quandary when I was approached by a gorgeous, Mexican lady and asked to participate in a karaoke evening…

Let’s start with some background on where I am. I’m on holiday in sunny Cancun, Mexico – the only place in the world where buses have a bus to catch (they speed around, competing with one another for passengers). I’m staying in an all-inclusive hotel, where food, alcohol and entertainment are thrown at you and ingested like feeding time at the local crocodile park. It really is modern debauchery at its finest.

Yesterday, after a day of relaxation mixed in with a tragic attempt at pool-side salsa dancing and some beach soccer, I was relaxing in the bar with a drink. It was at this point that I was approached by the gorgeous Mexican lady, Paola, wearing a stunning dress. With my brain distracted and tongue half hanging out, I heard her mumble something about a karaoke show. Alarm bells sounded in my head. I did the only thing I could think of – I nodded enthusiastically (to seem bold and brave), before running off to hide in a corner where she couldn’t find me. Unfortunately, she sought me out and discovered my hiding place.

Sitting down next to me, she had her book of songs at the ready. I flicked through the pages, trying to buy some time to figure out a way to say “no” without looking like a boring, spoil sport. However, my clever brain had deserted me and been replaced by a giant, wobbly jelly. Glancing through the book I stopped, quite by accident, on a page of Frank Sinatra songs. “Fly Me To The Moon – sing that, I love that song,” she boomed from next to me. “Here, write your name and I’ll do the rest.” Foolishly, I agreed (my jelly brain had turned into a trifle by this point). Whilst she ran off excitedly, I ran off in terror – towards the bar. The only possible way to make the experience less painful was to order a few quadruple vodka and cokes. Reaching the bar, I signalled the barman in desperation and then glanced around the room. I felt a little more at ease – the room was half empty. Great!

As my imminent demise approached, the room was filling up. Word was obviously getting around that somebody was going to die horribly on stage. The karaoke show began and from that moment, every time the announcer read out a name that wasn’t mine, I sat back, swigged another vodka and coke and took a deep breath.

After 3 singers, my name was read out. This was my moment – I strode up onto the stage; faking confidence. The introduction to the song began and I started singing. It was bad, very bad – I could hear it, yet could do nothing about it. To make matters worse, the song had no backing vocals – Sinatra never needed them to distract from his amazing voice. So, it was just my voice and an almost-silent instrumental. A break in the vocals allowed me to try and win the crowd back with a little dance – it worked – but then I had to start the final verse and that meant singing again.

I didn’t just murder the song, I butchered it into little pieces and fed it to the cat, before having it vomited back up with a fur ball. The only consolation I can take from it is the thought that Paola won’t be able to hear her favourite song again without remembering my performance, so there is some kind of revenge there. Still, I think I’m now deserving of the nickname The Butcher Of Bexhill.

Despite my singing being awful, I wasn’t the worst singer of the night and I didn’t take it seriously. So, although it was as painful as having teeth removed with a cordless hammer drill, I did come out of it with a sparkling smile and a little piece of dignity. I think Paula appreciated the effort… ;)