15 October 2009
LostThursday 15th October 2009. Cancun. Day off.
Waking up revealed the full magnitude of my current surroundings. For starters my 'room' is significantly larger than most places I have ever lived. Throw in a kitchen and I could happily survive in a place like this for the rest of my days. It appears that the resort consists of about a hundred chalets nestled around a lagoon, surrounded by dense foliage. There's wildlife everywhere, especially in the lagoon, to which all rooms have access, each with it's own patio, pool and jetty.
That said, I found myself staggeringly disorientated. The last time I looked I'd been hanging in Texas with a bunch of astronauts and having been plucked from there and teleported to some sort of tropical paradise I felt rather like I was space-walking myself. It occurred to me that I had absolutely no idea where I was, in fact that I had less of an idea where I was than at any point in my life to date; this in both an immediate sense, (i.e. how to get back to the restaurant area we'd been in last night) and in the larger sense of being able to point at my location on a map of the world. All I knew was that I was somewhere in Mexico.
The best plan I could think of was to pick up the phone and dial zero. A cheery voice greeted me by name and asked how they could be of assistance. I asked if I could get a ride back to reception and within moments a golf cart had pulled up outside casa mia. I hopped on the back and we scooted through lush vegetation back to the main building where I found several of my amigos tucking into an absurdly lavish breakfast buffet. I was clearly highly spun out so there was much humour at my expense, but food and a pot of tea went some way to pointing me in the right direction (as long as I overlooked some of the weirder aspects of my immediate environment, which included large wading birds mooching about and the bowl of gummy bears that made up part of the breakfast buffet.)
As I pieced together the events of last night I became concerned that I knew I hadn't eaten the bagel, salmon and cream cheese that I'd taken to my room, and yet this morning I hadn't been able to find it anywhere. I mentioned this and Smasher said brightly - yes, you put it in your computer bag. Oh great...
After breakfast myself Tom, Smasher and Cutter assembled a mini edit-suite in Smasher's room in order to get on with the several video remakes we have to do over the next few days. It all got commendably 'boys' bedroom' with laptops, piles of drives and cables everywhere. An unusually large number of hotel staff kept toddling in and out to fluff and fold things, ask if we needed anything and so forth. Around 6pm a young lady in uniform appeared and introduced herself as 'your P.M. butler'. She again asked if we needed anything, would we like coffee, turn down service, and then with no sense of irony asked 'would you like me to run you a bubble bath?' We were all slightly nonplussed by the question and I was never quite sure whether the implication was that we would get into the bubble bath or that she would. Either way, we declined.
In the evening we had a meeting in Bono's room to look at show DVDs and make plans for any tweaks and alterations that we need to do before the Rosebowl shoot. The general rule of thumb on a U2 tour is that Bono gets the biggest suite but in return all the meetings happen there. My wondering what magnitude of accommodation he must have in this situation was well founded as it turned out that the resort's 'Presidential Suite' was on its own island. Wonderful stuff. It was a productive night and we'll continue tomorrow.