Valladolid 2026 Day 5: Crocodiles, Flamingo Poop, and Some Great Laundry Service

Well, it's been a minute since we returned from Valladolid with the trip only half blogged. I'm going to do my best to recap our remaining highlights, but I had to ask for a little help from my friends to fill in some of the gaps.

Day 5 took us on a road trip to Rio Lagartos and the Ría Lagartos Biosphere Reserve, located at the eastern end of the Yucatán Peninsula's northern coast. The reserve contains a remarkable variety of ecosystems, from mangrove forests to coastal lagoons, and supports an astonishing amount of wildlife.

Naturally, we came for the crocodiles.

We woke up early for the roughly 90-minute drive from Valladolid to Rio Lagartos. Before leaving town, we scarfed down breakfast from the supplies we got from Super Chedraui. I may or may not have eaten two PB&Js before 8 a.m. Sometimes adventure requires fuel.

Driving in Mexico always felt longer than the actual mileage would suggest. Every road demanded constant vigilance thanks to the country's seemingly endless supply of surprise speed bumps. Just when you thought you were cruising along nicely, *BAM!*

Eventually we arrived in Rio Lagartos, although there was a brief period of confusion about where exactly we were supposed to go. A helpful local directed us to a parking space. It wasn't until after we'd parked that I realized he expected us to book a boat tour through him.

Unfortunately, we'd already reserved ours in advance. 

After a quick apology, a small tip, and only a brief scowl, we parted on reasonably good terms.

While sorting ourselves out, we met a fellow traveler from France. She gave us a hard time about not speaking enough Spanish and asked if she could join our boat tour. Since our group of four had reserved a private boat that could accommodate six people, I said sure. Meeting fellow travelers is one of the best parts of travel.

When we finally found our guides, however, they weren't willing to add anyone else to our reservation. Fortunately, she quickly found space on another boat, so nobody was stranded.

We boarded our boat with our guide, Calvin. Not long after leaving the dock, we spotted our first crocodile. Or rather, our guide spotted it and casually steered the boat right up to it.

It was enormous. It lay motionless at the water's edge while our guide positioned the boat practically on top of it. Then he told us: "It's plastic."

And honestly? We believed him. At least for a little while. Why wouldn't there be a giant fake crocodile strategically placed to entertain tourists? 

Until he moved. Not much. Just enough to make it clear that while he might have been feeling lazy, he was definitely not made of plastic.

That was the beginning of an excellent wildlife tour.

As we cruised through the mangroves, our guide shared one of my favorite pieces of local wildlife lore. According to him, the herons and crocodiles have a longstanding Hatfield-and-McCoy-style feud.

Crocodiles eat herons. Herons eat baby crocodiles. Apparently nobody remembers who started it, but both sides seem committed to keeping the conflict alive.

We saw plenty of evidence that the crocodiles are holding their own.

We eventually reached an area where we could see flamingos feeding in the distance. Very far in the distance.

The pelicans, however, were much less shy.

A became completely captivated by photographing them, which worked out nicely because it means we came home with some spectacular pelican photos.

Toward the end of the tour, Calvin brought us to a small beach. There, he handed us a bucket of white clay and instructed us to cover ourselves with it. The clay, he explained, was rich in nutrients and minerals that would exfoliate our skin and draw out impurities.

Naturally, we asked what those nutrients were. The internet says that the mud contains sulfur, mineral salts, and ancient algae deposits. But Calvin answered, "Mostly flamingo poop."

Still to this day, I'm not sure what was in that bucket. What I do know is that we enthusiastically smeared it all over ourselves anyway, and we LOVED it.

After returning to the dock, our tour organizers helped us find a place to shower and change. This was greatly appreciated because the clay had somehow found its way into every conceivable crevice.

Freshly cleaned and wearing actual clothes again, we took a few photos at the Rio Lagartos sign and went looking for lunch.

Our destination was Flomar Cocina Tradicional, which had earned a perfect Google rating with more than 180 reviews.

The restaurant doesn't look like much from the outside. Inside, however, we discovered one of the most memorable meals of the trip.

The owner, Boni, greeted us with extraordinary warmth and hospitality. As soon as we walked in, we spotted our French acquaintance from earlier that morning enjoying a coco frío. By this point in the trip, we'd learned an important lesson: When cocos frios are available, you order cocos frios. So we did. Alongside some Coca-Cola.

A requested vegan options and ended up with a fantastic meal of rice, beans, and vegetables. Meanwhile, I made what was technically a successful but emotionally complicated seafood choice. I ordered fried fish.

When my lunch arrived, I learned the difference between "fried fish" and fish fillet. Fried fish meant an entire fish. With eyes. Looking directly at me. Awkward. 

To be fair, once I got past the fact that my lunch appeared to be judging me, it was delicious. Next time, though, I'm ordering the fillet. Apparently that's French for "without eyes."

After lunch, Boni proudly showed us around his garden. He was particularly excited about his tamarind tree. He insisted we try some. He was right. It was delicious. 

That was the moment I learned that I am a huge fan of tamarind. So many culinary lessons in just one lunch.

M drove us back to Valladolid. I would love to tell you about the return trip. But I slept through most of it. I think maybe we stopped at Super Chedraui to replenish our PB&J supplies, but I can't swear to it. That might have been a different day. Never fear, though. The supplies were definitely replenished.

Back in Valladolid, S and I walked over to Lavandería La Tía Candi—Aunt Candy's Laundry Service. The day before, we'd dropped off laundry for four people. Twenty-four hours later, it was clean, folded, and ready for pickup.

Cost? 100 pesos. About $6.28.

As someone who likes to pack light, I have sampled laundry services all over the world. In my entirely unofficial rankings: Tía Candi es número uno.

By this point in the trip, our group collectively decided to downshift.

We had packed plenty of activity into the first half of our stay, and now we wanted to spend our remaining days soaking in the things we loved most about Valladolid.

That evening, we returned to IX CAT IK, one of our favorite restaurants from earlier in the trip. It was every bit as wonderful the second time. We devoured the Sikil Pak and once again talked about learning how to make it ourselves when we got home. I still haven't done that. Instead, whenever I think about Sikil Pak, I find myself wanting to book another trip to the Yucatán. For those of us in Raleigh, however, I have since learned that Gringo A Go Go serves Sikil Pak on their menu. So perhaps all is not lost.

After dinner, M and A took a taxi back to Casa del Cenote. S and I opted to walk. The route was about 20 minutes and took us through a quieter, more residential section of Valladolid. We'd already made the same walk multiple times without incident. This time was different.

As we passed through one neighborhood, a truck drove by and somehow triggered a chain reaction among the local dogs. One bark became two. Two became six. Soon, an alarming number of dogs seemed to materialize from nowhere and merge into a loose but slightly menacing pack that began following us down the street.

I handled this situation with my usual grace and composure. By which I mean I freaked the F out and started yelling: "STOP!"

The dogs remained unconvinced. S, meanwhile, remained perfectly calm. After listening to me fail repeatedly, she gently pointed out that these were Mexican dogs. If I wanted them to understand me, perhaps I should try: "¡ALTO!"

It must have worked; we made it home completely unscathed.

Overall, not bad for a Tuesday.