No bueno

My foray into the world of Senior Influencing would not be complete if I didn't take this opportunity to bring up The Beach. Not the beach that is just three miles from my doorstep. I have nothing but love for the vast Pacific Ocean which, compliments of the atmospheric river, has so generously brought us one of the wettest winters in Southern California history. 

Today I'd like to talk about the Pacific's smaller and less scenic cousin, the Atlantic.

Years ago, 2015, to be exact, before we sent our youngest daughter off to college, we decided a family vacation was in order. As it turned out it would be our last vacation as a foursome. And it was not without its issues. 

Namely, ironically, because of The Beach.

We had booked two rooms at this luxury resort in Tulum. For those of you who slept through geography, that's on the Yucatan Peninsula or what the travel agents so quaintly refer to as the Mayan Riviera. It's just south of Cancun, you know, where Senator Ted Cruz runs to when there's an energy emergency in Texas.

Make no mistake, the hotel (again, named The Beach) is beautiful. The picture above was shot just 50 feet from the beachside restaurant that is more than happy to sell you an $18 mojito using exclusive rum that was hand squeezed from...oh, whatever it is they squeeze rum from.

But look closely at the photo and see if you spot what turned our seemingly idyllic vacation into a stinky, smelly nightmare. 

Hint: Sargassum.

If you've never heard that word, I would not hold that against you. I hadn't heard it either until I had shelled out a shit ton of money and traveled 4000 miles to came face to face with it. 

If you hadn't guessed or done a quick Google search, Sargassum is seaweed. Every beach in the world has seaweed, but, because of climate change (yes, it's real and not some figment of the Leftist, radical commie imagination), the south Atlantic is smothered in Sargassum. And in 2015 it lined the entire Yucatan Peninsula from its most northern tip to southern Belize. 

Everywhere you looked, there was Sargassum. 

Not just a sight that created sore eyes, but also one that would do a number on the nostrils. I don't wish to get too graphic, but it was if the Atlantic had gone boom boom and left its used toilet paper all over the sand.

This didn't just happen overnight. And so it would have been nice if the hotel, again, named The Beach, had told us in advance that The Beach was off limits. Or even if we could have swapped out our water-adjacent beachfront rooms for the less expensive, but now more desirable rooms, away from the ocean and facing the dreaded garden.

The proprietors of the hotel didn't see it that way. Nor, because the hotel was practically empty and they needed the revenue, were they willing to offer us any discount. Nor did they assist me in any way when I couldn't extract much needed cash from the local banks. My Spanish is serviceable, but the ATMs were not.

You may be thinking, "this happened 8 years ago, why are you writing about it now?" And you'd probably be right to doubt my sanity on this matter. But the truth is, it still feels like an angry polyp I need excised from my body. 

And if my bitch about The Beach can dissuade one R17 reader from booking a reservation at this smelly inhospitable dump I will have earned a mojito. 

Even an $18 one.