I had been sitting outside on our back patio, one of the torches lit, drinking a mojito when I thought to myself; one week ago I was sitting at the pool bar, beside the beach, underneath a palm roof, drinking a mojito (plus a tequila shot!) in Mexico. Though I did enjoy the spacious room with the carpetless floor, the small balcony that provided us our ocean view, it was this pool/seaside bar that was my favorite spot in the resort. Prior to arriving, looking at the pictures on Travelocity, I had envisioned it differently, everything laid out facing the sea. But that rainy afternoon of our arrival, we had entered from the street into an expansive open-air lobby, a buzzing hive of activity. Even though we had come for a retreat (and least I had) we had also come to a small city that was a destination for travelers from all parts of the world. Ever since I had watched Cary Grant, with my big sister, in all those 1930’s high society movies, and read, as a young teenager, all those Agatha Christie novels, I had wanted to experience being in a “resort town”. Here I was, but it was not 1935 anymore.

For me it is the lack of romance and mystery that bothers me the most about modern life. I realize that only a poet would say such a thing, considering the state of the modern world. But still it is true. And that pool/seaside bar made me believe that the mysterious world still existed, even if there was little romance to accompany it. The resort was a place to experience the scary world from a protected space. I really don’t know if my reality in 1935 would have been any less scary, just different. No wonder I had always wanted to do this.