I knew it was going to be hot here. My brain processed the information but it didn’t take. It supposed to be hot and humid here. It just is. When I was here in February of 2003, it was just as hot. And I thought it was. But it was snowing at home so it seemed nice. It isn’t really the heat, hell I was born in the desert. It is the humedad. The motherfucking humedad. A French tourist on the street yesterday said it best: It is like walking in a giant sauna.
The ACA airport is pretty small like those in other smaller Mexican beach cities and is a bit of a drive from town. The registered taxis — fixed price — was $300-and-some pesos one-way and $470 round trip. I bought the round trip ticket but probably could have gotten a better deal from a taxi on the street back to the airport. But fuck it.
The hotel is OK, not super plush, but like other dime-a-dozen beach hotels out there. The decor is a little dated. This place must have been the shit in the 1980s. It is at the far end of Acapulco Bay near many famous discos and the Wal-mart. It is a long walk anywhere like the Zócalo or the center of the strip. Most of the guests in the hotel are norteamericanos and a few Europeans. The hotel vibe is about as authentically Mexico as a Taco Bell in Des Moines. The closest place to eat from the hotel is a Burger King and farther down a Hooters and a Starbucks [The Starbucks has the nicest outdoor seating I've ever seen at a Starbucks]. Pretty Americanized area indeed.
The AC works beautifully. It was so cold last night I wanted to bundle up. But then turned the AC off and opened the balcony window which was very tranquilo since I could lie there and hear the waves. It was tranquilo until the sun came up and the cars returned the street so there was lots of horns honking.
At breakfast I got my first Bluetooth spam on my telephone. That is when people send a bluetooth from one phone to another and someone — or some bot in range — saw my phone. It was a Symian OS file and my phone doesn’t speak Symbian so nothing happened. I was hoping it was from a hawt Mexican chick that wanted to give me a tour of the city.
This morning I took a cab ride to the Zócalo and did some shopping. I picked up a few authentic Mexicano shirts — you know the kind, light cotton short sleeved button down shirts with four pockets and embroidery — since I’m sweating through the gear I’ve packed faster than expected. The cabbie charged me $100pesos to get from the hotel to the Old Downtown section. I was a dolt and didn’t ask before [frankly I was so hot I would have paid the guy just to sit in the shade]. On the way back, I flagged a cab on the street and it was interesting. I asked him how much to take me to the hotel and he asked “how much do you want to pay?” I thought about it a second and said “nothing” [all of this was going on in Spanish] and he said something to the effect of “oh cheap” and I said, “Yes. My name is Mr. Cheap.” He laughed and kept driving. He’d flash his lights and honk at people looking like they wanted a ride and we made it almost all the way back to the hotel before he found someone. Yes, I could have paid nothing and just rode along with him as he tried to find real passengers. He dropped me off in front of the hotel and I gave him $100p [it really was far out of the way and I liked his attitude and sense of humor... but then he gave me back one of the $50p notes I gave him]. There are folks here that will fleece you and that are cool. The trouble is it is hard to tell them apart until it is too late.
If I come back here I’ll want to stay in Pie de la Cuesta again. It is off the beaten path and prices are a quarter of what they are in the tourist trap hotels. If I came to Acapulco proper I’d probably not stay at the Hyatt. It just isn’t that special and in need of a rehab to the rooms. Unlike almost every other hotel I’ve ever stayed at in the world, there is no hotel directory in the room listing things like a layout of the hotel and the hours of the restaurants, pools how to get a pergola and whatnot. It doesn’t go out of its way to sell itself and I got tired of walking around in the heat to find ways to spend money.
There’s also a hypnosis convention going on at the hotel so the lounge where there’s interweb access will have attendees from time to time. This might explain why it seems after ever time I hear the word “cacahuate” I black out, several hours pass and I wake up naked on the beach.
My next trip to the beach in Mexico will be somewhere with far fewer guerros and Spanish is spoken more than English.
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