Never having the guts or the money to go to a destination like Cancun as a college spring breaker or a twenty-something, I had only the stereotypes and rumors perpetrated by Girls Gone Wild infomercials to guide my expectations for the trip me and my wife were about to take there. But to my pleasant surprise upon our arrival this past weekend, the hotel strip and its gated compounds of luxury and bottomless buffets is well removed from the areas that earned Cancun its sleazy reputation, although some of the locals assured me that this reputation is still kicking.
Closer to downtown, they said, there are plenty of bars like the Tequila Barrel that serve fishbowl-sized drinks and the vomit-paved sidewalks as in front of disco joints like Coco Bongo, which is a curious favorite of news giant CNN. These are the kinds of places that require owners to post signs about the dangers of standing on toilets.
Like many cities in the world, Cancun is a place of extreme haves and have-nots. But one thing (or should I say two?) is in abundant supply. Ass.
I admit I am a sheltered sort, seeing most of the beauty and colostomy in the world through the pixeled comfort of a flat screen. So when I see it in person, not to mention right up in my face, I feel a moment of scared stillness. It isn’t that people on Mexican beaches are so loose as to flounce pure waist-down nudity, although they are uninhibited enough to smoke from hookah pipes in plain view. But it makes one, this one at least, wonder what possesses a woman (I saw thongs only on women, not men, thank god) willfully feed a strap or string through her gluteal crevice. Is it ribbed for her pleasure?
I’ve had the thought before, I must admit, but not until this trip was I curious to the point of almost buying a cheap beaded thong sold in one of the hotel shops for 100 pesos (about $8 USD). But I didn’t, alas, abiding the wisdom provided by my mother and which has become my life’s cornerstone – nothing good comes from sticking something in your ass.