How Celebrities Almost Ruined My All-Inclusive Getaway

So many celebs, so little time.

In my younger days, all-inclusive resorts dangled the promise of easy, endless indulgence. What they usually delivered, however, was cheap booze, sad foam parties, and regret. That’s probably why I haven’t been to one in over a decade.

But then I read about Ava, a brand new all-inclusive hotel in Cancun focused on providing a luxury experience. (Hmm, I like those.) Twenty-seven restaurants and bars led by award-winning chefs and mixologists. (Um, yes, please.) Sixteen hundred rooms, all with balconies, spa tubs, and ocean views. (Ok, ok, I’m in.) 

So I called up my friend, Kevin, who I hadn’t seen in ages, and asked if he wanted to make it a Guys (of a Certain Age) Trip. He was online booking flights before the call was over.

A long, relaxing weekend hanging with an old friend, sipping margs poolside, and sampling curated cuisine from across the globe was just what I needed. Ava promised an opulent and exclusive escape, but as I would soon discover, it also came with an unexpected twist: a steady stream of celebrities and influencers buzzing about the place, threatening to derail my leisurely Zen getaway.

A Shortcut to Paradise

The first thing I notice about the Ava is how close it is to the airport. Cancun’s Hotel Zone is usually a 30-minute drive from the airport, and the resorts in Playa del Carmen and Riviera Maya are an hour. But the Ava? Ten minutes. I was rolling up to the door before most people had retrieved their luggage from baggage claim.

The grand lobby welcomes me with a blast of cool air, the faint scent of citrus, and the possibility of a White Lotus-style adventure. I drop my bag off in the tastefully decorated room (while quickly soaking in the killer ocean views from the balcony), and make my way down to The Cocktail Bar where Kevin is waiting.

1. AVA Cancun’s grand lobby.Courtesy AVA Cancun 2. The bar at the AVA.

A well-made margarita is in my hand faster than I can say, “Hey, is that JaRule?” Why would I say that, you ask? Well, because it was, in fact, JaRule walking past the bar inviting us all to a whiskey tasting he was hosting the next day. (His new whiskey brand, of course.) Not now, JaRule—I’m trying to catch up with my friend here. We’ll Holla Holla at you later.

The bartender tells us that it’s going to be a celebrity-studded weekend at the resort, culminating with a big Dia de Los Muertos-themed party where Joe Jonas will guest DJ. “Cool,” I say, even though I am admittedly not a Joe Jonas aficionado. I know he has some boy band brothers, and that the younger women at the bar seem excited, but whatever, this weekend is not about gawking at celebs—it’s about me, my bud, and a lounge chair. 

And food. All the glorious food.

Where Every Meal Is a Destination

The dining options at the Ava are impressive. There’s a steakhouse, a French bistro, and a host of other spots serving Italian, Mediterranean, Asian—you name it. For our first dinner, we choose Copal, a modern restaurant serving regional, sustainably sourced Mexican fare.

Copal is led by Chef Lula Martín del Campo, and I try her signature dish: the beef filet with ash and cotija cheese sauce, which is both earthy and out of this world. It arrives perfectly seared, its savory aroma mingling nicely with the salt from my margarita. Chef Lula’s goal at Copal is to honor the rich flavors and distinctive smoke that have always been part of Mexican cuisine. 

And as a bonus, Copal tacos are available all day at the taco stand outside—because nothing says luxury like a fistful of tacos on the go.

The Glow-Up Generation Takes Over

After dinner, we head to a lively outdoor bar overlooking the ocean. Very resort chic. You know, well-dressed 20-somethings flitting about, laughing, sipping cocktails. That is, except for me and Kevin, who sit at the end of the bar quietly enjoying a couple of Pacificos.

Swirling around us is a scene right out of a nature documentary about influencers in the wild. A girl at the bar orders a martini just for the photo op. Off in the corner by himself, a guy toasts to his cell phone. And ring lights. So many ring lights—on tripods no less. Everyone looks to be at the party of a lifetime, at least while the cameras are rolling. Once the phones drop, all the smiling faces suddenly reset back to neutral.

I’ve never felt more like an AARP member—and honestly, it’s liberating. Being the out of place  middle-aged guy at the end of the bar feels like a win here.

1. A double room at the AVA.Courtesy AVA Cancun 2. Room balconies come with a hot tub.

Mornings Done Right

Mornings at all-inclusives are generally the domain of screaming kids doing cannonballs at the pool and zombified adults recovering from the previous night’s excesses. My mornings at this particular all-inclusive, however, were quite delightful, thanks to their charming cafe, Aroma—a quiet oasis where the cappuccinos are rich, the pastries are flaky, and the only sound is the occasional clink of a spoon against porcelain. 

It’s the type of moment I never would have experienced in my 20s because, back then, all I was looking for was tequila and rowdy behavior. (Where there’s one, there’s sure to be the other.)

But now, it’s perfecto.

I notice a lot of things now that I wouldn’t have back then, like the fact that there’s actually a lot to do when you’re not sleeping the day away. You can take advantage of the state-of-the-art fitness center and spa, kayak or paddleboard in the 2.8-acre saltwater Ava Bay, or even roll a few games at the on-site bowling alley.

I, of course, will be doing none of that. My mission is to sit poolside with my friend and become one with the chill Mexican vibes. So we find the adults-only pool on the far side of the resort, pull up some lounge chairs, and get to sittin’.

Poolside at the AVA.Courtesy AVA Cancun

Poolside Cannon Blasts

Sinking into my lounger, I’m finally feeling the serenity I’ve been seeking. After all, what says vacation more than stretching out under the warm sun, the scent of coconut sunscreen and chlorine in the air.

But then I hear someone say, “How y’all doing today?” over the sound system, followed by a distinctive thump-thump-thump. Oh no, I think, this pool has a DJ. Our relaxing afternoon is about to turn into a bacchanal of manufactured “fun” and head pounding EDM beats.

Girls scurry to the DJ booth, phones in hand, while I busy myself figuring out if I can order nachos from my seat. As one passes by I hear her say, “Oh my God, it’s Nick Cannon!” Yep, that’s right—Nick Cannon is DJing our pool party today. Totes bussin, brah.

Now, I don’t watch The Masked Singer or America’s Got Jugglers, so I can’t say that I’m a Nick Cannon fan, but I was pleasantly surprised when most of his set consisted of ’80s and ’90s bangers. Prince. Bel Biv DeVoe. Nelly. Suddenly, I’m transported back to the days of mixtapes, baggy pants, and frosted tips.

Tranquil it was not. But a little toe tappin’ and memory lane walkin’ never ruined a party  And thankfully, there wasn’t a bit of foam in sight. 

The Universal Language of Teppanyaki

One of the charms of travel is the opportunity to interact with people from all around the world. And what better environment to do so than around the table in a teppanyaki restaurant like Ava’s Kita.

As the chef delights us with sleight-of-hand grill work and time-honored onion volcanos, we get to chatting with the lovely Mexican couple sitting next to us. Late 30s, with two young kids in tow, they talk to us about Mexican politics, the job market, and the challenges of parenthood and modern life south of the border.

Then heads start turning as a well-dressed blond and her crew enter, drawing the attention of our tablemates. They tell me it’s Julianne Hough from Dancing with the Stars. Suddenly, the conversation shifts from our lives to hers, and how she is at the resort this weekend promoting her dance and fitness platform, KINRGY.

“You should take one of her early morning classes while you’re here,” the wife says.

“No. No I should not,” I reply. Because Rule #1 of guys trips? There are no 7 a.m. dance workouts. 

And just like that, the small, intimate dinner we were enjoying slipped away, drawn into the orbit of planet celebrity.

A Farewell Fiesta to Die For

On our final night, we head over to the Dia de Los Muertos-themed shindig, which is done up like a Hollywood premiere: bright lights, red carpet, photographers documenting every move, and scores of people jostling for position so they can catch a glimpse of someone famous. 

I, on the other hand, make my way to the nearby tequila cart so I can catch a glimpse of some local reposado. Kevin and I trade various versions of “Who is that?” and “Don’t know” as we sip and watch the flashbulb parade go by. It’s actually kind of fun, like being dropped into a foreign land where you don’t speak the language and trying to figure out what everyone is going on about.

Then I see a familiar face. 

“Isn’t that the girl from The Hangover movies?” I ask. Kevin shrugs, but I beam with pride at having finally recognized someone. 

When we finally make it inside the Dia de Los Muertos party, my attitude suddenly shifts. Gone is the aging curmudgeon focused on Gen Z foolishness. I’m now fresh-faced and smiling at the epic transformation this ballroom has undergone—from boring builder’s beige to thumping nightclub on par with Vegas or Mexico City.

Dancers wearing skeleton make-up and elaborate hats (a staple of Day of the Dead celebrations known as Catrinas) weave through the crowd under a massive LED lightshow chandelier. Giant skeleton puppets in festive garb boogie on the dancefloor as Joe Jonas mans the baseline from the stage. And once again, old school 80s and 90s hits dominate the set, making me feel like Joe is ignoring all these 20-somethings and playing just for me.

Not even the sad state of the dance floor can sour my mood. Seriously, does no one dance at clubs anymore? Throughout Jonas’ entire set, everyone just stood there filming it on their phones! But whatever—I’m not going to let these wayward kids ruin my final night fiesta. 

All-Inclusive, All Grown Up

After the music fades and some post-party tacos are had, I find myself back on the balcony of my room, winding down to the gentle rhythm of the ocean. This place actually delivered everything it promised—luxury, indulgence, and a touch of the unexpected. Sure, I could have done without all the celebrity hubbub, but ultimately I got what I came here for: a chance to slow down, reconnect with an old friend, and embrace the rare joy of doing absolutely nothing.

It’s funny—back in my 20s, all-inclusives were about chasing the kind of fun that left you needing a vacation from your vacation. But this weekend was different. It wasn’t about going hard; it was about letting go.

Maybe all-inclusives have grown up—or maybe I have.