Mural 49 is at DIF, just across the street from Walmart in Playa del Carmen.  Yep, that’s right, Walmart.  Who would have imagined that?  And, it’s wildly successful.  I go there every afternoon while painting the mural because it’s the easiest place to find something to eat.  The lines at the checkout are just crazy long.  And, while walking out of Walmart with my freshly chopped-up, giant cup of diced watermelon, there are containers for charitable contributions for DIF.  If my Spanish is close to correct in deciphering the message, it calls the children the “vulnerables”.

It’s my guess that the letters in DIF stand for something.  Nobody ever has clarified that for me.  But, whatever the name means, they do amazing work for a lot of children in the municipality (the Mexican equivalent to a county). Some of the children cared for are from dysfunctional home situations.  Other children have struggled and failed in the public schools.  And still, other students have special needs where they might have Downs syndrome or they might not be able to speak, hear or see.

There are just a whole lot of needs being met at this very remarkable DIF. 

The teacher who works with a lot of the special needs children wanted to bring her class to paint.  Just like I tell everyone, if the kids are under twelve, they’re going to need one-on-one supervision.  And, these kids with their variety of needs would certainly need that kind of help.  Okay, I explained that in Spanish.  Perhaps something was lost in the translation?  I’ve had Spanish speakers tell me that I communicate well with my horrible language skills. However, this teacher isn’t one of the people who mentioned that.  I understood her to say that each kid would come with their mother.  That isn’t what happened.  She missed the whole point of my suggestion.

At first she showed up with three students.  One boy was with his mother. I sat down with the second boy.  The teacher disappeared.  She wasn’t there to help the third girl, who worked by herself for a little while until her phone took over her interest.  A little while later, the teacher showed up with four more students.  No other parents, teachers or aides were by her side.  And finally, she left to get about five more painters. 

Yes, I’ll be honest, it was a little stressful. 

But, there was nothing I could do but let the kids have a joyful experience.  With the exception of about four kids, they were going to do more damage than good to the wall.  It just didn’t matter.  They got to participate and they would always have that ownership.

In the last group, the teacher showed up with a boy who I’ll call Little Stevie Wonder.  The child, about ten, was blind and sported some stylish looking white sunglasses.  In all my murals, I’ve never had a blind painter.  I watched as the teacher held his hand and made his every stroke.  What else would you expect a teacher to do in this situation?  H O W E V E R, I knew in advance that there was a very good chance I’d have my first blind student involved with a mural.  I had it all figured out in my mind.  And, this wasn’t going the way I envisioned.

I wanted Stevie to have a real mural painting experience.  So, I asked the teacher if I could try something.  I took Stevie’s hand and let him feel the area in front of him that I wanted him to paint.  It was a very big area.  Then, I put the paintbrush in his hand and let him have at it.  There was absolutely nothing that he could do wrong that couldn’t be fixed, and Stevie was going to have his moment. 

He painted by himself, and his teacher gave me her smile of approval.

In fact, since there were so many students who needed supervision, and only one of me, Stevie worked independently for quite a while.  He even dipped his own paintbrush in the can.  Sometimes, I just had to stop and watch.  Stevie had to experience it all by touch.  He slid his hand down the brush to feel the wet paint on the tip and then continued on to the wall to explore the texture of the cement blocks.

A few adults who passed by stopped to ask me if I knew Stevie was blind.  Everyone was delighted, surprised and pleased about his accomplishment.  He certainly was a little wonder. 

And in the midst of a whole lot of chaos, I felt like I made a small DIFference in the life of one child.

Yesterday I had enchiladas at Mama Javier's place on Avenido Colosios.  I might as well say I've never had them before because they were nothing like anything I've ever had before.  I'd never had authentic Mexican enchiladas.  Yes, the recipe is coming.  When I entered Mama Javier's shop, there were two gas stoves ablaze with five boiling pots of mysterious ingredients and magnificent smells. Some of the brewing goodies were for the enchiladas and others were for soup the following day. 

I had to come back.

As I've said, it's quite a hike across town.  The restaurant was at least 25 block from where I stay, but I wanted to stroll it again.  There was so much that I wanted to see at a much slower pace than a bus ride.  A few shops along the way had the kind of icons that you might expect in a very Catholic country.  There was Mary, and several of the saints, but they were secondary items available.  The main icons I saw looked like Mary at first glance, but they were actually skeletons. I strolled inside for a closer look.  There were all kinds of candles and concoctions for headaches, insomnia, fever and anything else that might ail you.  On one candle I saw the name Santa Muerte (Holy Death).  The girl at the counter explained that there was a significance whether the skeleton wore red, white or gold.  She could not explain what the significance was.

I was inspired to do a little research. Santa Muerte is a female folk saint opposed by the Catholic Church in Mexico and embraced by millions of Mexicans.  She is often portrayed with a scythe or globe in her hand, and it should come as no surprise that one of her jobs is to help her devout cross over into the afterlife.  She is also associated with healing and protection, hence all the little goodies I spied in those shops.  It is believed that the cult grew out of a fusion between the indigenous Mesoamerican culture and the introduction of the Spanish Catholic Church.  I seriously don't think Mary would ever approve.

I moved on down the road.

It wasn't hard to find a peluqueria or two along the way.  If your Spanish isn't very good, perhaps the red, white and blue stripes will help you figure out it is a barber shop.  In the tourist sections of Fifth Avenue, a man's haircut might cost around 130 pesos.  Since 180 pesos is about ten dollars, it's a good price.  But, five block off of the main tourist drag, you can get a haircut for 60 pesos.  As I strolled on to Avenido Colosios, I was about twenty minutes early for lunch.  When I saw a haircut for 30 pesos (under two dollars), I thought, "Why not?"

Well, sometimes, you really do get what you pay for. 

The very nice young man asked me a question I didn't fully understand.  I think he asked me which size of clipper length did I want.  I didn't know the difference between a 1, 2, 3 or 4.  I told him in Spanish to do whatever he wanted.  That isn't the best thing to do with someone when communication really isn't at its best and he's about to cut your hair.  He took one swipe with his electric clippers and I was in shock.  It was already too late.  There was nothing left to do but let the guy continue with what he started.  Now, my hair was short to begin with.  It needed to be cleaned up a bit.  But now?  I'd best describe the length as concentration camp chic.  There will be no photos of me without my hat for several weeks to come.  I'm not even sure there will be much hair to photograph after that amount of time.

Eventually, I made my way to Mama Javier's diner.  Her son wasn't there to translate for me, but Mama knew what I came to eat.  I didn't know the name.  I couldn't have placed the order.  But, I got a piping hot bowl of soup with beef and hominy.  There was what I thought to be a side salad of diced onions, radishes and lettuce.  However, it wasn't a salad.  When it was clear to my waitress that I didn't know what to do with my "salad", she came over to explain that I was supposed to pour it into my soup.

The rest of the meal was crisp baked tortillas and soft tortillas with alternating cheese salsa and red salsa, both flaming hot.  My personal favorite part of the meal was watching Mama Javier create her own tortillas with her personal hand press.  Those fingers knew what to do and I was completely fascinated.  I will return to the restaurant another day, with Javier, to get the needed photos and video of that amazing press.

I like to put things down in words.  But, words alone do not provide an adequate visual of Fifth Avenue in Playa del Carmen.  You gotta have some photos as well. 

Fifth Avenue begins near the pier around Avenido Benito Juarez (that is pretty much First Street).  The tourist section of Fifth Avenue continues for about twenty block until around Calle 40.  (If you're really mathematical, you might ask how that is possible?  Calles (streets) are only even numbers in Playa.  So, if you walk from Avenido Juarez to Calle 40, it's around twenty blocks.)

My favorite sites in all of Fifth Avenue are right around the pier area.  The pier area is where you, of course, will notice the sculpture entitled Portal Maya (Mayan Gateway).  Perhaps you remember that the Maya calendar ended on December 21, 21012 with all kinds of predictions for the end of the world?  (The world didn't end and I celebrated my birthday the next day.)  I guess nobody in Playa del Carmen believed it would end either.  They commemorated this bronze statue then to promote a new era of light and prosperity.  The statue, designed by Mexican artist Arturo Taravez, portrays a man pushed high into the air by the whirling wind while a woman is pushed just as high by the swirling water.  Included in the sculpture are other symbols important in the area including jaguar, shells, and the rings used in a Mayan ball game.

Beneath the statue is where you will see the Aztec musicians perform on the beach and nearby the Valadores dancers swing towards the earth, upside-down, from a very tall pole about 100 feet above the ground.  You can't just walk on by.  You have to stop, stare and then grab your camera or phone.

As you walk on down the direction towards Calle 40, you'll pass McDonalds, Starbucks, mariachi bands, designer stores, ice cream shops, Aztec kings, souvenir shops, gourmet restaurants, bars, more souvenir shops, fish spas (where fish nibble the dirt right off your feet), hotels and even more souvenir shops.  You'll also pass so many tourists.  I'm told that October is the low season for the entire year.  Still, I was shocked by the number of people who made their way to Playa this month.

I was shocked.  Merchants were hungry.  Low tourist season is no fun when you try to feed your family.  Hawkers tried to lure me into their shop along each block.  Women offered massages at their studios right on the street.  I was also approached to see if I wanted to buy drugs.  That offended me.  I asked one person that I met if I seriously looked like someone who wanted drugs.  His answer was, "Hey, you're white."  Well, the real answer is, "NO, I don't do drugs."

After a week, I have to confess that Fifth Avenue lost some of its charm.  I still stop every time I see an Aztec king, but I've been wandering other streets instead, in search of a Mexican experience.  In my observation, most tourists stay in the vicinity of Fifth Avenue.  The heart of the area for hotel, condo rentals and apartments runs from Avenido Juarez till about Calle 30 and then about five blocks deep.  When you walk in this area, you'll always be among gringos.  And, I must admit, I feel sorry for those visitors who only experience that very touristy experience in Playa.

My friend, Javier, invited me to his mother's diner on Avindeo Colosios.  I didn't have a map.  I just knew the general direction to walk.  And, I walked.  Avinedo Colosios was somewhere near Calle 70, more than 25 blocks from my rental.  It was more of a walk than I expected.  But, I made one very interesting observation.  If you ever walk that far away from the tourist heart of Fifth Avenue, you will be the only gringo in sight.  It quickly became my favorite part of the city.

It will get even better (and more delicious) than that.  Thursday is Mama Javier's day off from her diner.  And, Thursday is the day that we plan to make Javier's favorite dish, enchiladas, with his mama.  Of course, there will be a recipe coming.  And, I am quite sure that Mama Javier's diner will be my food destination of choice the rest of the time I'm in Playa.

I already learned how to take the bus there.

Playa del Carmen is a tourist trap.

My sister remembers when it was a sleepy little village on the way to the island of Cozumel.  Now, Playa del Carmen is a destination.  But, it is my favorite tourist trap on the planet.  There is only one tourist strip in Playa.  It's Fifth Avenue.  Anything you may want from hotel, restaurant, boutique, designer name and souvenir at any price range is available on Fifth Avenue.  That isn't why I like Playa del Carmen so much.

When you walk down this one tourist strip, you'll hear mariachi bands serenade as you stroll.  Young men, dressed as Aztec kings with feathered crowns that stretch for at least a yard, pose for photos.  (For a price, it's how they earn a living.). Aztec singers and dancers perform on the beach.  And, Voladores, swirl to the ground, upside-down, from the towering heights of a metal pole in their traditional pole dance.  If you are going to visit a tourist trap, you might as well be thoroughly entertained.  Playa does not disappoint.  And, for someone like me who loves to photograph cultural portraits, I was simply delighted.

Portraits of people I see along the way have become the favorite souvenirs of my travels.  They hopefully combine a good drawing and a memorable experience.  Some people I draw are friends I've made along the way.  Other portraits are of people who barely crossed my path.  Finally, some drawings are of people who had no idea that they ever caught my eye.

Javier was one of the Aztec kings in Playa del Carmen.  He took a stern stance for the photo, as all good warriors should, but he is in reality a kind and warm person.  You may not see it in the drawing, but I know it is there.

I returned to the Cancun area a year after my first visit.  There was a chance that just maybe I would be able to locate Javier and give him a portrait.  I had never been able to do that before with any other stranger I drew.  Since there was only one street to search, it would not be that difficult.  Alas, Javier was not to be found.

H O W E V E R, there was another Aztec king.  I asked him if he knew Javier.  He did, but he said that Javier gave up his Aztec headdress for a new job.  The new king wasn't eager to give me more information.  That is, until I pulled out my portrait.  There was suddenly a whole lot more warmth added to the conversation.  And, he escorted me to Javier's new place of employment, only a block away.  In less than an hour, my friend was located.

I must admit that he looked very different dressed in normal clothes instead of feathers and war paint.  But, I look for every detail I can when drawing.  Javier had a tiny little mole under his right eye.  When I saw that, I was certain I found my Aztec king.

Of course, the guy was blown away.  Nobody ever drew his portrait before.  And, most certainly, nobody ever looked him up to deliver a copy.  He was speechless.  He decided very quickly that the very best way to say "gracias" was with a hug.

It should come as no surprise that upon my third trip to Playa del Carmen, Javier was the first person I looked up.  And now, together, we are trying to find a location for another mural in Mexico.  Javier carefully painted Aztec designs on his body for several years.  I have no doubt that he will do a fine job when it's time to put some paint on a wall.