Kim and I were in luck. There were several tours listed in the chic catalog that Liane, our travel agent, had arranged to be delivered to our cabin along with a posh tray of welcome wine, stinky cheese, and chocolate mints.
I brushed the cracker crumbs off of the cover and we browsed the list.
The first option was a grand tour that would journey deep into the heart of Maya. We could visit extraordinary sites that are accessible only via multi-day-donkey trek or helicopter. Since the ship was only in port for 7 hours - there wasn't enough time to get to the helicopter pad - so a private charter plane adjacent to the ship's port would be waiting to whisk us away.
We read on...
The expedition would reveal the secrets of the universe and the very meaning of life. Also noted - a session that would reveal how the 2012 Mayan-end-of-the-world debacle was a misunderstanding caused by illiterate Americans who simply didn't understand the Mayan word for "end of the world".
We were intrigued. 7 hours. Private plane. Meaning of life. hmmm....
The price for this excursion was literally more than my entire first year of college tuition, room, board, and beer money. Literally.
The further we read down the page - the more affordable the tours became.
We got to the last item. Page 2. Back of page 1. Almost missed it. Tequila Tasting Tour - $49.
We discussed the options. Narrowed our choices down to two. Mayan Meaning of life or Tequila Tasting tour. We discussed the pros and cons of each... and quickly reached our decision.
The bus to the tasting tour was hot and crowded and the trip was long. We rode with expectant anticipation. A once in a lifetime, grand exit, experience of rare tequila tasting. We had visions of strolling through agave fields surrounded by streams and highlands with plumes of volcanic gas rising against a brilliant blue sky. We convinced ourselves that we made the right choice.
As an added bonus with our tour... during the long ride our local know-it-all tour guide regaled us with the story about how foolish we were to believe the 2012-Mayan-end-of-the-world business. This lecture must be included with all of the tours. He parsed words and condescendingly explained how we were all dopes who mistook the "end of a phaaaaaaaazzze" for "end of the woooorrld".
The bus came to a stop - double-parked in the middle of a hustling and crowded street near a town square. We were ushered off the bus amidst a sea of honking cars and delivered into the vortex of chaotic street vendors shoving all kinds of stuff at us. On the far side of the crowd, I saw our tour guide arguing with the owner of a liquor store / cafe. He slipped him some cash and the argument ended.
We made our way through the swarm.
After some time, the rest of the group made it into the building and we were led to the tasting room. I don't think the owner was expecting us and there was a scramble to get tables, shot glasses, and tortilla chips set out.
The owner greeted us and explained that we would be treated to three shots of various tequilas for our tasting pleasure - followed by a final taste of the highest quality, most exquisite offering.
Three shots turned into about 10 and the group got lively. Some silly games were organized and a haphazard margarita-making contest was held.
It was almost time to get on the bus and head back to the ship - so the liquor store owner quieted the group and made his announcement that the time had come to bring out the good stuff. He disappeared behind a wall and emerged with ceremonial grandeur and presented the prized libation.
We enjoyed a single taste of it, endured the street vendor gauntlet, and slept on the bus ride back to the ship.
Walking back onto the ship our group was jovial and enlightened. I saw the group returning from the private plane tour and they seemed somber and circumspect. Yikes. I don't want to know what secrets of the universe they uncovered. I can just wait until the end and find out.
On reflection of our experience, I shared some details with some friends back home. It turns out that you don't have to make an arduous trek thousands of miles from home in order to reach our state of supreme tequila enlightenment.
Dear readers, you are all in luck. My friends Greg, Joe, Brian, and Marci were able find the rare pinnacle of fine tequila
in Boner Springs, Kansas.....
or the tiny village of Paola, Kansas...
or even in a state-run Utah liquor store...
