Cancun by John Borthwick

A Mayan grandmother in a traditional embroidered blouse stands on the main street of Cancun, Mexico and stares at an establishment called the Rainforest Café. The garish facade of this franchised eatery resembles a mock-Mayan temple, complete with fake vines and a stone idol with glowing, neon eyes. The bemused grandmother confronts her ancient Mayan mythology reincarnated as a theme restaurant. The scenario neatly sums up the resort city of Cancun — an American version of Mexico, in Mexico’s version of America.

The first time I saw Cancun (pronounced "Can-kuhn") it wasn't there. In the early 1970s, this strip of coast on the north-eastern tip of the Yucatan Peninsula was just a strand of white sand quilted with coconut palms and jungle. The main event for me was gazing in awe at the Caribbean Sea's turquoise blueness.

The next time I see Cancun it is more than there. From a distance its 23 km long rampart of hotels, apartments and resorts shimmers on the shore of Nichupte Lagoon like a massive bar code. The Caribbean's colour intensity has not abated; however, the once lofty coco palms have been beaten at their own game by the heights of Hyatts, Marriotts and condominium blocks.

Until 1974, there was almost no one at Cancun but Mayan fisherfolk. Today a population of 250,000 people services the city’s two million annual tourists — principally Americans and better-off Mexicans. When boogie night falls on Cancun, there's a gauntlet of franchised distractions — the Hard Rock Cafe, Tequila Rock Cafe, Planet Hollywood, Tommy Hilfiger stores, and of course the Rainforest Cafe — to keep you going until the tequila sun rises.

There's even a quasi-Aussie franchise here called the Outback Steakhouse ("Give it a burl ..." the advertisement urges). I wince and opt for something a little more Mexican — not that Pancho Villa or Diego Rivera would have recognised it — a booming, margarita-fuelled barn named "Señor Frog's Bar, Grill and Clothesline". I drink local beers and what the barman calls "Mexican champagne" (rosé slammers in a shot glass), but baulk at the house speciality, strawberry daiquiris by the yard glass.

The ragers of Señor Frog's squint through a pink fog at their drink coasters, whose message advises them to, "Write your name and hotel here. You might not remember them later." For them, the sun will also rise — perhaps painfully — but I need a clear head for tomorrow’s excursion to the ruins of Chichen Itza, several hours drive from Cancun.

"Wow, Chicken Pizza!" hoot two Beavis and Butthead kids from north of the border as they file off the coach. During the 11th and 12th centuries, Chichen Itza was the centre of Mayan civic and religious life, and was the most important site of pilgrimage in Mesoamerica. The vast ruins are in better condition today than when I first saw them almost 30 years ago, with cleared paths, good signage and extensive conservation works in place.

Across the broad, bright lawns where 5000 tourists per day now flow, Mayan athletes once battled at the ball court — losing players were terminal losers, forfeiting their lives. This solar and stellar-oriented complex still speaks of the Mayan's worship of Kulkulcan, the feathered serpent. Structures like the Thousand Pillar Pavilion, the Temple of the Warriors and the Sacred Well keep me entranced — and overwhelmed by the knowledge that only ten percent of the ruins have been excavated.

Dominating Chichen Itza is the great El Castillo (The Castle) pyramid. I join the tide of day-trippers and scale its 91 steps; from the 30 metre summit, the view of Yucatan's butterflies-and-jaguars jungle seems much as I remembered it almost three decades ago. With a friend, I had scaled the steep and as-yet unrestored face of the pyramid, then slept the night in the Castillo's temple. For once we remained undetected by the Mexican constabulary.

But nothing could save us from the Gringos. As we descended the pyramid the next morning, we encountered our first American tourist of the day — Mrs Beavis, I suspect. On learning we had slept the night atop El Castillo, she demanded to know, "Whaddarya, beatniks or somethin'?"