Playa Del Carmen, Mexico Restaurant and Nightclub Data Sheet
“Love is a wild bird that no one can tame, it’s useless to chase it if it won’t play the game” – From The Opera Carmen
I have some good stories to share from Playa Del Carmen soon.
In the meantime, here is a Data Sheet on the spot. Before I went, I read a bunch of Data Sheets out there on other sites on Playa Del Carmen. They sucked. Many times, people spelled the names wrong on the spots, and many places were closed. So skip all the weesh sh*t and use this Data Sheet if you go to Playa Del Carmen.
Yaxche – Dope Mayan cuisine. This is a good spot to get a couple of drinks before heading out.
El Diez – Great Argentinian spot for sitting outside and smoking some grits. Also a good spot to roll with some fly girls. Solid grinds. Nice atmosphere.
Sur – Another dope Argentinian spot. They have an outdoor bar that is perfect for getting ready for the beautiful evil that nighttime brings.
Babes Noodles Bar – Cool noodle spot. Real casual. The woman who owns the spot is a real sweetheart. Could be a good spot to swoop some lower end backpacker girls if that is your thing. It’s not my thing. I like the high end Mexicanas.
Dr. Taco – Never went, but I always wanted to. Great name.
Mandala – This is the spot to roll to when you want to swoop. The flyest girls from Mexico City and Guadalajara are in the house. This spot also has a great set up conducive to swooping. Some decent Euro tourist girls also.
Pastorcita – Good lunchtime grind spot.
Blue tarp at 30 and 30 – Solid street food grind for your dome piece.
Negrosal – Good preparation spot for a night out.
Pescaderia Y Cocteleria El Pirata – Dayside seafood grind.
Byblos – Where to go to get your French fix in Playa Del Carmen.
Carboncitos – Real deal Holyfield grind spot for day time.
Dry Martini Lounge – Good cocktail stop over spot. Watched the Jon Jones VS Rashad Evans fight pro-bono here.
Place with red devil across from Mandala – Forgot the name of this spot, but it is right across the street from Mandala. Get a cocktail here and swoop on some girls before heading over.
El Fogon – This place is beyond mind-boggling on the Mexican food tip. And trust me, Mexican food is something I am not exactly a rookie on. Just go. This place puts the Taco shops of San Diego to shame. The place was like two female angels crying on my tongue.
“Fortune pays you sometimes for the intensity of her favors by the shortness of their duration. She soon tires of carrying any one long on her shoulders.” – Baltasar Gracián (Spanish Jesuit and baroque prose writer), 1601-1658
I feel lethal, manic, on the verge of frenzy. I am foaming at the mouth. My nose is starting to bleed. I think my mask of sanity is about to slip.
I throw down my luggage in my apartment, hang my Custom Suits and I get the call:
This Super Fly Argentinian girl, who I met at Mint and haven’t swooped yet, wants me to meet her at her clothing store. She is getting off work soon. And she and her Brazilian girlfriend want to roll out with me. There are innuendos of a Ménage à trois. The evening has promise.
I step out and roll into the CVS on Lincoln Road to grab some chicle. I roll in the line to pay, and a Fly Blonde Russian girl on her cell phone looks at me and mouths “Hi” to me. How often does that happen when a girl is talking on the phone?
I pay for my gum and step outside and light up a grit. I am feeling invincible. I have been sparring a lot. It tends to do that to me.
The Fly Blonde Russian walks out and continues up Lincoln. I quicken the pace, and open: “Do you know which way Sushi Samba is?”, I ask her. (Of course, I know where it is, but it was the first thing that came into my mind.)
“Hi. I do. It is just up there.”, the Russian girl says pointing up Lincoln.
“Wait, my name is Michael Mason.” I say and give her a “two-kisses” greeting. I spit some Street Game and Number Crunch, as I am supposed to meet the Argentinian and Brazilian girls.
Game is on though.
I keep heading up Lincoln and get a text from the Argentinian:
Most people ignore me, but some tourists look at me strange. I have a fleeting thought and quickly dismiss them as from Red States.
I need to settle down though and light another smoke. I am checking my phone and smoking, when a Fly Cubana Girl rolls up on a bicicletta. (She is 21 years old.)
She asks me for a cigarette.
Looking down at my phone, I ignore her for a few beats (real artistic), and say, “Sure.” Hand her one. Then say, “You need a light?”
“Yeah”, she says. I bust out a sick reverse Zippo trick for style points.
We start talking. She is fly. Mad fly. No make up on. But then again, I have a thing for Fly Cubanas.
I start walking with her as she rides her bike. She is kind of hipstered out. But still, stunningly fly. You know the type. Since it is kind of awkward talking to her while she is riding her bike, I say, “Let’s have a seat over here”.
I start rapping out in Spanish and English mixed with her and she tells me she is breaking up with her boyfriend.
I am still supposed to meet the Argentinian and the Brazilian (and I get another text), but I want to hedge my bets like only a true International Playboy does. I tell her to go home and change clothes and meet me at Sushi Samba as I have to go to a “business meeting” right now. She is down. When we part (two kisses salutation) I tell her, “Remember, high-heels and a skirt.” She replies, “I know, you don’t have to tell me.” with a pretty girl’s smile. And I haven’t seen a smile that pretty in a while. My nervous system goes haywire for a split second. A drag of nicotine sparks my synapses and mellows me.
My mind is the enigma filled with broken pictures. The spiritual International Playboy can see clearer now.
I move up Lincoln and get another text from the Argentinian. I respond back, “Almost there”.
I finally get to the Argentinian and Brazilian. They are looking dope. But everything is off. I can’t get the young Cubana out of my mind.
I split as they are both being too difficult.
I roll into Sushi Samba and lock the place down as per usual. I met a cool Argentinian kid from Cordoba at the bar and we both start spitting mad Game at all the fly girls rolling by.
I shoot a text to the Cubana:
“Buisness meeting went perfect. Come meet me at Sushi Samba to celebrate”. (Smooth text).
She responds back right away, “Yaa! Getting out of the shower. See you there soon.”
It’s on. Got to like a girl that loves your success. And Glad I hedged my bets like Kyle Bass.
When she arrives, she is a vision of youthful beauty. She looks like a Cubana Pin-Up Model (which actually happens to be her job). We enter through the side door, as I have the doorman on lock. Her her vibe goes from romantic expectation to dreamy absorption to erotic playfulness quicker than a Salsa dance in Havana.
She has shed the hipster clothes and looks stunning in high heels like all Miami girls do.
We hit it off in dope style. She digs the young-dashing-handsome-mysterious-false grinning-soft spoken-with a wild side-well dressed-millionaire-smuggler type vibe that I give off. Like all Miami girls do.
She knows the DJ and tells him to play this track, which just came out at the time:
She dances by herself for me as every guy in Sushi Samba is checking her out. I stand at the bar, smoking a grit, Custom Suited Down; the envy of every guy in Sushi Samba.
She can really dance.
We get a few more drinks and split. She gives a little resistance, but I come with the “Above is the black poison clouds, You only got one life so enjoy it now” type illmatic Futuristic Game that even top players will finally catch on to in 5-10 years. So I’m not really sweating it.
On my exit, I shake a bunch of hands; guys giving me props, and people I know.
Am I Apostle or Beast? Either way, I am Colossal on Streets.
We get to my apartment. The key goes in the door and