If We Weren't All Crazy, We'd All Go Insane:The Shore Excursion

Several weeks before we set sail, the three cruising couples had dinner together at a Japanese steakhouse to determine the best way to spend our day in Cozumel. There were lots of choices--visiting the Mayan ruins, shopping, beach parties, booze cruises, Mexican cooking classes, jeep rides, parasailing, swimming with dolpins, scuba diving, etc. After ruling out the ridicuously expensive options, as well as the wildly dangerous options, we settled on the Catamaran Ride/Sea Kayaking/Snorkeling/Beach Party/Lunch Buffet option. It seemed like a nice combination of activity and relaxation. Here we are, arriving in Cozumel, blissfully ignorant of what our day had in store:

It was a clear day, but incredibly windy. Choppy seas. Unkempt hair. Sandy teeth. As we reached the touristy zone, locals were holding up signs with the excursion titles. Turns out the windy conditions precluded snorkeling and catamaran sailing. Our excursion was cancelled. Frankly, we didn't have too many choices left since many were sold out or had already left, but we ultimately decided to see the Mayan ruins, with beach time at the end. We'd all seen the big pyramid-like temple in pictures, now we'd see it in person! We wandered around the shopping area waiting for our trip, disappointed but determined to stay positive.


We boarded the bus with Jorge. Jorge was a native of Cozumel. He talked non-stop on the way to the ruins, but not about what we were about to see. He talked about Cozumel, informing us that they do not grow anything there, they do not make anything there, and they are basically the redheaded stepchildren of Mexico. Not exactly a great representative for his city was Jorge. The ride was long, and Jorge just kept going, reciting a litany Mexican foods and talking about habanero peppers. I cannot over-emphasize how long this ride was. Finally we arrived. And it became painfully clear that not only were we in the redheaded stepchildren's city, we were also at the redheaded stepchildren's Mayan ruins. No temple. Just a lot of rocks, mostly, according to Jorge The Informed, sacrificial altars (maybe). One remnant of a road with an arch and one "small house." Here are a few pictures of the sad ruins and of us, first feigning excitement, then showing our true feelings.




The highlight? An iguana. He was regal and unafraid. Until some other cruisers (who, judging from their uncooth behavior, were probably from Cozumel) decided to get up in his grill--a move he did not like one bit. Off he ran. And the highlight was over. I did get a few pictures before he hissed and banged his head against the ground in Obviously Threatened Mode.


Okay, so ruins were a bust. Jorge is a turd. But now we get to go to the beach! Oh, first, let's stop for 45 minutes at the PeePee Station (see picture to show you how classy it was), which is just a souvenir shop, most likely owned by someone related to Jorge. 45 minutes! We grumbled as we waited for some dumb people to once again get off the bus for no reason. We were hungry. We wanted to feel the sand in our toes. We did not want to buy hammocks with pictures of iguanas drinking tequila on them.

By the time we arrived at the beach, after more excruciating Jorge Speak, we had only 45 minutes. We regrouped and decided quickly that we would just take a cab back to the ship, allowing us more time on the beach and some time to actually eat some of the Mexican food that Jorge had described in such detail. This would cost more money, but dad-gummit, we wanted to drink a margarita on the beach and play in the ocean. So we did.





In the end, we made the best of a rotten day, relaxed for a bit on the beach, enjoyed some local booze in the square before boarding, and managed to get just enough sand in our toes to have a good story to tell.