Spring Break-In - Part 1

So as predicted, I've fallen ridiculously behind with my postings. And after I started so well. But I have an excuse. So I'm going to jump ahead to the present and explain. My spur of the moment decision to head to Cancun on a cheap flight to experience some of infamous US 'Spring Break' shenanigans didn't work out fantastically. On my first night I got back from the mental $20 all-you-can-drink filth-fest to find some absolute cockstain had broken into my locker and taken off with both my backpack and my other hand-luggagey bag. He didn't take my toiletries, towel, spare trousers, and, most importantly my Smiths T-shirt. So I could at least rest assured I was robbed by someone wasn't a Morrissey fan. That'd have been too much. Fortunately my passport and iPod were in the secure box behind reception, and of course I had my wallet and phone on me, so it wasn't the end of the world. Clearly I was still quite distraught, and while I held out no hope of getting my stuff back, I got a taxi to the nearest police station to get my report so my insurance could at least get me something. After being told in broken English to hang around in a building full of no-hablar-Ingleses for two hours (completely understandably so - I'm not arrogant enough (or at all really) to expect everyone to speak my language!), I finally broke and tried out the 112 international emergency line, who after about 20 minutes of listening to what happened politely informed me he couldn't do anything and that I had to go to a different police station. Thanks. Anyway, after an expensive cab ride I finally (painstakingly) got my statement taken and was on my way at 8.30am, in a non-sleep-induced daze, attempting to work out what the hell I was gonna do. I only entertained the notion of cutting my losses and heading back to England early for ten seconds before ruling it out as stupid. Why should I let one complete tosser ruin a trip I'd not been planning for months? And one that had been so amazing up until then? (oh, you just wait for my backdated Baltimore entry!) so that just left the question Where Next? And When? Part of me wanted to leave that day, to pretty much anywhere other than Mexico. Checking the all the flights back to the US out of Cancun there wasn't much to anywhere useful for any sane prices. By useful I mean closer to the west coast than east. With just over a week to be in San Francisco, I had to rule out the likes of Miami, Atlanta, Birmingham and even Chicago, that one mostly on grounds of having been before, but also because it being in the so-called Mid-West suggests it's far further across the country than it actually is. So my options were New Orleans, any city in Texas, south west coast to San Diego or LA, or up north to Seattle or Vancouver. Oddly most were around the same price, despite them being huglely different mileage-wise. Although I had really wanted to head to the Big Easy, paying the same price to leave me furthest away than any of the other options meant it, regrettably, had to be culled first. Having still not been to the South, Texas was very appealing and not overly expensive to get to, however there's a distinct lack of hostels. Even though they have a ton of motels for only a little dearer than some dorms I've stayed in, its more about meeting people than a bed for the night. I know there'd be a chance of bumping into some crack dealers, bail-jumpers or Devil's Rejects-esque physchotic killers, but I'd probably only bore them with talk of Edinburgh, New Zealand and travels through all those horrid liberal blue states to the north. I just don't have that many drug, prison or murder-based tales to tell. So that unfortunately ruled threw Texas out. Were I to head to San Diego, I felt I'd only end up heading through LA or Vegas and again, while I loved those places first time round, I was of the thinking I'd rather take a chance with somewhere new. Plus, taking the hit on San Diego wasn't too hard, as I'd heard it was a big Spring Break spot, and I'd had my fill of obnoxious college kids proving almost every stereotype completely true. With their slutty outfits, and their big boobs and their wet T-shirts and their.... Yeah, it took a lot of willpower, but Seattle seemed to make the most sense. So for $200 I booked the flight for the next day on Alaska Air, a 6 and a bit hour flight to the extreme north west of the USA, incase not everyone watches Frasier. So that all decided and booked, I went back to the scene of the crime to collect my few remaining possessions, think for a few moments of the good times in T-shirts lost, and accept a million apologies from the owner. He was mortified, but there wasn't much else he could have done. The TWOCing bastard was a pro. Well, on weekends anyway. I'm over it. I found a much better place called the Mayan Hostel, checked in the night, had an hour-long nap and woke up just in time for the free evening meal they provided between 7 and 8. Embarrassingly the only Mexican food I ate throughout my time in Cancun. Chatting to several fellow travellers sat across the table from across the world, I used some of my vast Spanish vocabulary to impress a group of South Americans. "tengo once anos" was about the best I could muster, or "I am 11 years old". Yeah, I gave up on languages a long time ago. My bad. It got a laugh though. And that's all that matters. CONTINUED....