July 4: Hit the road immediately following our unpleasant encounter with the owners of the beach condo, with no destination, but south. We had been told a hurricane was coming and heading north--we had already been besieged somewhat by Alex, a week earlier--so outrun this one and head south was our plan. The sense of relief that we were leaving this unpleasant situation behind us was incredibly liberating. The boys had a DVD player in the back seat, we had air-con in the front seat, and, most exhilarating, a stash of pesos that we found in the glove compartment. We knew we could survive at least through dinner.
So we pulled in for one night at Casa Cenote, a beachfront inn owned by an American named Gary who hosts a Texas-style BBQ every Sunday. Figured there'd have to be something good on tap for Independence Day. The place was a bit run down but had free kayaks, a cenote across the street and didn't ask for any money up front: we could put our heads down for a night until we found a source for some cash. And there was snorkel equipment. And cold beer. And BBQ. There wasn't much more we needed.
| The view from our bedroom at Casa Cenote. Not a bad second stop after horrendous Puerto Adventuras.|
|Mason heads out to the cenote across the street.|