In the Wee Small Hours

I don't think Playa del Carmen ever sleeps. Even in the wee small hours of the morning there is activity around every turn. Out of the Coco Bongo, an exotic and highly popular nightclub, pours the young and foolish, strangers in the night and friends by morning. The barkeeps and security guards quietly wait for nothing at all, except the end of a long shift and the dawn of a new day.

Even at sunrise, touristas like me are wandering the streets and beach trying to capture the flavour of the hour and understand the difference between night and day.

I'm somewhat convinced that they have a mantra in Playa, whereby if you are a tourism employee, of any kind, when you make eye contact with a customer, you must engage them.

"Ola," smiles the waiter cleaning the floors from a long night of devil may care.

"Buenas dias!" murmers the security guard feelin' kinda Sunday.

We have noticed that the workers are mainly men, familiar, a friend of yours you just hadn't met yet.

In the wee small hours of the morning in Playa, the smells are of the night before, of spilled cerzeca and of the sea, caressing the beach relentlessly, night after night--always, a love song without words.

As the wind blows fresh over the water and on to the Mayan Riviera coast the feeling is too marvellous for words, a refreshing, crystallizing, luxuriating wash. You can't help but feel young at heart in a place that offers this kind of experience, day in, day out.

April 6, 2010 - weight and body fat% n/a

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