We were playing on the beach with Eloïse by 07:30 this morning. There’s really no stopping her. She continued to build her snowman with scant regard for parental grumblings about non-entities such as breaking our fast.
When we did finally convince her to allow us all to eat, we drove into Tulum for a filling meal at the very pleasant Don Cafeto. Its terrace made an agreeable spot for watching life go by in Tulum, whilst sipping coffee and juice, and tucking into chilaquiles, eggs and toast.
With the family bellies taken care of, we decided to occupy today with a jaunt to Playa del Carmen, which took about an hour to drive northwards to. Playa del Carmen was obviously once a very pleasant town in an idyllic setting. Today, the setting is equally idyllic along the tackily named Riviera Maya, but the town is straining to retain its identity under the unrelenting onslaught of mass tourism and the all-engulfing tide of naff and lurid excess that has followed. What a shame that tourism and tawdriness so often go hand in hand.
Need I mention that the day was yet another scorcher? I found myself spending most of the day trying to imagine how this town might have looked a quarter of a century (or longer) ago. Its beaches are still stunning, but a different kind of sun-worshipper comes here today. Watching them vie for a spot on the beach reminded me of the Pier 39 sea-lions in San Francisco, who attempt to leap from the water onto an already very overcrowded pier, only to be flicked back into the water by the flipper of a strategically perched kin member.
We quickly left the sizzling human meat on the grill and continued our walk down the unimaginatively named Quinta Avenida (Fifth Avenue), where faceless souvenir shops offered passers-by T-shirts bearing inane slogans, most of which with beer-drinking, sex or both as their theme. One can’t help but wonder what kind of individual considers it a proud and noteworthy achievement to be able to consume beer.
‘Bad girls suck. Good girls swallow.’
‘FBI: Female Body Inspector.’
‘I’m shy, but I’ve got a big dick.’
‘I’ve used all of my sick days, so now I’m calling in drunk.’
‘This isn’t a beer belly, it’s the fuel tank of a sex machine.’
And one for the Simpsons’ children to buy for Homer:
‘Who are these kids and why are they calling me dad?’
Good grief.
Hair beads, cheap sunglasses, shoddy rucksacks, footballs, overpriced beachwear, bracelets, trinkets, canned drinks, etc. Every sunny tourist destination in the whole world is filled with the same kind of shop offering the same kind of rubbish. Only the currency varies.
The south end of Quinta Avenida is definitely the worst, with the highest concentration of American fast-food eateries. There’s a Starbucks, a Johnny Rockets (that’s a bad burger joint, not a place for purchasing incendiary attachments for condoms, in case you were wondering), Papa John’s (pizza), Subway, Häagen-Dazs and others. One of the golden rules of responsible travel is: Support local businesses with your money, not the multinationals.
In spite of the blight of American chains, we did, in fact, eat a great lunch in Playa del Carmen from the local 100% Natural, which also serves absolutely delicious fruit juice smoothies. Check out the local speciality: hibiscus juice. I had mine mixed with lime juice.
After Eloïse’s snooze and an iced coffee, we drove back to Tulum for our second night at the beach bungalow. Eloïse played in the sand as the sun went down.
Tomorrow’s our last full day in Mexico, I’m sad to say. The day after will see us return to Cancún for the flight back to Providence, this time via Charlotte, North Carolina.