The Ritz-Carlton
Cancun, Mexico

I watch the rain explode on my window and listen to "Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow" while I wait to see if I can book myself an early Christmas present—a lazy weekend of Caribbean warmth at The Ritz-Carlton in Cancun. Days later a warm and sensuous tropical night and the razzmatazz of the Christmas-bedecked Ritz magically dispel the storming north. Tiny white lights encircle dozens of palms and two twelve-foot-tall Christmas trees hung with angles and horns and drums salute my arrival.

Ushered to my room, I collapse on the balcony and gaze at the sea. The beach, swept clean of the day’s lounging and castle building, has a lone set of footsteps leading from the still palms to an illuminated patch of milky turquoise sea. All I can hear is the mesmerizing surf as one gentle wave after another breaks onto the beach. I stay put until the call of cool sheets wins out and then drift off to the soothing song of the sea.

Breakfast is available until the very civilized hour of 11:30 A.M. After all, this is Mexico. The maître d' says the Japanese eat first, about seven, from a spread of fish, rice and seaweed condiments. Next the Americans arrive for bacon, eggs and tropical fruits like mango, papaya and pineapple. Sometimes a Mexican or two will join them, but just for coffee. Around eleven the Mexicans, South Americans and I show up for Huevos Motuleños: fried eggs on tortillas with refried beans, ranchero sauce, cheese, ham and bananas. I forgot to ask when the Backgammon players eat—probably in their rooms. They’re here from as far away as Portugal and South Africa for an international backgammon tournament and can be identified by the backgammon sets attached to their hands like an extended appendage. The betting, I’m told, is heavy.

The Ritz’s beach is lined with creamy, fine-grained sand. Wooden chaises for two have royal-blue hoods for shade, nautical flags to raise for food and drink and daily rental fees. I settle for a towel-cushioned plastic chaise under the palms. People watching includes a few topless young things and a mobile mall: sellers of crafts and trinkets who regularly, but not obnoxiously, pass by with their wares. Gulls wait patiently for someone to leave their rum punch-filled coconut unguarded.

Wading into the aquamarine, I slide onto my back and let nasties of life float away. Glancing shoreward the architectural mish-mash of many large hotels is punctuated by the gaily-colored parachutes of para-sailers. Seaward, however, there are only variations on blue punctuated by the white froth of surf. Cancun is not, of course, the place to find "the real Mexico" but peace and pampering are available—eyes kept seaward. Only a party animal would even consider leaving the Ritz.

After a seaside snooze, a return to the Christmas-festive Ritz is invigorating. Paintings of French duchesses and English landscapes are trimmed in greens with ribbons of burgundy and gold. Poinsettias surround Christmas trees and join gargantuan arrangements of heliconias and birds of paradises under the chandeliers. European antique furniture sits on Oriental rugs and they cover only a portion of the pink and gray marble floors.

The guest rooms surround a stain-glass-topped atrium that is lush with verdant tropicals; a Herberto Juarez sculpture at its center. A sculpted bronze pillar, reminiscent of an ancient Mayan stellae, portrays the family history of this Ritz’s owner. Mexican towns and Mayan ruins of the mid-1800’s are portrayed in the Edgerton prints which line the hallways and Talavera pottery holds plants and adorns tables of Mexico’s only Ritz.

My boudoir is distinguished by its very roomy size, its sea view and its carpet which has a rug woven into it. The walls, a faint peach, echo the color of the hacienda in one of the room’s paintings. Mountains of travertine marble line the bathroom that is brimming with beefy towels and bottles of Ritz potions.

Just before Christmas, the Ritz-Carlton, Cancun holds a Posada for its guests. This traditional Mexican Christmas party starts with half of the guests outside the front door and the other half inside and then they reenact the story of Mary and Joseph’s search for lodging. The outsiders start by singing a traditional song asking for shelter and the insiders sing a song of refusal. The outsiders go on about Mary’s plight and finally the insiders relent and let them in. Then, the partying begins—piñatas and all.

I’m going to miss the Ritz’s Posada, but they have me ready for my own Christmas partying to begin—tan and all.

Kate Crawford    December  2001

LINKS WITH ATTITUDE

You can see more about the Ritz at their web site at www.ritzcarlton.com or call them from the US or Canada at 800-241-333.

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