We packed a little bag this time and took off for Progreso, seaside paradise. We strolled the Malecon and found a clean room with a view one block from the beach. We changed into our suits left in pursuit of lunch.

If I’ve said it once I’ll say it a thousand times: Mexico loves lunch. Comida is a luxurious, curious meal that requires hours and maybe more patience than our NorthAmerican sensibilities will allow. But we’re getting the hang of it. Our friend (alright our lawyer) Edgard recommended Eladio’s for small plates and beers and authentic Yucatacan fare.

What the Spanish term tapas Mexicans (at least here) call botanas: little dishes of snacks that are free with drinks. Malcito and I enjoyed guacamole (good, but nothing special), refried beans (whipped and sort of sweet), potatoes in a spicy tomato sauce (a fork, por favor) - oh yeah, a basket of dark brown heavy, but not greasy tortilla chips - and a puree of pumpkin seed that Malcolm was crazy about. All free with our Modelo Negros and margaritas.

Ordering was totally unnecessary, but we totally did anyway: Malcolm went with the cochinita pibil (Johnny Depp’s meal of choice in Once Upon a Time in Mexico) and I had the shrimp cocktel (about a million little shrimps in sauce served in a sundae glass with cilantro and onions and sopa de lima (which may overtake tom ka ghai as my favorite ethnic soup).

Then it was time to show off our bellies. We’re pretty sexy after eating nine pounds of pork and corn. We managed to float in the Gulf, which was warm, calm, and thankfully, especially salty, and then beached on the sand for reading and napping.

After showers and watching a family of puppies on the porch next to our hotel, and learning How To Deal from the luminous Mandy Moore, we decided to hit the bars.

At Viejo en La Mar we made all sorts of plans while admiring the palapa and the flotsam that serves as decoration. We wondered about the swimming pool and chatted with Ray, the Canadian bartender who had lots to say about the merits of living on the beach.

At Pelicans we were served bread and three plates of savory clotted creams with our drinks. And at Buddy’s we met one American and one Dutch expat, who were each in his own way typical, perfect, funny, and strange. We decided it was time to take our leave.

The bars on the Malecon mostly close at 10 o’clock. Families are all just out it seems, until then and much later, kids and babies and all, as well as couples and a few packs of teenagers, looking out at the ocean, talking, eating, drinking, and walking. We heard about some music and dancing but decided we had done enough for this trip.

Progreso is Mexico to me, a hushed carnival of debris, children, dogs, meat, music, and the emerald sea. It almost could have been written by Hemingway, but a little something – I don’t know what - would be missing.