Sunday February 14, we packed up our clothes, kids, and last remaining brain cells and left for the Dreams Tullum resort. As you know from my last blog, I started with the end of the story because stress and trauma make things especially fresh in your mind. Frankly, after the whole airplane incident, I was having trouble remembering the previous 7 days of vacation. Thankfully, now the fog has lifted, and I am able to make a proper start at the beginning of the story.
Our group of merry little travellers all managed to arrive at BWI at the exact same time, despite the fact that we arrived in two cars from opposite ends of the state. I am not sure how we did that, but at this point I am willing to concede that we might just be that good. We showed our passports, took off our shoes for the obligatory security scan and managed to all make it onto an airplane with a minimum of drama. Yay, we were on our way to sun and fun!
When we arrived at the resort, after 4 hours on an airplane, 1 hour going through customs, and 90 minutes in a bus riding down the Yucatan, we were hot, sweaty, and ready to get to the pool and beach. It was then that I discovered the first blunder of the trip. I must have packed my bags in the dark while smoking crack or something because I discovered that I had only brought one bathing suit with me. Really? I am going to the tropics and I only bring one swimsuit? And one pair of pants? And one dress? And one pair of pajamas? (don't worry, I had some shorts, shirts, and underwear, but still . . .)
The room we reserved was gorgeous, although it begged the question: Is there a such thing as too much marble? The walls were marble, the floors were marble, the bathroom was a large marble room. It made sense at first, I have been in too many beach hotels where the carpet has gotten so nasty that you feet turn black the first time you walk on them. But the next morning, after the AC had been running all night, getting out of a nice warm bed to put your feet on ice cold marble was making us long for a little nasty carpeting.
I really don't know why we are allowed to leave the country. We really are the Clampetts sometimes. Here is a partial list of questions asked by various members of our party. They are in no particular order and may or may not have been preceded by vast amounts of Tequila is various forms.
1.On this customs form, is “surname” Spanish for last name?
2.What will we do if there is an earthquake and we get hit by a salami? (I am guessing that was supposed to be Tsunami. . . but in the case of an actual salami I guess we will eat it with mustard?)
3.(asked of an actual Mexican resident) Are you sleepy? Are you going to take a nap-o?
4.Maybe next year we should go to the Caribbean instead. (Um, look to the right)
To our credit, my sister in law and I managed to redeem ourselves from the last time we traveled, by NOT GETTING DRUNK, not that my father-in-law, brother-in-law or husband could possibly resist making “drunk on Lemon Drop Martini” jokes for the whole entire week. Luckily, we have a sense of humor about ourselves, our tolerance for hard liquor while on vacation, and our ability to speak when on such liquids.
All in all, it was a great trip. The kids had fun, we had fun. It was almost a pity we had to return to the cold snowy shores of the Chesapeake Bay. We did have one disapointing moment towards the end. We decided the last night to really dress up for dinner, have our pictures taken, and get a really nice meal. We gussied ourselves up and walked to the Italian restaurant in the resort (that very clearly stated that no reservations were necessary) and were told that there was an hour wait for a table. Well, okay, we can certainly go get our pictures taken on the beach while we wait, just give us one of those little pager things and we will be on our way.
Cut to 1 hour and 30 minutes later. The pager still hadn't gone off. Matt walked up to the host and inquired about when our table would be ready. He replied, (and try to say this in your head in a thick Spanish accent) “I am sorry, it is going to be another hour or two until we have a table for you.”
Really?? Three hours for Italian food? With four kids under 10??? My father in law proceeded to toss the pager back at the man and we walked over to the Chinese restaurant. There was at least an hour wait there too. Then we walked over to the Seaside Grill. That was closed for a wedding.
Would you like to know how this ends? It ends with us, dressed to the nines, seated at the BUFFET! Surrounded by families, the kids club eating dinner, and people wearing various forms of swimwear. Not quite the fine dining experience we wanted, but at least we were eating.
It bears saying again, though, that we had a super time. So super, in fact, that we have decided to return to Mexico next year for vacation. As long as the resort doesn't get hit by a salami!
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