As I arrived at the Paradisus resort with my family, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that we had made a mistake. Was Costco’s all-inclusive vacation package a recipe for disaster? The sound of Ed Sheeran wafting from the swim-up bar in the central courtyard only added to my anxiety. My parents, who don’t drink or swim, looked out of place among the resort’s lively atmosphere.
I had been warned by Ramona, a Costco Travel representative, about the Paradisus La Perla resort in Riviera Maya, Mexico. She had told me that it was one of the most popular and well-reviewed options for Costco members. I had hesitated to join the crowds of American tourists flocking to the Caribbean, but Ramona had assured me that this resort would meet our needs.
As we made our way through the airport, I couldn’t help but notice the woman in a white polo with a laminated COSTCO TRAVEL sign. It was as if the world of Costco had come to life on the Yucatán peninsula. Our limited-edition set of Costco Monopoly, which I had purchased for $19.99, gave us a glimpse into what it would be like to be an envoy of Costco Travel. The board featured global supercities with large Costco presences, including Mexico City and Los Cabos.
My family chose our metallic character pieces from the game: my mom became the shopping cart, my dad the forklift, my younger brothers Nick and Duke took on the dollar-fifty soda and hot dog, and I became the plushie bear. As we simulated expanding Costco franchises around the world, we landed on the “Go on Vacation” tile adorned with the little “Costco Travel” logo.
Upon checking in at the Paradisus, we were assigned non-adjacent rooms instead of the Master Suite – Garden Views that we had booked. The concierge offered to upgrade us for $1,250, but my mom refused and threatened to call Costco and leave. After some negotiation, Ernesto managed to find us adjoining rooms.
My mom’s triumphant Facebook video showcasing our new rooms is still etched in my memory. As I watched her ramble on about the room’s amenities, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of exasperation. My brothers and I are all travel enthusiasts who prefer not to look like tourists. We wandered the grounds the next day, marveling at the travertine floors and Noguchi-like tables with plush couches. The unlimited free towels and snacks only added to the resort’s luxurious atmosphere.
As we explored the resort, my mom couldn’t help but point out the various amenities, including the jacuzzi on our balcony and the nice music coming from the DJ’s speakers in the central courtyard. Down there was the beach and the pools, and even Ed Sheeran still played from the speakers. Despite some initial reservations, we were starting to enjoy ourselves amidst the lush gardens and free coffee at the Nescafé-branded shack.
We settled into our beach cabana, where my mom busied herself taking pictures and uploading them to Facebook. I swam while she worked, content in the knowledge that we’d made an excellent deal through Costco Travel.
Costco Travel, introduced in 2000 as part of the larger Costco strategy, promised its members unbeatable prices on bundles of flights, hotels, experiences, and more. We had booked our all-inclusive Paradisus vacation through this service, expecting a hassle-free experience with no hidden fees or surprises. But as we spent our days lounging by the pool and exploring the resort, I began to notice that the Paradisus’s simulation of unlimited wealth was wearing thin.
We were constantly aware of the funds we hadn’t spent – and could spend, if we wanted a more deluxe experience. We had to make reservations for certain restaurants ourselves, rather than relying on the personalized service promised at the Elite Tier. Even our non-Elite package included “optional” extras that added up quickly.
As we strolled along the beach, we discovered a section called the Reserve – not part of our original package – which was identical to the rest of the sand. We felt relieved to have avoided being ripped off, but also a little uneasy about the subtle pressure to spend more.
This tension between value and excess is at the heart of the Costco psychology. Quality over brand; value over status. To be taken for a sucker is to waste resources on delusions of taste, timeliness, or class. But Costco offers a fortress against loss – and my parents’ vacation philosophy reflects this mindset.
In their stores, this psychology is reinforced by architecture that simulates the feeling of plundering a giant’s rations. We wander the halls, fearful that Kirkland might reappear to reclaim his loot. A typical Costco haul feels like stealing, even though it can top $200 or more. The products exist in a world of abundance, where value is derived from consumption.
At our resort’s buffet, we indulged in all-you-can-eat meals, fueled by the knowledge that every bite was part of the deal. But as the days went by, I began to feel overwhelmed by the relentless compulsion to feast. Constantly optimizing for the best price got in the way of relaxation – until my parents treated the Paradisus like a buffet, and we all joined in.
On our third day, we were approached by Armando, a salesperson dressed in loose-fitting cotton clothing and a name tag. He offered us free massages as part of his presentation, which would last 30 minutes. But I was having none of it – I wanted to go back to the beach. My parents, however, saw it as a nice perk, and Armando’s smooth talk didn’t faze them.
When Armando tried to sell us on timeshares or other add-ons, I parried each offer with “Costco Travel.” He couldn’t match our low price, which made me feel invincible – like we were in an armored truck of value, protected from the scams and traps that lurked beyond.
Armando sighed, recalling his life before joining the resort staff. He shared that he had a daughter at home and used to live in Austin, Texas, but found more business opportunities in Mexico. Now, he spent part of the year at the Paradisus Resort, selling packages to tourists. This job allowed him to provide vacations for his family, something he never experienced growing up. With gratitude, he called us a beautiful family.
That evening, Nick managed to secure a reservation at Bana (Adults Only), one of six all-inclusive dining experiences at the Paradisus. We were excited to try a restaurant outside the general cafeteria, thanks to our Personalized Steward’s efforts. The Adults Only side of the resort mirrored its Family side in architecture and amenities, with similar restaurants like Hadar (Adults Only) and Chickpea.
As we dined, I couldn’t help but notice the unique experience that came with eating at an Adults Only restaurant. The portions were small but lavishly decorated, and our waiter was eager to please. Some of the sushi dishes had creative names, like “firecracker” and “dragon.” Our order was extensive, but Nick made sure we didn’t forget anything by writing it down on his Notes app.
The next morning brought an appointment at YHI Spa. Before heading out, my mom carefully selected three outfits for our spa day, only to be reminded that she’d have to undress for the massage. This moment of nervousness struck a chord with me – I realized my parents had never had massages before. In contrast, I’d experienced them multiple times.
This realization made me feel more appreciative and willing to participate in the day’s activities. When my mom asked for a family photo in our bathrobes, I happily obliged. We even kept the little soaps they gave us as souvenirs. My mom was thrilled to film the sequel to her first Facebook video, documenting our spa experience.
As we relaxed together, enjoying the eucalyptus-scented sauna air and each other’s company, I felt a shift in my perspective. I stopped trying to project a more refined image of our vacation and simply enjoyed the experience for what it was – a chance to connect with my family and unwind in a beautiful setting.
Afterward, we reconvened at the outdoor hot tub, where a fellow guest shared that this was her first time away from her five-year-old all trip. We exchanged stories and laughed together, grateful for this opportunity to relax and rejuvenate.
As we lay in the cool, dark room afterward, I checked my email to ensure I had received the two promotional codes for our local Costco. Part of our package deal included a $100 gift card, which I was happy to use. It felt good knowing that our vacation time on the beach would pay off in the long run, financing a future shopping trip at Costco.
Source: The Paris Review
