Big Sweet Tooth

*A* is for Alvarado (Mexico)

I'm going to work my way around the world thru the Alphabet these next few weeks as I wrap out this job in LA.  I can write about a yummy food find, past travels, crazy ideas, upcoming trips, random adventure thoughts, or whatever..it's just gotta inspire a fleck of wanderlust.  That's all.

Let me begin with A. 
Alvarado (Mexico)

The wildly lush state of Veracruz, Mexico is loaded with bustling port cities, towns and villages...but the one I happened to stop in (and in a weird way, fall for) was Alvarado.  Really, the thing that captured me about this Cuban-inspired town was the plethora of dusty villages that lined the outskirts.  Tiny, no-hotel, road side sling-ups that all sold vast quantities of one thing.  Oysters.  I mean, the most delicious oysters you've ever had in your life. 

There were giant stacks of them on old wooden tables and you could have a dozen freshly-shucked while you slurped a cold Pacifico and watched the wild-eyed truckers fly past.  A couple of dozen sprinkled with hot sauce and a few icy beers was well under a five-spot and just knowing that they were hand-harvested (by local peeps aged 14-70) made them all the better.

I feel like I find places like this only in moments of deep, immersion style travel.  The kind of places you never really read about in a glossy travel magazine, but you have to be let in on.  By someone whose been there and lived the moment.

I mean, come on...if someone spoke passionately about insanely fresh oysters harvested daily by long tongs and well-worn, very experienced hands from a narrow wooden boat in a off-grid seaside port town somewhere on the Eastern coast of Mexico, wouldn't you just immediately think, "I gotta go."

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.

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.

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...

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.

Tapas on Isla Mujeres...Sorta...

Funny, I never expected to find a quasi-tapas joint on Isla.  Lis and I would haul ass by this dark looking bar every day while zooming around the island and one afternoon, it was begging for a pitstop.  Once again, I am at a loss for the name, but those of you who know Isla will find it across from the baseball field and those addictive shaved meat tacos. 

It was nothing more than a giant room full of colorful locals and a jukebox.  We'd no sooner ordered a few beers when loads of baby plates full of food came out.  All topped with tiny toothpicks.  Yum. 
There was tuna, cukes and jicama in chile (my fave), potato salad, ham and cheese cubes, pineapple and chile, chips and salsa...along with lime and salt, of course.  What a glorious shove down we had.  The table was soon accosted by a real friendly guy who spoke not a lick of English, but kept buying us beer (he was in love with Lisa, ha!) and then a few more fellas, one of whom I loved to death.  He was a very handsome gentleman from Cuba but was now on Isla and about to open a girls dance school.  He wanted me to come be his assistant.  Could you imagine?  Can't wait to share that news with everyone!

Meanwhile,  I guess I'd love to.

Things quickly turned to chaos around our table.  Numbers were being exchanged, phones were whipped out, ID's were being shown off (don't ask me why), and laughs were had by all.  We ended up roaring out of there and over some tacos down the road, I discovered the Cuban's cell phone in my little bag.  He must have been freaking out, but when we returned it a few hours later, he just said he wasn't worried because he knew we were good people.  Right-o.

Good people.  Good island.

A Fish Goes Down Hard....

Yeah...so, one day me and the gals were trolling around picking up ingredients for the PURE cooking workshop and Deisy wanted us to stop by a relative of her's house so she could grab some food that was just made and needed to be on the way to Alexandra's (her daughters) school---at least that is what I think I deciphered. 

All access was ON in the kitchen for fish de-gutting and I wish I'd had time to try the food at this little restaurant located on the south side of Isla.  I mean, with a kitchen like this and mad dedication going hand in hand with it...how could the grub not be fantastic??

Wish I knew the name of the place.  Next time I'm on Isla Mujeres for sure...this will be pitstop #1.  And for real...guess I'm moving to the island.  Why not, hell....

And seriously, I cannot wait to get the horrified emails from the peeps freaking that I've laid out photos in this way.  BUT DUDE, this is food.  This is what you eat.  This is from the source.  This is real.  This is Mexico. 

And, this is what you should all aspire to witness--and taste--one day. 

Tinga De Pollo: Get to Know it Quick

To the sheer delight of all...on the final morning of the PURE Pilates Retreat...one of the adorable housekeepers at Casa Ixchel showed up with a giant gift in a pot--a straight up vat of homemade goodness.  It was a classic dish called Tinga de Pollo.

I'm sorry but this tomatoey, spicy, rich, delicious concoction of chicken and chorizo served up with crema, tostadas, lime and queso was one of the best things I've ever tasted in my simple little life.

Bless you Oyuki.

A quick recipe is here.

The Coldest Beer on Isla Mujeres....

The coldest beer on Isla Mujeres is found at a local spot just a short walk from the ferry (sorry, my love, Manana).  I can't remember the name but it is across from the Social Justica seafood joint and has a string of yummy beers perched in the window.   

Why so cold?  Dunno, but they have a special fridge that houses beer only and it is literally steaming cold fumes when it arrives at the table.  Lis and I guzzled them with wild delight through the course of the day (breakfast, lunch and dinner) and over reviewing Sailor Jim's notes, Lis even assisted in attempting to help me get that damn nail polish off--like I said, I'm not a mani person!  I also dig that a toothless fella hawks natural beauty supplies while I drink, too.  LOVE IT.

They also churn out haunting tostado's that have stalked me across the whole of Mexico this past week. I keep searching for the EXACT replica, to no avail.  It's tough to find veggie tostados that have flavor, but these kids have it down---along with funky, jacked-up forks galore. 

And, for the record, I have a real tough time remembering the name of anywhere.  I just know where it is, what they serve and how good the best thing goes down. 

My Favorite Family on Isla Mujeres -- And My Favorite Food

Seems like everywhere I go, I adopt a local family.  This time, on Isla Mujeres, it was the family of Jorge, the handy man at Casa Ixchel.  Never have I met such incredible people.  From sweet and innocent Lupe to Bubu, the hysterical wailer, to Alex the coquetta, to Deisy the mama bear/incredible cook, to Henesis the Julia Roberts look-a-like to Audy the Danny Yankee lover...I fell in love with each and every one of them.  I grew so attached the family as a whole, it became really hard to focus on the PURE retreat instead of them. 

The whole week was packed with the family--Deisy and Jorge were the chefs for our cooking workshop so there was always something to do---shop, plan, eat.  Me and Lis decided to support the gals and pay their way through an 8-week beginners course in English school (La Gloria) partly because it will help us when we return later this year.  They practice English with us and we continue to practice Spanish with them.  And, Deisy happily cooked for us a half dozen times.  The best ever empenadas and sopes (con creama), all thrown down with some cervezas. (More on this food later).

At some point in time, Audy treated me to a pedicure and manicure.  Sol's a flowin'.  I never get a manicure because I kill it minute one.  I'm too much of a tomboy, I guess.  No matter, this wasn't any old mani/pedi.  The whole gang was involved.  I had my Spanish book out while Lupe rocked some homework.  I learned a few new translations that have been crucial throughout the week:  drunk, dirty, ugly, boyfriend, never.  Go figure.  It was legend. 

Why was it legend?  Because these experiences are exactly what travel is all about all.  Local connects, intuitive moments, home-grown food...they all equal giant moments in the bit of time that is life.   No preconceived expectations are ever met, but oddly without knowing it, they are surpassed.  You can't really ask why.  You just flow.

Sometimes You Can Sail Without Being a Sailor

One of my favorite spots in all of Isla Mujeres is a little bookshop/restaurant called Manana.  I wrote about it on my last trip here and this time, I fell even more in love with it.  Every day, you run into the same faces over and over.  It's kinda like Manana makes the island go 'round.  It's a hotspot for all the relaxed folk on Isla and one day me and Lis were chillin' at one of the open air bar windows when a funny little diddy named Jim rolled by.  He was wondering if my laptop picked up wi-fi and before Lis could slam another beer, he'd invited us out onto his sailboat for some snorkeling adventures.  I love how a sailboat always tracks me down no matter where I end up. 

Early the next AM, Lis and I headed out with Jim on his dinghy to his boat.  He'd just bought the beast and sailed down from Florida.  Of course, he had no idea how to sail, but he just knew that he had the money and the balls.  Sometimes that's all it takes.  In fact, most times you need even less than that.  A couple of wrecked boats, cave blowouts, coral burns and bellowing guffaws later, me and Lis had determined that Jim would be a buddy for life.

He gave us a tour of Against the Wind (from Nashville, TN and not the boat pictured) and for real, the boat was decked.  I had the best shower off the stern of his boat that I've ever had in my life.  The interior was stacked with crates of Jiffy mix, freezers full of meat, three friggin' GPS units, a gold panner...I mean, Jim had hit up everything before setting sail. It made me SAD as hell that I'd just sold my own boat, but lifted me into a whole new excited frame of mind at the idea of buying a new vessel.  I might need one a little bit bigger than a 30 footer.  Yikes!  But, in LA for sure...I gotta be able to leave the boat in water year round. It's just that simple.

After determining that we'd do our best to stay in touch, we established a communication mode (scribbled notes under a pink rock just off the dinghy dock), had a few beers with some of his new sailing pals at an octopus joint, and hit the road.   

Well, first Jim busted out his hand-drawn map to the port authority.  Poor thing.  He'd not checked in with a soul upon arrival.  You gotta love it. 

Meanwhile, this was Day 1.

Hello Bright Pink Home-Applied Mani from Isla Mujeres...

See, this is the funny things about blogs.  You never know where the action is happening in real time. You might think you do, but in reality the blog could be weeks or months behind what is really going on.  Case in point--I've just spent 2 weeks on Isla Mujeres, a tiny speck of an island off the coast of Cancun,  yet not a soul has any idea what just shook down in my life. 

My PURE Pilates retreat just wrapped up and I have one more night on the island before I start the long-ass drive back to LA.  Alone.  Thank God.  I've spent weeks in the company of others and as special as the times were, I relish in being along.  Dead alone.  At all times.  It's so easy to get back to the MST basics--nothing but me, my truck, my moments in time, and all my glorious stress-free space in the universe.  I like it.  No, actually, I love it.

These one-shot-says-it-all photos lays out my trip in a nutshell, but over the course of the next week or so, I'm gonna backtrack and spread it all out like a stain.  A big, fat MST-infused Isla Mujeres spillover that I just don't want to end.   Ah, but the thing to remember is that all the adventures keep on 'acomin.  That must just be my plot in life.  I accept it.  For sure...all the time.

Casa Sac Nicte in Merida...and Random Blogs

I'm trying to figure out why people (including myself) check in on blogs.   I have a handful that I hit up as often as I can--some are travel writers (guidebooks and magazine articles), a few are blue water adventurers (a girl with a sailboat on the Sea of Cortez) and they all live in a foreign country--or are traipsing through one (a surf fiend making a new life in Mexico and an info master in Bali).  I check in on them simply for the inspiration.  To know that there are others out there somewhat like me...with the same way open frame of mind that I have.   I just like reading about people who go, do, try and be.   It's really that simple.

I dig perusing their words especially when they wax on about their everyday struggles. Because trust me--to travel and/or live a little bit of a skewed existence isn't cake all the time.  Not by a stretch.  There's still bills to pay, connects to make, money to make, shiz to organize, life to lead, exercise to be done, goals to accomplish, ideas to generate, friends to chill with, people to meet and the craziest of all--finding a place to land. 

I touched down in colonial Merida for just one afternoon and night and managed to link up with a hysterical writer who lives in Romania but was looking for a new spot to build some roots.  Mexico to the rescue.  Merida attracts folks because you can buy an incredible hacienda for less a 1 bedroom condo in Chicago.  To me, it was a wee bit of the bustling side of things but then again, I'd just come from the mountain bliss of San Miguel de Allende. 

I stayed in an gorgeous B and B (Casa Sac Nicte) dead in the center of town and had the best convo with the owner over a few beers (on him)--in the communal living room.  The said writer popped in from one of her house scouts and BAM we were off for drinks, dinner (Mayan) and more drinks at the free-for-all cantina.  The talk always turns to sex (or poo) and we chilled for hours spilling out stories that I'm not sure even my closest pals are tuned into.  Cuba came up and man, I was this close to going with her, but after a quick stop on Isla Mujeres for the PURE Pilates retreat, I've gotta jam back to LA for a job.  Next time, eh?  I guess life curls around you on a dime and you gotta just roll with the flow.  It's a tough road, this travel way...

And seriously, the couple in full pass out mode has to be one of my fave photos ever.  It was literally 7:15 pm.  Nice.

Even Poo Looks Pretty in Campeche

Campeche, Mexico is a tidy little beachside town that I sorta fell for.  In a weird way.  I ended up in a quaint old hotel in the colonial part of town-- and it's the sort that is peppered with cobblestone streets.  My spot in time was a perfect hotel with a small terrace that reminded me of what Cuba might be like (gotta get there, too).  I plunked my bag down into the room and took off walking...even though it was 10 pm when I started out. 

A few drinks later, I found myself tucking into a tiny market called La Michoacan chowing on a sandwichon.  This big bad mama looks like tres leches cake and is really the most delightful stack of soft and squishy bread smeared in some kind of creamy pimento cheese spread.  Miracle, for sure.  It seems I can strike up a convo with a wall (for real) and I ended up chatting it up with the owner and his pal--a guy that he provides jewlery materials too.  Things like pearly white OSTRICH BONE!  I mean, who knew?   The pieces were awesome, but I just couldn't bear the thought of slinging a poor ostrich bone around my neck.  Grod. 

He was a smart cookie, though and offered to take me to his workshop so I could see the entire process but I was just happy breaking into my sandwichon, talking to the quirky owner in my combat Spanish about his pet pirana and watching a small dog go poo on the sidewalk. 

Lordy, the places I find myself when I'm alone.  I cannot imagine being with someone on a trip like this.  I'm not sure the same easy-come-easy-go experiences would happen to me if I was with anyone else, you know?  I could have stayed all night long just soaking it all in--it was all so much like my vision of Cuba and I'm now thinking I need to treat myself to a Cuban getaway once the CAmer trip wraps up.  Who the heck knows when that will be...but it's all starting to take shape in my noggin'.

As the jewelry maker spied on me spying on everything else, he simply said:  I can see you are a happy girl.

'Nuf said.
But, back on the road, stat.

Campeche, Mexico and Shell Beaches

I've been trippin' into places along this entire journey that have been on my MST list forever and ever.  Lots of big places that I've read about, made notes on and couldn't wait to explore and a whole lot of small, more tucked away places (secrets, the whole lot of them):  Santa Fe, NM; Fredericksburg, TX; Texas Hill Country; San Miguel de Allende, Mexico.  I've slipped through them all and now I find myself on the way to the bustling colonial gem known as Merida.  I get wild with excitement when I knock a place off my list because then I can just get it the heck out of my head.  That way the actual location doesn't harass me any longer...as they all tend to do--if I don't get there and call it home for a minute, it will haunt me all the live long day.

Ah, but before Merida, we have Campeche, Mexico. 

When I finally hit the beach just west of Campeche, I was just plain old giddy.  I've not really explored the water since I've been truckin' thru Mexico, and I immediately came upon a thousand strands of beach where I could toss Yatz and call my life as I know it a goner.  This is maybe the first time in my travels that I've seen a beach full of nothing but little-bitty shells.  Little feet slicers every which way I wandered.   Then it hit me that MAYBE sand WAS nothing but worn down shells.  Wow. 

While sucking on the baby blood blister I'd acquired somewhere along the way and slinging down sugary sweet drinks, I hunted for some banditos.  Everyone keeps saying that outlaw Mexico is rife with them, but all I've been coming across are a bunch of smiling locals and some real helpful strangers.  All those crazy folk must be talking about the other Mexico.  Yah, that's it...all the machete wielding maniacs are in that other Mexico.  Wow, thank god I didn't end up there.

Back on the Road & Headed to the Coast~

After leaving Veracruz, my trip became all about getting straight to the coast.  I was hankering for the water--blue, blue water.  And food, of course.  Lot's of yummy food from all the roadside restaurants and rough-hewn shacks.   

Though you'd never really see it in the USA, the Mexican's have mastered the art of streetside vendorship.  Full half mile long traffic jams are created over a small plastic bag of fresh-squeezed orange juice ($1).  Entire parties are had over a queen-sized slab of pescado ($5).  And,I find myself busting some sun salutations whilst waiting on an gooey empenada to be prepared ($1.50).  All in one briliantly sunny afternoon.

Is this not what life is supposed to be, though?  The complete and utter acceptance of time?  Your own time. Wanna have a drink at the crack o dawn?  Do it.  Wanna study Spanish at 2am?  Do it.  Wanna eat til you curl over in pain from all the good stuff?  Do it.  Wanna make eyes with a complete stranger you know you'll never see again who doesn't speak your language---whilst slamming the said drink, studying the said Spanish and gobbling the said food?  Do it.

Life has quickly become a succession of easy days, dream-like flows of time and whatever-way-the-wind-blows circumstances.  It's good, man, it's real good.  And, the food is even better~