Ahhh, Tulum. Our trip was almost two months ago now, but we still catch ourselves dreaming of that place on an almost-daily basis: remembering a certain watermelon lime cocktail, missing that bathwater-warm sea, trying to recreate the paletas we ate, and so on.

Being the borderline-neurotic Miss Planner that I am, we booked the trip last summer and spent the subsequent months poring over blogs and articles and the Hartwood cookbook in preparation – half the fun of the trip is the anticipation, after all.

Based on the looks of Instagram and my J.Crew catalogs and the blogosphere, it would seem that everyone is in Tulum these days.  And perhaps that is the case, but when you’re there it certainly doesn’t feel like it.  To us, that’s what made Tulum so special.  Even during the height of their spring break season, we often felt we had the beach to ourselves. No rushing to claim your beach chair in the morning, no agendas, no crowds – with the exception of waiting in line for our reservation at Hartwood, which consisted of drinking beers and reading our books on the curb – so even that wasn’t so bad. (I should add our actual meal there was Top Five of my life.)

We biked into town for a couple of hours one day, did a mini-excursion to the Tulum ruins, and swam in a closed cenote (where I oscillated between awe and complete panic for about 45 minutes). But the majority of our week was spent just swimming at our beach, sleeping, and reading (thank you to my friend Caitlin for her rec of Fates and Furies, which I devoured.) And of course, gorging ourselves on micheladas, fresh coconut water, and ceviche.

I’m still finding traces the powdery sand in various places in our apartment (our suitcases, my birks, my mom-chic safari hat) and I’m not mad about it.





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