La Fragata

Playa del Carmen, Mexico.
Corner of 1st Ave. And 26^th St.
One block from my apartment.
I have walked past here for two years, probably 40-50 times, at least.
Hidden in plain sight, little palapa roof jutting out and over the sidewalk.
La Fragata.    Now, I have to say that I am maybe more than a little disappointed in myself. Maybe, I thought it was just some little local neighborhood bar or something. Who knows what I thought.
But... as I said, "hiding there in plain sight" was truly a "gem".
A charming and petite (really petite) little restaurant, maybe 8-10 tables. Open front and spilling out onto that palapa covered sidewalk.
Just the sort of place I’m always on the lookout for.
The menu (there are only four copies, so you may have to wait a bit for one) is brief and heavily tilted toward the local seafood. A blackboard as you enter, list the daily specials, and they really are specials and they really do change daily.
The star here is the food.
Simple, fresh and local ingredients, prepared simply. No overpowering seasonings or heavy sauces. Chef Beatriz guides their preparation with a delicate touch.
The subtle tastes of fresh fish and shellfish, they shone through. When this is done well, as it is here, the experience is, well, quite magical.
Chef Beatriz Valenzo Olivar can craft some mighty fine food!
Like... The Shrimp Tacos. Done in an understated marinade, lightly grilled with a hint of carmelisation and served on fresh corn tortillas, three to a plate. They are nothing short of spectacular. Fresh brite flavors of lime, cilantro, onions..., but, it’s the shrimp. The shrimp are the star of this show. Tender, sweet and fresh, they taste of the sea. Add a cold Bohemia Clara, pure perfection!
These are a must!!
So let's see... what else have I tried? Well... there's the fish tacos, grilled and fried... Sandy's favorite, and a very  close second to the shrimp tacos in my opinion. The soups, a fantastic Caldo de Marisco (seafood soup) and a totally cool Crema (cream soup) made with Chaya, a spinich-like herb common to Mexico. Or how about the best grilled sea bass in butter sauce that I think I've ever tasted and a sea bass cooked French style "en papillote", in a packet with fresh herbs and vegetables.
Seriously, I do not exagerate! The food is simply amazing!
We have dined here now no less than a half a dozen times. It really is that good!
Chef B. runs the back of the house. Her brother Francisco runs the front along with their delightful staff. All were committed to ensuring that you felt welcome and were completely satisfied with your dining experience.
Oh... and if they happen to have fresh mussels (mejillones) on the blackboard, go for it!
Positively the best mussels I’ve had anywhere outside of France.

I still can’t believe that I missed this little jewel  in the past years. But, next year, you can bet I won’t miss it!
To all our friends at La Fragata, thank’s.
Best of luck and see you next year.

Kevin

Palapa covered sidewalk at La Fragata

The awesome Shrimp and Fish Tacos

Menu at La Fragata

More menu at La Fragata

Playa, "Teasing Her Charms"

So, if I’m going to be honest with you here, Playa was not going to be my first choice for a Winter escape. But, I mean, let’s be serious, it’s all about the beach, now isn’t it?

Well at least that’s how it started back in 2011 when we spent a couple of weeks in Playa and a couple in Puerto Vallarta
Playa was not Puerto Vallarta. PV had a thriving arts community, a lovely little public market and that wonderful Malecon with it’s famous public sculptures. It had soul!
It did not, however, have a great beach. Really! It didn’t!
Oh, you could take a water taxi or public bus , and in an hour or less could be on a pretty decent beach, but... the Pacific. Well in short, it’s grey, a bit too rough and the sand is a dull brown.
Yeah, I know... picky, picky, picky.
Sandy says, if you could take the beach at Playa and move it to PV, well... you’d have perfection.

Now, all of this isn’t to suggest that Playa’s an awful place, far from it in fact. And don’t forget, PV is the "also ran" in this story.
No, it’s just that, Playa, well, it takes a bit more effort to "tease her charms" into view.
Obviously, there’s that beach. The "illuminated" turquoise water, the white sand and the gentle surf. Yes, as beaches go, this one’s just about perfect.
Oh... and there’s also the matter of a relatively inexpensive and short (2.5hrs) direct flight to Playa. It’s plenty big enough to offer all the "mod-cons", but not too big and it’s managed to avoid the 24 hour party that is Cancun. Add to that an affordable well furnished apartment at the Luna Blue boutique hotel. Big palapa covered patios with a beautiful courtyard garden. Lovingly managed by some of the nicest people you'll ever meet and... just two blocks from the beach!
Well... nobody’s canceled Winter as of yet, and with three years and counting, I’m finding more and more of Playa’s charms. You know, it’s really turning out to be a pretty sweet place to "sit-out" Winter.
Now... what about that beach!
Sometimes you just gotta let the pictures do the talking’ for you.

                              

I know that I’m really spoiled here, my "home beach" is Mamita’s Beach. Two blocks down and one over, less than a five minute walk. That’s it! And... it just happens to probably be the finest stretch of beach in Playa.


The "Flora and Fauna" of the Beach
I love Palm Trees. I love Palm Trees even more along a beach. Palm Trees mean I’m somewhere I want to be. A beach with Coconut Palm Trees, well that’s perfect, now isn’t it?
You see, I’m absolutely crazy about coconut. I could eat, or drink, . coconut in just about any way you could imagine.
Just mind where you sit... those coconuts, they have a nasty habit of falling.
　

Mind The Coconuts

And now, a word about the "fauna" of the beach.
I’m totally unapologetic about my keen fondness for the "scenery" of the beach.
Acres of mostly young, bare, brown female form.
I mean, if you’re a normal healthy hetero male, and I am, then this place might seem near to Heaven.
Topless,,, yeah you got that here, don’t mind it a bit. But... it’s those Brazilian bottoms I’m talking’ about. I mean, just check em out. They’re everywhere... and, well... they’re lovely.
Now, on this I gotta say I'm luckier than most. Sandy probably doesn't condone my "fondness" but she tends to overlook it, and... "I always remember who I came to the dance with".    

The beach is at most points, broad and with a gentle slope. Perfect for walking, and, there are few things I adore more than a long walk along the beach. I’ve blogged about this before, but, it’s almost a spiritual experience for me.

                     

Being Kevin you just knew that sooner or later, this would all segue into food, didn’t you?
Well, late in the morning as I return from my long walk along the beach, I stop by my favorite frutas (fruit) vendor. He parks his little pedal cart a few blocks up the beach from Mamita’s. For me a stop is obligatory. A cup of freshly cut pineapple sticks with a squeeze of lime juice and a sprinkle of arbol chile powder. If that sounds a bit odd, I’m here to tell you, it’s delicious!
Back at Mamita’s, Sandy waits for me to return, pineapple in hand. Also means it's about time for the first cerveza (beer) of the day.
Order up!

Now, I love good food, and I love to eat out. But, there’s no way I could eat out every day for a month straight, no matter how good the food . No way!
Well, with one notable exception, that is. Lunch... ceviche, as good as it gets. Ceviche... every day!
Yes, every day!





Our Daily Ceviche



So, I need a place to cook and I need a fresh Market.
Our apartment comes with a decent little kitchen, and... don’t laugh, I bring an electric grille. Come on now... I love grilled meats, and, with a palapa roofed patio, you probably don’t want to grille with charcoal, do you? I also bring my own knives and an assortment of spices.
I’d say, I’m pretty well set-up.
The market, well, it’s not exactly a public produce market... bit disappointing that. But the DAK Market, a privately owned green market also with bulk foods and specialty items serves adequately in the absence of a public market.
Add two big grocery stores and a couple of Italian deli markets, all within a 6, maybe 7 block walk. It works.
I’m often asked, "what do you cook". Well, pretty much what I do anywhere. My cuisine is , best described as, Mediterranean in style. You know, French, Italian and North African. Lots of fresh salads, grilled meats, seafoods and pasta dishes.
Oh, I love Mexican food, and I do prepare it often back in North Carolina. But, here, there’s just so much good authentic Mexican food to be had. Why would I try to top that?

Check Out Those Grill Marks

The only real challenge might be sometimes finding the right ingredients, or, a suitable substitute. Again, there’s always that "similar but different" thing goin’ on.
For instance, try to find black pepper around here. You see, Mexican people don’t use it so much.
I'm sure they're like,  we have 200 kinds of chile peppers, who needs black pepper?
So this year, I brought one of those bottles of black pepper with the grinder on top.
You adapt.

We’ll eat-in maybe four nights a week, leaving three to eat out. Making them a little special, if you will.
Between our apartment and the beach you’ll find 5^th Ave., the epicenter of tacky-touristy Playa.
Mediocre food at inflated prices. Just like tourist fare anywhere and defiantly not for me.
Go back from the beach a mere 3-4 blocks and... they’re there. Wonderful little authentic and inexpensive eateries.
I’ve already written about this year’s "find" La Fragata. We’re absolutely crazy about this place!
Over near the DAK Market , off 30^th is another favorite. An authentic old-style Mexican grille. El Fogon is my go-to for Arrechera. Skirt steak, thinly sliced and marinaded in a garlic marinade. Grilled over charcoal, served with beans, cactus, grilled knob onions, guacamole, an assortment of salsas from mild to explosive and fresh warm corn tortillas. Oh my! Yuum!
Love their Tacos al Pastor. Similar in idea to Middle Eastern Gyro’s, but made with wonderfully seasoned pork, served with a piece of fresh pineapple on a corn tortilla. Yeah!!
A cold cerveza, or two, and I’m good!
Also, this year we stumbled upon Restuarante Mestizo, a lovely little Italian-Mexican fusion open-fronted bistro nearby. Had maybe the best bruscetta I’ve ever eaten, made with fire roasted tomatoes and lotsa EVO and garlic on lightly "charred" crostinis. This was followed by an absolutely yummy Fettuccine Alfredo with a guacamole sauce. Hey, it worked!
I didn’t see beer on the menu, so when I asked, the Italian owner/waiter in my worst Italian/Spanish/English, he  replied,  "no problemo".
What kind? He then dashed a couple of doors down the street, into a little c-store, and returned with two cold beers. Nothing to it!
His partner, swears her Bologinese Sauce is the real thing, to die for. Gotta try it she says.
Next year...
We’ve now found quite a few little places like these. They make things interesting. Great food with low prices and charming people. They’re real! They’re here!
You just have to look for them.
Love it!

                       
                                    



Making The Al Pastor Tacos At El Fogon


And more...
How about the little wine shop, Off The Vine, not two blocks from the apartment. Wow, what a great selection of Mexican Wines he has. Never tried them before. Scarce in the US . Who knew they'd be this good! And a couple of Italian delis, real Proccuitto and Pecarino. Or a fresh pasta shop, Util Pasta. And... don’t forget... Chez Celine, a French owned bakery with awesome baguettes and croissants.
Put it all together, it works!

Yeah....
Given the chance, Playa really grows on you. This year I came determined to "tease-out" some more of her charms.
Yeah, the beach is totally awesome. But, that can all get a bit one dimensional. I need  more sometimes, and... I’m finding it right here in Playa

Kev



 

                                                               

I Just Love Odd Little Things Like This

Garden Courtyard At our Apartment

         

      

                                  

That's One Crazy Grouse

Five weeks or so ago, I went up to the mountain house for the first visit of Spring. A warm Winter and early Spring promised grass, and lots of it. So.... I, not wanting a repeat of last years mowing and "baling" fiasco, wanted an early start.
Aaah, one of the first "rites of Spring". I was actually excited about mowing grass. Geez!
While mowing behind the pond, I spotted a grouse at the edge of the pine woods. Not acting too afraid of me, I suspected "she" had a nest nearby and was attempting to ward me off.
Fast forward, three weeks ago, and, same thing occurred. Same location. Cool!
Oh.... sorry.... for those of you who don’t know what a grouse is. It is a bird. About half the size of a chicken, with a speckled brown plumage, a beautiful tail that can fan like a turkey and a peculiar collar of feathers that can "puff-up" when it’s excited. My previous experience with them had been limited to hunting with my father when I was a boy.
I was more than a bit excited to see grouse here, what, with coyotes, hunters and the disappearing habitat.
Fast forward, this past weekend. Again me, mowing, around the pond, but this time, nearer the front. A grouse, and it was agitated! It would come out from the growth at the waters edge and literally attack the mower, pecking at it’s tires. Why, I almost ran over the poor thing. Again, must be a momma with a nest. Then, around the backside, same as before. Another grouse, at the edge of the pine woods, not as aggressive as the other. Wow! Two grouse. Now, this is exciting!
Back at the house I tell Sandy of my experience. She too has had a siting, but not a grouse, a turkey... she thinks. Made a small funny noise, it did. You mean like that, I said. Yes, yes, that’s it! And, looking over the edge of the porch rail we both spot... a grouse. Wow! Three in one day. We’re polluted! Sandy, that’s no turkey, that’s a grouse. Can’t you tell the difference? Actually the next day we did spot a turkey walking near the house, but.......

Now this grouse was determined to be our friend. To say that it hung around, no.... it was like a baby duck, following my every move. Always with a kind of "clucking" noise, sometimes a "whimpering" noise. Made us feel terrible. Poor thing must be hungry. Dinner that night on the back porch. Me, Sandy and... the grouse. Know I shouldn’t have, but, tried feeding it with bits of our dinner. Bread, corn, nothing. Not a peck, not a sniff, nothing. And it looks healthy. It comes close, let’s me get very close. Must have been hatched and raised by people. So tame. But, what does it eat?
Next day. More of the same. Me, a bunch of chores to "tick-off", the grouse, my trusted companion. I plant the basil, the grouse "helped". I dig up a couple of wild ferns for transplant, the grouse "helped" by hopping up onto the fern as I was easing it from the earth. I plant the ferns in the planter by the back porch, the grouse "helped". I nearly dumped pine bark mulch on him/her, it was quite funny actually. I’ll bet the little creature put in half a mile or more following me around that morning. And.... it was getting quite familiar, not at all afraid. I could almost touch it... but... it would tense up, peck at my hand, maybe sorta fly up at me. A couple of times it seemed to run at me. Oh well......
Morning’s chores complete, I’m a mess. Time for a shower. Afterwards, down the stairs and toward the front porch, Sandy’s sitting in the living room, pissed! "Your bird" is outta control! It flew up onto the porch and it flogged me! I tried to fend it off with my magazine, but it just kept coming after me! I came inside and it attacked the screen door!
Wow! What was that about? How Hitchcock!
By now the birds not to be seen. We go out to sit on the porch, Sandy a bit timidly. No bird.
Whew!
In no time I hear something below the porch in the leaves. Yep, the bird. The bird’s walking around the porch, and.... up the stairs.... and onto the porch. Standing there in the middle, it is whimpering. Sandy’s telling me to do something!
Not having my broom, an object I’ve frequently used against obstinate animals, cats, dogs, etc. ....to the amusement of my wife and friends... I do the next best thing, I grab the local phone book. Holding the book in an open position, I much like a matador, shoo the grouse off the porch and down the stairs. All the while the bird’s making that whimpering sound. I don’t feel so sorry for it at the moment. Maybe it’s not a whimper after all?
Well I’m here to tell you, it was none too pleased with me. It adopted the posture and temperament of one of those fighting cocks. Hopping up, flapping it’s wings, lunging at me. For a startled moment the phone book became my shield.
Now wait a minute! Kevin’s not going to put up with this! I gotta show this grouse just who’s the boss!
Yeah right. Me, flapping the phone book at and then into the grouse. The grouse hopping, flapping, lunging and pecking and tearing at the phone book with its claw adorned feet.
Damn obstinate bird!!!
Well, this went on for the better part of ten minutes. My goal, not to injure the bird, but to dominate it, make it submit! Ten minutes pass and the grouse’s obviously tiring, me too! I push it to the ground with the phone book, trying to hold it down, wanting to hear it say "I give". I back off, facing the grouse. It doesn’t advance. Whew!!
That evening out of curiosity, I walk over to the pond, wondering about the other grouses. And... no grouses, nothing! Hummm? I wonder? I wonder if this crazy grouse is the only grouse?
Next morning, the grouse is back. And.... it acts as though it has unfinished business with me.
It comes to the porch steps.
Right!!! Where’s my phone book?
That’s it!! You and me budd!!
Again, me the matador, the grouse the bull. And this time I mean to finish it. I can’t have a grouse chasing Sandy and I every time we go out the door. No siree.
Ten, maybe fifteen minutes, we "spar". The grouse is ferocious. Me more determined than ever. Sandy "don’t hurt it". Again, the bird tires and I try the pin it down strategy. I don’t know why I think this will work, I just do. After two or three "pins", I hold the bird down for maybe twenty seconds beneath the phone book. Removing the book, the bird walks off.
Later, and all through lunch on the back porch..... no grouse.
Later that day, I go down to water the newly planted basil. On the path there, I spot it, the grouse, in full territorial display... tail fanned and collar fully poofed. He was a majestic sight. I just walked on by within a couple of feet of the bird, ignoring it, and it me so it seems. It, no lunging, no flapping or pecking. Me, no counterattacks. The same on my return pass.
Well. I guess this means I’m the biggest meanest cock! Uh... at least to the grouse that is.

Sorry, but for all of this tale, there are no pictures. No camera. Cell phone, decidedly "old school", of no help either. So.... I leave it to your imagination.

She's Just a Tease

It is.... well.... I mean.... well .... it's just a little frustrating. Isn’t it?
It is late February, early March here in the Piedmont. And.... it wants to. It want’s sooo bad, to be Spring.

And... after Mexico... well... Mexico... you know... she’s a party girl, isn’t she ?
No holds barred, straight up fantastic. Day after day after day of nothing but.... well great!
I mean, you can almost tire of it. Well... not really.

But now. Here. The Piedmont. The Spring. She.... she wants to... you know...real bad.

Cold, dreary, dismal. The disappointment almost gone now. The boredom, the gloom, the repression.... giving way to anticipation.
Today, this day. Blue skies. Morning.. not so cold. The breeze... not so blustery.

Just emerging. That green. That young green. I long for that supple glow to envelope me.
Sap ...rising. Rising to nourish swelling buds. Splitting forth. Soft tender shoots. Promise of fragrant blossoms of desire. Luscious fine filaments of soft new unmown grass. Kissed by remnants of moist dampness, of mornings dew yield tenderly under bare feet..

She teases me.

I feel it. I feel anticipation.

Reclined in my comfort, I shed the trappings of Winter. I expose myself to her abundant charms. The sun, warm to my touch. Warming my bare skin. Warming till I’m flush. Silky breeze caresses me. Softly.... tempering the rising heat.

I look to the sky.... azur blue, irrestible. I cannot look away. Soft puffs of white clouds, wafting by my eye. They provoke, no, they excite the imagination.

Virgin green. The glow of the warm sun. She envelopes me.

Oh yeah.... she teases me all right.
Spring... upon me. It is so.... so close. About to.... overcome me.
Unashamedly, slave to my sensations. Content to let the moment wash over me.

Perfection.
Spring, she plays the part well. The perfect lover. The moment. One builds into the next.
Anticipation. Expectations rise. Three o’clock. Climax to this sensuous day at hand.

But.... soft puffs of white, now, give way to expanses of translucent gray. The green glow, is lost, no longer enveloping me.
The suns warm caress leaves my skin. The soft breeze, now pricks at me with a chill.
Anticipation... expectations, go limp.
Frustration.
Gone. Her promise. Her charms.

Tomorrow..... 52, gray skies and the disappointment of a cold rain.

She has been....she has been teasing me. It is not the time. It angers me.
She is just a tease.
Why do I let her do this to me? Why am I always chasing her the way that I do?
Nobody... nobody likes a tease, most of all a little p***k tease like her!

But....20 March. I know, I’ll do it all again. I can’t resist her. After all, She is Spring.


Channeling my Pagan roots.

"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!