Escape to Mexico Part 3: Papacito, Playa Norte and the Mariachi Band

Carrying on from part 2, we had just been lured in by the jolly tequila salesman. I do not remember his name, he asked us to refer to him as Papacito. This seemed a strange mix of fatherly intention and inappropriate undertones, as of course I know that papito means “daddy” in Spanish. He plied us with shot after shot of tequila samples. Mango flavoured, coconut, traditional, then mezcal, a different spirit, also agave based. He convinced us to get a small bottle each throwing in a shot glass for free since we both bought some ridiculously overpriced cigarettes because they were in a pink box and we were feeling impulsive. The cigarettes weren’t pink themselves to L’s great disappointment.

We asked for directions to one of the island’s best beaches (Playa Norte) and headed down the road. Definitely a touristy area with plenty of bars and restaurants lined with stunningly aquamarine waters and more spotless white sand except this beach was packed. A daybed was only £20 so this seemed a good spot to park ourselves for the moment. We hadn’t really prepared for the beach, had brought no books and not many supplies. Still, we could get some sunbathing in, cocktails as well as a swim, soak in the atmosphere. The water was the clearest I’d ever seen and the entire beach filled with an atmosphere of joy.

The water was cordoned off as there were loads of boats further out. The vibe of the beach felt very cinematic. The calm water didn’t go super deep making for easy and relaxed swimming. Having splashed about enough, I headed back whilst L remained in the water. I was content to people watch, soaking in the sun as I observed her making a friend. An older man who looked somewhat like a pirate. He walked back with her and we all became acquainted. Ironically, I now forget his name. but as L and I joked, he certainly couldn’t. He had his own name tattooed on his neck.

Our new friend was an Italian nomad that had travelled around the world working as a tour guide. He’d lived and worked in Brazil for a time and we managed a simple conversation in my broken Portuguese. He had an abundance of jewellery and his baked brown body was covered in tattoos. He appeared to be in his late 40s and we politely declined when he awkwardly offered his hotel room for the evening. Rescue came as a group of American boys closer to our age, walking up the beach. One of the friends quipped, “you’re going to be famous”. We smiled in their direction and they walked over to us.

“Famous for what?” L asked. Apparently one of the boys was involved with the space program. They were a jovial bunch, here on a stag do. One member of the group, who I will refer to as the firefighter, took a particular interest in L. I spoke to the other boys but the timing was less than ideal. The sun was beating down on me and I felt exhausted, with low energy, I told them I was just going to go pay for my drink at the bar where I knew I could catch some shade and refresh myself but fear I came across standoffish. When I turned, the rest of the group was gone. Firefighter and L joined me at the bar and we all took a tequila shot before walking the beach together a while. I walked on ahead for a swim, giving L and firefighter a bit of time alone. He then rejoined his friends and we headed back.

L and I retraced our steps, putting together what we remembered of the streets. Eventually we came back to where we arrived and queued up to get the ferry back. I cast one last look on the island as we cut back across the ocean, the sun dipping low and setting the water alight.

Neither L or I had any credit left for internet on our phones to order an uber back to the Airbnb so we were forced to ask around the taxi vendors stationed outside the ferry port. They were naturally expensive. L and I said we wouldn’t go above 200 pesos. A man ran back to us at last as we were about to walk down farther and he said he’d found someone. We rejoiced. Until we got in.

The car in question boasted no working seat belts, a driver with very little English and hugely erratic driving. He was asking us to navigate, but we had no signal, we asked for his phone sat nav, which then showed the directions, but still he looked to us for guidance. This was worrying as he kept looking back at us and fiddling with his phone even though it was announcing the directions in Spanish. Swerving featured in the journey and as the roads became familiar, we were thoroughly relieved to finally arrive.

Returning to the room, that had quickly begun to feel homely, we prepared for our first proper evening in Cancun. L wanted to go to La Parilla, a local restaurant that had good ratings and reviews with the intention of going out. I had a headache coming on and wasn’t necessarily in the mood but agreed to see where the night would take us.

The restaurant was not overly full but brightly and traditionally decorated. We were entertained upon arrival by seeing something I'd only ever seen in movies and so stereotypically Mexican. A live mariachi band in full finery entertaining a family a few tables down. It certainly created an atmosphere of revelry.

Instead of bread for the table to start, what would soon come to be a staple of anywhere serving the local cuisine, we were started off with nachos that came with some guacamole, hot sauce and sour cream on the side, plus lemon. The food was fairly priced, but even more so, the King Margaritas we each ordered. One drink in the largest glass I’d ever seen. The food was decent, I went for a tasty fajita whilst L got a burrito. The margarita (which probably consisted of several in that giant glass) was getting me in the mood to continue the night but L and I seemed to switch over as the meal progressed. By the end she was the one with the pounding headache but it was abundantly clear why.

The mariachi band was entertaining the first time we heard it, but they were doing the rounds, playing the same kind of songs that melted together into the one adjective of ‘loud’. By the second, fourth or sixth time they played without respite, the music had lost its charm. The constant shouting to be heard would have given anyone a headache. I was still glad to experience something authentic as there did seem to be a lot of locals there. L rated it a 6 out of 10, decent food and drinks but the aircon made it too freezing to be comfortable and the band, whilst entertaining initially, did somewhat kill the vibe by the end. So back to the room we headed. What adventures would our final full day in Cancun bring?

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Stay tuned and follow along to find out what happened when we went to Coco Bongo in Part 4. Any hearts appreciated if you're enjoying my journey so far. Don't hesitate to let me know your thoughts in the comments as well as anything else you might like to see written about!

Parts 1-2 if you missed them:

• Escape to Mexico: Part 1- The Curse to be Lifted
• Escape to Mexico: Part 2- Casa Nomis and Isla Mujeres