Weekend Escape1: Playa del Carmen, Mexico
It was 5:15 P.M. Friday January 7, 2005. Winter break had proven to be a bit rough for me as I wrenched out the insanity of a relationship gone south from my person. Unmasking its truth had taken its toll on my emotions and my school life work. Like most people, I needed to get away, collect my thoughts and find my groove again. It was a “no-brainer” to make my way to a familiar stretch of beach and let it provide me some therapy. I had four days to let the ocean works its magic starting with a Long Island and a nice stroll through the town. Later, an unexpected personality would make the scene.
Playa del Carmen is located ah hour south of Cancun, Mexico. The small town was a secret to most of the world. But, like most good secrets, word gets out. And before you know it, you’ve been had—you’re exposed. A Carnival cruise ship docked at the pier down the beach was proof.
The town offers two great beaches, a full nightlife, beautiful people from around the world and in most places few Americans. Yes, it is paradise with no real concerns other than where and when to meet people to dine and enjoy the view over drinks.
The sun was still out and the street was full of people wandering back in from the beach. My friend and classmate Kaliff (a.k.a. K-Dog) was dragging from the flight and the hustle of the day’s events. Agreeing on the evening’s plan, we walked down the famous Fifth Avenue dodging shop venders, Mariachi groups and the occasional tourist attempting to speak Spanish. Before long, Kaliff found himself in a money shot with a few Club Med girls I introduced him to while taking in a latte (yes… coffee. It’s coffee time any time around the world around 6:00.)
As we made our way down the road, a familiar smile, walk and laugh caught my attention—“Emily,” I said quickly stepping in her direction. “I had a feeling you were near by and wondered if we were going to run into each other,” she said hugging me and kissing my cheek. We spoke briefly the previous week about being in Mexico around the same time. Three years had passed since we’d spoken. For reasons that seemed unexplained, we had lost contact with each other and our efforts to ‘touch base’ with each other had failed.
Now a local celebrity and recording artist in multiple countries and languages, Emily walked as if the world was at her feet. “Nice. How was it that I managed to get her out,” I thought. I gave her our plan for the evening, and we agreed to meet up the next day on the beach if we missed each other that night. Within moments, I resumed Kaliff’s guided tour of the town and its hot spots.
While in Mexico, it’s critical to discover two things: the best money exchange booth and the best taco vendor that’s open late. Later that night, we discovered that finding a taco vendor would become a quest. It was like Monty Python’s Quest for the Holy Grail only we looked for tacos. We searched for tacos and we got pizza. It was nuts. Of all the places in the world, you would think tacos grow on trees in Mexico. But no! Not so much.
11:00 P.M. came in a hurry. We got to the Blue Parrot’s beach bar in time t watch people stream in to watch a few stage performers start the evening out. Eventually the dance floor flooded with people making it the place to be. We would find ourselves in the middle of the crowds the following nights losing track of time, our sunburns, relationship issues and our lives as graduate students. The life we live seemed to matter a little less in light of the moment and a serious hunger that developed from dancing.
Missing Emily the first night was made up for by her presence on the beach the following days. We caught up with the happening of our lives and discussed some of our history. All this was done while taking in the sun, tropical drinks and salsa, chips and guacamole. Being able to relate to an old friend about things past and present is a rare opportunity. It’s a chance to learn about yourself, express things maybe left unsaid or undone and develop a good sense of peace about life then and how it relates to your life now. It was a welcomed experience.
On my last night in town, I found a taco place at the other end of town that expressed its dislike of tourist with a sign that read “For Locals Only” (only it was in Spanish). Yeah. Intimidating. I, however, wanted a beer and a taco. I was feeling pretty local and walked in singing an old school mariachi song. I knew the words like the back of my hand. I was in my element. Several of the men watched me curiously wondering if I was from some other part of Mexico or someone who could read Spanish. After a couple of odd stares and some small talk, a couple of the guys joined in on the singing removing any doubt that I was just touring. I left the place satisfied with my singing talent and having found the “taco grail”. Ha ha ha.
Speaking Spanish is second nature to me. My step-father is from one of the northern states in Mexico. He privileged me on some of my early childhood summers with living in the town he grew up in as a kid. I got an “education” on how good I had it living in the projects of the U.S. He did it to remind me of the importance of sharing what I had and giving to others that had less. I learned how to barter in the markets, shoot a sling-shot, build fires, handle knives and rifles as well as a number of other things that were necessary to just live from day to day.
Part of every summer experience included going out with some of my poorer cousins to live in the streets. We often slept in abandoned buildings, under bridges and periodically under the stars depending on where in the city we would end up. It wasn’t the real life experience of being homeless because I could always go back to my grandmother’s home if an illness or injury was beyond my control. But otherwise, it was the real deal. Having no money, no bed or much else makes you extremely resourceful and appreciative of simple things like a cool nights breeze. Qualities and an awareness of life I would come to appreciate in my later years.
My step-father’s family were at best poor but culturally rich. Hence, the mariachi music I was able to belt out along with a certain number of other phrases that worked to convince the “locals only crew” that I was one of their own. I was maybe a little more fortunate but the same; the feeling brought other memories to mind. “Nice,” I thought making my way to town.
After much dancing, eating and enjoying some of Mexico’s best beverages, we came to the last day of our trip. Kaliff slept in late (as usual) while I sat out in the sun watching the parade of people march by on their way to the beach for another day of fun. Nirvana’s remake of an old Bowie song played in my head as background music to their march and my studying for a couple of make-up finals. It was time. There it is.
We passed upon the stair. We spoke of was and when. Although, I wasn’t there, He said I was his friend. Which came as a surprise. I spoke into his eyes… I thought you died alone, a long, long time ago. Oh no, not me. We never lost control. You’re face to face, with the Man Who Sold The World. I laughed and shook his hand, and made my way back home. I searched for form and land. For years and years I roamed. I gazed a gazeless stare, at all the millions there. I must have died alone a long, long time ago.
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