This year I stayed in Ontario for an extra week of January. It simply wasn't worth it to fly back to Newfoundland for one week, just to fly back to Ontario and then head to Cancun.

That's right, it was time for Ingram's wedding in Cancun! The man you might know from such BRN updates as Drinking At The Essex Beer Tent and Monaghan's Night Where I Bought Him $71 In Drinks Because He Posted The Most On The BRN Forum!

There were a variety of flying packages from Windsor, Detroit or Toronto; but Toronto worked the best. And seeing as I had business with Clarkson post-Cancun, I rode the bus up to Barrie prior to our early morning flight out of Pearson.

Barrie was even colder than Windsor and far more snowy, so it made a great port of departure for a sunny destination, like how hiking for 3 days makes a shabby cabin so much sweeter.

A.J., Clarkson & I made it through customs and grabbed our bags quicker than everyone else, allowing us time for a drink at the to-go bar set up by the waiting resort busses. Boy could the Windsor Airport and Toronto Pearson's UP Express really use one of these spots!

(A.J. was classy enough to buy a drink for the groom to have upon his arrival. I didn't even think of this, haha.)

Our resort was in the Riviera Maya, the region south of Cancun on the eastern Yucatan Peninsula. After a half hour of highway driving, we took an exit through a gatehouse into an area that reminded me of the endless expanse of swamp and mangroves around the interstates of southern Louisiana.

Never having been to one of these resorts, I was taken aback by the starkness of there being absolutely nothing within sight besides this long road through marshland and the beachside skyscrapers. This land must've been so empty prior to the hospitality corporation coming along, throwing up this miniature city for people who need to escape winter and/or enjoy paying a flat rate for a week's worth of food.

Everyone else booked their room as a family or a couple, leaving the three midsummer 2017 bachelors - Clarkson, AJ and I - to band together and book a room. They didn't give us a room overlooking the ocean, but we did have fence-stradling coatis to watch!

The resort had 7 restaurants, but for breakfast everyone seemed to love and stay committed to the buffet. My only problem was that I would sleep in plus go to the gym almost every morning¹, and the buffet closed at some stupid early hour like 11 am. This left me going to the only restaurant open at noon, The Sports Bar.

Away from the parents who always have to wake up early, I still don't understand how or why everyone else was getting up so early after boozing.

1 - for the pedants, I went to the gym 5 mornings out of 7.

After The Sports Bar I would always find everyone at the pool, where I could set up shop in the shade and read my Sea Stories From Newfoundland book.

I told everyone about the time the b'ys got stuck on Baie Verte's Gull Island and saved themselves by taking apart a tilt (small cabin), building a boat with the wood since they were such amazing boat builders, then sailed back to Shoe Cove and safety. Everyone loved the story and I was contributing a lot to the pool party.

I probably got the most messed up on the night of day 2, but it still wasn't all that done'zo. They must water down the booze, because even though it wasn't crazy hot, we'd still be drinking Mai Tais, Pina Coladas, Micheladas, Henny and Dos Equis all day, then not getting as sloppy as I was worried about.

Anyway, this left me at The Sports Bar yet again on day 3. This is when I would try the poutine that someone else best described as "that french onion cheese fry."

Establishing with the group that I was a lazy bum who would meet up with them at my own leisure, this also afforded me the ability to slip away from the resort and go get a lighthouse.

I say slip away because I was worried that someone would have a problem with the safety ramifications of leaving the resort, so powered by my french onion cheese fry, I went straight to the front desk and not to the pool, where I found out that a taxi to the nearby village of Puerto Morelos would set me back $40.

Only $40? Well I say, Ándele!!

Stepping into a whole van cab just for myself, my guy spoke pretty good English but seemed to struggle with my destination of "lighthouse...uh, lighthouse?"

Amazingly, and now I'll pat myself on the back here on my own blog, I pulled the Spanish word for lighthouse out of some deep recess of my temporal lobe. The cabbie instantly replied, "ah okay, yeah faro, faro."

At the same time it seemed like he didn't respect my destination when he handed back this thing that looked like a folded mini-NHL pocket schedule, but with pictures of naked women and prices in each box (no pun intended). I was told we could go this brothel instead and it was "$100 for sex, $200 for anything I want."

I scoffed at even the notion and motioned that we continue towards the faro.

You might've noticed that my first Mexican lighthouse, the Puerto Morelos Lighthouse, is listing a bit.

Constructed in 1946, this lighthouse would only stay in service for 21 years before it was met with Hurricane Beulah, which washed out its foundation and left the tower on a hearty angle. Since then the lighthouse has been abandoned, but also known affectionately as Faro Inclinado by the townsfolk and has become a symbol of the village.

Inside, the wall read "favor de respetar el lugar virben de guadaloupe", or "Please respect the virgin place of Guadalupe".

Our Lady of Guadalupe is depicted to the right of the writing.

Getting my fill of the sandy first floor of the ruined lighthouse, I walked over to the replacement 1980s lighthouse and weighed whether standing here on the other side of the fence actually counts. Seeing as I don't count California's Port Hueneme Lighthouse, I don't think I can count this one either.

At least the ruined lighthouse on the beach meant I still got a lighthouse in a fifth country! (Canada, USA, St. Pierre et Miquelon (France), New Zealand, Mexico.)

Walking back into Puerto Morelos' town square, I consoled myself for not getting two lighthouses today by buying a bunch of Mexican 40s. I also grabbed a wide-brimmed lifeguard sun hat, after I inexplicably forgot to bring a hat to sunny Cancun (it had been decades since I'd seen the sun back in Corner Brook).

Leaving the convenience store, my cabbie was waiting there and ready to tell me to crack my beer and hop in the van.

Wait, I could drink in the van on the way back to the resort?!

The only problem was that I bought these 40s for comedic effect and to lounge on our patio overlooking the coati-infested, pseudo-Louisiana swampland...

So it was back inside the liquor store to pick up a can of Tecate for the ride back. Much like drinking in the border control line back in Mexicali Mexico in 2010, I couldn't pass up the hilarity of this and how different it was from uptight Canada.

Back at the resort, no one gave a damn that I left and risked my safety - instead they were upset because they would have liked to go themselves!

And so on day 4, after waking up late yet again, especially after a newly acquired Tecate 40, it was time for The Sports Bar and then off to Puerto Morelos with fully-packed van of Ingram wedding-goers. Telling Phoenix about the escort card of yesterday, she was upset that she wasn't offered one today. Haha, damn patriarchy.

Returning to the lighthouse, I took this surprise redemption opportunity to give the climb up into the second level a better go. Now that I had friends here, they could help me out if I got stuck or if the Mexican coast guard (aka. the Mexican Secretariat of Communications and Transportation) came along.

Instead, they made a whole big scene out of things by declaring, "ha! he's climbing up into the tower!", so I simply and quickly peeked my head over the ridge of the concrete floor, saw that there was nothing there, then dropped back down.

Now that there were five of us we took more time to look around, especially as the cabbie's price to leave the resort had changed from when it was just me.

This meant we stopped for lunch, where Monaghan and Danielle won by ordering the best looking dish amongst us, the shrimp ceviche.

Returning to the resort, today everyone was playing beach volleyball.

By now, I had finished Newfoundland Sea Stories and Brad was questioning how many books I was going to read this week. I could tell Brad one thing, I was loving relaxing and reading about rundown Mississippi towns in Richard Grant's Dispatches From Pluto more than I would be beating myself down playing beach volleyball!

(I did play a good amount of pool volleyball and even threw down an amazing spike. Ask A.J. about it next time you see him.)

One afternoon I knew where to find Clarkson and A.I. as there was a Tottenham (English soccer) game and they had already each individually checked with The Sports Bar to make sure the game was playing.

Personally I was excited by this opportunity to show up and drink Dos Equis and mock soccer, but it worked out much better when there was actually a critical KU-K State college basketball game on the TV right behind them. Plus Tottenham was playing Wayne Rooney, so I let Clarkson & A.I. know that they were fucked because Wayne Rooney, but apparently Wayne Rooney isn't Wayne Rooney anymore.

Every night there was a main building where everyone met up instead of seeking out each others room. Seeing as this was all inclusive, it was fun to drink things like Mai Tais and straight Henny in this area.

I think we were drinking Grey Goose at the time, when Brad just had to make sure to let us know that he had the real stuff up in his suite. Which was all great and fine, but I should have in turn let him know that I have the real Dos Equis in 40oz format up in our bachelors' suite.

Brad also let us three bachelors know that the reason we kept getting sick was because we just couldn't stop boning each other back in our suite. A big ol' Dos Equis-fueled bone fest in his eyes, haha.

I only made it to the dance bar two or three nights out of seven. The much better nights were where the Windsorites (or Windsorites by relationship) just hung out by ourselves in other areas of the resort. One night we must've been up until 3am, out in the big pool area just carrying on. I don't have any idea how no one yelled down from their room for us to stfu.

(We also went to the beach where the waves were so strong that it was scary. This is where security actually showed up, as apparently they keep the tourists away from the dark beach at night.)

Speaking of Windsorites, another thing I loved was when 10 of us made reservations and all went to the Italian restaurant. Danielle (from St. Catharines or Grimsby or something) was going on about how everyone from Windsor loves Arby's, pointing and insisting that each of us (Monaghan/Clarkson/myself) all love Arby's.

None of us disagreed and we were honestly surprised with the disgust in her voice, so we then went around the table and even when I thought the hypothesis would fail (Brad, and sorry, yes you too Megan), it marvelously didn't.

Every single Windsorite/Essex County resident at the table, one-by-one, was like, "what, you talking like a beef n' cheddar? yeah of course! they're delicious! what kind of clown question is that?"

It was a perfect 9 for 9 and it was the absolute best.

Another morning, on day 5 or something, I woke up late yet again, went to the gym and had my burger at The Sports Bar.

Going down to the pool afterwards, almost all of my boys were there and either in the pool or sitting on the edge. As I approached, someone called attention to my walking, but then everyone broke out into a chorus of excitement and "DEEEEEEEE-TROIT BAAAAASKETBALL!" as I was wearing my blue Chauncey Billups Pistons shirsey. Turning around, I pointed at the "Billups 1" to a rebuttal of, "Ha! Billups!"

This was also the best.

Later on that day, A.J. let me know that he was headed down to the beach, so for the first time on this trip, I figured I'd go down to the water's edge and its sandy beach.

By day 4, we had grown tired of trying to bring stupid 10oz glasses of beer back to the room. Thankfully one of us finally realized there was this one drink stand that didn't have draft beer, where they would just give you unopened cans of Sol or Dos Equis.

Stopping by on the way to the beach, I suppose this would do.

I also believe by that night, we had worked to get the fridge stocked between the three of us, bringing back 1 or 2 beers on each of our 2 to 3 visits back to the bachelors' suite, haha.

Lounging and looking skyward, I was enjoying the Magnificent Frigatebirds soaring above.

The Great-tailed Grackles were also a delightful discovery, as they provided hours of entertainment around the pool being their pesky selves.

I kept wanting to bring my real camera to capture them, but I also didn't want to be the guy in cotton shorts and Air Forces with a zoom camera taking pictures around the pool.

I guess I should talk about the wedding too as this week wasn't just all foreign birds, Mexican 40oz's and french onion cheese fry breakfasts.

So on day 5 or 6, we headed up to the roof of the middle building of the resort, a rectangular building topped by a catwalk leading out to a main pergola, with the building jutting out into the sea and providing a gorgeous view over the Caribbean shoreline.

Sitting down in our row, I have to give credit where credit is due, no not to the wedding decor, but Brad actually made a good joke. Where I had trimmed my beard in anticipation for a tropical wedding, JC & Monaghan & maybe AJ were all in my row and Brad rolled up asking "what is this, the Duck Dynasty row?", laughed at his own joke and strutted away. I thought it was hilarious, while JC & Monaghan were both about to roast him if he stuck around.

Oh yeah, sorry, back to the wedding.

Ingram was getting married to Andrea, who I had met a few times now and is funny and sweet and forgiving when you call her the wrong name because your stupid brain remembers people's names by consonants/vowels and you struggle with Andrea/Amanda. They make up one of my favourite friends couples and I think it's a good look that they made this all official.

The wedding dinner was a taco buffet and ho my! I hate to admit this, but these tacos were close to those tacos I had when I walked across the border from Del Rio Texas into Mexico. I hold those Ciudad Acuna tacos in high regard and now base all tacos on a scale set by those Ciudad Acuna tacos, but these wedding tacos came damn close to fucking up my scale.

Following that, it was down to the beach where they had constructed a dance floor and even though I think dancing is up there with public speaking and having the golfer behind you watch you tee off in terms of nerve-racking things, I had to appreciate this amazing setup.

So I hung out by the bar with Monaghan, drank shots with people and had an amazing time; while it also looked like everyone was having a great time dancing down amongst the beautiful locale.

There are people who criticize all-inclusives by saying you get tired of drinking, eating and lazing about, but these same people understood how it didn't get old to me on this trip, seeing as 10 of my top friends were here along with their lovely partners (plus Andrea's lovely friends).

That being said, some people in our group thought they would be tired of boozing and partying after 7 days. If there was ever a night to be tired and pull chute, there was one spare night between the wedding and our departure - and I always think there's two camps to this: the ones who want one last hurrah and those who are worn out and fine with just calling it a trip.

Unfortunately, this last day was hindered by grey and cool weather, where Clarkson (Barrie) and myself (Newfoundland) were the only ones amongst the group in the frigid pool. Things were still good as we moved to Monaghan's patio afterward, while I stayed thirsty my friend with my Dos Equis 40, the group admiring as I spoke fluent French in Spanish, cutting myself yet the blood smelled like cologne, and where I had to leave my credit cards back at the bachelors' suite because my personality was so magnetic.

And so, that's about it. Going into this trip, my father who worries about visiting everywhere but Belle River (it's funny how he ended up with me as a son), cautioned me that he wasn't Liam Neeson and that he wouldn't be able to come rescue me if anything happened, haha.

I mean about the only thing that happened was spectacular times where I'm so happy I committed to coming along. We really need Clarkson or someone else to get married, or maybe someone can get divorced and remarried, just so we can get another time like this on the go.

I don't really want to go sit at an all-inclusive by myself instead of vacationing in say magnificent St. Louis or Cincinnati, but when you have the numbers that showed up for Ingram's wedding, then that's hard to beat.

It's funny how a wedding in January of 2017 made me regret missing Whitfield's Vegas wedding back in 2010. If you're young and your friends are getting married somewhere far away, make sure that you make every effort to go, there's a high return on investment.