PART TWENTY ONE:
The Mexico pavilion is a magnificent terraced pyramid with a row of steps from the base to the summit. We crane our necks and stare in awe, taking it all in. The pyramid is patterned after the Aztec temple of Queztalcoatl. Are you impressed with my knowledge? Dont be, I looked it up. Ive heard of him but I dont really know who he was. He had to be very powerful, though, to have such a weird unpronounceable name and still get his own temple.
Cheerful music swirls through the air. Staccato trumpet tones harmonize beautifully with guitars and violins. It really makes me feel like were at a Mexican Fiesta. Maybe theyll have Flamenco dancers inside. Only this is Florida, so theyll be Flamingo dancers. In any case, this is great music. If I had a hat Id throw it on the sidewalk and dance around it. Fortunately for Lowell and the passing crowd, I have no hat.
We walk inside the dimly lit interior. Vendor stalls sprawl across the floor. Craftsmen sell a wondrous assortment of colorful native wood carvings, pottery, jewelry and other goods. Im amazed at all the tempting merchandise here. Thank goodness were missing the shopping gene. Beyond the market area is the San Angel Inn. It was created to look like an outdoor restaurant. The seating area is lit by street lamps and dim lights hung far above that remind me of a starry night sky. The far wall shows a temple, and an ancient volcano glowing red with lava. A river, carrying the boats we are about to board, flows by groups of tables.
The last time we ate at a waterfront restaurant in Mexico, they had a resident alligator who hung around waiting for handouts. If the food at the San Angel Inn is anything like my dinner at Whispering Canyon, an alligator could come in handy here. One toss, a few moments of thrashing, and dry pork chops would be but a bad memory. Youd need to be seated right next to the river, though. Its bad manners to lob tough meat or soggy nachos over peoples heads.
We bypass the market area and restaurant and head toward El Rio del Tiempo. I love the ancient feel of this building and the arched openings in the stucco walls that lead to the boat launch area. A few people are waiting, but the line is short, and before long we climb into our boat.
El Rio del Tiempo is the River of Time in more ways than the attraction designers intended. The River of Time has moved on, leaving this attraction in need of refurbishment. No changes have been made since it was constructed in the 1970s. In a few weeks this attraction will be closed while it undergoes renovation. This is our last chance to memorize the current version so we can appreciate the changes.
Our boat drifts forward in the shadow of the temple and volcano, past people eating dinner. Im a bit apprehensive as we float by the tables, but I worry in vain. No one pelts us with refried beans, or dumps their plate of enchiladas onto our boat as we pass, and I dont see any alligators.
Haunting flute music plays as we float along. As we enter the main portion of the River of Time a Mexican narrator speaks. He describes his ancestors who became scientists and mathematicians, built marvelous temples, and developed a very advanced culture. Scenes play across viewing screens. We see people dancing, dressed in ornate headdresses and colorful native garb. Another scene shows the famous Mayan calendar.
Our boat travels onward. The wonders of the ancient world give way to a room of dancing Mexican dolls.
Whhhaaat? (Insert record scratching noise here.)
We went from ancient dancing priests, to cheap dancing dolls. In seconds. And I think we just catapulted forward a few hundred years. My head reels from the culture shock and the jarring time disruption. I feel completely disoriented. Before I can compose myself the narrators voice is smothered by infectious, cheerful music that fights for control of my mind. The insidious repetitious tune is the kind that plays in your head days after you first hear it, and even though I try to block it out by thinking of something else, the tune overrides all rational thought. The music grows louder and louder. I cling desperately to sanity, but its no use, I feel myself slipping away. In a moment, the tune wins, and I hum mindlessly along with the music, swaying and bobbing my head.
I glance at Lowell. His hands are clamped over his ears. He removes his hands when he sees me staring and says, That song! That song! Its almost as bad as Its a Small World! Try not to listen!
I shake my head to clear my mind. Someone should outlaw these awful Disney mind-control songs. Slowly I regain control of my thoughts. After several deep breaths my attention returns to the plight of the dancing dolls. Do they have a better life than the ones enslaved at Its a Small World? The repetitious song and the ceaseless dancing are very similar. Have these dolls tried to revolt? Some of the caballero dolls look like they know their way around a six shooter. With luck, the situation will be resolved without violence, however, because the ACLU is handling the doll abuse case at Its a Small World. Ill eat my sombrero if they allow any dancing dolls in the new Mexico ride.
We float onward toward more view screens. These show moving pictures of modern day life: the ocean, rocky beaches, cliff divers, and people boating. People swim near waterfalls inside cenotes. Cenotes are deep sinkholes filled with water, found inside caves and tunnels of limestone. This brings back pleasant memories. Lowell and I snorkeled among tropical fish in the Yucatan at a place called Xel-ha, which is a natural lagoon filled with inlets, coves and cenotes. BEWARE: Once Lowell dons a flotation vest, a pair of swim fins, and a snorkel, a transformation comes over him. The normally placid man who does not swim well disappears, replaced by a man-eating shark that chases me through the water, intent on avenging himself for my doggie paddling jokes.
The next scene we come to is the most familiar. The view screens show market vendors hawking their wares, waving customers into their booths where unbelievable bargains await. This is a very realistic portrayal, at least in any Mexican city noted for tourism. The resort in Cancun where we stayed had full time employees just to chase away beach vendors, otherwise guests wouldnt have a moments peace. Every day we saw the same men and women selling silver jewelry, serapes, and leather goods. We sometimes wondered if they ever went home, or whether they were lost souls doomed to wander the beach for eternity, draped with silver bracelets and colorful blankets.
In Puerto Vallarta, beach vendors hovered like a cloud of gnats wherever we went, and if you didnt get your fill of shopping on the beach, you could go downtown. In the old market area, vendors sold everything from textiles, to pottery, to silver jewelry to bottles of vanilla. This market was a hagglers paradise. Most Americans, however, are not hagglers. You dont learn bargaining skills at Wal-Mart. No one unloads stuff from their cart onto the checkout line and tells the cashier, Ill give you three bucks for this shirt made in Cambodia, and a buck and a quarter for these day-old muffins. No, Americans are conditioned to pay whatever is marked on the sticker and smile when the cashier says, Have a Nice Day. They dont question prices. They dont wonder if the product is everything the store claims. Market vendors count on that. Unbeknown to the vendors, Lowell deals in antiques and collectibles for a living and is no stranger to flea markets and bargaining. We came away with bargains that were actually bargains. This is not supposed to happen. As we left their stalls, the vendors shook their heads in dismay, wondering what had just happened to them.
Alas, beach and marketplace vendors were nothing compared to Mexican Timeshare hawkers. Disney ought to set up shop for DVC in Mexico and promote their Best Kept Secret of vacation ownership there. Im sure they would be more discrete. Timeshare reps literally chased us down the street, begging us to preview their resorts. They promised us Tequila, Kahlua, serapes, boat trips, even $100 cash for our time. Being the value conscious vacationers we are, its hard to say no to a load of free stuff and money. You should know, however, that in timeshare circles the ethics of touring resorts for goodies is debated as passionately as DIS members debate the evils of refillable mugs and pool hopping. When offered enough stuff, Lowell and I usually cave. When we left Puerto Vallarta, we owned a half dozen serapes and more Tequila and Kahlua than we could comfortably carry; or legally bring home. We nearly put the Duty Free shop out of business giving away free Tequila at the airport.
The scenery changes again as our little boat on the River of Time passes beyond the grasp of the market vendors. The night sky erupts with colorful fireworks. Im not sure what the occasion is. Maybe were celebrating our escape from the market without buying anything. The boom and crackle of exploding fireworks holds my attention. I just start to relax and enjoy the festive atmosphere when we float into a new area containing the next scene and, ssssccrrrrrraaaaaaattttttttchhh, more dancing dolls! I think someone shipped a crate of free dolls to the Mexico pavilion, with instructions that the ride designers must work them into the ride somehow, whether it made sense or not. The cheerful lilting tune grows louder as we float past the dolls. I stick my fingers in my ears before Im reduced again to mindless humming and bobbing.
The renovated ride can only be an improvement, whatever it is. Maybe theyll incorporate the beach vendor theme into the remodeled version of El Rio Del Tiempo. Near the start of the trip, female Cast Members run alongside the boats offering hair braiding services to the women. Farther up-river other CMs chase the boats holding out silver bracelets of dubious silver content as they call, How many, please; how many do you want? A bit farther along, vendors halt the boats to show passengers colorful serape blankets. And at the end, more vendors greet passengers with similar goods at cheaper prices. As people climb out of their boats, they pass a DVC booth. A salesman offers a bottle of Tequila and a serape to attend a presentation about their Best Kept Secret.
Throw in a Dole Whip and a few Fast Passes, and Lowell and I will probably sign up.
I thought I was going to have to go to the emergency room I was in so much pain!! What an idiot!
detroitdad: NP er, um, No Problem! I enjoy inside jokes for the most part, and as I said, I’d be amused if anything I wrote ended up being plagiarized in someone else’s report. But I do know where you’re coming from because I have read some pop culture references that I had to Google because I was totally clueless! Even without understanding every joke, though, the reports are still funny and entertaining. I’m actually glad you brought the subject up because it started some useful dialog on the issue and made people think. That’s always a good thing. 
to you!
Yes, I am a Small World fan. I fear I was brainwashed when I was just 4 years old.
