We left the beach shores and headed to Valladolid, a pittoresque small town one hour drive from Tulum.
We arrive at central square, surrounded by colonial buildings and feels like landing directly into genuine Mexican life, with colored dressed people and a Mexican food smell that pulls us quickly in the closest hacienda style restaurant.
Filippo has an ardent love affair with chicken quesadilla. Every time he sees it there’s an infinite joy that goes from the eyes to the tiny inpatient hands and lasts until the last bit (arguing over the last bit). Mexican food itself should be a destination in this country. I cannot help myself ordering and enjoying their way of cooking and mixing flavors. Two colored gazpacho and that addictive avocado guacamole are at least two that I’m gonna try at home, to prolong this fiesta of senses.
After the El Meson del Marques restaurant-carousel experience, we go on the tiny streets randomly, in search for some local architectural beauties. There’s poetry and color and it feels like a movie set.
There’s a particular beautiful colonial street that leads to a monastery. A part from its colonial beauty it is also particular as it is the only street in Valladolid with no shadow whatsoever at the time we find it. I have on one side twelve hours flight to see this amazing country, one hour taxi to arrive to a pittoresque colonial city and another strolling time on its streets to find THE street. On the other side there’s a pair of tiny feet going out from the baby trolley, belonging to someone who’s sleeping deep after a quesadilla overdose. That someone is my boss. And I cannot burn my boss feet right? We turn the trolley around and go away right at the entrance of the street. Filippo, if you’ll read my blog when you grow up you should know that the night breast feedings and yoga skipping are no sacrifices compared to the love of a baby. But turning away on the Calz de Los Frailes my love was heartbreaking and you owe me this trip back when you grow up.
We have taken from home a bag full of his clothes to give away to poor people, accompanied by sweets. What strikes us is that despite some degree of poverty there’s a kind of dignity and serenity in the air. So we’re just afraid to offend someone with our worn baby clothes gifts. We expected to encounter the Brazil or Zanzibar or Bali exuberance that pushed small children come by when seeing tourists, asking for anything.
Mexicans, young or old are just looking at you with dark and deep eyes, analysing you more that you manage to analyse them. The message is that life is fine the way it is, with savorous guacamole, orange sunsets and famous legends of the past. You can walk and stare at their unfolding beauties, sleep in haciendas and dive in blue waters. But life is so great the way it is. Hasta la raiz!