About the author
Valentina Ortiz
“The modern Marco Polo,” his father used to call the architect. Furniture for cenotes, rivers for long-term projects, contracts for dreams: he has always conjugated the verb “to barter,” and today, for me, it is clearer than ever. They exchange pozole for smiles, macaws bred as never before in the country for family photographs, handcrafted pieces for fair trade, love for Mexico for love for Mexico.
And just as Marco Polo explored the wonders of the East, the legacy of the Quintana and Constandse families is the legacy of an explorer who created explorers. “Curious, restless, stubborn, committed —here the magic words are 'it can't be done.' You only have to say them for it to become possible.”
The most beautiful kind of ambition. The first time I set foot in Xcaret territory, there was much less than there is today. I came with my father —another conservationist— and no one had invited us, but he insisted he knew the family and was impressed by their passion for discovering cenotes, connecting them, and marveling at them.
“I collect pots, pans, tableware, and cookbooks; Xcaret's creators collect cenotes. It is the most beautiful kind of ambition.”
After that I returned to the parks a thousand times, at every hour and in every version, because that is a mantra in Xcaret territory: to be endless. Leisure is always embraced by one more idea and by someone who believes in what they do.
There are tacos of every kind; El Güero, who serves cheese at breakfast, always has a lovely story for me, and the lifeguard at La Casa de la Playa likes to tell me about the wildlife in that little piece of sea.
An embassy of Mexico. Xcaret —everything that bears that name— and I are friends for many reasons: because we adore the sea, because we love to eat, because we come from lineages of dreamers, because we are enthusiastic, because we do not know fatigue, because we find nourishment in creativity, but also because we worship our country. And it is contagious.
For years I have shared around the world the importance of building the identity of the citizens of any community through what they eat and through the culture and roots behind it. “Xcaret is an embassy of Mexico.”
There are jaguars, deer, crocodiles, turtles, palm trees, coconuts, oysters, traditional cooks, embroidery, Michoacán furniture in restaurants celebrating the Manila Galleon, Puebla tableware, Saltillo sarapes, Oaxacan insects, extraordinary mariachis, and ball-game performances that I believe should be on the list of things everyone must do or see in life —along with writing a book, planting a tree, and having a child.
Here Mexico is spoken, eaten, communicated, breathed, and repeated, and that gives you goosebumps.
A planet called Xcaret. The years passed, and I migrated from waterslides and lazy rivers to contemplating the blue of the Caribbean Sea and, shortly afterward, to knowing myself as an ad infinitum champion of the hospitality offering on this Xcaret planet.
I am seduced by how well they do things and, in my world and in what I know how to talk about, cuisine is now another banner this park-hotel-dreamer group proudly raises, in a way no one else in the country does.
Because I am naturally nosy, openly opinionated, and excited about everything Mexico and its cuisines have to offer, I have gradually nestled into the creative process behind the gastronomic offering that dozens of restaurants, cooks, researchers, writers, and even poets give to those who visit.
Talent attracts talent. The hands, stories, families, creative minds, chef jackets, knives, traditions, origins, and determination of the people who bring these kitchens to life are worth their weight in gold.
The women making tortillas at the new Xentral and the young castacán cooks; the loving little rum-and-Cokes served by the women at Flamingo’s; the cave brunch —I think it is the best in the country—; Jon's baos; my friend Martha's pink conchas; Chuy's rib-eye gordita; Carlos Gaytán's proposal; Sheyla's ocean tostadas; or the little ice pops found in corners and moments of joy.
Handmade. “Valentina, seriously, why so much Xcaret?” people ask me —and I laugh. Three daughters and thousands of zip lines later, I made dear friends who steer this ship and who choose, like those tortillas I mentioned, to make things by hand.
“Xcaret, like this text and like this festival, is handmade.”
It took two years to produce the Yucatecan tiles for the rooms. Of course, it would be easier to buy shiny ready-made ones, but here the modus operandi is different.
The cookies served with coffee —so many cups of coffee are served— used to be brought from Veracruz because, on an explorers' trip, they simply made sense. These are the ones, they said.
It took trip after trip of broken cookies and recipe after recipe to reproduce them, until one day they succeeded, with even more coffee flavor and extra crunch, always honoring the origin —“they have a delicious bite,” I was told by the person who told me the story.
“It is that simple: at Xcaret there are no shortcuts, only longer and more satisfying routes.”
That is how you get Lula's fish en nogada, the breakfast huarache at my favorite place, El Mercado, the coffee for thousands of rooms, the little teleras, their own Xtabentún —simply because they can and because they want to.
At Xcaret, dreams that become viewpoints over an endless jungle, underwater restaurants, wine cellars of free choice and enjoyment, Mexican hot-chocolate ice cream, and molcajete-made salsas for tens of thousands of people are woven by hand.
A territory of explorers. As they do, today I offer a haku lei of cymbidium orchids and lilies —my favorite flowers— to those who make the magic of this territory of explorers possible.
“Never stop teaching us to be stubborn —that is the word. Aloha nui loa to all of them.”