Cancun

Cancun, Burning Man called and it wants it´s noise pollution back. Man, you should really let people know when they check into your overpriced hostel that their kickin´ air conditioning system will be augmented by a non-stop stream of ¨DOOF DOOF DOOF¨ into the wee and then the not-so wee hours of the morn.

But that´s neither here nor there.

So the last stop of the trip! I cannot believe that this is where seven months of mayhem has brought us... Cancun, the Señor Frogged, high-risen, underaged pina colada center ring of the ugly tourist universe. I suppose it serves as a kind of decompression chamber for us on our re-entry into the States, although this is nothing like any America I´d want to live in.

But I can´t say we haven´t had a blast. The last week has seen some serious budgetary concerns on the part of Team Erik and Caitlin- some haphazard math left us with about 189 pesos per day between the two of us. A little disconcerting when your tent spot alone runs you 125. But we lived lightly, discovered the utility of red dresses and blonde hair when hitch hiking the Yucatan, sold our loyal tent to an interested Mexico Cityite, and came up on a few extra bucks for celebration on our last night in Latin America, hell, even enough for the bus ride to the airport.

Cancun gets a whole lot more fun with a six-pack of Sol. My only regret is missing the Lucha Libre fight that went down across the street from our hostel. Big, burly men grappling in superhero masks? Si hombre, los mejicanos son locos.

Mark my words, I´ll be back in Mexico before long. I´ve fallen in love with Oaxacan cheese and the phrase puta madre, yelled at a shrill pitch and high volume.

Sigh. But onward and upward! Thus concludes my last missive from abroad.

Over and out,
La Catalina