I had another title for today’s blog but after much deliberation I have decided to go with this one. You see, without going into much detail I was going to make assertions that would probably upset and alienate too many people based on my stuffy old-fashioned biases. Whether I like it or not its 2017. Time marches on and so must I.
It’s time to live and let live. Love and accept the many different things that people do to themselves to make them appear “unique” and forge on in a way that is non judgemental & be a strong proponent of vive la difference!
Yesterday Mexico celebrated the day of the dead. This will come back to play a significant role in my story a little later. Yesterday afternoon, after many hours of snorkeling and lying about in the shade, it was time to make a decision about dinner and where to have it. I had been scouring the net for options in the town center and as such had found what appeared to fit the bill perfectly. Seafood in a bun, seafood in a bowl or seafood burritos. This place came highly recommended by hundreds before us as well as our lovely El Presidente Concierge Ana.
All we had to do is request a cab and head towards what was shaping up in my imagination to be the experience of a lifetime. Our restaurant of choice tonight has countless five-star ratings on Google, Yelp, and the grand daddy of them all, Trip Adviser (Sorry Mr. Steves!!).
Ana hailed us a cab and soon afterwards we were driving at a pace akin to the speed of baby sea turtles, who (I recently learned) are born into the world from Cozumel’s surrounding beaches. Today’s driver was not as spry as our last (Juan). One could almost describe him as a dead man driving. I never quite got his name as he required what little energy he had left to drive his dilapidated Toyota Corolla from point A to B, let alone utter words.
Let’s just say that I would be very surprised to to witness our driver survive the night to see mañana . Our nether-worldly driver appeared to be similar in stature to Juan but I couldn’t swear to that as he never rose from his seat to get out of the cab. My guess is just under five feet tall, slim build and frail. From the Intercontinental Resort we meandered along Quintana Roo Road as mentioned earlier at a leisurely pace. Pedestrians strolled by us like we were standing still. Families of six all aboard their 125cc motorbike passed us like super bike riders racing the Isle of Man TT.
My beard was noticeably longer as we arrived at the city limits. If this was Juan at the wheel we would have been around the island once and lapped ourselves by now. My stomach was turning as I thought “oh my god”, what is this going to cost us. If the meter goes by time and not distance we are going to have to sell fake Cuban cigars or god forbid, donkey rides on the beach to drunken Carnival Cruise day trippers to pay for this.
As we passed the Mega store I though to myself, that took us ten minutes last time. If this keeps up Deanna is going to have to bury me and our nameless driver together in this shock absorb-er-less Mexinese death trap. Deanna was happily perspiring to my left with nary a trouble in the world. I’m panicking Sky-walker!
So this continued for another five minutes before I said to Deanna, I mapped this place out on Google yesterday. It’s just a five-minute walk from the Mega. By this time we were approaching wilderness and Cozumel Airport in the distance. Now, for the Talking Heads fans among us, I think these lyrics from their song “Once in a lifetime” will illustrate what was going on inside my head as I stared out of the cab.
And you may ask yourself
What is that beautiful house?
And you may ask yourself
Where does that highway go to?
And you may ask yourself
Am I right? Am I wrong?
And you may say to yourself, “My God! What have I done?”
With the power invested upon me by the music of David Byrne, I summoned up the courage to ask a few questions of our octogenarian driver. I knew going into this that he only had so many breaths left to take so to keep my questions brief. “Señor are you driving to the Lobster Shack?” “Ci he replied!” “Are you sure?” “The Lobster Shack I asked again”? I could smell the synapses smoldering. Then came his reply. “Ci we go Lobster Shark”.
What the ***k is a lobster shark? I just wanted a lobster sandwich. Now we are gonna be fed to lobster sharks. What are lobster sharks? I’ve never heard of them before. They sound like one of those hybrid villains I used to binge watch on Saturday morning Spider-Man cartoons as a lad.
Ok, I decide to throw caution to the wind and ask our driver to use what little life he has left to turn this wheelie coffin around and head back for the town centre. A while later we arrived. I asked him to pull over beside the nice man with a completely tattooed face and his pit bull so we could say our goodbyes.
Here it comes, ‘how much Señor? 110 pesos Señor. So its 110 pesos to the Mega, or its 110 pesos to drive to the lobster shark feeding grounds and all the way back to tattooed face man. Ok, no argument here, and I paid the man before he ran out of time to spend it. I then turned and saw a Starbucks. This evening Starbucks stood in the distance like the Statue of Liberty. Starbucks was there to give respite to the poor, tired and huddled masses (as long as they buy an Americano).
I just wanted their WiFi and damn it I got it. Hey Siri, find Lobster Shack. Three seconds later Siri says we are actually about 45 seconds away by foot. We follow the directions around the corner and there it is. Just as it looked in the dozens of photos attached to the reviews. Tables outside, menu looks awesome. It’s closed!