Taqueria

While I was on vacation I ate some incredible food. I had an octopus cocktail, capressi salad, and a Mexican filet mignon, but my most memorable meal was at a small taqueria 15 feet off of highway 307 between Playa del Carmen and Tulum.

It was mid afternoon, and I was there with a group of 4 couples and our driver, Daniel. We had spent the morning at Tulum, where we looked at Mayan ruins, and the early afternoon at an out of the way beach ravaged by a recent hurricane into a beachcomber’s paradise. At this beach we found hundreds of conch shells and vast amounts of coral. After such a long and eventful morning and afternoon, we were very hungry. Daniel loaded us in the van and took us to a restaurant that he liked. It was closed, so he took us to another one. It was also closed. In fact, every restaurant that we came to had been shut down because of the same hurricane that made our beachcombing so productive.

Finally, we saw a small taqueria just off of the highway. We asked our driver if we could eat there. He looked surprised at our choice but said weakly, “sure.”

Daniel made a u-turn and pulled the van up next to the taqueria. 10 feet to the left of the taco stand there was a small ravine that opened up away from the stand. The ravine was filled with boxes, an old toilet seat and parts of bicycles. A small awning projected out from a concrete and metal shed and covered the eating area. Under the awning, there were several small tables overlooking the small ravine. Beside the tables was a long bar filled with 10 to 12 large brown ceramic bowls covered with plastic cling wrap.

Various sauces and soups and stews filled each of the large bowls on the bar. Behind the bar were 3 people. An older lady slight of frame with graying temples ran a tortilla press and passed off her production to a small teenage boy. The boy then fried the tortillas on a large griddle. When fried to perfection the boy passed the tortillas on to a 30 something woman with confident eyes who filled our tortillas with our choice of goodies from the brown bowls. To the right of the all of this was a small parking area that stretched past the stand and down a small hill to the shed that supported the awning which covered our tables.

I had 4 tacos that afternoon. I picked several items from the brown bowls, but I had no idea what any of it was, but it was all delicious and spicy. My drink was a glass of a wonderful white beverage. I wish I could remember it’s name, but I don’t. Our entire crew ate as many tacos as we could while 60 mile per hour traffic zoomed past us 15 feet away. Soon, however, I had to use the restroom. Little did I know that using the restroom was going to be the most memorable part of my lunch.

To get to the restroom, I had to go to the right of the stand, through the small parking area, down the hill and back around to shed that supported the awning. This shed had a large galvanized sliding door covering most of the entrance. The door was open just enough for me to walk in. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I noticed a middle aged man wearing old running shorts and a stained t-shirt sleeping in a hammock suspended between two large posts jutting up through the gray concrete floor. A small dog was tied to the post closest to the center of the room.

I felt like I had encroached upon a personal space and thought seriously about making a quiet retreat. I spent several seconds hesitating, until I realized that I was a guest. Emboldened, I charted a path through the family’s belongings, past the dog, around the man in the hammock, to the restroom at the back of the room. When I reached my destination, I quietly opened a plywood door and went inside.

The restroom itself was more of a stall. It was painted completely white, even the exposed pipes, and most of it was filled by a giant cistern. As I stood there I heard a noise. It was the sound of Spanish television mixed with the laughter of children playing. It was coming through the wall separating the restroom from the family’s living quarters. I almost panicked when I realized that the only thing between my business and their playtime was a ¼ inch sheet of plywood. I realized that if I could hear them then they would be able to hear me. Nervously, I made every effort to do my business as quietly as possible, hoping that I would not be detected, praying that there were no holes in the thin plywood. Almost mercifully, I did not have to worry about the sound of the flush because the toilet was broken.

When I was done I opened the door and saw that the man had switched positions. He now had one foot on the concrete which he used to gently rock the hammock in a sleepy, steady rhythm. The dog was lying on the concrete with hits head on its paws. Only its eyes followed me as I retraced my earlier path out of the shed. When I got back to the tables everyone was looking at me. It took me a while to figure out what was going on. It turns out that while I had been gulping down my tacos several other members of our party had already made their trip to the restroom.

One of them asked, “Interesting?”

To which I replied, “Absolutely.”

I am not sure why, but on our way back to the hotel, the restroom at the taqueria occupied more of our conversation than Tulum or the beach. The only thing I can figure is that during our entire stay in Playa del Carmen, no other incident made us feel more like we were in a foreign country.