Whoever thought that shopping at the hacienda the morning after a night of binge drinking was clearly an idiot (aka me). There are about a dozen or more things I’d rather do than stumble around in a sweaty haze, bouncing from souvenir shop from souvenir shop (all selling the same products) or haggling with vendors. I was too hungover to haggle. I bought a coconut ring and a pretty black and gold beaded necklace for full price instead.

 

The rest of our hungover day was spent anticipating a drunken pubcrawl in the Playa del Carmen. We floated around the quiet pool mostly, or soaked in the jacuzzi. A sexy older man chatted with us for awhile while his friends tossed a coconut around the pool, and then he took an underwater picture of us with his camera. It turned out disastrous. When we all lined up for a photograph in the hammocks, I unwittingly ended up in the only broken one. I never fit in. 

 

Saturday also marked our first a la carte meal at the Mediterranean restaurant. All the attention and lavish accommodations made me extremely uncomfortable. Am I so helpless that I can’t place a napkin in my lap? I felt like I was rich, except in reality I can’t afford toilet paper and must resort to using old newspapers. Anyway, I ordered the grilled tuna, which was delicious.

 

After supper, we congregated in Coba lobby to wait for our party hopper bus and to have a pre-drink for the road.  When our bus arrived, our driver introduced himself as Danny Devito. There were about eight other people on board, including a group from BC and a Dutch couple. The ride was hilarious with jokes at my expense. Danny Devito turned around at the beginning of the journey and asked if any of us were honeymooners. He pointed a finger at me, sitting alone on a seat in the corner, and said, “Oh, you’re not.” Everyone laughed uproariously while I turned the same shade of fuchsia as my dress.

 

At some point during the ride, I noticed that Danny Devito was having trouble staying on the road. He started mumbling, “Shit, oh shit!” and suddenly pulled over, while we gripped our seats in horror. Turned out we had blown a tire. Picture this: five or six men (most of them severely inexperienced) crowding around a bus in the middle of an incredibly dangerous, speedy highway trying to put a tire back on a bus. I don’t know how anyone survived. Perhaps Danny’s peek up my dress restored his spirits and vitality.

 

In the Playa del Carmen, we met the other crawlers… over 100 people in total. Our night included unlimited, free drinks and private sections at the bars. The first place we hit up was Carlos and Charlie’s, a tiny, stacked pub not far from our meet-up point. I didn’t particularly enjoy the pub: the space was too small and we had to navigate the dangerous stairs every time we needed to tinkle. Plus I don’t understand the constant need of bathroom attendants, even in shady bathrooms. Once again, I’m capable of cleaning up after myself, unless I’m drunk and pee on my legs (which I did later in the evening). We had a beer on the balcony high above the street, but the pub was so crowded we could barely figure out what was going on besides a lot of dancing and a baby wailing from a recorded track…? I needed more drinks. Quickly.

 

Senor Frogs, our next stop, was my favourite bar, and I’m sure the incredibly gorgeous servers had nothing to do with it. When we picked a table, they dramatically wiped it off for us using their chests. One of the servers kept coming up behind me and grabbing my hair roughly in his fist. I laughed it off but in fact I wanted to pin him to the table and bite his face.

 

After six beers and seeing a trio of incredibly sexy, muscular breakdancers perform on stage, I made the decision to marry a Mexican with rippling abdominal muscles who could spin on his head and dance on one hand. Oh, the possibilities.

 

The grand finale of the evening was the infamous Coco Bongo, newly opened in the Playa del Carmen. Walking into the complex was like stepping into a full-blown Mardi Gras celebration. It takes your breath away. My first view of the area was a gaggle of ladies decked out in colourful outfits on a stage in front of me, while balloons and confetti and god knows what else exploded from every corner of the bar. Three levels packed with drunk people all enjoying a live show featuring guests like Spiderman, the Mask, Beyonce, and ACDC. Actors dropped from the ceiling or swung across the perimeter. It was like a friggen circus.

 

My favourite show of the evening was the ribbon dancers who dropped from the ceiling and performed a sort of tribute to the movie “Troy.” I couldn’t believe it was freaking happening in a bar…gymnasts just dangling in midair, using only ribbons to support themselves. I couldn’t even tear my eyes away to down my beer.

 

Our tour had a private balcony all to ourselves…unfortunately, it was crap. There was no bar, so drinks took forever to reach us. We were squeezed between dozens of other people all trying to watch the show, and the bathroom line-up was at least 20 minutes long. Albertian, frustrated with the whole scenario, fought her way out of the crowd and ended up spending the night dancing on the bar on the main level. When I tried to join her, one of the guides yelled at me and told me I would not be able to find the group after the bar closed, so I stayed behind. I still regret doing so…Albertian nearly even got to make out with Spiderman…a life goal of mine! Sigh. The next time I do the Playa del Carmen, I’m gonna do it right.  

 

Also, I can’t believe I failed to post this incredible picture from our night at the Hacienda. Can you say sweatiest man in North America? Mmm.

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