Cancun

So here I am in Cancun, just a quick 20-minute jaunt from the airport, gearing up for our next Global Symposium.

The place is so off-season that the hotels are basically ghost towns—it’s like I’ve rented out the entire resort just for myself. In contrast, arriving at the airport is like walking into a carnival—only instead of performers, you’re surrounded by a swarm of overly enthusiastic tour operators all vying to whisk you away to your destination. It’s like an abundant all you can eat menu, with one traveler for every ten tour guides, all desperate to win your f(l)avor.

Most folks seem to have noped out of their vacation plans, spooked by the ominous warnings of a gnarly hurricane season, courtesy of our not-so-friendly pal, global warming.

This year’s hurricane season is shaping up to be a real overachiever, thanks to a cocktail of a half-hearted El Niño, Atlantic waters as hot as a summer BBQ, and trade winds that decided to take a vacation. With all that extra moisture in the air, it’s like Mother Nature cranked up the humidity and said, “Let’s see how many hurricanes we can whip up this year!” Buckle up—it’s going to be a wild ride!

Cancun, by the way, is perfectly perched on the Yucatán Peninsula, where it gets up close and personal with the Caribbean Sea and the massive Nichupté Lagoon, a saltwater lake that’s practically an all-you-can-eat buffet for crocodiles with a taste for adventure—and, well, the occasional tourist.

The hotels here are cleverly tucked away on this slender peninsula, far from the city’s hustle and bustle. They’re working on a new bridge that should be ready by 2026, but for now, all we’ve got are these giant, lonely pilons sticking out of the water like some unfinished art project. The bridge is supposed to span the lagoon, but for now, people are sticking to swimming in the sea—probably because no one wants to be a croc’s mid-morning snack. These scaly fellows don’t shy away from a bit of human tapas, and every so often, one of them decides to switch things up and takes a dip in the sea. I can only imagine the confusion on their reptilian faces: “Wait a minute… where did all the fish go, and why is everything so extra salty?”

The locals, however, are totally unfazed. They paddleboard on the lagoon like they’re leading a croc parade, but I think I’ll stick to the sea, thank you very much.

Now, let’s talk about the food. I have a deep, abiding love for Mexican cuisine, and let me tell you, I’ve got a foolproof grading system for chips, salsa, and margaritas. Spoiler alert: this place aced it. They really know how to serve up some delicious local fish dishes that make you want to marry the chef.

The Hill’s Global Symposium is going to be a blast, especially since it’s being streamed to 30,000 people around the globe. The hotel’s Wi-Fi is so fast, I’m pretty sure they’ve got a direct line to the internet gods. The IT guy was practically bursting with pride when he told me, “No one beats us here!” The hotel itself is stunning, with all the amenities one could ever need.

But all good things must come to an end, and on my way back to the airport two days later, I find myself once again in the company of a small army of tour operators who, I assume, have gathered to see me off with tears in their eyes.

P.S. The lady’s face was priceless when the immigration officer unearthed a conch shell the size of my dog Chippie from her luggage. I bet she asked, “Can I take this back to the US?” and the officer, barely suppressing a smile, replied, “No ma’am, you most certainly cannot.” It was all smooth sailing—right up until she tried to smuggle half the ocean home with her.