So anyway, it was an uneventful trip to Playa del Carmen, even if the plethora of all-inclusives that litter the coast got in the way of any Caribbean views.

And so to the inevitable taxi thing. I do love an inevitable taxi thing and this was a fine one.

PdC bus station - lacking a local area map but containing an information woman who simply says 'Taxi!' when you ask if she knows where your hotel might be...

Now, I knew the hotel wasn't too far away, but just couldn't get a bearing as to the direction, so bowed to the inevitable taxi thing and got in one.

The hotel caused consternation, confusion and dumbfoundedness whenever its name was mentioned - and this was often in 15 fun-filled minutes.

The driver didn't know it, despite a very specific address, the dispatcher didn't know it either. Nor did the 15 taxi drivers we consulted on the matter. As such, we set off in the wrong direction, checking regularly with friends as to where it might be. Sensibly, once we'd gone in the wrong direction for a couple of blocks we doubled back and unbelievably, eventually, landed on the exact (grid-numbered!) street on which the elusive accommodation was purported to be sited. After asking another couple of people, there it was! A 5 minute walk, but 15 minute car journey, from where we started. Ah well, that's a couple of quid the local economy didn't bank on getting.

Just one other thing. 20 metres from the Shangri-La of Playa del Carmen hotels is Taxi-Drivers' rest stop. A place for them to meet, eat, chat, smoke and discuss the best way to stretch a job.

Welcome to Central America!