Playa Del Carmen Day 7
I woke up forty. Moving on. I look at birthdays like I look at bachelor parties. They’re fine for other people. In regards to the former, I only celebrate other people’s. As far as the latter goes, if sticking my dick in a whore helps a friend prepare for a lifetime of monogamy, then I’m here to help. Speaking of banging whores, I gotta make this quick, I’ve got two hundred pesos burning a hole in my pocket and a rubber I’ve gotta wash out. Hey, you only turn forty once in a while.
Playa Del Carmen reminds me of Los Angeles. Every restaurant serves breakfast, but not too many are that remarkable. I decided on The Coffee Press on second and the beach side of fifth. But, first, I stopped off at the bus station to check on times for my airport departure tomorrow. Walking out of the bus station, I recalled a tweet I received about the street meat just a few steps away. I stood behind two women who were raving about the tacos. After a few minutes of these two women neither puking nor shitting their pants, I decided to take the plunge. I got a chochinita pibil taco and a chicken taco. The cochinita pibil was good, but the chicken was unreal. It was in a black sauce, like a mole, but the flavor wasn’t as intense. At seventy-five cents a taco I could live with a little salmonella.
Next stop was the Coffee Press. It was a mellow place with wifi and a small menu. I settled on migas, which came with black beans and a warm salsa. I believe I had migas in Austin back in my twenties. They were very good. One piece of irony here in Mexico, is that for a race of people who are derogatorily called “beaners,” (not by me, at least, not to their face) presumably because of the large part beans play in their diet, I’ve only had beans a couple times since I’ve been here. In Los Angeles, you order water in a Mexican restaurant and it comes with a side of refried beans.
It was my last day at Kool beach club. It was overcast all morning. I started a new book called The White Tiger, which I finished this afternoon. It was amazing. I can’t recommend it enough. After soaking up some clouds, it was time for lunch. I planned on eating at a place called Mia Romagna, which was on a street that was under considerable construction. I could taste the cement dust and feared that it would taint the food so I moved on. I stumbled on a place I had read about La Fragata. I don’t know what it is about being solo and bad service, but I’m probably the third largest Jew in the country and still don’t get noticed in a small restaurant that isn’t very busy. After watching my pubes turn gray, I finally ordered a margarita, guacamole and shrimp tacos. I got the marg which was sweet. Then after a considerable amount of time, the owner, who didn’t take my order, brought me some guacamole on the house while I waited. Personally, I’d rather she doubled up on the margarita but I was so grateful someone paid attention to me that I teared up. The shrimp tacos arrived and they were some of the best tacos I’ve had. I don’t know exactly what made them so amazing but it was worth being ignored earlier. I was full, but the owner informed me that my guacamole was coming up. Fine. I ordered another margarita. When the check came, the prices were higher than the menu stated. I didn’t bother to bring it up. I paid and left.
In anticipation of finishing my third and final book, I checked out a bookstore a few blocks from my hotel. Except for three new titles in English, they had a healthy selection used books. I mean “healthy” in quantity. I didn’t recognize most of the authors. I’m guessing tourists have left these books in Playa over the years. My question is: couldn’t they have left something good? Fuckers. I left without a purchase. I headed to Fusion which is on the beach at sixth. I had a Sol and finished my book. Outside a band was setting up. I waited until I heard the first chords. Reggae. No, thank you. With rare exception, Bob Marley, I find that all reggae sounds the same, especially when played by (brownish) white people.
My night was pretty uneventful. I ended up having dinner at a place called Los Amigos. It’s on thirtieth avenue which is six decent sized blocks from fifth, the busiest street tourist wise. There were two tables of four when I arrived. The food was amazing. It upsets me that there are places on fifth which suck, but are packed while this place is practically empty. I had a burrito with arrachera, flank steak. The burrito was thin with steak, cheese, and rice, and topped with lettuce, tomato, avocado and sour cream. It took me seven days to find great Mexican food, but I did it. My night ended with as much fan fare as it began. I walked home, considered a drink, but decided to pass. No ice cream, no candles, no cake, just forty years behind me. This will be my last post from Playa. I fly home tomorrow. And unless something goes horribly awry LIKE MY PLANE CRASHES, I’ll see you all soon. Hey, it wouldn’t too bad if my plane went down. At least, I wouldn’t have to avoid any more birthdays.
