COMING OF AGE IN PUNTA ALLEN

Every metal bicycle, too big for its headlong dismounting rider, makes a specific sound when it falls to the ground without a kickstand. The clang is the clue that a child has reached their destination; perhaps grandma’s house where a plate of cookies awaits, a baseball game where foul balls can be turned in for a gumball, or a swimming hole where the next cannonball will rule them all. It’s a reminder that the last one there is a rotten egg—un huevo podrido. Rockwellian, but make it Mexican.

The small fishing village of Punta Allen in Quintana Roo, Mexico, is a Mayan Mayberry where kids burst out their front doors late for school with a hot empanada in hand. They can get in the classic kind of trouble I believe is good for kids—a painful-but-not-life-threatening scorpion bite, bringing home a stray puppy, bloodying a buddy’s nose with an aggressively kicked balón de fútbol.

Thirteen-year-old Parker Mateo Ucan Bertram’s bike clanging somewhere in the village is the sound my mind’s ear hears when I think of Punta Allen. I know he’s living his best life, complete with the angst and awkwardness of any kid new to teen-hood. His brother, 10-year-old Romeo, is often close behind, although he prefers staying close to his parents’ flyfishing lodge, where he can talk a guest into a game of Uno or cornhole.

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