On our last day on the Tulum playa, Tiryaki (the puppet with opium addiction since the 1300s) slunk out of his sleeping spot at 6:59 a.m. and commenced watching the beach – waiting to see if the expected would materialize. And, at 7:01 a.m. on the dot, there was the expected – in the dual form of:
a) Tiryaki’s daily withdrawl symptoms (until he could get his morning opium hit) and:
b) the portly man from the Tulum Pueblo who spent his mornings raking the night’s seaweed crop into neat circles, before burying it in the white, powdery sand.
Every day, no matter what, Tiryaki has withdrwal symptoms – and a smoke to take them away, only to have his addicted brain deliver more the next day.
Every day, no matter what, this seaweed-raker has seaweed to rake and bury, only to have the Caribbean Sea deliver more the next day.
“And both are pointless pursuits,” Tiryaki exclaims with a sigh. “Maybe it’s time to try rehab again. Too bad for the Mexican seaweed raker, he doesn’t have as much choice.”
A crab ambled by at this moment, escaping the warming beach for the cool of the tropical selva across the road. God willing, he’ll make it without being crushed by a speeding car.