If you’d asked me what I’d remember most about Cancun, I would’ve guessed the obvious: turquoise water, an all-inclusive wristband, and a resort party with “jungle” in the name.
But the most unexpected moment in Cancun wasn’t the Jungle Party.
It was seeing my childhood best friend again, the one I hadn’t hugged since sixth grade, after nearly 50 years.
How a Facebook post turned into a reunion plan
A few years ago, my friend and I found each other again on Facebook. We’d kept in touch in that modern, low-key way: a like here, a comment there… enough to know the other person was still out there, living a life.
But we hadn’t met in person.
This January, I was in Cancun for most of the month visiting my son and daughter-in-law. One day I noticed a post from my friend at the airport, heading to Cancun too.
I stared at that post for a second like, Wait… what? Then I did what any squealing child turned reasonable adult would do: I messaged her immediately.It turned out we’d both be in the Hotel Zone the same week. Cue more squeals!
The Jungle Party wasn’t the plan… until it was
My husband and I booked a five-night vacation stay at an all-inclusive resort in the Hotel Zone. My friend was staying at another resort about 2 km away, also a Riu, just a nicer one (the kind with a bathtub on the balcony, which felt like an attack on my vacation budget standards).
She told me about the themed parties that bring guests together from multiple resorts: a Pink Party, a Neon Party, a White Party, and a Jungle Party. We hadn’t planned to go to any of them, but once we realized we could use one as a meeting point, it felt like the easiest way to make this reunion real.
So the Jungle Party became our plan.
On the bus ride over, I surprised myself by getting teary-eyed, equal parts excited and nervous, but I pulled it together because mascara will absolutely rat you out.
The party started in daylight, which felt oddly wild
It was still light out (the party starts around 4), which somehow made it feel slightly more unhinged. We arrived first. The music was loud, jungle-themed dancers were on platforms shaking what God gave them, and the whole place had that “this could go either way” energy.
We lingered near the entrance and watched the crowd swell—bodies swaying, drinks in one hand, phone cameras held high in the other.
Then she walked in… and we knew instantly
And then she walked in.
No hesitation. No awkward pause. No polite, cautious small talk.
We knew each other instantly.
We hugged, we laughed, and it honestly felt like our friendship picked up right where it left off, like the last 50 years were just a strange intermission.
For a brief moment, I thought she’d arrived with a very handsome boyfriend. Then I realized he was her son (which is humbling in more ways than one). He was great company, and the visit got even better when he and my husband hit it off so well they exchanged numbers.
A quick rewind to the kid-version of us
This was the girl I went to school with back in Toronto, the one who somehow always seemed effortlessly cool. She was the popular girl, and I’m fairly certain that title still holds—because even on the party bus later that night, a young man leaned over and told her, in broken English, how beautiful she was.
She set me up with my first boyfriend. We played spin-the-bottle with our little group of friends, harmless, ridiculous, and very thrilling for us young’uns. I once organized Christmas caroling in the neighborhood like we were filming a scene for the not-yet-established Hallmark Channel. I placed myself in charge of the entire production.
We’d hang out at her place and listen to songs like Chantilly Lace and Book of Love, the kind of music that instantly transports you back to wood-paneled basements and carpeted rec rooms.
She once brought over a giant Hershey bar, told me it was Ex-Lax, and then ate the entire thing in front of me. I got her back by pretending I’d regressed into a past life and dragging her up the street back to her house. A little dramatic, yes—but we’re talking about chocolate here.
We had sleepovers where we tried to levitate our friends and raise the dead, because the 70s were basically a long-running experiment in what kids could get away with when parents rarely checked on us.
The night turned into joyful chaos
Somewhere between the dancing and the laughing, the drinks started arriving faster than our good sense could keep up. We were having such a good time we never even noticed whether food existed.
My friend and her son are far better partiers than I am, and they were fully in their element. By the time the Jungle Party started winding down, they were already talking about what to do next. The disco at our resort opens at 11 pm, which is about 2 hours after my body typically starts asking for tea, slippers, and a K-drama.
But in that moment, I wasn’t thinking about bedtime. I was thinking, How is this real? I was laughing with someone I hadn’t seen since sixth grade like we’d just picked up where we left off.
And then we piled onto the bus back to our hotel.
The bus ride back was its own kind of magic
One thing I genuinely appreciated is that Riu takes care of everything. They get you to the party, and they make sure you get back to your hotel. No negotiating taxis, no late-night logistics, no “wait, where are we and can we communicate?” stress.
On the way back, the bus was packed and many people were standing. Someone started singing, and then everyone joined in. People were grinning at each other, laughing, and turning into a temporary little community, even though we were all from different parts of the world with language barriers and different accents.
Everyone was just happy. Friendly. Warm.
It was from that exact “high” that I stepped off the bus back at our hotel and immediately found myself facedown on the pavement.
Two thumbs up… and one hard lesson in gravity
The other guests gathered around me right away. They helped me up, asked if I was okay, and made sure I could stand. In the moment, I thought I was fine.
Except for my self-respect.
It wasn’t until the alcohol wore off, right around 11 pm, that I realized how much pain I was in. My thumb and half my hand were swollen, and I went from “I’m totally okay!” to “Oh. I am not okay.”
My friend and her son still had the energy (and the stamina) for the disco. I did not.
So I did the most responsible thing I’d done all night. I left them to it, went back to the room, and took myself to bed.
Two thumbs up to the organizers.
I’m just temporarily operating on a one-thumb review system.
The real takeaway
The Cancun Hotel Zone gave me sunshine and ocean views and all the things people go there for.
But the most unexpected moment was the reminder that time can’t erase a real connection. A lifetime of experiences can pull people in different directions, but sometimes, against all logic, you get to laugh with someone again like you never stopped.
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