dsc01467There are a few things I plan on incorporating into my house after spending a week in Mexico getting married on the beaches of Playa del Carmen.

First, a swim-up bar right off the kitchen. Wouldn’t be that big of a deal to construct. Knock out the underutilized corner of the room, lay in a fiberglass pool lining that extends out into the backyard near the patio and flower garden, and build a beautifully appointed marble bar complete with taps and plenty of shelf space for high-end liquor. I’m talking extra anejo tequila. And plenty of it.

Second, a massage bench, complete with Spanish speaking masseuse, overlooking the 50 yards of white sand that I’d haul in to cover my entire back yard near the swim-up bar. This one is actually more for my wife, as I hate massages. The feeling of people touching my back just plain creeps me out for some reason. But the thought of having 24×7 access to this luxury would make me feel pretty damn good. 

Third, a buffet. But I’m not talking about a few card tables set up with Sterno cans heating day-old chicken cordon bleu and powdery mashed potatoes. I mean an endless selection of the finest cuilinary delights from around the world, perfectly cooked to your taste at whatever time you want it. People politely asking if you’d like another mojito with lunch. Wondering if you’d like them to seat you closer to the beach-front tables, or under the swaying palm providing the perfect amount of shade from the tropical sun. And lots of soft-serve ice cream. Oh yes…endless streams of soft-serve ice cream topped with granola, coconut shavings and melted dark and white chocolate.  

dsc013531And fourth, a Cuban humidor stocked with only the finest cigars from our least favorite trading partner. And I’m not talking about the fake shit rolled in the Dominican Republic and sheathed with the bullshit wrapper with black and white circles. Uh uh. I’m talking real Cohibas, Bolivars, Montecristos, and San Cristobals as long and thick as your arm. The kind that take you half a day to pull your way through, each magnificent puff eliciting the distinct smell of REAL tobacco. No fillers or sawdust in there. Real tobacco, something we’re not accustomed to here in the U.S. Paired perfectly with a phenomenal scotch, like Macallan 25 or (more realistically) Johnnie Walker Blue.   

dsc014621Sigh. If you haven’t picked up by now, our Mexican wedding/honeymoon trip was beyond fantastic. For anyone that cares, I’d HIGHLY recommend spending your next vacation down at Barcelo Maya, one of the nicest all-inclusive joints around. Swimming pools the size of football fields, snaking in and out of endless swim-up bars, fantastic grilles and buffets, and of course overlooking the shockingly beautiful aqua blue waters of the Caribbean. We spent much of our time at the Palace, the high-end part of the resort, and from the moment you get there until the time you leave you feel like royalty. A regular hacienda owner in command of a staff of hundreds all dedicated to making every one of your requirements a reality. Well, almost every requirement. Because the resort fell completely on its face when it came to providing good beer. But, that was expected, and I wasn’t necessarily disappointed since I was intraveneously hooked up to a continuous flow of anejo tequila, high-end scotch and beautifully-mixed mojitos that would sneak up and knock you on the back of the head with a conch shell. 

It was unequivocally the best time of our lives. Look for more on the beer (and the rare anejo tequila not available in the U.S. I brought back) in the not-too-distant future.