You might think that, on this culinary voyage, I would be out dining in restaurants every day. I have actually been a little more selective on this trip. I do, however, love to cook, and I love visiting markets and grocery stores even more, wandering the aisles in search of ingredients I’ve never cooked with before.

I call it my gourmet camping cuisine. Some of the houses we’ve stayed in have had rather rudimentary kitchen setups, but I’m 4x4. I can adapt.

I had picked up a couple of sirloin beasts, only to discover upon arriving in Mahahual that cooking them was going to require a little ingenuity. Luckily, Irma and Oscar were more than happy to light a fire for me.

I was delighted.

The flames rose high, smoke drifted through the open kitchen, and suddenly this felt less like making dinner and more like being handed the keys to a little jungle restaurant.

Oscar had even installed a light in the kitchen so I could comfortably cook our meal.

Wait. What? You installed lighting in the kitchen for me?

Apparently, Irma and Oscar had been living here for more than two years, and the kitchen had remained dark that entire time.

Poor Irma.

I told her she should let me know if she had any other projects in mind. I’d be happy to get the honey-do list moving. That got a good laugh out of both of them, and off I went to cook my steaks.

The marinade was dictated entirely by what I had on hand: thyme, fresh Mexican garlic, cilantro, salt and olive oil. Nothing complicated. Nothing measured. Just a handful of good ingredients and a little faith.

Simple.

And absolutely delicious.

Upon waking yesterday, John panicked a little when he first saw me.

My left eye was swollen and bloodshot.

“No need to worry,” I said. It was likely the snorkel mask, adjusted a little too tightly for the two or three hours I had spent exploring the floor of the Caribbean Sea and all its beauty.

“Maybe we should find a pharmacy with a doctor and get some advice.”

So, after grabbing our morning coffee, we walked into town, feet in the sea, following beach club after beach club along the shoreline.

I googled Farmacia Similares in Mahahual, but nothing useful came up. Someone eventually gave us directions. Just a few kilometres.

Bear in mind, I had left the house intending only to get coffee. I was not exactly dressed or prepared for a hike through the scalding, humid heat. But I was actually happy to be walking. These past few weeks have not been particularly active, and I welcomed the chance to stretch my legs and wander.

We eventually found the pharmacy, only to discover, much to our dismay, that there would be no doctor until Monday. An 8km walk there and back, many bottles of cold water, and a beer for the walk back.

Since we were heading to Bacalar on Saturday, we decided to walk back into town, enjoy the afternoon and see how things looked in the morning. I wasn’t in pain, and I still had no change in my vision.

We walked the boardwalk and met a man selling tacos de canasta (insert description) he had papas con chorizo or Chicharrón en salsa verde. 10 pesos each (less than a dollar cad) I ordered two chicharrón and one papa con chorizo. Habanero salsa poured over generously. Que Rico! I will also have to make some when I get home.

Later on, in what seemed to be a spot for tour operators to rest and wait for their clients. A women was serving food. I had a hunch it was tamales! We walked so much I ordered one large tamal, filled with mole de pollo. I could have bought her entire pot. Walking some more, I was feeling the sun on my skin and thought it may be a good idea to head back and find a bit of shade.

We had also bought an aloe plant, its leaves separated from the plant and tucked into the freezer for future sunburn emergencies. Luckily for my eye, it turned out that frozen aloe was also handy for soothing inflammation.

And there was plenty of inflammation to go around, including the rather impressive sun-kissed lobster colour I had acquired on the rest of my body.

My non-mom was worried about the quality of sleep I would get in my current shade of red. I wasn’t particularly concerned.

I decided to sleep under the palapa so I could be there for sunrise.

And I slept like a baby.

The white noise of crickets and crashing waves, the salty warm air hovering around 30 degrees, the sea just beyond the palapa. It was actually much cooler than my room with its very friendly ventilator.

In the morning, however, my eye was crusted shut.

Perhaps I did need that pharmacy after all.

I cleaned it gently with warm water and, just like magic, it opened again.

No blurry vision. No pressure. The swelling and inflammation were gone.

Excellent.

Let’s go for coffee and one last meal out in this seafood paradise.

We wandered toward La Pancha, only to discover that Friday without a cruise ship coming into port is a very different Mahahual. Most of the sellers and restaurants were closed. Locals had seemingly disappeared from the centre, and barely anyone was walking the boardwalk.

But we recognized many of the locals we’d chatted with over the past week, and every encounter became an excuse to stop and continue a conversation.

Eventually, we landed at Nohoch Kay, one of the most recommended restaurants in Mahahual and, apparently, the place to find the best octopus.

Lunch was going to be an adventure.

I ordered a conch ceviche that was out of this world. The conch was prepared exactly as the fisherman had shown me earlier in the week, and I really needed to order a plate to see what all the hype was about.

The texture was tender, the meat perfectly marinated and seasoned with onions, tomatoes and cilantro. And what looked like a small portion turned out to be enormous.

Then came the tacos de guisado de jaiba, stewed crab in a savoury tomato sauce. Delicate meat, just enough seasoning to let the crab shine.

But the most exciting plate had yet to arrive.

Pulpo en su tinta.

Octopus in her ink.

It was such a beautifully balanced dish. The distinctive flavour of the ink, the dramatic black colour, the whole thing carrying an air of culinary mystery. The octopus had been stewed with tomatoes, bell peppers and onion, then served with salad and grilled vegetables.

I analyzed every bite with increasing curiosity.

I think I know how they made it.

Which means, of course, that there is only one thing left to do.

I’ll try to recreate it when I get home.

Stay tuned for the verdict.