I was in a bad mood, and for a gringo who’d rented a small house just across the street from the beach in a tiny Mexican fishing village just north of the border with Belize, that’s hard to fathom.
The day before, we’d dealt with a rental car company in Cancun that refused to honor the online bargain I’d found, and we got stuck with a bill that was, to put it kindly, exorbitant. With my rum budget in peril, I figured I’d return the car a week later after leaving as much of the undercarriage as I could on the speed bumps and in the potholes that pocked the road south.