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We touched down in Cancun and my Greek friend had passport problems. The Mexicans did not like the look of him. I however had shaved a few days ago and passed as an ordinary English tourist.
The officials wanted to know where he was going to stay…of course we had no idea.
I ran over, with the rough guide in my hand, to give them an answer.
The look on his face changed, from one of hate to love when a postcard fell from the battered pages. The postcard was a very old, black and white image of Mexican boy in an old town called ‘valentino’. The town were the airport official was from!
With almost a tear in his eye, he waved us through and wished us a pleasant stay.
A Mexican moment later, we were deep in the concrete jungle of Cancun, over-generously awash with America.
But, our first nights accommodation was unfortunately in the heart of it all, not a pleasant experience to flip dollars through my fingers, for English equivalent prices. But that’s how the first night was. My companion aided immensely with the sleeping process, courtesy of his smuggling and rolling abilities.
Who needs lonely planet?
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