Swinging By.

Christmas in Cozumel.

Cozumel, Mexico – “But amigo, you can drink and drive,” I’m told by the dune buggy rental tout on the main drag.

Knowing that, I’ll definitely stay off the roads, thanks.

Cozumel is a vibrant tourist town, where techno meets mariachi, and where concrete dust from all the construction fills your lungs. As ever, we’re greeted by trinkets and entreaties to visit any number of stores – perhaps even more than at other stops.

Even when it’s obvious you’ve said 'no' 16 consecutive times, everyone feels they’ll be lucky number 17 to elicit a ‘yes.’ It’s a lively spot.

We amble up the coast past a ship run aground and past rocky beaches that have drawn a few snorkelers bobbing in the surf. Languid palm trees curve over bright hibiscus bushes.

Painted into a corner.

Down a quieter back street filled with restaurants and quaint hotels, the air is filled with aromas of baking bread. The sun, meanwhile, has begun to heat up with the intensity of a bucket of chili peppers.

Stopping by Habaneros Bar & Grill, we sidle up to the bar, and onto swings suspended from the ceiling. The beer is cold, and the habanero sauce accompanying the guacamole is hot. Perfect, in other words.

Today, I’ll stick to swinging, rather than driving.

Mayan Ruins.

"I'm searching for the lesser-known Mexican Buddha."

Costa Maya, Mexico – The sea air, brined in salinity, lightens. The tickle of a breeze offers a whisper against the heat.

Our first port is the purpose-built town of Costa Maya. Build it, and the cruise ships will come, apparently.

It doesn’t mean they should.

The port itself is a theme park of manufactured culture and Chinese trinkets that try to nod to history and to tourist dollars alike: shelves are filled with Mayan masks and sugar skulls.

All are emblazoned with American sports team logos.

It’s almost as though this is the only way we could possibly appreciate another culture. In the distance rests what appears to be a Mayan temple. Water slides protrude from all angles like octopus arms.

Meanwhile, three ships of bleached and beached tourists converge upon the pool at the village's centre, tall plastic palm trees of alcohol in hand. Bars are set all around.

It’s just like being on the ship.