"Beachin'"

I get it a lot, ya know? Anytime someone finds out I’m goin’ to Playa for a month. First, Wow, a whole month! That must be great? Yeah..... it is pretty sweet.
Then.... the next question is usually something like, wow, a whole month, what will you do there for a whole month? Do you travel? Do you dive or snorkel, parasail, surf or fish?
Uh...... no!
No, I go to the beach. I play the beach bum. It’s why I’m here.
It’s that simple....really!

6:30, I get up early most days, the birds in my courtyard “jungle” won’t allow me to sleep much past that. A small breakfast of fresh fruit and cereal on the palapa patio. A quick shower, pack my bag and a “long” two block walk to the playa (beach). I usually land a front row seat, I’m early remember? But, sometimes it does help to tip the beach wait staff generously the day before.
Warm morning sun on my skin. Cool breeze coming off the water. Beach to myself. What could be better?
Around 9:30-10:00, I take a long walk, an hour maybe, up the beach. On my way back, I’ll stop by the Mayan fruit vendor’s cart and buy a cup of freshly cut-up pineapple , solemente pina (only pineapple) por favor, it's Sandy’s favorite. In a plastic cup, a squeeze of lime and a dusting of arbol chili powder, oh yeah! I grab a small bag of chicharones hanging from the awning of his pedal cart and a generous shot of hot salsa, por favor. 35 pesos with a tip, that’s about US$2.75.
Mouth watering, I hurry back to find Sandy eagerly expecting the “little” snack we will share. Accompanied by an ice cold Mexican lager with a squeeze of lime, what could be better?
After a well deserved “rest” in the sun I’m thinkin’ I’m about ready for some lunch.
Well, as luck would have it, the patio restaurant here at the beach club does a mean ceviche. Ceviche in these parts is chopped fish, or shrimp, conch or octopus, your choice. Marinated (cooked) in a mixture of lime juice, salt, chopped onions, tomatoes and cilantro. That’s it! Add a basket of “to to pos” (corn chips) and ice cold Bohemia. The perfect lunch!! And so it was. Every day (todos los dios). For me it is the essence of Playa. I will really miss this!
Leisurely lunch complete. It’s back to work! There’s a chair out there on the beach and someone’s got to man it! And.... I’m the man for the job.
The sun, a little warmer now. Thankfully, the cool breeze still blowing in from the water. The beach more crowded by now. The view, I must say the scenery has improved measurably over the morning.
I’m hot! A little thirsty. Think one of those fruity tropical drinks might be called for.
More sun, more breeze, a dip or two in the gentle surf. More eye strain from the now plentiful scenery. Maybe a cold cerveza. Aaah.... yes.... this is why I’m here.
Sometime around five, “the whistle blows” and time to head back to the apartment for a well deserved rest after a hard day in the sun.
Might be a night out. There’s some great little mom and pop Mexican restaurants over around 30th. Or, maybe a pizza, it’s “little Italy”, remember? Or, maybe I’ll just cook-in this evening. Our apartment has a decent kitchen, I love to cook, and hey, I don’t care how much I like real Mexican food, and I do, I can’t eat out every night for a month.
Yes, there’s a number of clubs, bars and even a casino, or so I’ve been told. But, I’m a bit past all that, imagine, me clubbing til 3 or 4 in the morning. Yeah.. Right! So... a quiet evening. Conversation, emails, a blog posting? A quiet drink, perhaps a Cuba Libre with a splash of Mexican vanilla, my touch. Maybe a movie, yes I think a movie from our sizable collection on the PC we’ve brought. Yes, a quiet evening, that’s it!
Tomorrow....... the sunrise, the birds in the “jungle”, It all starts again.

A whole month!
What do I do?
Well...........

The United Nations, On A Beach

Beaches. Everybody loves beaches.
Beaches are, by definition, “magnetic” places, drawing peoples far and wide to the waters edge. A primal calling, the sounds, the smells, the feelings are universal.
This beach, however, more than any other I have known, it is incredibly multi-cultural.
I come here for the month and just as all things change in the course of a month, so does the composition and personality of the beach. Allow me to share my observations with you.

Because it is winter in most of the northern hemisphere, it should come as no surprise that there are many of those from places colder, but.......
In my first few days here, I find myself surrounded by Italian, lots and lots of Italian. Now, I know that we live in what’s known as “little Italy”, but jeesh! I feel more like I’m on a beach in Liguria, only much prettier, and with sand. Still... it’s an odd sensation, all that Italian here in Mexico. Maybe more pizza than burritos and tacos, it’s really weird. For maybe two weeks, Italian, Italian everywhere. And here in “little Italy” it’s all spaghetti, pizza, gelato. All these Toscani have created a home away from home for themselves.

About this same time , I take notice of something else, very curious. Lotsa pretty young girls with those lovely Brazilian thongs. I mean, how can you not notice that! And people, all about the beach. Couples, groups, those pretty young girls, all with these little metal pots, a metal straw and a thermos. Passing and passing the little pot around to one another all day long. Ah ha! Herba mate. Yepp! Mate, that weird herbal tea, if you can call it that, an obsession that can mean only one thing. The Argentines are here! Yes the Argentines have arrived. Largely from Buenas Aries, they sound Spanish, sort of, but they look more Italian. It’s summer there but I’ve been told the waters pretty cold down there. So... voila. For a while it’s the Italian/Argentine beach.

They stand out, really stand out. The Heidi’s. Tall, thin and blond, often braided. Striking in their appearance, they travel in groups, circling their chairs to form a mini community. Sounding somewhat like a mouthful of marbles, they stand out in every way. The Scandinavians are here too.

Amongst these unexpected faces and voices, you notice it. The same faces, day after day. They look like me, even sound sorta like me. But, they come from places like Alberta, Saskatchewan, Montreal, Toronto. Canadians! Tons of them, French and English. They come and they stay, and stay and stay. Two, three some even four months. I mean who can blame em? Eh?

Yeah, there’s even a good many “garden variety” Americans here too, but not as many as you’d expect. I think they peaked over Christmas holiday, but can’t say with certainly, I arrived just after that. And... with Cancun about an hour up the road, I suspect many don’t get this far, I mean Cancun, it’s an American enclave. When the cruise ships show up over in Cozuemel , they arrive by ferry, appear for a short while, but, then they're away. Can’t always be sure though, they can "masquerade" as Canadians.

There’s a small French community here as well, complete with cafe’s and a boulanger-patisser (bakery). A welcome touch of Gaelic flavor.

And.... how odd, but late in the day and you’ll likely see them. Two, maybe three of them, hubbly bubblys (hookah pipes). They appear on the beach. Big ones, small ones. One day I watched a young man unpack and meticulously assemble his “porta-hookah”. It probably took him at least 20 minutes to set it up. A little later and he was puffing away, soon to be joined by others, all puffing away. There’s a sizable Lebanese community in Mexico. They’ve left their mark. Kabobs, tacos al pastor (from the rotisserie spit), tacos Arabe, they're not hard to find.

Oh, and.....I almost forgot. The Mexicans! Yes, the Mexicans! Yes, I know you’d expect this, but... hey I’ve been to plenty of beaches where the locals don’t feel welcome on their beaches. But, not here. Young people, lotsa them, the lovely senoritas, the young men. Families, from small to as large as a small village. They show up, usually late in the afternoon and especially on the weekends. Lots and lots of them. But hey..... you’d expect that wouldn’t you? And... they seem to be having a blast, just like the rest of us. My favorite scene, replayed over and over, has got to be ..... Guy walks onto beach, OXXO (a local “C-store”) cooler on his shoulder, loaded to the brim with cervesas. And... just maybe, a jug of Clamato juice, to create a uniquely Mexican cocktail made with the beer. (an acquired taste at best) Behind trails the “sidekick” carrying the foam lid, won’t fit, cooler’s too full, a bag with cups and maybe lime slices( for the Clamato/beer cocktails), a bag of ice, a bag or two of chicheronies, again a uniquely Mexican snack something like fried pork skins with hot sauce of course. All of this followed up by two or three or a dozen amigos intent on finding their little place in the sun, eyeing the senoritas and drinking lotsa lotsa cervezas, with and without the Clamato. Amazingly, I never saw anyone get what I’d call out of order and everyone by and large picked up after themselves after the “festivities”. Just having a lota fun. Bueno!

After a while, you settle in to your groove, all of this is the normal. You see the patterns. This group for a week or two, another follows. The same faces the same behaviors, then different. You learn to “read” the beach. It’s all just so cool!!

Reporting from:

Mamita’s Beach, Playa del Carmen, Mexico
The Mercedes Benz sponsored Winter Beach 2012.

A Brief Moment In Time

The hammock stretched taught between the white stucco walls of my patio. It’s “belly” sagging precariously beneath the weight of, my own belly. Contrary to what I’ve always heard, these things aren’t so comfortable. Matter of fact, I think I feel the beginnings of a backache coming on.
It is night, the patio dark. Looking up from my under-sprung slumber, I can see only the bottom of my palapa (palm leaf) roof. Layer upon layer of palm fronds woven into a thatch-like roof supported by peeled lodge poles. I can imagine the artistry required to produce this long lasting and nearly waterproof roof.
Funny, the paths your brain takes in moments of idleness, innit?
Momentarily abandoning my serious inspection of the underside of my palapa roof, I turn my gaze to the left, through the peeled lodge pole railings of my patio and out onto the now dark night and the virtual jungle that is the courtyard three floors below. This little jungle is one of largely coconut palms, ficus , banana palms, even an almond tree. It comes as quite a surprise as you enter into this wholly enclosed courtyard from the street.
My eyes adjust to the light, the full moon above shone through the partial clouds and creates a filtered effect as it passes through the fronds and leaves of the jungle. Strange shapes appear and just as easily disappear.
Across and to the far rear of the courtyard, a golden hued light shines from a stairwell. Before it the giant leaves of a banana palm sway in the gentle breeze, looking all the more like the ears of a great elephant, flaring and waving before the golden glow.
My senses slowly awaken to the front and across from me, the little palapa roofed “Papa’s Bar”, it’s evening crowd just beginning to settle in. The chatter of the guests, the "klink klink" of the glasses and bottles. This evenings performer, a blues artist begins . A not to loud but not too soft Delta Blues number wafts up through the jungle and into my slumber. I don’t recognize the tune, but I do like the blues, I find it very pleasant.
I am content. I am aware of noises coming from the street. I’m sure they were there all along, it’s almost as though I’m waking up and first becoming aware, Voices. I hear voices. Near, far, certainly to the end of the block.
A staccato conversation., Spanish, maybe Italian, just below my patio. Two people I think, back and forth. A bit loud, but jocular, I think.
The low roar of car tires as it passes down the cobbled street and by me. A “ka-thunk ka-thunk”, a bit further down as it runs over something sounding like metal in the road.
Yeah... I think I’ve been hearing this all along, I’m not sure.
Multiple conversations. A cacophony from across the street, a little café, counterpose to those from Papa’s Bar below in the corner of my courtyard.
Blue and red lights flash off of the white stucco walls and the bottom of my palapa roof. I know this to be, maybe not the first, but defiantly not the last pass of the municipal police down the street outside my patio. It is one of the many rhythms I’ve come to expect.
Wow! What was that? A shadowy figure, caught from the corner of my eye. It swooped through the canopy of the “jungle” beside me. What was it? Did I imagine it? Do they have owls here?
The full moon has risen higher. It’s golden light more penetrating the “jungle canopy”. It flickers as the soft breeze sways the fronds and leaves.
The same breeze, blowing across me, relieving the hot moist air of the early evening. It feels so sweet!
I hear it! I hear crickets, no, maybe cicadas, singing softly in the foliage. How had I not heard this?
An Elvis tune? Don’t know Elvis well, punctuating the insect symphony.
“Ka-thunk ka-thunk”, another car passes below. A scooter buzzes and farts along not far behind. A car horn honks just up the block.
Garlic! I smell wonderful garlic! Waves of it.
The jumble of voices, the café across the street, Little Papa’s Bar, one, then another. People walking this way or the other way. The voices rising as they approach and receding as they move away.
Klink! Creeeak! Thonk! The big wooden door into the courtyard below, someone has come in, no wait, or was it out? No in. I hear their footsteps on the flagstones below. Back corner, opposite the “elephant”. I look in his direction. His ears flaring in a defiant challenge. I hear the key at the lock, it opens, with a soft thunk, the door closes.
Papa’s crowd a bit louder, the air of a party just trying to begin. A female voice has joined tonights music A strong, beautiful voice, singing the sweetest blues.
Red and blue lights flashing off the white stucco walls and the bottom of my palapa roof.
“Ka-thunk ka-thunk” as he runs over what ever’s in the road.
Honk of a horn. Someone yells at someone, maybe passing by on foot. What language was that anyway? No matter.
The breeze ruffles the fronds of the palms. The fringe of my palapa.
Low chirp, chirp, chirp of a bird in the canopy, disturbed by something? I don’t know what.
The crickets, or cicadas, the symphony goes on.
Wood smoke, meat cooking. Wow, what a smell! Grilled meat. Where? Where is it?
Like an exclamation point! A trumpets sound sears through the nighttime air. A beautiful, forceful sound. A Mariachi Band? For a moment I hear little else, commanding my undivided attention. Fading, as if turning a corner. Muted, more muted now.
The cacophony of voices returning. Soft Jazz wafting up from Papa’s. The “klink klink” of glasses and bottles.
The now lessening “ka-thunks ka-thunks".
A “rattle, rattle rattle” of a roll-up metal garage door, the kind shop-owners roll down to close-up their shops, rendering the shop invisible to the passerby and hopefully impenetrable to the would-be thief.
Who knew!
Who knew all of this was just outside my patio?
I had surrendered myself to the moment, and, I had found an evenings entertainment. A feast for the senses. The sights, the smells and the sounds, all painting a rich tapestry of the night.
And time? I don’t know. 30 seconds, 30 minutes, or three hours? I just can’t be sure.
Does it matter?
And. Tell me. Where? Where am I ?

Ouch!!
These things really are uncomfortable!