"Interviews... going... slowly..." (said in that wounded and struggling super-hero-monologue, while reaching for that one thing just out of reach that could save his life).
I've been talking to Diageo (the people who own the brands Johnnie Walker, Smirnoff, Guiness, Bailey's, Captain Morgan to name a few) and some agencies, but the most interesting one that's come up is with a company called
What If. They're a London-based firm that helps people with New Product Development (the industry acronym for it is NPD) but they get into a lot of other things too: they help companies train their staff in being innovative; they develop products themselves with entrepreneurs to release to the market; and they have a mentoring program where they take CEO's and senior management on a tour of world-class organisations, and introduce them to ideas and practices. It all sounds really exciting! Very much like a dream job, I'd say. Anyway, I've already met one of their senior staff who was here on business, and I'm going to Hong Kong next week to meet their APAC Director. It's still too early to know any details - right now it's just a matter of getting them interested - but it could be to set up a Singapore (aka South Asian HQ) office for them. Anyway, more news on that very soon.
Aside from that, all else going well: Claire has started her new job at Bates Asia, where she's working on Nokia; we've now got an invitation list of about 200 people for the wedding; we've got some ideas for the location here in Singapore and it's now looking as if it WON'T be a beach wedding now (as none of the locations were what we wanted)...
Roz sent me a recent article from the SF Chronicle on Mahahual:
Sunday, April 29, 2007 (SF Chronicle)
Yucatán's sleepy south/Once isolated coastal villages offer last of the
un-Cancún Caribbean Destination Mexico Once isolated coastal villages offer last of
the un-Cancún Caribbean
Spud Hilton, Chronicle Staff Writer
(04-29) 04:00 PDT Mahahual, Mexico -- It was as much of a debate as can
exist between two people heavily sedated on Mayan sun and Caribbean ease.
Under the swaying hammocks, there were tracks in the powdery sand.
Iguana, she said.
Blue crab, I said.
Nope, she said.
It was a bet; the loser would trek a whole 30 feet up the beach to the
palapa for sunscreen. However, no one else was around to mediate -- no
T-shirt vendors, no sunburned yahoos on Jet Skis, no yokels from Idaho
complaining about "the natives," and no steel drum trio playing "The
Banana Boat Song."
Just us, the gentle waves, the rustling palms and whatever made the tracks
in the sand. So much for sunscreen.
That's the way it's been on this stretch of the southern Yucatán's
Caribbean coast pretty much since the days of stone temples and ritual
sacrifices. Unlike its neighbors to the north, this 80-mile stretch of the
Xcalak (pronounced ISH-ka-lak) Peninsula, kept isolated by its remoteness
and inaccessibility, remained largely unnoticed and undeveloped during the
decades that Cancún, Cozumel and the Riviera Maya went from quiet fishing
villages to sprawling resort regions, worldwide destinations for masses of
the rich and the drunk.
In recent years, however, the solitude and crowd situation has depended
increasingly on the tide -- and the behemoth cruise ships that sail in on
it. A new-ish pier for large passenger ships just north of the tiny
fishing village of Mahahual is logging hundreds of arrivals per year, each
dropping a couple of thousand sightseers. Mexico's development agency's
has plans for major resorts along the coast and has branded the region
Costa Maya, a name invented by marketing people that, frankly, invites the
nickname "Accost a Mayan."
It was the first trip to this corner of the Mexican state of Quintana Roo
for my wife, Ann, and me, and the plan was to spend a few days at the
crossroads of the Yucatán's slow-paced rustic past and its luxury resort
future, and to find out if it's still possible to indulge in the
laid-back, non-touristy charms of a place where ships unload as many as
8,000 tourists a day.
Once a haven of fishing boats, dirt roads and no-frills, hippie cabana
motels -- buffered from the rest of the Yucatán coast by the Sian Ka'an
Biosphere reserve -- Costa Maya is now on the radar of upscale resorts,
including luxury giants Sol Meliá and Iberostar. A year ago, Mexican
tourism officials said they expected 3,000 new hotel rooms in the next
five years between Mahahual (population 200) and Uvero, which is barely a
wide spot in the beach road. They estimated an eventual 20,000 rooms on
the entire Costa Maya.
Officials have said they don't want the uncontrolled growth and pollution
of Playa del Carmen, and want to make development low density and
eco-friendly. But it's difficult to imagine 20,000 rooms -- the equivalent
of four MGM Grands in Las Vegas -- not having an impact on this sleepy
region.
Unless you arrive by cruise ship, getting to the Costa Maya requires some
effort. From Cancún, it's a 190-mile drive down Highway 307, a freakishly
straight road that runs from the top of the Yucatán to Belize. (Be
prepared to brush up on your iguana-dodging skills at 65 mph.)
Just past Los Limones, 100 miles south of Tulum, we turned left at the
sign for Mahahual -- and promptly hit a drug checkpoint staffed by young
soldiers who looked as bored as they were heavily armed. Another 36 miles
toward the coast, past the outpost for the Mexican Navy (who knew?), is
one of only two or three spots on the entire Xcalak Peninsula large enough
to be called a town.
The whole of Mahahual (also spelled "Mahajual" and "Majahual," and
pronounced "MAH-ha-wahl") would fit into a suburban mega-mall -- about a
quarter of a mile long and a city block wide. At its back is a tangle of
mangrove jungle and unspoiled marshlands that is unabated, save for a
single road, to the other side of the peninsula. At its front is the
bath-warm Caribbean in shades of cool mint and wintergreen that is
blessedly calm, courtesy of the reef off shore.
Avenue Mahahual isn't so much the main boulevard as a wide, hard-packed
sandy path lined with coconut palms, grocery stores, trinket shops, a
sun-bleached hotel, rustic bungalows, funky restaurants and a dozen or so
open-sided beach bars selling bottles of Sol beer that begin to sweat
before they hit your hand.
It is a postcard of a place that, until recently, was too remote to have
postcards.
On days when cruise ships call at the Port of Costa Maya, Avenue Mahahual
buzzes with beach barflies, bargain hunters and sun-worshipers, but on
this afternoon, two-thirds of the business district was shut tight and the
sum total of gringos in town would fit in two yellow cabs.
Lured by open-air seating and a menu that featured five kinds of ceviche,
we dropped into chairs at El Delfín. We bridged the linguistic gap with
the waiter by using the universal language of pointing at the menu and
licking our lips. Apparently our syntax was correct, because moments later
he appeared with fresh chicken and lime quesadillas, pork tacos and a
tractor-tire-size platter of shrimp and conch ceviche, a reminder of the
plentiful fresh seafood available from the waters 30 yards from the table.
We sauntered the length of Avenue Mahahual, surveying the dining, drinking
and loitering options while fending off tempting offers from beach-bar
barkers. At the end of town we turned around, kicked off our sandals and
ambled back the way we came, this time through the soft, white sand and
gentle waves.
It was easy to imagine what Mahahual was like before the pier and the
paved roads, although signs of the tourist-driven economy are abundant:
vendors selling Corona T-shirts and plaster versions of the ruins at
Chichén Itzá, next to closet-size booths for renting Jet Skis, scooters
and ATVs. At that moment, however, the village was a sleepy, serene and
inviting slice of the Yucatán, the way Cancún was 40 years ago.
On a dirt road a couple miles south of Mahahual is Balamku, one of a dozen
or so ultra-casual, low-profile, eco-friendly cabana-on-the-beach resorts
on this stretch of coast, most of them started by free-spirited expats who
have been migrating to the region since the 1960s.
The five palapa-roofed adobe bungalows are not more than 40 feet from the
ocean's edge. The rooms are spare and spacious, with tile floors and decor
of handcrafts from Mexico and Guatemala. Most of the resort's power comes
from solar panels and a windmill that at night sounds like bats -- which
would explain the ceiling fans instead of air conditioning. In part,
alternative power is part of the local effort to be green, but is also a
hold-over from the days before the area had an electric system, which was
installed just in the past couple years.
At check-in, owner-handyman-bartender Alan Knight, who with Carol Tumber
bought the land on a whim in the 1990s and built Balamku, gave us the
10-minute orientation -- palapa, beach, kayaks, snorkeling gear and a
mini-reef about 50 yards out. "Make yourselves at home," he said, and
padded off to fix something. The cliche seemed to ring truer here than at
most places.
Despite the menu of options, life at on this coast revolves around doing,
well, not much. Mornings I would ease out of bed, pull on shorts and wade
into the chilly wavelets not yet warmed by the sun. We considered using a
kayak to explore the mini-reef, but found we could walk almost the entire
way to it on tippy toes.
Balamku's dining room only serves breakfast, so for dinner Alan pointed us
150 yards down the road to Travel In', a two-story home converted into a
New-Agey, Euro-style restaurant and boardinghouse with camping on the
beach. Justa, a Dutch expat who opened the place in 2003, brought us a
mountain of salty peel-and-eat shrimp covered in thick green curry, and a
spicy shoarma (that's the Dutch spelling; it's also spelled shawarma), a
traditional Middle Eastern dish with a decidedly non-Islamic touch.
"The meat is very fresh," she said. "The pig was running around the yard
yesterday."
Streetlights are years off (the "street" is still a dirt road), which
meant our after-dinner walk back to Balamku relied on moonlight, starlight
and a strong sense of denial about the hairy tarantulas lurking among the
mangroves. (Apparently, we were in town for "tarantula-crossing season." I
asked Ann to put that on our calendar for future reference.)
Early one morning I strolled out to the water and noticed a ship docked at
the pier to the north. It was taller than any feature for 100 miles in any
direction, manmade or natural, and likely carried 10 to 15 times as many
passengers as the population of Mahahual.
Five years ago, the government and Carnival Cruise Line built the pier for
passenger ships, allowing Mexican officials to explore tourism in the
region and cruise lines to offer an exotic-sounding new port to jaded
veteran cruisers. During 2005, large ships made almost 300 stops at the
Port of Costa Maya, more than stopped at either Puerto Vallarta or
Mazatlán -- which, it's only fair to point out, are actual cities.
Since the pier was built, the port property has expanded into a cross
between a beach club, resort hotel and shopping mall, with most of the
facilities of a small city. Already a suburb-size development of homes and
apartments is going up around the port, coyly called "New Mahahual."
We drove into town to gauge the ship-day difference. While it wasn't a
Mayberry-to-Miami transformation, the peaceful village from the day before
was suddenly a bustling resort town, with every business humming, radios
playing an iconic Caribbean soundtrack and scores of taxis dropping off
more sightseers every few minutes.
We sat down to brunch at the Cat's Meow restaurant's covered tables on the
beach and munched happily on ceviche and fish tacos while watching the
town's other side: families frolicking in the waves; couples on Jet Skis
skipping over the surf; and shoppers in Calvin Klein and Tommy Bahama
haggling over pesos for handmade shirts.
The Scottish couple at the next table, passengers on the Carnival ship in
port, said they couldn't believe the simple beauty in Mahahual, and how it
didn't seem overwhelmed by the day visitors. I asked if it that would be
the case with several ships at a time.
"That," she said, "could get a bit much."
Of course, many passengers never reach the town, choosing instead to stay
in the port or take one of the many excursions to ruins in the region.
Just north of downtown, we stopped at Tequila Beach, a Señor Frog's-style
bar and beach club where day-trippers were soaking up as much suds as sun,
and reveling in the thumping music, the drinking games and the perfectly
groomed beach. It was an image out of a cruise line brochure.
On the beach, two young women in bikinis staggered past (I'm guessing an
inner-ear problem) and saw my camera.
"You want us to make out?" one asked.
"Um, no. But thanks for offering," I said, sensing that beefy and equally
drunk boyfriends were not far.
Compared to what we'd seen of Mahahual so far, the scene was an
out-of-place snippet of Cancún. But for how long would it seem out of
place?
It was clear, however, that the place would be empty before sundown. The
secret of enjoying any destination that's a popular cruise port, it seems,
is having the place to yourself after the ships sail. I knew we could come
back into town later that evening and have our choice of tables at any
open restaurant and enjoy a quiet stroll down a stretch of beach all our
own.
We steered back toward our beach, seemingly light years from the
Passengers Gone Wild, to relax for the afternoon -- which is how we came
to be vertical on the beach, debating tracks in the warm sand. Eventually,
we called it a draw, partly for the lack of a judge, and also because the
tide seemed to be telling us to shush.
For a moment, I considered going double-or-nothing on what kind of palm
tree was hanging out over the water, but thought better of it: We were
already pink and it might have been some time before anyone else came
along.
If you go
All locations are in Mahahual. Prices are shown in U.S. dollars. Most
businesses, including hotels, do not take credit cards and at press time
there was no ATM; bring cash.
GETTING THERE
From San Francisco, there are no nonstop flights to Cancún; a number of
airlines offer one-stop connecting flights. From Cancún, rent a car and
follow Highway 307 for 190 miles; watch for signs for Mahahual or Costa
Maya. Flying into Chetumal is more expensive and not likely to save time.
WHERE TO STAY
Balamku, 011-521-983-839-5332, www.balamku.com. Eight comfortable,
no-frills rooms on the beach; water gear and full breakfast included.
$75-$85 per night for two.
La Posada de los 40 Cañones, www.los40canones.com. Comfortable, basic
hotel and restaurant on Mahahual's main street, close to the beach.
Standard rooms $60-$75.
WHERE TO EAT
To be frugal, ask for the menu "en español," which is priced for locals.
El Delfín (across from the beach in central Mahahual). Mexican fare heavy
on the seafood. Lunch for two with ceviche appetizer and drinks, $18.
Cat's Meow (across from the beach near north end of main street). Mexican
fare, friendly staff; lunch served on the beach on ship days. Lunch for
two with drinks, $22.
WHAT TO DO
Most beach resorts have water sports equipment. There is a generous supply
of excursion and equipment vendors offering ATVs, Jet Skis and trips to
the ruins. Shop around before you commit.
FOR MORE INFORMATION
Web sites for Mahahual and vicinity include www.locogringo.com/mahahual
and www.xcalak.info.
E-mail Deputy Travel Editor Spud Hilton at travel@sfchronicle.com.
