Yucatan Cruise Journal, Aboard The NCL Spirit. Day Three.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010. Costa Maya. Bandito And Señor Sol. Cagney's Steakhouse. It was a perfect, warm day in Costa Maya, a manufactured port of call at the southernmost extreme of Mexico's Yucatan coast. After the port sprouted from essentially nothing, it was all but destroyed by a hurricane in 2007. They built it right back. It's essentially a mall of crafts, tequila stores, a couple of restaurants and jewelers surrounding a plaza and a pool. All of this is immediately adjacent to a white sand beach with blue water, umbrellas, and the rest of the Caribbean set-pieces.
One can visit several Mayan sites from Costa Maya. But except for those with a special interest in the Maya, one site per trip will do it. I've been to Tulum, and tomorrow I'll go to Quirigua in Guatemala. My entire morning went to getting my daily writing done, leaving only enough time for lunch on shore. There for people such as me was Banditos Lobster Grill. Most of its offerings were, in fact, seafood--the namesake grilled tropical lobsters, shrimp, fish tacos, and like that. Waiting for other members of the group who might decide to join me, I indulged in a very fine guacamole and a one-liter (!) Sol beer. The rest of the Eat Club must have been tours, and I didn't see a soul. So I sat alone with my Sol.
Last time I was here, I bought Mary Ann a necklace of silver, black coral, and local jade. She said she liked it, but I can't remember ever seeing her wear it. This time I followed her oft-stated order not to buy jewelry. (She says I have zero sense of what she likes.)
But I had to buy something from these people. I found something else Mary Ann will hate. It was a ceramic wall hanging of a sun--another Sol!--with a smiling face, blue eyes, and a perimeter of sunflowers. You see these everywhere in Mexico. A former French café where the Sesame Inn is now had many of them on its wall, and I always found myself somehow comforted by their benevolent gazes. Here was another such, looking friendly at me from high up the shop's wall. It was large, about sixteen inches in diameter. An older man with a craggy face saw me looking back at this sun, grabbed a ladder and fetched it down, without my so much as asking.
The price started at $150. He said it was made with local clays--he even had a sample of the pre-baked stuff--and that it was made by Mayan people nearby. I didn't know about any of that, but I liked it. I said nothing more until he brought his price to $100. Probably too much still, but I paid it over. He packed it in a battered cardboard box that I know Mary Ann will not allow to enter our house. All I have to do now is figure out where to hang it. I'm certain Mary Ann will insist that my office is the only acceptable place. That's all right. Señor Sol will become my writing companion.
During lunch, a text message from Mary Ann said that she planned to go the Saints parade tonight, a hastily-arranged Mardi Gras-style extravaganza that even by mid-afternoon had people pouring into downtown. The players would ride through the streets on floats donated by an assortment of krewes. She said it was seriously cold and windy, but that she and ML would not miss this.
Señor Sol and I were back on the ship around three-thirty. A nap was interrupted--as every nap would be throughout the cruise--by a knock on the door. It was a plate of pastries, courtesy of the concierge. It came with an invitation to have breakfast and lunch in Cagney's. This is a perk that group leaders get, I suppose to allow them a private place to get away from the group. I've always had the opposite problem. I have to all but bribe the Eat Clubbers to join me in anything. Either they're shy or they don't like me once they meet me. (Mary Ann would vote for option two.)
However, that effect was not in evidence at today's Martini Club meeting. The entire group was there, including a family group of six people who, for almost the entire cruise, spent all their time with one another. As long as they're enjoying themselves, it's fine with me. I ran up another large check for drinks for all the newcomers. That should take care of my hosting requirements for a while.
The entire group of fourteen followed me to dinner together. Tonight's was in Cagney's, the ship's steakhouse. After working through a reservations snafu, we were in the main dining room at two tables. We were off to a grand start with oysters Rockefeller almost all the way around. These were excellent by any standard except familiarity. Everywhere but in New Orleans, oysters Rockefeller have a bit of anise-flavored spinach topped with a lot of Mornay sauce--a bechamel with a little cheese. Since oysters Rockefeller is undisputedly a New Orleans (Antoine's, to be exact) creation, we're the ones who make it "right," with the Mornay gilding seen only occasionally.
Most people moved from there either to lobster bisque or to a wedge or Caesar salad. Then many filets mignon, a few sirloin strips (after I touted it) and a number of double-cut lamb chops. I had the lamb myself, and was exactly halfway delighted with it. The first chop was thick, juicy, well-seasoned, and tender. The second one was uncuttable even with a sharp knife, and all but inedible. The lady to my right, who followed my advice about the sirloin strip, also found it tough beyond easy eating. All the filet people were very happy, as were any eaters who had the potatoes au gratin.
We emphatically closed Cagney's down this night. You can always spot the New Orleans people by how they eat. On this trip, though, there was another dead giveaway: the hoots of "Who Dat?" continued to resound throughout the atrium.
