Friday part 2, The Brits

So far I have explored and experienced this place alone, pausing to chat for a minute or two with folks who approach me, but mostly limiting my communication to ordering or asking directions.  Tonight I think it might be nice to talk to someone, perhaps some tourists who have more expertise than me or some locals who will indulge my attempts at Spanish.  There are maybe eight or ten restaurants in Tulum Playa (tourist Tulum), all outdoors, some of which are slightly upscale but all of which you can walk into in flip-flops and have a drink. There is one that is always hopping, day and night, tables full of tourist groups carrying on and a small bar where a few folks might sit drinking beer.  There is another nice little place up the street that is always quiet where the proprietress speaks fluent English and Spanish and the two servers are very friendly and will probably have time to chat if I attempt conversation.  I will stop in both places and see what happens.

First I sit for a bit in my home restaurant at Cabanas Copal.  There are never too many people in the restaurant but it is a wonderful place.  It adjoins the reception area so that the whole thing is a sort of open-air lobby under two large thatched roofs.  People are passing through on their way to and from outside actives and sometimes new folks arrive and are showed to their cabanas.  At night the artificial light is so tasteful that I can forget what year it is and choose to imagine that I am a character in some Hemingway story, traveling through a place that is rough and rugged but can also be accommodating, and where you can always find a drink.  People come in off the hot and dusty road, some from long journeys, have a drink and talk to each other or the bartender about the next day’s activities, and retire to their cabanas.  It’s always rather quiet and when someone sits up at the bar, on one of four swing-seats suspended by ropes from the ceiling, you can hear their entire conversation.  There is always just one server who waits on tables and the bar, and one lady who stands by the register and does nothing.

The first stop on my social expedition is crowded as usual, full of groups carrying on drunkenly over bad Mexican pop music blasting from a stereo.  No one sits with me at the bar, and it is too loud to read or write with attention, so I quickly move on.  My next stop is quiet and pleasant as I expect.  The man behind the grill and the proprietress both indulge my attempts at Spanish and the proprietress even gives me a few pointers.  We talk about the beautiful garden in the back of the property and the small hotel of four rooms, which she hopes to expand.  They serve only one type of beer, and I order one along with an octopus tapas.  There are only two other people sitting in the restaurant, a pair of British ladies also eating tapas and drinking beer.  They are apparently rather social creatures, and quickly strike up a conversation.

The Brits are Sam and Debbie, and they do a great deal of traveling together.  They have just arrived in Tulum, having flown into Cancun a few days prior, and find it quite lovely.  Last night they stayed in Playa del Carmen (about halfway between Cancun and Tulum) and did not particularly care for it.  “Packaged” is the word they repeatedly use to describe both Cancun and Playa del Carmen.  It is a well chosen word.  (A more cynical and less descriptive traveler might call these places hellish, if that traveler were particularly averse to loud obnoxious American tourists parading around drunkenly.)  Once they worked together at a refuge for battered women and children.  Debbie was promoted to be in charge of a particular shelter in Manchester, where she now lives, and Sam got a new job in Brighton, combating blindness in third-world countries.  Their travel alliance has endured, and they tell stories of adventures in Thailand, India, Morocco, and all over Europe.  For ladies who work full time, they certainly do get around.  In Britain, they explain, they are afforded six weeks vacation per year, and they are sorry for working Americans who only get two.  (I explain that I take as much vacation time as I want, whenever I want, limited by what I can afford financially.  They are not as impressed as I want them to be.)

Both the Brits are single without kids, and older than me (nearing forty, perhaps?).  Debbie seems the older of the two, but I would not be surprised if this is not the case.  It is partly her personality that makes it seem this way.  She squints and frowns when she is trying to think or understand something.  She talks less and thinks more than Sam, who is more the free spirit of the pair.  Sam is more likely to abruptly introduce a new topic of conversation, and also more likely to take charge of a situation.  Overall, though, they are more similar than different.  Both are very intelligent, proactive, and seem to be on the lookout for a good time.  Both are more naturally social than I am, and both capable of a pretty sharp joke now and then.

As we finish our tapas, the Brits invite me to join them in checking out some live music that is happening at a beachfront bar down the street.  The bar is removed from the street by a passageway that opens up to a patio overlooking the beach, so that I had failed to notice it earlier while wandering the street.  The Brits are nosier than I (in the most endearing sense) and sniffed it out immediately upon their arrival in town.  The band turns out to be playing their last song as we arrive (Tulum Playa shuts down around 11), but the Brits have nonetheless correctly identified the best party.  The mood here is festive, but the scene much more tasteful than the other happening bar I visited earlier (which we nickname “the Load Bar”).  The clientele spans a broad range of nationalities, which somehow legitimizes the experience for me, foolish as that may be.  We are able to have a couple beers each before the place closes down.

Their hotel is just a few doors down in the thick of Tulum Playa.  (They read about the eco-resorts like mine but its not their speed, really.  “That’s all well and good, but we need to charge our iPhones.”)  I bid them good-night and suggest that we have dinner again some night.  They suggest tomorrow and I am happy to agree, but as I walk home I wonder if I’ve made a mistake.  The Brits are great company for sure, but I want to keep a lot of my time here for myself.  Quiet alone-time is my main goal on this trip.  Meeting people is great, but I don’t need drinking buddies; I have plenty of those at home.  In any case, I figure, it’s just a question and not a problem.  Anything I choose to do here will probably be good; whether it’s the best possible option isn’t work losing sleep over.

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