This week’s episode continues
to pay homage to masa harina, the ubiquitous white
maize flour in Central America. I was
shocked to find PAN brand Masa harina at my local independent supermarket, in a
small city 2hrs outside Sydney. Always expect the unexpected..
In 2016, I took a break from "normal life".
I had finished my specialty training in 2015 and was at a loose end.
Somehow, I received an opportune email advertising the
critical care fellowship at the University
of Toronto. To this day, I have no idea what drew me to this, but inside me a strong voice told me to apply for it. The upside of
the job was that I would have several months to
go travelling before it started. I decided on Central America because it seemed obscure and a good budget place to pass a few months.
I got a cheap flight to LA and a cheap one way flight to Cancun. I had no particular plans for when I arrived in Cancun. Little did I know, my trip had started along with thousands of spring break students from the US. By the time I landed in Cancun, I knew I had to run away from the throngs of excited 20-somethings wanting to get drunk.
I have a little game for times like this, called "where does the next bus/train go?" Incidentally the first bus out of Cancun went to Playa del Carmen, a party town that I hadn't even heard of. Arriving there a short time later, I was overwhelmed by the number of tourists and touts. So I used the same "where does the next bus go?" strategy, and the next bus brought me to Tulum.
Tulum is also super touristy, but the bus station was far away enough from town that I could not tell this at first sight. I wandered around aimlessly till I found a hostel, and collapsed into bed from heat and exhaustion. When I woke up, I was hungry and excited about the prospect of my first meal in Mexico. I asked the old lady at the tiny grocery store where to lunch, mimicking with my hands. I have no idea if I actually went to the place she intended, but I found a roadside shack with a few worn tables and brightly coloured plastic stools.
Soy vegetariana was the first phrase to come back to me from the Spanish I learned from a previous trip. Soon after, they brought me the first of countless tortillas I would eat over 3 months.
I always thought Mexican food was like what the West associates with it - corn chips, spicy mince, heaps of stringy cheese, bland tomato salsa.
Tacos in Mexico are a different thing altogether. Made from
finely ground corn flour, they are usually served fresh and still
warm from the griddle. I ate plenty of rubbery or hard tortillas too,
but the best ones were soft and pliable with the right amount of
chew. The topping was lined up along the middle of the tortilla, so
that it was easy to pick it up by the edges and hold it in the hand. Usual adornments were a simple wedge of lime to squeeze over, and a variety of hot sauces.
They sure love their hot sauce in Mexico!
After a few days in Tulum, I was sick of the noisy parties and drunk American college students stumbling around. I asked my friend whose brother travelled in Mexico extensively for a recommendation. He sent me an email saying
"Here is a list of places I enjoyed:
1. Bacalar lagoon"
A few days later he sent an email apologising for not finishing the list, but by then I had already decided to head there.
The bus took me to the outskirts of Bacalar, and it was a long 20 minute walk in the heat to the lagoon. The first glimpse of the lagoon was breath taking - an impossible shade of blue glimmering under the sun.
I stayed at a hostel right in front of the lagoon, the setting was beautiful but the hostel was awful. The bed was unbelievably dirty and uncomfortable, and I had to sleep in my sleeping bag liner. I shared a room with two German girls, who woke up screaming in the night because one of them was allegedly bitten by a rat. I say allegedly because we couldn't find the rat even with all our torches at 2am. I don't know where they went in the end but I stayed alone then in the smelly room, fitfully tossing in bed. In the morning, the toilets became blocked in the only bathroom and the stench was overwhelming. I was exhausted from the light rat-fearful sleep I had, and melancholic being a long way from home.
I resolved to move. The day before I had seen a nicer guesthouse nearby, with flowering trees in the huge yard and a full lagoon frontage. When I showed up to enquire about a room, the German owner said they were completely full. Maybe because I felt tired then, I must have looked super forlorn when he told me this. He offered me the little caravan, which was parked in the yard. I had to use the bathroom in the main house, but I loved being away from everyone and close to the water - it was just perfect for me!
The German owner, who had two lovely German shepherds (mother & son), had moved to Bacalar some years before when he met a local woman. They set up the guesthouse there and retired to the slow life.
"You are Australian!" He exclaimed when I presented him with my passport for registration. "It's so rare for us to have two Australian guests at the same time!"
After my walk around town that day, the guesthouse owner he waved me over and excitedly introduced me to a girl who was sitting quietly with a book. His vigorous introduction was somewhat awkward, as if two random Australians out of 25 million, meeting in a tiny town in Mexico was a celebratory event.
Meeting people on the road is such a whimsical thing. Sometimes you share just a few lines of conversation, sometimes you end up travelling together for a few days or even weeks. Everyone has a "social needs" quota, much like hunger or thirst. I learned through many years of solo travel to take it as it comes – sometimes there would be long periods of solitude, other times one would meet people very easily.
It’s strange now to think back to that time in 2016, when Sam and I first met in the Bacalar guesthouse. Her name was saved as "Sam Bacalar" in my phone for ages. It seems so obscure that any two people in the universe could meet, and we are all somehow connected by invisible strands. We have stayed in close touch ever since then – meeting up in Guatemala, Melbourne and Sydney.
Bacalar is a small sleepy town of 11,000 people. There’s no real “tourist attraction” other than the pretty lagoon. The crystal clear water had an unusual stripe of turquoise in the distance, signifying the shallow part where you can stand up (if you swim out that far!) It was a wonderful place to relax for a few days.
We wandered the few streets and bought fruit (somehow, a very important activity). Another day, we went for a kayak in the lagoon while her then partner took a swim across the lagoon to a small island.
We found a hipster cafe, because hipster cafes are now everywhere even in rural Mexico. We went there a few times, hanging out in the cool courtyard.
We ate this delicious chocolate mole, which consisted of 22 ingredients!
It’s hard to remember exactly how those days in Bacalar passed. When one leaves home, it's like going to another planet. I didn't care for the noisy parties of Tulum, but I loved the tranquility and easy languor of Bacalar. After a few days there, I felt the rhythm of travel returning to my bones...
Tortillas… in Newcastle
1 cup masa harina
1 cup water
Pinch of salt
Knead together to a rough dough, rest for 10 minutes then knead till smooth
Divide dough into small golf-ball sized balls
Place one ball inside a zip lock bag and squash with something hard and flat
(Note, if you squash it with a Jamie Oliver frying pan, the tortillas will be branded Jamie Oliver)
Serve with toppings of choice
and a squeeze of lemon… here a simple stir fry of zucchini and red
beans with garlic and green chilli; also roast parsnip, and a simple salad of lettuce, snow pea, radish and cherry tomatoes from my own garden. What a feast!
I dedicate this post to my wonderful friend Sam, because (A) we both love eating and (B) the world operates in strange ways to bring us together!
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