Mr. and Mrs. Teabody Escape to Isla

Mrs. Teabody invites you to take a peek out the window at the enchanted island of Isla Mujeres (Isle of Women) . This paradise is a twenty-five minute ferry ride off the shores of party-hearty Cancun but worlds away in attitude and charm. Herein you will find a chronicle of sorts of moving away from the very real world of Hurry-Hurry-Ding-Ding and into a "Will-somebody-pinch-me-and-tell-me-I-am-not-dreaming" world.  The hop from BWI to CUN was of a just over three hour duration and smooth as butter. Having arranged to be met at the airport by USA Transfers, the Teabodys  soon found themselves  looking out initially onto a scene of sunshine, azure skies, magenta bougainvillea, and silvery-green palms as they were comfortably transported to the Puerto Juraz Ultramar Ferry, a journey of half an hour with the last fifteen minutes along the frantic and busy streets of Cancun.

Like any taxi cab ride, the scene outside glided along at waist height to pedestrians, all looking ahead, scrambling for their pedicures, their botox injections, their designer handbags, their illicit drugs, their motley forms of entertainment and their places of employment. With what resolution did families of every shape and color and size join in this mad fray, some yoked to a mound of luggage, some carrying mid back humps with tethered flippers, tents, surfboards, diaper bags. Like snowflakes hurtling toward earth, each one an individual and as full of dreams as disparate as their hair colors and styles, their girth, their attire, their expression.

The taxi slashed its way through the crowds and deposited the Teabodys in a shadowed and comfortable tunnel out of the sun where tickets were purchased and almost immediately the Teabodys were a part of a much smaller fray, queueing up to board the brilliantly yellow and marine blue Ultramar Ferry. Straw-hatted, slathered in sunblock, eyes shielded behind dark lenses, bodies in light and soft garments, the Teas found their way to the open-air top and took in their first unobstructed view of their little portion of Quintana Roo. The engines roared; the ferry began to move onto that serene turquoise and aqua sea and a solitary young man armed only with a guitar and a speaker took his spot facing everyone and with almost no warning launched into the opening bars of a song as familiar to anyone over forty as almost any other song on the planet. The Teabodys relaxed against the cushions and suddenly heard that heart jangling riff and then:

“ . . . On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair. . .”

Perhaps if the musician had been less adept, the winter weeks before not so very harsh, the Teabodys made of less malleable stuff than moonlight and laughter, then perhaps, perhaps, the song would not have seemed the talisman that would charm the coming days. One has no choice but to yield to such moments palpable with happiness. That haunting ballad which was as familiar as each others’ faces happened to their ears as Mexico caught the Teabodys in its welcoming embrace.

" . . . Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air

Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light. . .”

Awash in nostalgia, the Teabodys sang along with not one jot of self consciousness while their brains reset their internal clocks to Isla time—the kind of time Parrotheads devote a lifetime pursuing – albeit with a bit more sobriety, a bit more ebullience. Twenty minutes of wave skimming accompanied by expert guitar strumming other familiar, endearing tunes, and Isla was all wheels down.

Feet on shore, a brief stroll under even bluer skies and  greener palm trees, the Caribbean chortling along ten meters to their left, the Teabodys sought their lodgings at Posada Del Mar. 

"Hola, mi llama is  Teabody. Tengo un reserva , por favor. Habla usted inglés?"

"Si, Senora. Yes. No worries."

"Whew. Thank You. Gracias."

Posada Del Mar is a modest beach hotel, but  room 120 was located conveniently on the ground-level floor, rear of building at the end of a loggia looking out on a lush garden with pathways. Stucco, stone, tiny darting geckos  green, green plants. Where were the snows that plagued the Teabodys all winter? Where were those frigid winds that crept up sweater sleeves or onto a bit of exposed face or neck ? Where was that leaden, uncompromising sky that made a chain of days seem indistinguishable one from another?  Gone. All gone. Replaced with sand and sea and balmy breezes and a sun - - -oh, the blessed, blessed sun! The room opened up onto a small balcony which led to more pathways and garden areas and in the foreground a sparkling pool and just beyond that the stunning beach and sea. Unpacking could not have gone faster. The Teabodys hung and packed their last items and stashed their baggage where they could not see it for one single moment of their holiday. All the while the sliding door stood open to the warm and sunny world outside that sang a welcome. Books? Check. Sunblock? Check. Sunglasses? Check.  Beach towel? Check.

"Ready, Mr. Teabody?

"Affirmative, Mrs. T. Shall we?"

"Indeed."