Where's My Sombrero-Wearing Donkey? (a guest blog by Sarah)

In a way, I'm glad. I'm glad the weather sucked.

I'm glad that the ferry to Cozumel rolled and pitched and that I was nearly splattered by the elderly lady-behind-me's seasickness. I'm glad that the 20 mph winds and menacing surf kept us off the small, rocky "beach" at "Playa Azul". I'm glad the gloomy skies and intermittent rain kept us from strolling down the streets of San Miguel and considering a drink at Señor Frogs. Because stripped of tranquil waters and sparkling skies, we could see the island for what it was: an outpost for 1st world partiers attended to by gloomy, underpaid locals.

I had imagined that its separation from the mainland would cut it off from the gaggles of tourists looking for painted donkeys and tequila shots, but there they were, disembarking alongside us, puking and panicking as the gang plank swung violently to and fro.

(And what was giving me this air of superiority? Was I any different? Sure, the words "all inclusive" made me shudder, but wasn't I too just looking for a stretch of white sand under an umbrella with a piña colada in my hand?)

The ominous clouds and relentless wind brought out the spookier side of Cozumel. The abandoned hotel next to ours seemed to serve as a looming reminder that all these concrete structures were on the brink of ruin if nature willed it, no matter how many stars appeared on their signs.

In fairer weather, our expansive suite and balcony would have seemed delightfully roomy, but the howling wind outside made me yearn for a small, cozy nook in which to wait out the storm. And downstairs in the restaurant, why was our waiter so forlorn? Was he bummed by the weather, too? Or was he done with this business - these gringos with their silly sun hats and unfortunate 'r's?

Had there been an expanse of soft waters to wallow in, we might not have thought of our waiter's sad eyes, or the gray, rotting shell of a hotel down the coast. If there had been soft sun on our shoulders, we might have strolled into town and not noticed how garish the overpriced restaurants and souvenir shops looked in contrast to the crumbling concrete and rusted metal part of town where our waiter most likely lived.

But there wasn't and we did see it: a bleak sadness that had settled over this island that trafficked in sunlight. It reminded me of Cambodia selling their jungle and being left with dry dirt. Of course the winds would settle and the sun reemerge, but until then all those sprawling concrete resorts and the towering cruise ships moving in slow motion looked like monsters who had eaten the heart and soul of the place until it was left with only painted donkeys wearing mini-sombreros.