Gorging to the Max

I don't think it's entirely unreasonable of me to expect all-inclusive resorts to liberally post warning signs that what lays in store could be hazardous to your health.  I'm thinking maybe some diabolical figure with horns and a rictus grin standing atop a pile of absurdly bloated bodies.  Maybe, just maybe, this message might thwart one's overwhelming impulse to eat 1400 times what you normally consume.  Maybe.  I'm not sure there is a single term or phrase that best describes vacationing in an all-inclusive resort: fabulously indulgent, unspeakable gluttony, guilty pleasure, hedonism run amok, wasteful and wanton consumption, paradise.  It's so hard to decide.  In the end, it's whatever you want, whenever you want it.  Limitless choices, limitless quantities.  Think if it as a cruise without the claustrophobia and the company of 380 pound fellow travelers.

This is our lot this week as we indulge ourselves a few miles south of Playa del Carmen on the Yucatan's east coast, or, as it has now become known, the Mayan Riviera.  Here at the Catalonia Royal Tulum we are celebrating a birthday for long-time friend, Cathy, who is here with husband, Randy, and their grown children, Travis and Shannon. 

We arrived here a few days ago tired from a long flight and a 3:45 a.m. wake up alarm to be met at the airport by a seemingly friendly chap, Carlos, who, in my stupor, I thought was an associate of the transit company that would ferry us to our hotel.  But, no.  It took us a couple of minutes to realize that Carlos was a shill for a time share resort and was laying on his considerable persuasive powers and charm to seduce us into a presentation by his employer.  This, of course, was way too reminiscent of our similar experience in getting our "free" Caribbean cruise about a year ago which was as enjoyable to us as water boarding is to most right minded folks.  Free of Carlos, we are whisked away on our one hour ride south past wonderful memories of past visits to this region.

The hotel is most surely elegant.  Its lobby is open to the elements protected by a huge conical thatched roof that seems to rise several stories above where we stand.  The path to our room is through vegetation lush enough to fairly be called jungle.  A curving white-stoned path leads us through the jungle to our rooms and the beach and is not a bad substitute for the Yellow Brick Road of Oz. 

But, the recurring theme here is food and drink.  Unless you opt for a sensible continental breakfast, you are faced with a buffet that offers more customized omelets, more fresh fruit, more bread and rolls, more sausage, bacon, smoked salmon, and champagne than you see in six lifetimes.  It's crazy.  Same for lunch where the dessert display alone is ten feet long and one is faced with choices ranging from ceviche to salads to tostadas to pulled pork to sushi.  And then, five restaurants to choose from for dinner where once again you engage in the good angel/bad angel debate over how many delicacies (and calories) to inhale.  It's a wonder management just doesn't encourage you to lose the pants and go straight to togas.  And, the liquor.  Oh my, the liquor.  It's all included so you find yourself smacking down multiple cervezas at lunch followed by an afternoon (at least in my case) of mojitos (with Cuban rum!) as you semi-absentmindedly await the sunset.  I'm already thinking I should maybe ask the flight attendant on the way back for one of those seat belt extenders.

And then, there is the animal life, which abounds.  Mammals come in various sizes with various snouts.  One creature looks like a large groundhog, not unlike a capybara, but smaller.  Coati mundis travel en masse and playfully accost passers-by looking for a handout.  They do this in a most polite way standing straight up on their hind legs arms outstretched above their heads as if beseeching you for one more crumb.  Schools of fish swim around you in the shallows with a cockiness reflecting their awareness that humans are woefully too slow to threaten them.  There are toucans whose beaks are, truth be told, significantly larger than mine.  And, then there are the parrots, "Ricky" and "Martin," who seem quite content to pose with me, one cradled in my arms on his back like a baby, the other perched on my shoulder taking a bit too much interest in my hair.  Iguanas scurry here and there showing their own addiction to the local red flowers.  None of them, however, has been taught to whisper.  Their early morning screeching, whistling, cackling and clucking is, I guess, what you might call your daily wake-up call, Mexican style.

I loved this week.  Good times with old friends, blowing it out.  What's a few calories among friends?