How Tulum Yourself in 10 Days (Part 3)
Day 8
I’m lying in the hammock in front of our room, one leg dangling down. I nudge the ground gently with my big toe and begin cradling to and fro, mimicking the palm leaves swaying in the breeze above me. Their rustling, just like the rolling of the waves, is an intrinsic part of the beach. A place that will never be fully silent for these incessant whisperings of nature. And yet, in a sense, it is silent.
A pelican zooms across the sky above me. Such funny creatures. They’re extremely ugly, with disproportionately large beaks that droop like a flabby double chin. They have that fringe of feathers on their forehead that never seems to sit right and looks like it’s waving at you in the wind. Their color itself is unflattering. As though they’vejust gotten out of bed, their eyes still red and their plumage a disheveled array of greys. It’s only when they fly that you notice their impressive size and the sheer width of their wings. You watch them for a while, in awe, but if you watch for too long, suddenly, that silly caricature kicks in again, and it just looks like a body chasing its head.
We’ve been back in Tulum since yesterday. Our hotel, Papaya Playa Project, is a dream. We’re staying in an ocean front bungalow, their “Oceanview Casita with rooftop pool”, and it’s one of my favorite rooms I’ve stayed in. When you walk in through the main door, it’s set up like a loft, with an open bathroom and bedroom layout that looks out onto the patio beyond a large sliding glass door. The design is totally “Tulum” and by now you probably know what I mean: a mix of cabana, luxe, and boho-chic that immerses you completely into this mystified way of living. The bathroom is simple yet stylish. A brass shower head sticks out from the middle of the wall and the water splashes down onto the stone floor. The generous sink and bathroom counter offer the same effortless simplicity whilst brass lamps cast a golden light onto the space. The bed is king-size, if not larger, and faces the window, through which we see peeps of the ocean and the palm trees. When I had walked into the room late last night, my first instinct had been to hurry out the patio door and speed up the steps that spiraled around the wall of the bungalow, onto our rooftop. It had been pitch-black of course, but I had still discerned the shimmer of our private plunge pool in the moon’s silvery iridescence. I had craned my neck backwards and gazed up, onto the clear sky, that had been powdered with a dust of twinkling stars.
It had been around midnight. We had just arrived back from our trip to Mexico City, and sleep was settling down on us like thick fog.
Day 6
We had woken up on our first day in Mexico City to a sunlit room and the sounds of morning rush hour. Note to self: look out for blackout window blinds and sound insulation when booking next time. I had squinted my eyes testily into the brightness, not quite ready to face the day yet. But I had slept well overall, and when I had finally gotten up, it was with the excitement of discovering a new city. It had been a Tuesday morning, and in the Condesa district, that calls for the local farmer’s market. At around 9 o’clock we had been on our way, strolling along the colorful stands displaying various fresh fruit and vegetables, meats, and fish. The street vendors had stared us down as we meandered passed their stalls, making it clear that we were either exceptionally early or, undeniably, tourists. We had stopped to get fresh OJ and popped into a local bakery to test out some artisanal baked goods before heading back to the Airbnb.
Next on our program had been a visit to the Teotihuacan Pyramids with local friends who had picked us up by car and taken us to the site one hour away from the city. We had arrived there around midday to an almost empty parking lot. Due to Covid restrictions, tourist activity had dropped drastically. For the next couple hours, we had explored the ruins, listening as our friend told us anecdotes about the ancient city and described the meanings behind the two main edifices: the Pyramid of the Sun and the Pyramid of the Moon. They are both impressive constructions and I had tried to imagine a civilization living here centuries ago. Though not the original Teotihuacans, the Aztecs had glorified the site and had claimed it was the birthplace of the Gods and of the Universe. As we had walked on, I had noticed that even the small walls and stoops had been intricately built. Small black pebbles lined the mud and clay that glue together the various jagged, rust-colored rocks, creating a vibrant maze-like effect. It had been a pleasant daytrip away from the city, but as the heat had picked up, we had decided to take refuge in the air-conditioned car once again and drive back. We had spent the rest of the afternoon lazing on the sundeck at our friends’ house in the suburbs of Mexico City, tasting their generously prepared home-made pork belly tacos and guacamole.
Later that day we had had dinner at Pujol, one of the world’s most renowned restaurants. It comes as no surprise that Pujol has made its mark on international gastronomy, both in terms of attentive service and exquisite cuisine. MM and I had dressed up for the occasion – him in a white shirt and beige chinos, me in a white caped blazer and matching pants– and had strolled up to the entrance with brio. A hostess had welcomed us and shown us to our table on a dimly lit terrasse under a wooden gridded roof, surrounded by greenery. The entire setting had reminded me distantly of a serene Japanese garden.
It had been in this romantic scenery that we had enjoyed Chef Enrique Olvera’s 7-course tasting menu that had wed indigenous Mexican flavors with unconventional pairings on our palettes. A steaming pot of baby corn dipped in coffee mayonnaise had commenced the dinner and had swiftly been followed with dishes resembling artwork: an amberjack ceviche with radish, asparagus, fermented cucumber and star-shaped cactus in a leche de tigre juice that fused the ingredients together into a masterpiece of green watercolors; a bed of crab tartare adorned with edible lilac flowers; seared octopus curled around sliced pickled carrots and sweet potato puree; a plate of two moles, one aged and one young, to be eaten, simply with a spoon, so that each could tell its tale. One by one, each course graced us with vivid colors and complex tastes that unfolded layer by layer on our tongues. The mole madre had been sweet with tinges of spice, leaving a smoky after-taste. The ceviche had been citrusy but melted away in our mouths like butter. Every dish had had its own unpredictable play on flavors and by the time the final spiral of cinnamon coated churros had arrived, Mystery Man and I had savored our way through two hours of culinary discoveries.
The restaurant had been full but not rowdy. A soft hum of dinner talks that had hovered in the air.
Day 7
The two and a half days in Mexico City had definitely been a tight schedule. I would say an extra day would have been good. But we had made the most of it, and since our flight back to Tulum had been around 8pm, we had still had an entire day to tourist. So, we had decided on a Hop On Hop Off tour of the city. After picking up some smoothies at a local Condesa juice bar, Mystery Man and I had hurried to the nearest stop by Chapultepec Park, to Hop On our tour bus. The best decision yet. Within four short hours, we had discovered the main cultural sites and observed the bustling daily life of the buzzing city, even hopping off at the impressive Constitution Square to flash a few pics. Before Ubering to the airport, we had made a quick stop for a late lunch at El Tizoncito, where we had sat down at a street-side table and ordered half a dozen Tacos al Pastor. We had watched the taquero in his craft, expertly chopping away at the pork, flicking the pineapple and onion deftly onto the tacos - an artist in his own way. The tacos had been served with lime and pico de gallo. Simply delicious.
The flight back had been standard, nothing extraordinary to report apart from the particularly late arrival back in Tulum at around 10pm, by which time we had been hungry again, and Bonita Burgers - the hip, laid-back burger joint at the outskirts of Tulum town - had seemed like the perfect stop before checking in to the hotel. Their menu offers a variety of mean burgers with special twists like their fish and coconut patty or their chipotle and peanut butter salsa, which I had bravely gone for. The burgers had arrived hot and juicy with a side of fries, and whilst MM had devoured his BBQ beefburger with no regrets, Flavia, once again, relived a life lesson that sometimes you just need to keep things simple.
Day 8
And then, we had checked in, in the darkness, discovered our beach-side casita with a new spurt of excitement before falling into a deep and wonderous sleep on our luscious king-size bed.
It’s starting to get windier now, and as my hammock is marred by shade, I’m beginning to feel the familiar prickle of goosebumps forming on my arms. I pick up my book, slide my feet into my flipflops and head inside. I don’t know if the coast is always so windy, but it’s been like this since our arrival. A powerful gale sweeping over the beaches, tying knots in my hair and tugging mulishly on the linen curtains as I push the sliding door closed. Mystery man is already waiting for me inside, car keys in one hand, his wallet in the other. We’re heading out for brunch at Raw Love Beach this morning, supposedly one of Tulum’s most iconic brunch spots.
When we get there, it doesn’t take long to understand why it’s such a landmark. There seems to be the beginning of a small line of ten people or so, queuing at the entrance. Just ahead of them, a gigantic wooden sculpture of a woman looms. She’s holding her chest open with her enormous hands to reveal a tunnel - the entrance - wreathed with green plants and leaves, that seem to be breathing and living, as though the woman herself were alive. Next to the sculpture, and small in comparison, hanging from the branch of a tree, is a wooden sign that reads: “Raw Love café”. The statue is beautiful and that’s when I realize. The line isn’t to get in. The line is just to get the picture. But I’m not judging, because when Mystery Man comes back from parking the car, he joins me in line while I await my turn to pose in front of the statue.
Once we’ve gotten our pictures, there’s no waiting to get in. We stroll right through the entrance and all the way down to the straw-roofed cabana on the beach. Their menu is extensive, with a large selection of organic, gluten and dairy free smoothie bowls like the Chocolate Dream and Maca-Vanilla Milkshake. All of them, of course, topped with fresh fruit. We pay for our bowls and juices (it’s cash only) and pick a low wooden table with chairs to sit down and eat. I wriggle my toes into the sand and squint out towards the water. It’s still slightly windy but the air is warm. If you want to know it feels like, have a listen to Laberintos by Dead Mar I… you’ll see what I mean.
***
After brunch we drive up to the Coba ruins, which are the last cultural site we have planned for the trip. We pay the entrance fee and start following the signage towards the ruins into a forest. After a brief walk, the path leads us into a clearing, where a group of local men standing amongst bikes and quadricycles smile at us and begin calling out if we need a ride. Whilst the street sellers at Chichen Itza had tried to sell knickknacks and memorabilia, these sellers are capitalizing on their own sweat and muscles. The proposition sounds tempting. Unfortunately, MM and I had left most of our cash in the car, not thinking we would be spending any once we had paid the entrance fee. Luckily for us, we agree on a cheaper, one-way ride with our new tour guide after which we would make our way back on foot. We sit down on the bench attached to the front of the quadricycle and feel ourselves jump forward as our guide starts stomping on the pedals. His breathing is heavy, but he seems to be managing just fine, and overall, the ride is fun. From time to time, he provides us explanations on certain sites and ruins, and even makes some pit stops for photos and exploration. It’s pleasant being in the shadows of the trees which makes the sightseeing much more enjoyable. Back at the entrance, we bid our guide farewell with a bottle of cold Coke and start driving back to the hotel.
We’re having dinner at Kitchen Table tonight. The place reminds me vaguely of Hartwood, which, so far, has been my favorite dining experience here. When you enter the restaurant, you feel like you’re entering the jungle. Wooden tables are set under tropical trees around what looks like an open cabana house with stone pillars and, like Hartwood, a fiery kitchen. Mystery man and I are seated at a table close to the grill, so I have an excellent view onto the chefs maneuvering expertly from chopping boards to frying pans. The mix of wood and stone in the décor creates a warm and rustic atmosphere, drawing the attention to the bustling in the kitchen, and by extension I imagine, the food. Their menu is sourced entirely from local and fresh produce, and the waiter is helpful in recommending us a selection of dishes that work well together, starting with their bestseller, the grilled salad. It sounds like an oxymoron but trust me when I say that the grilled salad is my favorite. The smokiness works so unexpectedly well with the greens, fruit, and cheese on the platter. The cocktails too, fire up our taste buds, and walking back to the car, we agree that Kitchen Table comes a close second after Hartwood on our list.
Day 9
Day nine. And one, last, mesmerizing day on the riviera of the Caribbean Sea. The morning is treating us with dazzling sunlight and a splendid azure sky, whilst the softest of breezes is still gracing the beach with a gentle blow. MM and I had decided we would make it the most Tulum-esque day, starting with a barefoot run in the sand, brunch and yoga. Does it get more Tulum than that?
Running in the sand is never easy, but it gets increasingly harder as the sun picks up its heat and we reach our fourth lap along the length of the hotel’s beach. Still, it’s great to feel my bare feet push off from the ground, and after a cold shower and fresh clothes, we feel rejuvenated walking towards the beach bar where breakfast is served every morning. They have an à-la-carte menu included in the room rate, where you can choose between different options as part of their breakfast formula, including fruit platters, avocado bagels, chia pudding and granola. MM and I decide to order some additional sides as well as fresh juices that are off the menu, which, the waiter informs us, will be charged as extras to our room. Our table is quickly filled with plates of egg, buns, fruit and pastries. A nutritious breakfast, and a welcome one, after our run. We tuck in, observing our surroundings, and watching as more people sit down at the tables around us, decked out in full gypsy-luxe with fringe summer dresses, crochet bikinis and straw hats.
Time trickles by and soon we’re picking off the last slices of kiwi from our plates. When we receive the check for signature, we notice that a total of 40 dollars has been charged. That’s as much as we had paid the day before for two full fresh smoothie bowls and drinks. As breakfast is included in our room rate, it seems excessive for extras. But at closer inspection, they haven’t charged us with anything unusual: the fresh detox juices are ten dollars apiece, and the extra eggs and avocado toast we ordered apparently add up to the rest. Feeling cheated, we sign the paper, leave a tip, and walk back to our room.
Two hours later, MM and I are both in a semi-squat, our arms above our heads like a candle, and beads of sweat dripping from our foreheads. We copy the young woman in front of us as she brings her palms down to her heart and twists to the side, still in a squat, to place her interlinked hands on her right hip. It’s by far not the hardest position she’s made us do, but at this point, the burning in my legs and arms won’t waver. I’ve never done yoga for more than rest-day recuperation, or else a post-run stretch. But it’s no wonder Tulum is known for its retreats. This class is a full-on workout. We’re a group of around 10, in a space that reminds me of a tent for its giant triangular straw roof that’s open on both sides. In front of us, the sea is endlessly blue and soundless, and I use it as an anchor to find my balance. We hold a few more poses before lying on our backs, breathing deeply, and calling it a day. Namaste.
I almost fall asleep lying on my yoga mat. When we leave, my legs and arms feel drowsy. We don’t have anything planned for the day apart from lounging by the beach with the sounds of soft electro lulling us to sleep. Later that afternoon, we decide to get some bikes and cycle down the Tulum beach road. Given the price of our hotel room, I would have expected the bikes to be complementary, but it seems nothing comes for free here, not breakfast, not even sustainable transport, and so we pay the 16 dollars per bike, nearly expecting the receptionist to stretch her hand out for a tip. Luckily for her, she doesn’t. And so off we go, stomping on our pedals and spinning along the dusty pitted road of Tulum beach. It’s loaded with various shops ranging from ice scream stands, bohemian clothes brands, and concept stores. We stop at a couple and stock up on some snacks at the local grocery shop.
For dinner we sit at a table on the beach, our feet wriggled into the sand. Posada Margerita is a romantic Italian restaurant known for its home-made pasta and pizzas, which for us, is a refreshing change from the extensive taco tastings over the last week. We opt for the pesto linguine and the simple but classic Pizza Margerita that we share in the candlelight, under a pitch-black sky and glistening stars.
Day 10
Staying true to itself, Tulum is exceptionally windy as we wake up on our last day. Our flight is later in the evening, so we spend the morning packing our suitcases before getting breakfast and going to the beach.
What I have not written about yet, but something that is an integral part of Tulum, and even more so of Mexico City, is the blatant poverty that greets you daily. It greets you as street children, coming to beg while you’re having dinner at the popular taqueria in town; as the two homeless men you spot early in the morning from your Condesa balcony, climbing out of the pothole next to the highway whilst you’re sipping on your fresh juice; as the immense lengths of slums on the outskirts of Mexico City as you’re driving to the Teotihuacan Pyramids in your airconditioned car. It’s saddening to see. It seems undefeatable. Of course, the glamour of Tulum is fabulous and if you spend the entire day at the beach club you won’t come across these experiences as much. But don’t be fooled, with every light comes a shadow, and this one is particularly heart wrenching.
Our time here has come to an end. I’m sitting in my usual shaded hammock spot, just a few moments before checking out. Random snippets of our stay are flashing through my mind as I reminisce on the past ten days. Yes, Tulum is definitely fun. Waking up and going for a fresh acai bowl after your morning yoga, lounging at the beach club all afternoon and ordering spicy shrimp tacos and piña coladas. Going out for luscious dinners and punchy cocktails. Staying out late dancing on tables with other young bohemian chic socialites. A utopian escape. But it can also be so much more than that. Mexico is replete with culture and tradition. Its history, as we quickly discovered during our road trips across the country, holds an immense depth and richness that is waiting to be unearthed, if only you are willing to jump into a car and get driving. We’ve made the most of it, I think. Now it’s your turn Tulum yourself.