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After-Action Report, Victory, May 8-11, 2014

HeyYouKidsGetOffMyLawn
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celticd1

celticd1

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My first/original punishment was going to be handicapping him too...but that would be a HUGE inconvenience to me if we were BOTH in wheelchairs...lolol! ;o)

 

 

Weeeeeell, maybe you could just do us a favor and run over one foot? Just so he has to sit and can't run off and leaving us hanging! LOL :D

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HeyYouKidsGetOffMyLawn

HeyYouKidsGetOffMyLawn

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My first angry mob. I am slightly terrified of you people.

 

And I'll admit that Tim Dorsey is probably a big influence on the writing of these things. He's better.

 

You want me to write a book? No, just buy his. I do not compare.

 

Mr. Lawn

Edited by HeyYouKidsGetOffMyLawn
My writing is crepuscular. Hi Katie.
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pattimelt

pattimelt

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I've been good. I have, until NOW, not joined all the people that have begged and pleaded for more of this story. But I've had a really crappy day, and I need something to smile about, so will you PLEASE add a new chapter tonight??? Not even the thought of my OWN cruise in 29 days is making me smile tonight, so I need help..

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HeyYouKidsGetOffMyLawn

HeyYouKidsGetOffMyLawn

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Back to the buggy, down another kilometer (I'm making rough guesses here) of limestone road, we reach a wide clearing that’s being used as a circular parking lot by a dozen vehicles.

 

“That's the lighthouse. You can climb it if you want.”

 

https://www.google.com/maps/place/Cozumel+Lighthouse/@20.272453,-86.988136,2a,90y,90t/data=!3m5!1e2!3m3!1s22574800!2e1!3e10!4m2!3m1!1s0x8f4fac9b9cd39523:0xbf685f8c26770c11!6m1!1e1?hl=en

 

I’m still feeling slightly emasculated by my earlier refusal to defeat a crocodile with my bare hands under the walkway. I must make amends and restore my honor. Then I realize, “This is Mexico. I am a very manly man. I must demonstrate my machismo. The sultry senoritas shall swoon as I swagger out of the lighthouse.”

 

I duck my head through the entrance door and begin climbing the spiral concrete staircase. There's no handrail and only a few small platforms to rest, next to open windows for light and ventilation.

 

A single warning sign is painted where the stairs emerge and become a platform: Watch your head.

 

At the center of the room at the top of the building is a huge light bulb. Well, I suppose that makes sense.

 

There’s a green-painted balcony outside, accessible by crawling out an open door. I'm the only person at the top of the building, and I can see no signs saying I can't risk my fool life by climbing through the door.

 

I’m dressed in the brightest neon clothes I could find, with the idea that I’d be easy to find in a crowd if we got separated. I take off my vividly orange shirt and wave it from the balcony. “Hey everybody! I made it up to the top. This is pretty neat.” Nobody looks up.

 

From my all-seeing position, I watch my wife being gently guided from the dune buggy into a row of wooden shacks selling trinkets. He’s probably encouraging her to shop. She’s going shopping, alone.

 

We've become separated in a strange land. I've made a terrible mistake.

 

I did not count them, but I claim that there are just as many steps on the staircase when you are travelling back down. I can show you a straightforward proof to demonstrate the correctness of my assertion.

 

I meet two grade-school-aged boys on my way down. They are slowly making progress upwards, and we can not pass easily on the steps, so I pause at a platform to let them pass. As we separate, I tell them they're about a third of the way to the top. They do not seem discouraged by this news.

 

I reach beach shack #2, and find my wife trying on bracelets as three salesmen flatter her and probe her for hints on our budget. She’s trying to simultaneously indicate to me that she likes the item, and act disinterested to the sales staff.

 

We buy the bracelet. I hate haggling, so I will assure you we paid too much.

 

The legendary convoy of shiny dune buggies arrives at the park. They've parked on the other side of the circle, and our guide is desperate to keep us distracted when we try to wander in that direction.

 

It’s the usual large group tour. Identically dressed tour guides yelling at a disorganized crowd of customers.

 

“We’re still behind schedule, so I want everybody stay together. We're only spending 18 minutes here. Please look at everything quickly and be back at the vehicles on time.”

 

My wife points out that the other group has paper wristbands that look different from ours.

 

I wish I had kept my wristband to confirm the wording, but I'm pretty sure we were given ‘tour guide’ wristbands at the ‘local resident’ price.

 

We get back in the buggy, and open another round of cold beers.

 

“Now we visit the famous ruins.”

 

“Nope. Skip that part. Let’s get out of here.”

 

Retracing our path, we leave the very nice eco park, and return to the highway travelling north along the eastern side of the island.

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loubetti

loubetti

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BTW, and just as a FYI (that means "by the way, and just as a for your information" for Mr. Lawn's comprehension), I will not be charging any royalties for use of the "Mr. Lawn" name that I first mentioned in post #59. I had it copyrighted shortly thereafter! :D

 

Okay, next installment. It's the weekend, and the lawn doesn't need mowing!:rolleyes:

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freddymale

freddymale

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omg this is by far the best review I have ever read.

we are doing a back to back on the victory in sept,

I just have to see how your trip ends

looking forward to reading more

 

and thank you for taking the time to write this for us :D

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loubetti

loubetti

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I'm just bumping this back up from page 3, as we await "Sir" Lawn's next installment. Turns out the queen of England knighted him yesterday for this review, so perhaps he's tied up with those formalities!

 

How DO I come up with this stuff?!!! :confused::D

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tmp1127

tmp1127

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I'm boarding the Legend today and I'm sooooo excited however I'm hoping I can read one more of Mr Lawn's installments before I no longer have wifi.

Thank you for the many outburst of laughter.

 

Sent from my SGH-M919 using Tapatalk

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HeyYouKidsGetOffMyLawn

HeyYouKidsGetOffMyLawn

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We’re roaring down the deserted coastal road away from the eco park, travelling north. To our right, the surf is heavy, creating picturesque whitecaps on the perfect blue waves as they crash against the shore.

 

With not much else to do, I start chatting with the driver again.

 

He’s in a partnership for the guide business. They always work both days on the weekend, and take days off during the week when the ship arrivals are slower. Before the buggy business, he was a scuba divemaster and worked in a car rental office.

 

If I wanted to quit my job and become his competition, the market price for a dune buggy made in Cozumel is roughly $6,000. There are no licensing requirements. But I’d have to learn Spanish and look different, so ... I’ll keep my day job.

 

We reach a cluster of temporary buildings on both side of the road.

 

https://www.google.com/maps/@20.31731,-86.929516,3a,75y,64.01h,69.42t/data=!3m4!1e1!3m2!1sycQp1hPWY9uc2IYqZhtbgg!2e0?hl=en

 

This is the kids beach. Tired of drinking beer, I dig into the cooler and find a small (273 ml) glass bottle of Coke, which may have been made with cane sugar instead of corn syrup. Either way, it was delicious and perfect for this moment of the trip. With my wife using my shoulders for support, we travel down a shallow ramp from the roadside. DW manages to cross the beach slowly and walk into the water up to her knees. We stand there for a few minutes, then she asks if we can get out of the water. This section of the beach is protected by a rocky natural (?) breakwater about 30 meters away, but the waves are still strong enough here to make her nervous about losing her balance.

 

I finish my glass bottle of Mexican coke, knock the damp sand off of it and place it back in the cooler under the assumption that the bottles are recycled and he paid a deposit for it.

 

We’re back in motion, still along the coast and northbound. I’m out of small talk ideas.

 

“Hey! Do you like trivia questions? I love trivia. But I’m not very good at it, so I don’t have any plastic model boats.” I receive a polite smile.

 

“Here’s a fun one. Complete this sentence, “It rubs the lotion on it’s skin. It does this whenever it’s told. It rubs the lotion on it’s skin or ...”

 

The polite smile disappears. There’s a pause before he responds.

 

“That’s the strangest question I've heard all day. I have no idea what you’re asking me.”

 

I mumble softly to myself, “I get that all of the time.”

 

We leave the coastal road and begin travelling across the island towards the cruise terminal.

 

We pass several signs for “tequila tour ahead”, then drive right past ‘the good one’.

 

https://www.google.com/maps/@20.45171,-86.877037,3a,75y,18.67h,72.07t/data=!3m4!1e1!3m2!1sfQjfp_TF8WW1APoQ6yAVYg!2e0?hl=en

 

Instead, we rumble down the road for a few minutes and turn into the parking lot of this place:

 

https://www.google.com/maps/@20.480376,-86.911901,3a,90y,261.02h,62.74t/data=!3m4!1e1!3m2!1sn5OowzeXs7KqFv3C4v2qKA!2e0?hl=en

 

He parks the buggy directly in front of the entrance, and we unload our backpacks.

 

Three extras without speaking roles are literally sitting on the front porch of the building and wearing sombreros. It’s the first time I've seen a sombrero on Cozumel. Our driver has a short conversation with the fourth man on the porch, probably asking if the kickback schedule is the same as last week. We follow the guide through the general store, out the rear entrance and emerge into a small flea market. Somebody has tied a donkey to a tree. Why is there a donkey here? At least they didn't make him wear a sombrero. DW needs to use the restroom, and I agree to meet her again in a few minutes at a bench in the center of the open-air market. I stay in an area where I can keep watch over the restroom area entrances and close enough to hear a scream for help, if that were to happen.

 

I wander around the collection of shops. There is nothing within sight worth the effort of declaring on a customs form. Perhaps an ugly shot glass in a poorly sewn plastic boot. In a dusty corner, I see a bottle of suntan lotion. I hunt around for a delightfully authentic handwoven basket. I put the lotion in the basket, and look around guiltily to see if my joke is appreciated. The donkey looks at me with tired disapproval. I put the items back on the shelves.

 

When I return to the bathroom area to rendezvous with my wife, we're greeted by the next available tequila tour guide.

 

The driver/guide is in the shade near the concrete building, conversing with a group of the extras. I make direct eye contact with one of them and stare deeply into his soul. He quickly looks away with an alarmed expression.

 

DW returns from the restroom, and we are finally ready for the tequila tour.

Edited by HeyYouKidsGetOffMyLawn
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