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I’m a Snickers girl. Not exclusively, but predominantly. Unless I’m in Canada, where it’s the creamy coconut Bounty all the way. Or the UK, where it’s an assortment of Cadbury treats. Or France, where it’s the most delicious buttery white chocolate with coconut bar I’ve forgotten the name of but could quickly find in any self-respecting supermarché in Paris. But in the States, a safe, satisfying snack is Snickers: not too rich, not too heavy on the harsh American chocolate, and the diversity of peanuts, caramel and nougat makes it interesting.
While traveling in Mexico, I had no idea that I was about to add another different sweet treat to my international list – especially one with such a familiar name.
Because we were experienced in our ventures along the Mexican coast, my ingenious husband devised a plan to adequately provision us for hot days of hiking and beaching. We picked up a Styrofoam cooler at the nearby supermercado and stocked it with ice daily. Inside, we kept bottles of water, juice and Mexican beer, as well as the large bags of trail mix we hauled with us on the plane from Indy.
I enjoyed the part of our daily routine that took us to the supermercado for ice, where we perused the bakery, usually ending up with a bag of spicy chips instead, because the baked goods in Mexico are the worst I’ve ever encountered. I longed for Paris, where good boulangeries and patissieries were around every corner.
A few days into our holistic trip, fasting through breakfasts and noshing on organic trail mix, with no crème brulee or croissants in sight, I hungered for sweets. Chris was content strolling to the village store for an ice cream bar in the evening, but I avoid dairy products. Instead, I began eyeing the noticeably small candy racks at the supermercado, hoping for my old American standby, a Snickers, or at least a creamy Cadbury. The best I could find was a Milky Way – a variety I hadn’t had since my childhood. I bought it. We split it on the way “home.” It seemed like the greatest of delicacies.
From then on, every trip to the supermercado included the purchase of at least one Milky Way. Even when I bought two, though, I carefully split one gooey candy bar with Chris, eating slowly in a candlelit bedroom with the wind rustling the palm-thatched roof. I placed the “spare” chocolate bar in our cooler, where it was saved for a morning after-swim nosh. Only on vacation is a cold Milky Way at 7 ayem acceptable, but on a hot Mexican morning, it’s nearly as good as a swig of cold water.
Funny how a pleasure as simple as a candy bar can become a monumental luxury when you’re living in the Yucatan jungle. We didn’t consider our accommodations particularly rough or overly spare, merely adventurous. But to a person, everyone we told about our thatch-roof, clothing-optional, sans-electricity cabaña on the beach informed us in amazed admiration that they couldn’t do it …or their wife wouldn’t do without a blow dryer! We adjusted quickly. In fact, we adjusted so well, we went back again and again, eagerly looking forward each year to our rustic back-to-nature primitive retreat from TV, phones, computers, refrigerators, alarm clocks, electricity and everything habitual in our daily lives … including Snickers.
Between trips, back in “civilization,” Milky Ways continue to remind me of carefree times in Mexico, when we had time to talk, love, play and relax. They’re now my favorite candy bar.
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