Big Sweet Tooth

Almost to the Border and LA Mexican Food

The closer I got the the USA border, the more I panicked.  No more ceviche tostadas for me.  Over the past few months of cruising thru Mexico, I'd developed a wicked addiction to not only ceviche, but to very fresh, very crunchy tostadas. All with big, juicy squirts of lime and dots of super spicy homemade salsa.

This one above was a $2 bit--from a roadstand just outside of Mazatlan.  They were shucking oysters out front (which is why I pulled over) and mixing fresh shrimp ceviche to order.  Full depression on the state of Mexican food in LA...but then....oh, but then.....

I got a rageful email the other day from a reader about Mexican food in LA.  See below:

"Obviously you have not left the coast.  The Mexican restaurants are east of the ocean:  La Cabanita in Glendale, Tortas Mexico in Glendale, Lilliana's Tamales in East LA, El Gallo Mexican Bakery in East LA.  The Gradn Central Market in Downtown LA. It sounds like  you have not explored LA.  There is little food of any worth on the coastline itself.  You have to get in your car and drive!  Rogers Park is a neighborhood of the city.  What if I only went as far as Michigan & Wacker and declared there is no ethnic food in Chicago.   Come on!"

Looks like I will have to venture over the the East side.  More soon on tostada trampings from LA.  Thanks reader.

PURE Pilates Retreat Heads to Yelapa, Mexico in March 2009

PURE is hosting another Pilates retreat in 2009. This time though, it will be held in my favorite little village on the Pacific Coast of Mexico---a tiny gem called Yelapa.  This you-can-only-get-there-by-boat hideaway is where I filmed my first TV show (that went on to become Craving Adventure on The Travel Channel) and is literally one of my favorite places in the WORLD. 

We're gonna be kickin' it at Hotel Lagunita and have lined up all sorts of fun things:  jungle trekking to remote waterfalls, medicinal herb workshops, volunteering with children at the local art center, snorkeling with blue-footed boobies on Marietas Island (you can only see them here and the Galapagos), paragliding on the beach, and loads more.  Of course, there's also great food and two Pilates classes per day!

Email me for more details and everything will be spelled out soon on the PURE website.  I can't wait to get back to Yelapa...those stars...that tortilla soup...that just-speared octopus...that limpet scraped off a salty boulder and doused with lime...oh, the joy of it all!

March 23-29, 2009

San Carlos, Mexico & More Cops to the Rescue

San Carlos, Mexico has been on my go-to list for eons.  Ever since I started looking for a place to shelter away a sailboat on the crazy-blue Sea of Cortez.  I had read about it, researched it, followed blogs on it, talked to sailboat owners about it, google mapped it...pretty much everything but visited it.  As I rocketed up the coast towards the border, I was finally headed straight for it--a quick lunch pit stop.

Let's just say another one off the list.

It was just like being in America.  Just like being in any coastal town, full of bright signs, a slightly garish strip...with houses clinging to hills.  Thank the good Lord I actually make it to these towns before I plunk down dough into them.  I gotta stop being the sight-unseen girl. 

On the way out of town, I pulled into the sand to take a photo of the bay (it really is lovely) and managed to get stuck in the sand within 30 seconds.  Awesome.  No food yet.  Starving.  Itching to beat it.  And, then...out of nowhere...three guys (2 being cops) rolled out like a mirage to help me dig my truck out.  Barely a word was spoken--one got behind the wheel and two helped me push.  We were all clear in about a minute and then they just sorta faded away across the sand dune. 

I now have a soft spot in my heart for San Carlos.  But, still..I couldn't wait to scram. 

Rosamorada = Top Westcoast Colonial Village in Mexico

Rosamorada...it's one of my personal Top 5 favorite villages I blew through on the Western side of Mexico.  Colonial, small, friendly locals, crazy clean, beautiful church, and not a single white face to be seen.  I loved it.  I was on the hunt for lunch--something good--and after cruising through the entire town in less than three minutes, I stopped at a restaurant just before you exit out onto the main road (a busy place on the left, under the giant structure welcoming you to the village).

The pretty much toothless sweetie running the joint totally got my vibe when I requested just beans, tortillas, and rice with lime.  She brought me a big plate of the just made food...all doled out from big clay pots and patted me on the back each time I inhaled a mouthful.  Every few seconds her daughter would run over with a piping hot tortilla and stuff it in the basket that I was sharing with two truckers. 

Coulda been one of the best meals to date in Mexico.

Roadside Shrimp Tamales

Mexico is a patchwork criss-cross of tiny villages, each touting their own specialty.  They sling up stands along the side of the road and every single vendor sells the exact same thing.  Pretty much identical to the core.  How the heck do you even know where to stop?  Sometimes it's oysters.  Could be truck campers.  Might be  elote.  Maybe dried shrimp packs.  Anytime you stumble across a little town that is obviously very proud of their goods, you might as well stop. 

Sometimes you even run across something you've never had.  Like shrimp tamales. 

Never have I seen shrimp tamales, so when I left San Blas and almost immediately hit up a slew of shrimp tamale coolers along a strip of arid desert, I had to have one.  Hmmmm...it was interesting.  Not quite what I was expecting--the shell was still on--and then as I dove into it a bit further, I noticed a couple of black beads. HELLO SHRIMP EYES BIG AS BLUEBERRIES. 

Good Christ, that was a hunger drainer.  I quietly wrapped my tamale back in its husk and slammed a Nescafe. 

Turns out these tamales are famous in the state of Nayarit...but it's just a wee bit too much sea for me.

How To Get Off Grid in a Vintage Travel Trailer

In case any of you were wondering how the heck to buy your own little vintage travel trailer, pimp it out and hit the road...here is a simple little How-To Guide I just wrote for The Traveler's Notebook, one of the best travel websites out there.  Check out the full story here.

Here's a quick sample bite from the story...
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HOW TO GET OFF GRID IN A VINTAGE TRAVEL TRAILER
It’s so simple to buy a cheap vintage travel trailer and experience a whole new way of living that I’m stunned more folks haven’t figured it out. Is it a big secret? Too intimidating? It is considered kooky? Well, if you’ve ever dreamed of ditching it all and heading south of the border, here’s a handy guide to get you started on the road to freedom.

1. Acknowledge the Beast Within

Oh, you know what I’m talking about. That little sing-song voice inside calling out when you least expect it. It’s saying, “Are you kidding me, this is my life? Is this all there is? And, I pay how much rent for this dumpy apartment?” If you can just answer with “It’s time to change things” the next time the monster kicks in, you might find yourself calling a tin can box home. And, trust me, you will be the envy of everyone you come into contact with.

2. Research Galore

There are a bundle of websites out there with vintage trailers for sale. You can buy one already restored or you can buy a way old-school one and put your own flair into it. I opted for my own flair. Going this do-it-yourself route allowed me the opportunity to explore options I might not have run across. Things to think about: Do you really need a bathroom? How important is a fridge vs. icebox? Is a shower imperative? For me, none of these things mattered and by not giving a hoot about luxuries, I managed to save loads of money.

**You can read the rest of the story on via the above link and seriously, I cannot wait to get back to CAmer to resume my journey. Just a few more months now....mst

Kiko's Meat Market: Meat Lovers Paradise {From The Raving Dish}

Today I stood at the edge of the Pacific Ocean. Nothing but huge thrashing waves and a dark, moody blue attitude. Its unruly ferociousness matched the puddle of emotions welling up inside of me—little nuggets that have been building up since I left the easy-come-easy-go interior of Mexico and landed in L.A. a scant few weeks ago for a short, three-month gig. At first, I wasn't sure why I was so melancholy. The weather has been fantastic, the job has been great and the little apartment I am calling home is two blocks from the beach. What could possibly be wrong with this scenario? After inhaling some chicken noodle soup loaded with saltines and a big bowl of chocolate pudding, I realized what was brewing around in my confused mind. I'm homesick for Chicago. Simple as that.

It wasn't until I spied a full pantry yesterday at a friend's house that I even remembered that I have a home in Chicago. A cute home, right on Lake Michigan, dotted with my global treasures and really, my entire life. I've spent the past few months traveling around Mexico in my 14-foot solar travel trailer and before that, I was volunteering in Indonesia. It's been such a busy few months I've not had time to stop and remember and think and reminisce. Blame it on another perfectly sunny day in L.A. because this afternoon, when I thought about my heavily ethnic neighborhood, Rogers Park, and all of the 'round-the-world food that is within a few miles of my front door, I almost broke down in tears. I just want some good food. Some dirt-cheap, standout grub from an unsuspecting hole-in-the-wall, much like the kind that Kiko's Market and Restaurant on North Lincoln Avenue slings out.

Finally, the Pacific Coast and a San Blas Pitstop

I'm the kind of girl who reads about a place and just wants to pick up and move there.  Immediately.  Like one of those sell everything, start over and live on the beach type of mindsets is what I am blessed/cursed with.  I almost did it last year (a hundred times) when I found an adorable casa in San Blas, Mexico for sale.  Never mind that I'd never been there.  Never mind that I was ensconced in a half-year-long, huge television production.  I was just ready to go....sight unseen.  But, then I started to research the San Blas area a bit more and I found out that the seaside village gets huge infestations of flies every summer that nearly drives people mad and I was like, oh...well...thank god I read that before committing my life savings to a shack on the beach.  Next location!

But,  I still wanted to see the place.  It was still in the back of my mind as a tiny, off-radar travel spot, so when I left Isla Mujeres, I knew that I was headed toward the Pac coast and the San Blas area.  I rolled into the Western section of Mexico about 10 PM (from Mexico City)--headed toward SB--and was weaving through mighty dense jungle that smelled EXACTLY like the rice fields in Bali.  I mean to the T.  I almost had to pull over because I was so overwhelmed by its intensely familiar, and breathtaking, scent.  Instead, though, I just rolled down my windows and gazed at the full moon drooping over--and lighting up--the deserted hills. 

The small town square was all abuzz with bustling cafes, smiling expats and grills charring up fresh fish.  At close to midnight.  It was kinda kooky to see all that activity in such a tiny village, but I just made my way straight to a nice hotel (time to treat myself), checked in, and then headed out for a few beers.  A restaurant just down the street from my hotel had a mariachi band bellowing out old Mexican love songs and I sat and drank and poured over my map, plotting my journey the next day (I was longing to see San Carlos as well).  Somehow the singer made his way to my table (again, I must have APPROACH ME, POR FAVOR on my forehead), but we had a nice chat and a few laughs.  I was just praying he wasn't going to serenade me in the middle of the dining room.  Instead he asked me out and gave me a rose.  Very sweet.  I will say this---NEVER go to Mexico if you want to be alone.  Friends in the making are all across this lovely country.

The next AM, I tore out of bed at the crack of dawn and made my way to the beach.  Instantly I spotted a lone sailboat heading North.  To where, I wondered?  I wanted to transplant myself from the sandy beach onto the bow of that boat so bad, but instead I loaded back into my truck and hit the road.  Next stop San Carlos---via bumpy, no-traffic backroads, thank you very much~~

Tamales & Backroads

Remind me to never eat chicken again. Poor things, just crammed in a cage on the back of a dusty truck, getting ready to die.  It just makes me sad.  But, as I was staring into this truck of doom...I glanced over and spotted a tamale sign.  Yeah!

After my Mexico City fiasco, I'd decided to take smaller back roads the rest of the way to the Pacific Coast (I was headed to the San Blas area) and not 20 minutes outside of the city, I stumbled upon what turned out to the THE BEST TAMALE EVER.  (except for La Unica in Chicago).  This little lady was hawking them for 50 cents each and I had to grab a few to go--they were that good.  Of course, I shoved them down within seconds of getting back in my truck.  Nescafe, cheese and chile tamales and backroads are the way to go.  Also, I saw some guy get his tamale tucked into the bread that you make tortas with--like a tamale sandwich.  Brilliant!

I also wolfed a bag of cukes in salt and lime.  Literally the most refreshing thing ever.

Mexico City & Nice Policemen

There was a great article in this weeks New York Times about Puebla, Mexico.  All colonial and charming.  Well, the Puebla I saw one late night driving thru mainland Mexico was nothing but MAD bustling and out-of-control.  I'm certain because it was pitch black, loaded with crazy traffic and loud as hell...but then again, I'd just come from Isla Mujeres, a totally serene island.  It was my first time back in real traffic in months and  I was in a rage/dead panic immediately.  I had to get out.  So where did I end up the same night? 

FREAKIN' MEXICO CITY!!!!

I was trying to skirt around the BIGGEST CITY IN THE WORLD and I ended up dead in the middle of it.  For real.  The whole megawatt city spread out like a neon spill and I could not find my way out.  So, I ended up at at a $28 dollar hotel somewhere in the middle of the madness.  It was actually a great little spot--though there was porn on most every channel.  Whatever.  They had wi-fi and cold beer.

The next AM, it took me THREE solid hours to get out of the city--I was so lost, caught in traffic and frustrated.  'Til I was pulled over by a really nice police officer that literally hand drew me a map--in the middle of a butt load of grid-locked traffic.  Who even knows why I got pulled over...he was like this little angel sent from above to help me get out of the city.  He def. DID NOT want his photo taken though (see photo). And, once I got my map, I flew out of there like a whip.  I could have disappeared in that city in about 2 seconds flat...that is what I was thinking once I went in...but of course, Mexico to the rescue.  I was saved by a man in black.

Now that I have navigated the biggest city in the world, ALONE, at 2 AM...man, there ain't much I can't conquer!

My Mexican Tostada Fetish

I left Isla Mujeres with the sickest, wildest, blinding, most insane, totally out-of-control addiction to tostadas.  Simple little old tostadas.  Every single place I stopped at on the way back toward the border was selected/judged immediately for their tostada performance.   Fried fresh?  Beans or no?  Crema avail?

Of course none topped my fave place on Isla, but I am telling you there is nothing finer in the entire world that a crispy, hot, fresh-fried tortilla topped with a smear of beans, a sprinkle of rice, crunchy lettuce, a bit of tomato and a hit of queso crumbles and cold crema.  I mean nothing.

In a week of pitstops along the way to LA, I never once had less than FOUR tostadas in one meal.  For real.  Please, notice the tin roof of this little economy food shack I spotted along the side of the road one night just outside of Puebla.  Orange soda, blaring TV, slightly chunky waitress/owner (dude, she's just enjoying the good food)...add them to the below list of What Makes a Good Mexican Food Pitstop.  Just 50 cents per, mind you.

And, for the record...I have tried so very, very hard to find the same goods in LA---NOTHING.  I mean, just soggy messes of Americanized Mexican tostadas.  Shame.

Signs of Good Food in Mexico

How you know if you're gonna get a kick-ass meal on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere in Mexico.

1.  The structure that houses the "restaurant" is made of wood, corrugated tin, or plastic.
2.  There is no handwritten menu.
3.  No one speaks English.
4.  Truck drivers hit the brakes for it.
5.  They serve Nescafe.
6.  Someone is hand-slapping some corn tortillas over an open fire.
7.  The limes are actually orange.
8.  The beans are whole.
9.  The table clothes are tropical and bright.
10.  The owners hug you when you leave.

And, of course...nothing cost more than a few dollars.

Belize & Noni Juice & Road Fever

OK, it's time for me to hopscotch all around Mexico and even dabble into Los Angeles with my postings.  A few weeks ago, I made the long journey back across the US border and now it's catch up time on the Tooth!

After three weeks of pure island bliss, I jammed off of Isla Mujeres and hauled south all the way to the very border of crazy-blue-water Belize (you have no idea how badly I just wanted to cross on over the border) before cutting west all the way across the entire body of Mexico.  I then shot up the tropical Pacific coast of Mexico and crossed over into the US at Nogales (never again), quickly making my way toward my old friend, Los Angeles.  I have a quick job to do here (it sorta just popped up, so I put the skids on my journey for a few months), but when it wraps, I will return to my adventure (and trailer) in CAmer later this summer.  It was a stunning trip---traversing the whole of Mexico---but I was sick the whole way.  Like pull-over-every-two-hours sick...just for a quick little nap because I wanted to die there was so much spittle in the back of my throat.  I think God was telling me, "MST don't leave Mexico, she loves you...."

And, since I've been back in the states, I've heard nothing but kudos for being such a brave girl.  To tackle Mexico alone...holy moly.  Even from the Mexicans here in LA that I practice my Spanish with--they are afraid of their own county.  I am so confused by this.  Like mind-boggling confusion hits me every time someone says something about how crazy/brave I am.  Sadly, Mexico gets a real bad rap by a whole lot of people...but it's seriously one of the best countries I have ever experienced. 

So, Mexico. I did it alone. I did a huge chunk of it with a vintage travel trailer hooked to the back of my truck.  And, I loved every single second of it.  Especially once I happened upon some noni juice whilst sick to death.  I first discovered noni fruit in Nicaragua, on a tiny spit of sandbar called Little Corn Island and the only other place I have ever seen it is in a glass bottle on a shelf in Whole Foods (for a rippin' $20+ bones).  But, down by the Belizean border, there were road stands hawking huge piles of noni's and big bottles full of chilled noni juice.  After some confusing as shit small talk with a couple of six year olds selling the juice, I hopped in my truck and slammed the whole bottle in a wild attempt to cure my sickness... and it actually did help for about 24-hours. 

But, by the time I hit up Mexico City, I was back on the hurts.  Nothing a $28 hotel room in the center of the biggest city in the world can't cure, though.  More coming on that one...

Bubu Takes Some Photos**

One day I was getting a pedicure on Isla at my fave families house and my little buddy Bubu (see last photo) snatched up my camera and started snapping away.  Here is the Bubu montage.  I love 'em! 
She's already a champ with the camera if you ask me.  I mean...look at the lighting, the composition, the depth of field.  Nice work Bubu.

Pleased as punch, Bubu*

Salam in Albany Park {From The Raving Dish}

I used to live in Albany Park—well, for a short spell I slept on the floor of a friend's second-floor walk-up in Albany Park. Another friend camped on the back porch, and the living room served as a makeshift film production office. We'd just finished up a super low-budget indie film, which somehow lefts us all homeless, so we found this month-to-month rental and set up camp for our next project: a TV show about round-the-world eating adventures. At the time, the only spots I knew about in the neighborhood were Mexican hole-in-the-walls, Brisku's Bistro and dark karaoke bars. In fact, I didn't even know the 'hood had a name. To me, it was just no man's land—nothing more than a place to crash and get the hell out of as soon as possible.

New Article about Volunteering in WEND magazine

A few months back, I was in Indonesia volunteering in a tiny mountain village on the Muslim island of Lombok.  It was a life-altering journey and I wrote an article about it for one of my favorite adventure travel magazines, WEND. 

The article just came out in the new issue and here it is if you wanna read it.  It's called--

A Lombok Love Affair: Finding a Deeper Sense of Purpose with Voluntourism
Download Voluntourism.pdf

It turned out swell and seriously, if you have never volunteered, do it immediately.  It will change your life.

Bubu Buries Misty

Playa Norte is definitely not my fave beach on Isla Mujeres.  It's just too crowded.  But, I did love getting buried there by crazy little Bubu one sunny afternoon.  She covered me with sand in a NY minute while Lupita played with shells and only halfway buried Alex.  If you've never been buried in sand, I suggest you try it immediately.  It's cool, calming and serene.  Especially when you are a couple/few down.

The snorkeling out by the rocks is pretty decent at Playa Norte...but man, that God awful looking hotel in the background is just a killer.  Oh, and everyone on the beach freaked out over a baby star fish.  I mean, full crowds were drawn, cameras were busted out, video was being shot.  Who knew a itty-bitty star fish would be such a novelty on a tiny island in the middle of the Carib.  You'd have thought that a giant talking whale had washed up on the beach from the commotion that was caused. 

I guess I passed out soon after that ruckus.

Oh, I'm For Real--It's a Plastic Island

I know I keep going on and one about Isla Mujeres, but I'm just not done with the place yet.  It's too magical.  Too simple.  Too happy.  One post would never be enough, so just bear with me for a few more entries and then we shall move into the madness of me making my way across 3,000 miles of pure Mexico to get to LA.  A hint...I finally dug into Mexico City...

So, one day, I'd had a couple/few (MST lingo meaning beer before noon) and was trolling around the island when I noticed some young hitchhikers with thumbs out.  I never pick up hitchhikers (well, for the most part).  But, something about these two kids made me stop (the boy was toting what looked like a yoga mat but was really a sleeping pad).  Or, I guess I stopped because I knew the island so well by this time and if there are couple of newbies on board, well hell...why not give them a ride and get their take on things?

Once they loaded in, Saschia and Chelsea told me that they were headed to plastic island.  Do wha?  Man, I thought I was getting to know the place, but oh no...these two had a line on some dude who offered up free camp spots and food to peeps who would help him continue to build his plastic island.  Oh, hell yeah I'm in.  Saschia had been there before and had somehow left Isla, picked up Chelsea in Tulum and now they were back to live it up together.  Little Chels was about 22, studying Spanish in Merida, and dead in love with Sasch.  Even though they'd just met a week or so before.  Not sure where Sasch stood but on that front, bless her.

Anyway, we careened down the dirt road that led up to the campground and of course, there were already a couple of funny guys there--sorting out bottles, talking about what to fire-pit up for dinner, and really, just delighted that a couple of chicks had shown up to their usually men-only campground.  Saschia proceeded to haul me and Chels out to this tiny plastic island just off the beach.  It was pretty dang cool.  This cat (who was in Cancun at the time) had figured out a whole new life game plan and was building an island made of plastic.  Simple as that.  He'd even built a mini model of what the monster would look like someday and I gotta say, I did lay in the bed and gaze up at the sky thinking some pretty cool thoughts.  I mean, this is a whole new level of sustainable living.

I explore the grounds (nice T-pee shower) while dinner was being concocted--this meal had Sascha whipping up some chile-infused pasta, of which I partook in two giant bowls and a whole lotta beer and scuba-diving heavy convo.  It was a funky night because I wondered ALOT what would my path have been if I'd chosed not to head to LA at the age of 20 and instead just globetrot.  Not sure my life would be much different, but maybe...just maybe...

Plus, those two treated me with a 6-pack of Pacifico for giving them a ride.  How nice.  Of course, I shared it with them over dinner, but still.  What random things one comes across when not really looking.  It's the best.  Have you ever in your life read shorter sentences.  No.

Lolo Lorena and Espresso Bliss

There are days when you simply do not want a Nescafe.  Sometimes it works for you--like when shoving a piping hot tamale on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere as you're driving toward the USA border...but whilst on Isla Mujeres, I usually hooked myself up with either a cappuccino at Manana or a sorta-cortado at a new little cafe called Lolo Lorena Bakery (just south of the marina). 

I would have to say that the cortado at her place was the winner (well, for as far as cortados go...Manana will always be #1)...only because the delicious smells wafting up from the rear kitchen were deadly.  Croissants, sweets, pan con chocolate.  For real, when you have had it up to here with Mexico (which I NEVER did)...roll into this small French-style cafe and grab a flaky croissant and a simmering pot of straight espresso with cream and copious amounts of sugar.  The whole blend is lethal and enough to drive one mad. 

The owner is also building some cute rooms to let above the shop (done in a few months, MAYBE) and also puts together this fantastic 3+ course Chef's meal where you pay a set price for dinner and she just serves up whatever is fresh that day.  I love it.

See, that is what I grew to adore about this little island.  So much different food, all over the place.  There's French, Italian, Mexican, Mediterranean, Mayan, Middle Eastern, and all sorts of other yummy stuff around every corner.  If it was just all Mexican, all the time, it might get to be a bit much (or not).   But, I have to say that on a tiny island 5 miles long and where you could practically spit and hit the other side, well...there's def. some good shizz happening.  It's sorta like the island version of Roger's Park, my Chicago neighborhood.  I miss you La Unica.

Casa O's, Peppery Ceviche and Blue Every Way You Turn

Beside the killer ceviche Jorge and Chef Roger made for the Pilates retreaters on the Cooking Workshop day of the PURE retreat, the very best that I inhaled on Isla was the mixed seafood version at Casa O's.  It's a tucked away palapa-style restaurant on the southeast side of the island and I was so pleased with the coldness of their beer and the spiciness of their ceviche (I now that the exact amount of pepper is the key to perfect ceviche) that I went back four days in a row. 

On the fourth day, I was talking to my favorite waiter and he informed me that I could go snorkeling off the wooden pier that juts out from their front door.  Oh really? 

Not too many people know that it's a free beach and though it seems like the pier is just theirs and theirs alone, it's quite the contrary. Anyone can play off the edge of it and the very next morning, I crawled over the knee-high stones surrounding Casa O's (per his instructions) and proceeded to shimmy on down the pier and dive in.  There weren't as many fishies around as other places I've snorkeled around Isla, but I loved having the entire pier to myself and lazing around for hours.  And, honest to God, even I look at these photos now and am stunned at the crystal blueness of the water and the perfect blueness of the sky. 

I ask you, how could someone in their right mind not want to partake in this glory every day? 

Chicken in the Truck

The first night that Lis arrived on Isla, I trotted her first to Manana for a few beers and then treated her to the culinary delights of the chicken guy.  The one who has his little pollo pit rockin' all day long.  It's on the West side of the island, just down the way from the little French looking bakery and has all the basics:  sopes, panuchos, pollo.  The food is so tasty and crazy cheap...and the perfect to go style food.  You get these little baggies of rice, beans and salsa along with a pile of steaming tortillas and charred chicken.  Maybe $5.

We happily chowed down in my dusty truck like a couple of fools (to the delight of all passerbys) before heading back to Casa Ixchel for a swim/near death wash away in the ocean.  For real, after a few cervezas at Manana, you better watch out how close you get to the water.  I feel like Lis could have straight never come out and just floated off into the horizon.  That's what pals are for, I think.  When you are in your deepest moment of content joy and sheer bliss, they are right there to rip you straight back into the madness that is reality.  Friends forever.