Playa Del Carmen Day 4
It’s almost midnight and I just got home. Impressed? Neither am I. I love Playa Del Carmen. I know when it happened but I don’t know why. I feel there’s a difference between being a traveler and being a tourist. To some it might be the same as the difference between a trekker and a trekkie, but it’s a big deal to me. When I booked this trip, I realized that I only had a week and that’s not a ton of time to travel. My original thought was Tulum but figured it was too sleepy. This coming from the guy who wants a cookie for staying out til midnight. One thing I love about Playa is that it can be quite touristy, but you’re only a few streets from real Mexico.
Although I never heard from Al and Betty Ann (tear), they left me with some recs. One was a breakfast place across from DAC. Yes, that’s all I had to go on. I found DAC, a fruit and vegetable market, on the google, and across the street is Nativo. It’s a cool restaurant that serves fresh juice. I got an eight vegetable juice and chilaquiles, both were good. I still had the Hi-C sunburn stain on my right side and was concerned about laying out. I went back to Kools and got a chaise in the shade. I was determined to finish Zorba the Greek, which I did at lunch. For a book that I trudged through the first two-thirds and muddled through the the final third, I was really moved at the end.
It was lunch time and Betty Ann told me the best burger was at a beach club called Wicky’s. As a self proclaimed burger anthropologist, I had to try the best. Wicky’s is on the beach at Calle 10. While the burger was well seasoned and juicy, I’m as much a fan of condiments and bun as I am meat. It was very good, I’ll leave it at that. I went home to shower and grab another book. I started “The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo” on recommendation from my sister. Although Zorba was challenging, this goes down far smoother, much like Masterpiece Theater versus Jersey Shore.
I headed back to my favorite cafe, Cafe Ruta. They have wi-fi and I learned a roof top deck. Alas, I found out the wi-fi doesn’t reach the roof. It was inside for me. I read til about five and then decided it was time for happy hour. I read where Wicky’s have some sort of wine and semen social on Wednesday’s from four to seven. Semen being appetizers and what not. I asked Mario, the bartender, what the deal was. He told me they had a special during the Mexico New Zealand game at ten that night. I showed him the menu that read “Eventos” and Wednesday is wine night. Even though its written, Mario was the last to know. He showed me the wine list but I begged off.
I hit the pavement with a smile on my face. For some reason, this was the moment that I fell in love with Playa. I found no greater pleasure than to traverse the streets of Playa looking for the best happy hour. After a healthy walk, I decided to patronize Big Al and Red Neck Steve’s Beer Bucket. I know. It sounds like the kind of place where you get a free shot of bourbon for every first cousin you bang. I love the idea of an iced bucket of six beers for a hundred pesos, but for one man, even of my stature, it’s overkill. I had a Montejo and a Cuervo 1800 Anejo. I’m digging the shit out of tequila. Of course, I had to stop off at Two Dollar Drinks where I ended up being over charged. I explained the situation my mathematically challenged barkeep. The thing is the extra change was going to my barman who couldn’t add. I should’ve taxed him, but for all I know this dozen pesos could put him in another tax bracket. I wanted to have one more drink so stopped at Calle Seis where I first had a beer on Sunday night. I was talked into my first, and second (two for one), margarita. It was a little sweet for my tastes. Yes, I was drunk.
Since the size fifteen Chacos that I got at REI for twenty-seven dollars were cutting the outside of my feet, I decided to stop off at home and put on some less sharp shoes. I dined tonight at Mestizo, which was amazing. There’s a huge population of Italians in Playa and for some reason they make better Italian food than the Mexicans make Mexican food. I had spinach, ricotta, and parmesan ravioli in a cream, butter, sage, and parmesan sauce. It was rich and delicious. Since I felt bad for being the only customer, as well as, drunk and starving, I ordered spaghetti pomodoro and basil, you know, for the table. It was cooked perfectly. I’d hate to add to the glut of Italian restaurants in L.A. but this guy should move.
My plan was to stay out until the Mexico game came on. I stopped off at a fancy hotel called the Hotel Deseo. It’s the kind of place that has a groovy outdoor lounge that projects black and white films on the wall. There were three people at the bar. I sat down and waited. The bartender went over and chatted up a hot woman who walked in. I had enough. One of my biggest pet peeves as a customer is being made to wait for no reason. I left. I had a shot of Cuervo Tradicional at a tiny bar on 3rd Avenue that had wifi. I love my IPOD Touch even though it has no media on it.
I made it to Wicky’s expecting a big crowd for the game. Aside from the group in the hospitality industry having dinner, I was the only one at the bar. I watched as a bunch of gringos whose dinner was paid for, order drinks at the bar, but neither took out cash nor a credit card, expecting the bartender to keep track of them. And you do know, all white people look alike. In fact, there were three bald men who could’ve been body doubles for John Locke. At halftime I headed back to Two Dollar Drinks, where I was the only gringo in a crowd of thirty dudes. In fact, a guy selling roses popped his head in to realize that he had as good a chance of selling a rose in there, as I was getting a rim job in a temple full of rabbis. The exciting part came when someone paused the video on the jukebox and the guy who chose the Jose Felliciano jam was ready to brawl. The problem was diffused with a twenty peso note and Mexico went on to begin to trounce New Zealand.
I left before it ended, not wanting to catch a stray bullet from an excited Latino firing off his pistola after a Mexico win. Here I am, writing about day four awake until day five. Do I know how to party or what? Yes, I know, the answer is or what.
