Playa del Carmen
Time to move out. Having a hot shower sure was nice, but my mom went back to NY, and we moved on to Playa del Carmen.
Formerly a small fishing village, Playa, as many now call it, has unfortunately lost its small-town charm, and now was, in my opinion, just a beach town with all a tourist might need, like a nudist beach (which I took my time enjoying) and an extensive pedestrian street with endless restaurants and shops where prices are in USD. In one such shop we found the most exquisite examples of Oaxacan crafts (under the cut), but buying them there would burn a crater in our pockets, so I just might try finding the artist when we get back to Oaxaca. (BTW, if you see something in my photo-collection of crafts that you would like to have, we could arrange something :)
To be completely honest, we had another reason for stopping in Playa. GreenGo was leaking oil really badly, and had to be taken to the doctor. A guy in our hostel recommended a mechanic, and first thing in the morning we left GreenGo at the garage for repair. As we were walking back to the hostel, we passed by a barber. "I could use a haircut," said Shurik tagging at his hair that was really not as bad as he sometimes lets it get, but a somewhat wild looking nonetheless, and we made a sharp turn into the shop where the barber Ricardo, aka Rayo (lightning) to his friends, who was Shurik's age, after a quick conversation and cut, invited us to go snorkeling with him on Wednesday. "I have a spear-gun. Let's meet here at ten in the morning," he said. It was his shop, and apparently on Wednesday there usually were not too many customers, so it was a date.
Ten in the morning, we were there. Not feeling the mingling vibe from the people in the hostel, and unable to find a good snorkeling spot by ourselves, we were looking forward to this. We met at the shop. "You are very punctual," mumbled Ricardo, whom I awaken from a nap, with a smile, and we drove to his house for his equipment. Fortunately, when he was getting it, Ricardo was sorry to inform us the spear-gun has rusted and was no longer functional. It was good news to me; I was not enjoying the thought of him killing something.
As customary in Mexico, Ricardo was moving slowly. He ate, he drank, he changed into his bathing suit, all the while talking to us, and we got a glimpse of his life. His house wasn't big; it was a 4x4 meter cement box with unpainted walls that had poorly framed pictures on it. There was an electric two-burner stove, an extensive home entertainment system, a baby crib for his one and a half year old and hanging across the room were two hammocks - a brown, and a green one. "My wife and oldest daughter (six year old) sleep in one, and I sleep in the other" Ricardo explained. It turned out the barbershop was not Ricardo's only source of income. He was collecting rent on the two houses he built on his land that, though just exactly the same size as his, had painted walls, a tile floor, and there were showers and flushing toilets. None of these features were in Ricardo's own home. His family bathed outside, under the hose, or in a basin in the washroom, which was the second room of the house and though had a toilet, would flush only by dropping a bucket of water into it. He told us his wife doesn’t like the house and wants only expensive designer shoes. "Does she work?" I inquired. "She works for me," Ricardo answered in a macho tone with a smile. "For the New Year, I'll paint the walls and put in a shower. And if not for this one, then for the next one, and for this New Year we'll have only new clothes. That's the custom." Despite it all, Ricardo himself didn't have any complaints. Well may be just one - apparently his mother was not as fond of him as of her other eight sons, and doesn't come to visit his home.
All in all, we were having an interesting time getting this inside glance, but Ricardo's wife came back home from bringing lunch to his older daughter at school, and we left for the beach - where at the reef the currents were strong, the corals purple, and the turtles fast, but not fast enough.
Two hours in the salty water and I was done. The sun was baking, and even though I was very generous earlier with applying sunscreen, I feared a burn that will leave me unable to sit for the next few days. "Cansada?" asked Ricardo seeing my face that now would get green every time I stuck it out onto the surface and see the waves. "Yeah, tired," I replied spitting out sea water so the three of us headed out, and back to Ricardo's house where we drank beer by the liter and talked about life, travel, nd what a person needs to be happy.
Oaxacan Crafts
(click on the photo to see more)
Formerly a small fishing village, Playa, as many now call it, has unfortunately lost its small-town charm, and now was, in my opinion, just a beach town with all a tourist might need, like a nudist beach (which I took my time enjoying) and an extensive pedestrian street with endless restaurants and shops where prices are in USD. In one such shop we found the most exquisite examples of Oaxacan crafts (under the cut), but buying them there would burn a crater in our pockets, so I just might try finding the artist when we get back to Oaxaca. (BTW, if you see something in my photo-collection of crafts that you would like to have, we could arrange something :)
To be completely honest, we had another reason for stopping in Playa. GreenGo was leaking oil really badly, and had to be taken to the doctor. A guy in our hostel recommended a mechanic, and first thing in the morning we left GreenGo at the garage for repair. As we were walking back to the hostel, we passed by a barber. "I could use a haircut," said Shurik tagging at his hair that was really not as bad as he sometimes lets it get, but a somewhat wild looking nonetheless, and we made a sharp turn into the shop where the barber Ricardo, aka Rayo (lightning) to his friends, who was Shurik's age, after a quick conversation and cut, invited us to go snorkeling with him on Wednesday. "I have a spear-gun. Let's meet here at ten in the morning," he said. It was his shop, and apparently on Wednesday there usually were not too many customers, so it was a date.
Ten in the morning, we were there. Not feeling the mingling vibe from the people in the hostel, and unable to find a good snorkeling spot by ourselves, we were looking forward to this. We met at the shop. "You are very punctual," mumbled Ricardo, whom I awaken from a nap, with a smile, and we drove to his house for his equipment. Fortunately, when he was getting it, Ricardo was sorry to inform us the spear-gun has rusted and was no longer functional. It was good news to me; I was not enjoying the thought of him killing something.
As customary in Mexico, Ricardo was moving slowly. He ate, he drank, he changed into his bathing suit, all the while talking to us, and we got a glimpse of his life. His house wasn't big; it was a 4x4 meter cement box with unpainted walls that had poorly framed pictures on it. There was an electric two-burner stove, an extensive home entertainment system, a baby crib for his one and a half year old and hanging across the room were two hammocks - a brown, and a green one. "My wife and oldest daughter (six year old) sleep in one, and I sleep in the other" Ricardo explained. It turned out the barbershop was not Ricardo's only source of income. He was collecting rent on the two houses he built on his land that, though just exactly the same size as his, had painted walls, a tile floor, and there were showers and flushing toilets. None of these features were in Ricardo's own home. His family bathed outside, under the hose, or in a basin in the washroom, which was the second room of the house and though had a toilet, would flush only by dropping a bucket of water into it. He told us his wife doesn’t like the house and wants only expensive designer shoes. "Does she work?" I inquired. "She works for me," Ricardo answered in a macho tone with a smile. "For the New Year, I'll paint the walls and put in a shower. And if not for this one, then for the next one, and for this New Year we'll have only new clothes. That's the custom." Despite it all, Ricardo himself didn't have any complaints. Well may be just one - apparently his mother was not as fond of him as of her other eight sons, and doesn't come to visit his home.
All in all, we were having an interesting time getting this inside glance, but Ricardo's wife came back home from bringing lunch to his older daughter at school, and we left for the beach - where at the reef the currents were strong, the corals purple, and the turtles fast, but not fast enough.
Two hours in the salty water and I was done. The sun was baking, and even though I was very generous earlier with applying sunscreen, I feared a burn that will leave me unable to sit for the next few days. "Cansada?" asked Ricardo seeing my face that now would get green every time I stuck it out onto the surface and see the waves. "Yeah, tired," I replied spitting out sea water so the three of us headed out, and back to Ricardo's house where we drank beer by the liter and talked about life, travel, nd what a person needs to be happy.
Oaxacan Crafts
(click on the photo to see more)