Day 42: Cosamaloapan, MX to Cosoleacaque, MX

We got some breakfast taquitos at a typical cafe in town, then headed out on the highway. By now, I’ve gotten the hang of eating in Mexico. All of the food we’ve had has been at least good, usually very good, sometimes fantastic. The only problem, other than Ray not always being able to find vegetarian options, is the amount. But the key to the diet of the touring cyclist (or anybody with a big appetite) in Mexico is the tortillas.

Any place you go in the world, you will find that what is plentiful is readily available. In the US, we have plenty of good, clean drinking water, so we give it away with meals without a second thought. In Mexico, they don’t give away water, but the one thing that they have plenty of is tortillas, and they will give you as many as you want. So, whether you are at breakfast, lunch, or dinner, no matter what your main dish and side dishes are, grab the tortillas and make yourself some taquitos. It will add the calories and belly-filling power that you need to your meal.

Along the highway, we stopped in the morning at a roadside vendor and bought a bottle of fresh pineapple juice. Only 15 pesos (less than a dollar-fifty), and quite cold and delicious.

We had planned to stay in the city of Minatitlán tonight, but over the past few days, we’d seen news reports of that city being flooded, so we stopped in the outlying suburb of Cosoleacaque. We found the usual style of hotel, then ventured out to find dinner.

As we wandered up the street, we noticed some people gathered in a side street. It looked like some kind of street fair, but we weren’t sure if it was a public event or not. Thinking it might be a good place to find food, we turned in to check it out. As soon as we got to the entrance, the people urged us to come in, and right inside, a family had set up their own group of chairs to gather around. They invited us to join them, and explained that it was the Fiesta de Santa Teresita de Jesus, a festival in honor of the patron saint of their town.

They immediately offered us a plate of food, which was some fried chicken with a side of rice. Later, they brought out the heavier artillery, which consisted of boiled pig’s feet, raw turtle eggs (their favorite delicacy), and of course, beer. One of them gave me his straw hat, he said, “so you look more like one of us.” We spoke with what appeared to be the two heads of the family, two gentlemen named Constantin and Ramón Jorge. Constantin spoke some English, so I tried my best to carry on a conversation with him in English and broken Spanish. They both repeated the same thing that we had heard throughout our travels in Mexico, “American, Mexico, North American, South America, Central America…it does not matter. We are all brothers.” We were truly grateful for their sentiments and their hospitality, and for feeding us and treating us as their own family, and this evening will be one of the best memories from this trip.

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