"Focus on a particular kind of tourism – the all-inclusive resort"

After being deprived of international travel for a few years, I was enticed by and, in fact, eager for a type of trip I normally would avoid: an all-inclusive resort. Although I had only been to such a resort only one other time in my life, I suspected this sojourn wouldn't be entirely up my alley.  

I headed to One Big Holiday with a group, but for a variety of reasons, we all arrived in Cancun, Mexico, at different times, leaving each of us to fend for ourselves in finding our shuttle bus to Moon Palace Cancun. Wading through the fray at the crowded airport public-transportation port was the most authentic interaction we had with locals for the duration of the trip, which we spent sequestered in the grounds of the resort, where most of the natives we saw were of the iguana variety (left). That sweaty scrum was a great contrast to the orderly arrival in Los Cabos, Mexico, in 2012, when my boss at the U.S. Consulate in Tijuana asked me to work the G20 summit for 10 days, despite my absolute cluelessness. Back then, when I saw a sign for the "sherpas' meeting" (right), I thought I might run into some people who had scaled Mount Everest; in actuality, these sherpas were the governmental staff members who negotiate agreements in advance on behalf of country leaders, who then reject or accept them during the event. Get it? They help lead the officials to the summit, see? With this lack of understanding, it was no surprise that I was assigned to the more simple tasks of copying, laminating, stapling, and so on.

 

In terms of accommodations, both the Moon Palace and Hotel Barceló have enviable oceanside locations (top left). In Cabo, the ocean is dangerous to swim in, what with its prevalent riptides, and in Cancun, the danger comes from sharks and jet-ski gunmen, so they both have extensive pools that are the center of the action (top right). Even during my work trip, I had some time to spend by the pool, even if I was sometimes interrupted by a phone call to run an errand. Somehow, I also managed to squeeze in dinners at three of Hotel Barceló's reservations-only restaurants: the Spanish El Cortijo, the Japanese Lotus, and the steakhouse La Hacienda. At Moon Palace, we hit up the Indian Agra and the Asian Teppanyaki Momo (bottom).

  

Ten years ago and this year, our favorite place to relax was the adult pool, preferably with a swim-up bar. In Cabo, this pool happened to be right next to the clothing-optional Desire Resort (top left). Despite my best efforts to scrounge up some scandal, I never did hear the kind of offensive noises that, according to legend, reverberated across the high walls during the Secretary of State's visit earlier in 2012. The sounds and views from my room were quite a bit better, especially during sunrise (top right). But even that didn't compare to our room in Cancun (bottom left), from which we could not only spy the ocean but also enjoy the melodies of the seaside stage (bottom right) -- with everyone around us fully clothed (well, mostly clothed).

 

 

For many others in my group, the main draw of the Cancun trip was the music festival, named after a song by its headliner, My Morning Jacket. Jim James and the crew played three of the four nights of the festival (left), but there were also plenty of opening acts worth watching (right). I, for one, was partial to Lord Huron, whose bassist did a DJ session for a pool party one day. 

But a girl can only spend so much time poolside, drinking slushy, fruity drinks, so we tried some of the activities on offer at Moon Palace: mini-golfing, renting bikes, playing pool, and even running a 3K one morning. In Cabo, I was more easily able to get off resort grounds, so I used some of my free time to play tourist. One morning, I walked to nearby San José del Cabo, which has a historic district built around a pleasant plaza complete with fountain, flagpole, gazebo, and church (left). Within site of the church is the town's art district, which hosts an art walk every Thursday during high season (right). I went on a Sunday morning, when the shops were still shuttered.

 

Another day I made the nearly one-hour trek to Cabo San Lucas, which is worlds away from San José del Cabo in terms of atmosphere. I had the taxi drop me off at the well-known Cabo Wabo Cantina, then I promptly walked away from it. I'm sure the tequila there is great, but if you're no connoisseur, just about every other restaurant around the marina (left) will give you a free shot with your lunch or dinner. Classy, huh? To redeem the outing, I headed to Baja Brewing Company; in San José del Cabo, the brewpub is adorned with a beautiful patio tucked amid the art district, and in Cabo San Lucas, it is located in a mall next to a Johnny Rockets. The ambiance was nearly unpalatable, but at least the Cactus Wheat on tap was refreshing (right). In Cancun, the local craft brewery that set up a stand at the Moon Palace offered a much less refined wheat beer (since most of its offerings weren't much better than the only beer on tap, Corona, I won't name-shame it here). The best beer I got at the festival was by means of a craft-beer exchange. With no checked luggage, I didn't bring any bottles myself, but luckily, someone in my group let me mooch off his contribution to get some tastes in trade. 

 

Perhaps my trip to Cabo would've been better had I taken the obligatory boat trip to El Arco, a natural stone landmark where you can walk from the Pacific Ocean to the Sea of Cortez. You can also walk from Lover's Beach, with its calm, swimmable waves, to Divorce Beach, with its strong, crashing currents. I was able to see the craggy peninsula from the Hotel Riu, where other staffers from the U.S. delegation were staying. From one perspective, the rocks were a serene outpost (left), but with a wider view, you could see that they were invaded by boaters, waverunners, parasailers, and even the Mexican navy, which patrolled the cape as part of G20 security (right). 

 

Seeing the Mexican military in the ocean was about as close as I got to seeing anyone of consequence at the G20 summit in 2012. I mostly worked at the Esperanza Resort, where President Obama stayed during the meetings, but not during the times when his motorcade arrived or departed. I tried to at least feel important, though, by dining at the resort's Cocina del Mar restaurant, where the menus are illuminated iPad-style (top left) and where we had a table on the bluff (top right), which made my oyster & caviar, Baja lobster risotto, and chocolate mousse that much more delectable. The atmosphere in Cancun was a bit more, well, whimsical, with its piñata-colored art installations (bottom left). The food wasn't as gourmet either: Shack-like stalls with street food and picnic tables encircled a Seuss-like pathway to a festival-themed sand sculpture and the stage (bottom right). Among the many offerings, I chose empanadas, fried rice, and tacos, but I also ate some crow for suggesting the trip was a compromise of my travel style. I doubt I will plan a similar vacation any time in the near future, but in 2022, it was exactly the respite I required.

 

 

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Harney, Connor. International Journal of Cuban Studies, vol. 13, no. 1, 2021, pp. 161–63, https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.13169/intejcubastud.13.1.0161. Accessed 13 May 2022. 

"They dissipate into the background again and things return to some sense of normalcy"

I'm not much of a yuletide fan, but as the end of the year that shall not be named was approaching, I was pretty stoked to see people getting into the holiday spirit. I wasn't Will Ferrell in Elf excited, but it was nice to see things returning to some kind of routine, even if was just through bad lawn decorations (top). Now, of course, we know that we were not actually post-pandemic. But at the time, with all the lights -- in the city holiday parade (bottom left) and on a keg tree at BrewDog (bottom right) -- the future looked bright. 

 

The new year arrived, and at least in my family, the good cheer continued into spring. For one of my cousin's weddings, we took our first road trip in a while, to the farmlands of Pennsylvania (top left). The wedding was held in a barn, where I did a little dance with my other cousin's new arrival (top right). A few months later, we headed out into the country, this time in western Virginia, where another cousin held his wedding celebration -- almost a year after he and his beloved were married without fanfare in a courthouse due to the pandemic. On the other end of the spectrum, a friend couple that had been together for more than a decade planned their party in just a matter of months. But you couldn't even tell they condensed their timeline -- well, unless perhaps you critiqued the entertainment, which was an amusing (but far from polished) night of karaoke (bottom).

 

All the brides and grooms -- like us, I suspect -- were more than ready to see their family and friends in person again. We had already been socializing in our local bubble, but by summer, we started accepting outside visitors. We had driven a lot to see my family, so we were thankful when Scott's family came to us, both in July (top left) and November (top right). A group of Scott's former students reunited around our dining-room table (middle left). And we reunited with his college friends in Cleveland, which rocked (middle right). I convinced one of my college friends to shack up with me for a night by feeding her wine slushies at a bar down the street (bottom).

 

 

Even the outings we had been going on with our local bubble started to feel more normal. Sure, social distancing meant we had to sit farther away from the trivia host, making it difficult to hear (top left). But people still showed up -- seats apart -- to drink beer and support the city's first black-owned brewery at Crafted Culture Brewing (top right). And yeah, event hesitancy made the audience thinner at Art at the Wagnalls festival (bottom left) -- though we were still pretty busy as volunteers at the beer truck. But by the time the Circleville Pumpkin Show rolled around, the size of the crowds -- and gourds -- were massive (bottom right).

 

 

Besides returning to our local hangouts, we hiked in some familiar haunts. We took the previously untaken path at Little Rocky Hollow, which led us to an oasis that we had to bushwhack our way out of (top). And although I hadn't been to Cantwell Cliffs since I was a kid, I felt right at home in its natural playground, both among the boulders under its cavernous outcroppings (middle left) and on the bridge above its rocky overhangs (middle right). When a while later we went hiking at Cuyahoga Valley National Park (bottom left), we remarked how much its formations reminded us of Hocking Hills, right down to the steps squeezed between stones on the Ledges Trail (bottom right).

 

 

We headed to another hollow, Tar Hollow State Park, for our return to camping (top left). The park was busier than we expected, and we could hear the shouts of summer campers on the other side of the lake, but we still managed to find some peace in the tall pines (top right). The weather was a bit worse than we expected, so we only took a quick dip in the lake during a drizzle (middle left), but we were able to squeeze in a hike and a round of miniature golf. The weather was similar but the solitude was more sizable at Blue Rock State Park, where we camped in a quiet cul-de-sac (middle right). Unlike our previous trip, the only peeps we heard were from the resident frogs, one of which I almost stepped on during a hike because it was so well-camouflaged (bottom left). We had less trouble spotting a geocache in McConnelsville, on a bridge over the Muskingum (bottom right).

  

  

 

Getting back to camping was fun, but not altogether elating, as we did that activity even during more restrictive periods. But man, live music was what everyone wanted back, right? And WonderBus didn't let us down. It even welcomed us with a wondrous rainbow (top left). It was downright refreshing to see so many (vaccinated or negative-tested) people committing PDA (top right). But the highlight was seeing Wilco mere feet from the stage with almost no need to box out pressing fans (bottom left). I was just so happy to be at a concert that I didn't mind when the lead singer of Red Wanting Blue, standing right next to me, invaded my personal space a bit to get a video record of the occasion (bottom right).

 

 

An outdoor festival felt comfortable, but indoor gigs did prompt some trepidation. Thankfully, the venues we attended -- Stuart's Opera House and Woodlands Tavern -- put me at ease by limiting capacity (top left). And luckily so, since otherwise I would have never been introduced to guitar savant Damien Jurado, the opener for Will Sheff from Okkervil River (top right). Nor to the hip bluegrass jam band Fireside Collective (bottom left) and the socially conscious folk rockers Them Coulee Boys (bottom right). All in all, the only musical setback we suffered was a cancelled show by Dwight Yoakam -- not due to COVID, but food poisoning.

 

 

And then, just like that, the holidays were upon us again. And although this year, too, may not need be mentioned in the future, we had many memories to be thankful for. A standout for me was hosting friends and family for a Thanksgiving potluck (top left). The mostly vegetarian affair -- including a gluten-free, vegan pumpkin pie -- was a feast even for omnivores (top right). Soon after that dinner, lights and other Christmas trappings started going up around town (bottom), but so too did COVID case numbers throughout the country and world, due to the omicron variant. Sadly, it seems this is not a season destined for peace on earth, I'm afraid. But perhaps, if we all put some reason in the season and metaphorically hang our stockings with care, we can bring tidings of comfort and joy to this upcoming year. That would make me Elf ecstatic for sure. 

 

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“When the Party Was Cancelled.” Subjective Lives and Economic Transformations in Mongolia: Life in the Gap, by Rebecca M. Empson, UCL Press, London, 2020, pp. 35–55. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctv13xpsns.8. Accessed 23 December 2021.