I followed the bellman down a long covered portico, where lustrous marble floors gleamed like polished bronze in the slanting rays of a late afternoon sun. At the end of the terrace he stopped before a massive set of wooden doors and jiggled a large metal skeleton key in the lock. Shifting my backpack impatiently, I focused on how wonderful it would be to drop my heavy load for a few days and do absolutely nothing. After what seemed an eternity, the door finally swung open to reveal an exquisite Master Suite. I nearly wept. For the past three months I’d been trekking around Mexico, staying in hostel dormitories and modest inns, until Hacienda Xcanatun had kindly offered to host me. Dog-tired and desperately in need of a rest, I’d jumped at the chance to sleep in a “real” bed in a private room for a change, but this was more than I had expected. This Master Suite was larger than most of the hostels I’d stayed in.
I tried not to show my embarrassment as the bellman rolled my small dust-caked suitcase through the sitting room and set it up on a heavy wooden bench in the bedroom. He pointed out myriad switches that turned on lamps, wall sconces, and overhead fans and then explained how to work the multiple rain heads in the glass shower enclosure and operate the separate whirlpool soaking tub. Stepping to the far wall in the bathroom he tugged on cords that drew back a ceiling drapery, revealing a skylight; did I wish to let sunlight stream in or would I prefer dimmer lighting? Open. No, closed. Oh, I don’t care. Whatever would make him leave faster. Continue reading