The next day the sun was shining.  The rune I drew was Berkana, representing birth, so I was ready for a new perspective.  I took it with me, hoping to find an interesting place to photograph it. 

Although the seventeen-dollar hotel I’d booked for three days was in a bad neighborhood, I found my way to the bus station and from there was able to get my bearings.  The plan for the next day was to head out to Chichen Itza, so I bought a ticket for the next morning, passing a wax statue of Arnold Schwarzenegger as The Terminator on my way out of the station.  How many travelers walking past by it have quipped I’ll be back?  I know I wasn’t the first.

When I’d been in Cancun two years earlier, I’d stayed in a neighborhood close to Parque de Palapas, a park with a bandstand, carnival rides, and a number of vendors.  I was in the vicinity of it, but it still took a long time to find.  The day before my shirt had been soaked in rain.  Now it was drenched in sweat.  By the time I found the park, it looked drab and underwhelming.  I got out the Berkana rune and took a few pictures, then went looking for the hostel I’d stayed in before, remembering all the street art on the walls outside of it. 

Mexico is one of the street art capitals of the world.  As I walked, I passed a mural of a skeleton growing hearts in a garden.  There was a painting of King Tut with a skull for a face.  There was a sculpture of a man, just half of his head, juxtaposed against some flowers, then the blue and white elements of a Madonna, like two eggshells.  There was a lowrider and a pit bull, a bandita in a sombrero, holding a marker in her hand.  I passed two parrots and four Aztecs, an ofrenda outside of a restaurant, with orange marigolds and black and white photos.

When people think about Cancun, what they imagine is the resort hotels on Boulevard Kukulkan that line the white sand and turquoise water of the Caribbean Sea.  I was staying in the old town, but had been out to the Hotel Zone before and done some scuba-diving there, so knew that there are tourist buses that run out and back every few minutes.  On this day, I just wanted to ride to the end of the hotel row, so boarded a bus and sat on a high seat alone. 

I don’t have a problem with luxury, but have never experienced much of it either.  Everything that I need can be found in one room with a bed, desk, and fan, but if someone wanted to spring for me to stay in a top-end hotel, I would be delighted with that as well.  I remember a tale I heard about a king in India, who invited a very well-known aesthetic to visit his palace.  This old man had lived in a cave for years and was reported to be able to survive off a handful of grain every few days. 

Imagine the king’s surprise than, when the old hermit ate, drank, and indulged in more riotous gluttony than anyone else that weekend.  The hermit’s response was that he was happy in his cave, he was happy at the party, he was happy under all conditions, but the king, even with all his wealth and power, was rarely content.  He certainly couldn’t be happy in a cave if he wasn’t happy in a castle.  Although I was rarely overjoyed, I’d done a lot with a little for many years and was used to it.  I’d been OK in cheap hotel rooms, and would be OK at a resort, but the same underlying issues are always there no matter where you stay.

Now the bus driver seemed to be in a race.  There were only a handful of us aboard and he didn’t seem to want to stop for anyone, only slamming on the brakes when he had to do so, and shuddering to a halt at the last second.  We passed Playa Quetzal, the Ocean Dream, the Sunset Royal Beach, Luxury Avenue, the Hard Rock Café, the Wyndham, the Hyatt, the Bubba Gump Shrimp Company.  All these tourists strolling with their shopping bags were having the exact same experience, and that was OK for them. 

At Dolphin Beach Point the bus turned around.  I’d need to pay again if I wanted to ride back.  No problem.  I handed another fare to the driver who was visiting with a girl who worked at one of the hotels.  Now we passed Club Med, the Westin Resort and Spa, the Sun Palace, the club Coco Bongo with a big Spiderman outside and Madonna impersonator onstage. 

I could have been spending hundreds of dollars a night, thousands of dollars, but I was spending seventeen.  My room wasn’t that bad.  At least the internet worked.  For seventeen dollars I didn’t need smiles and service, as long as they opened up the gate when I got back.  If I could sit down on the bed and kick off my shoes, then that was enough, at least for today.