The following is what I had to explain to them: When I went to college, %$#@ years ago, there was no such thing as “spring break.” First of all, back then it was called “Easter vacation” at my school. Secondly, very few students had the means to jump on a plane (notice I didn’t say “jet plane”) and fly off to some sunny resort to have a bacchanal. Many of us used the vacation to do the reading we were supposed to have finished before we left for vacation. As for the resorts, they were not inundated by hoards of ripped guys and curvaceous girls between the ages of 18 and 21. The resorts simply continued to cater to the well heeled oldsters who could afford to escape winter’s woes for a week or six.
I thought, therefore, I couldn’t write on this subject. But then I reached back in my mental archives and did remember one “spring break” my partner and I inadvertently participated in about 20 years ago. We decided we needed a break around the beginning of April that year and I booked a week in–yes, you guessed it–Cancun.
The flight was, of course, filled with “breakers” who, although in college, could not understand things like the lit sign above each seat explaining you should remain in your seat with your seat belt fastened. By the time we arrived, the flight attendants had served every ounce of anything on board that would pour. I was afraid they were going to have to start on the aviation fuel.
Then our flight met up with several other flights upon landing, as if choreographed by some devious air traffic controller. Five arriving flights were trying to be cleared by three bewildered immigration officials (who obviously had never heard of spring break either). There was absolutely no discernible line for this process. We felt like amoebae taking the shape of anything around us simply to keep living. Two grueling hours later, we were through immigration and on our way to our hotel smelling strangely like beer—even though we hadn’t had any.
Among the other pleasures of that trip were that although we were both only in our 40s, everyone there held doors open for us. Of course, you couldn’t get near a bar for a drink and I think it was the first time we ever had an “early bird” special dinner out of that primal need to eat (that was the only time you could get into a restaurant). Oh, and do you know how hot it gets on the beach under the Mexican sun when you put the blanket over you instead of under you so nobody sees you don’t have a six pack (and I am not talking about beer)?
We finally decided to look on the bright side; we were in Cancun while our friends were shoveling snow. The weather and scenery were amazing, and the people-watching was awesome.