I had been drifting in and out of sleep, which was mostly a collage of fragmented and incoherent juxtapositions of incongruous dreams with the occasional interjection of bits of awareness of the happenings around me in the plane. My neck was stiff and sore as I awoke. The plane was descending on final approach. Ritsuko was also awakening. Silently, she looked at me, smiled, and pointed out the window. Rubbing and stretching my neck, I looked out the window. I had hoped to see Isla on our approach to the peninsula, but the view was only clouds, with patches of green becoming clearer as we descended below the vaporous ceiling. We seemed to hang in the air forever, as miles of jungle passed below us. Finally we were on the ground. We had arrived in Cancun.

We cleared immigration without incident. After having waited in line for customs for about 15 minutes, we got the green light and moved on. Walking out of the customs area, we could see the vultures waiting in the wings, ready to descend upon all the newly arrived touristas. Right away, a man blocked our path and asked me in an official tone of voice to see our hotel voucher. I told him that we were planning to beg for food and lodging and asked him for his home address and the key to his house. He stared at me like a deer in the headlights as I motioned him out of our path and we walked away. Ritsuko was giggling and shaking her head....I know that sometimes I am such an embarrassment to her, but I just can't help it, some opportunities are just too good to pass up.

After some attempts at haggling, I was satisfied that we would not be able to improve on the $40 cab fare, but I did insist that we leave immediately. So, we were off to Puerto Juarez. The van driver was very congenial and most tolerant of my attempts at practicing speaking his language as he drove. Driving along the outskirts of Cancun, we could have very well have been driving through the outskirts of any southwestern US city, as we drove past several big car dealerships, a huge shopping mall, and many housing developments and commercial strips.

In less than 20 minutes, we were at Puerto Juarez. A couple of guys approached us and one grabbed a suitcase. "No gracias, amigo!!" I said as I grabbed the bag and gave a firm tug, smiling and looking him in the eye. The man let go of the bag and he and his buddy backed off. I looked at our cabbie, who smiled and nodded his head. He pointed us in the direction of the entrance to the ferry dock. We thanked him, and proceeded to the ferry.

We got to the line of passengers as they were filing into the boat. This was apparently the fast ferry, which suited us. We were ready to get to Isla. The porters helped us get our bags on board and stowed. Unfortunately, the upper deck was already full, so we sat inside, in the center, near the stern of the boat. Within a couple of minutes, we were off. Since I had read the board, I already knew the fare was 35 pesos each, and had 70 pesos in my shirt pocket for the ticket girl when she approached us. The boat was now under full power, and had leveled off, zipping past layers of intense turquoise and blue, with water spraying up on the windows. We giggled like a couple of kids feeling the vibration of the engine on our feet, marveling at what an unexpected pleasure it was to get a foot massage along the way.

The outline of the Isla coast became clearer as we approached. How beautiful a sight it was. We had been looking at an aerial photo of the island for the past couple of months on our home computer wallpaper. Now, finally, we were seeing it live, up close, and personal.

Disembarking from the ferry, we found rolling our bags along the wooden dock to be somewhat of a chore, but we persisted, ignoring offers of transportation and help until I got some good vibes from the greeting of a young man with a wide, friendly grin, and a trike. I asked him how much to take our bags to Secreto. He said no tariff, only tip. In my vision of a perfect world, trust engenders trust, so I gave him an affirmative nod. Angel loaded our bags in the basket of his trike, and we began the walk through town.

This was like walking into one of the dream fragments that I had been seeing for the past few weeks. Only now it was complete with the feeling of the sun, the heat from the red paving bricks on the street, the sounds, the smells, all converging on our senses, making us come alive within the dream. Angel talked to us in Spanish. I told him as well as I could that I only spoke very very little, but it seemed that the planets had all lined up, he kept his discourse simple, and I was able to understand most of what he was saying. He asked me if Ritsuko and I are married; I told him "Si, veinte y siete anos". He asked if we had children; I replied "no, solamente dos gatos". Angel laughed as did Ritsuko and I, and he turned the trike up a the dusty road next to the convention center. We could see the Media Luna and Secreto ahead.

Angel carried our bags into the lobby. It had been a hot and dusty haul from the ferry dock, and I paid him what was probably a lot more than he would have asked had we negotiated a price up front. We said our good-byes to Angel, and Ritsuko and I walked about the lobby checking out the view of the sea beyond the hotel pool.

This was certainly a beautiful structure. The pictures that I had seen did not do justice to the perspective of the hotel and the sea that one can only gain firsthand. An accomplished photographer can only give a two dimensional visual perspective. But all of the senses must work in concert to combine the visual with the feel of the sun and the wind, the taste of the sea air, and the constant rhythmical sound of the waves, which in my mind evoke something primordial within us, drawing us to the sea.

A voice from across the lobby drew me back to the task at hand. "Welcome to Secreto," the man was saying.