I woke up in Tulum, Mexico today jet lagged as sin, to the sounds of birds chirping above me, in a house with a few palm leaves strewn together into a roof. Somehow it keeps the rain out even though I can stick my fingers through it. I booked the ticket to Cancun two days ago, from a friend's apartment in Lyon, France. It was criminally cold there, and the Yucatan heat feels accosting but good.
I like it here. This part of Tulum is still separate from the overwrought eco-chic resorts and white-washed bars and restaurants on the "strip." It's quiet and the bay is calm and Luis comes by to open coconuts, and we eat soft-scrambled eggs and tortillas together. Nearby there's a cafe called Chimico's where a couple guys fry the fish they catch every morning in a deep pot over a fire. It's that kind of sexy, carnal food that reminds you you're human, the sound of fish flesh hitting golden oil, coals crackling, water lapping onto the sand.
In town, near the bus stop that takes you to Cancun, there's a taco stand that's casually serving the best food I've ever tasted: slow-cooked pork marinated in citrus, spices, and annatto seed. It's called cochinita pibil and at Taqueria Don Beto, it's served on fresh-pressed corn tortillas with bowls of pickled onions, hot salsa, and loose guacamole. They're 8 pesos each and genuinely transformative - go there.