In The City of the Petit and Dead

Welcome to Strasbourg everybody where everything is tiny and the streets are deserted. You can lay in the middle of the street for hours and not even come close to being run over. Here sits the Council of Europe--this is an international hub. There should be tons of people running around from important meeting to important meeting, and tourists galore. I don't think I've seen 10 people total since I've been here. For the locals this is normal since it's vacation time in France and everyone is in the country but for a New Yorker it is just weird. The quiet is killing me! The lack of people outside is making me crazy!!
But in all serious folks, I'm rather enjoying this tranquil setting before a month of hot, loud, crazy India. I haven't slept so well and seen such vivid dreams in a long time. Getting out of the craziness called NYC has been good for me. So why did I schlep to Strasbourg on my way to Delhi? That’s easy—Sveta. Sveta and I go way back, 17 years to be exact, to Ekaterinburg, Russia where we worked together for CARE and the American Councils. Besides counting humanitarian aid at warehouses, we traveled all over the Urals and Western Siberia recruiting high school students for a US-government exchange program (the same type of program I’m working on now with Afghan kids). Anyway, she’s decided to be a single mom and is having a baby in less than a month. I decided to make a stopover and help her get ready for the big event. She’s just moved into a new apartment and needed help fixing up the baby’s room, moving furniture around, putting stuff in storage, etc. I even stocked her freezer with homecooked meals to enjoy when she’s too tired to cook. The least I can do for my pregnant friend. I’ve been hoping that she’d give birth to “Motya” while I was here but as the sun rises on this Monday and my bus back to Frankfurt is in just a few hours, I don’t think it’s going to happen. Sveta doesn’t want it to happen, she’s not ready. But you never know when a kid is going to make its grand entrance into the world. When the cake is done, it’ll pop out of the oven I always say.
Back to Strasbourg. It’s a quaint little town. Little is the city and little is the way people live. Their lives are regimented routines and they seem to like it that way. It’s as if you stirred up their little routines, they’d freak out entirely and think the world was coming to an end. Practical, regimented, on the straight and narrow are words I’d use to describe life here. In other words: B-O-R-I-N-G! Quite the opposite of the US where things are lived larger. Well who am I to judge? Not judging, just making an observation. Anyway, my favorite observation here has been the nun who sits in the garden of the old folks’ home and knits in the afternoon. I watch her from the window, probably her time to relax and unwind away from her routine. It must be nice to take joy in such simple pleasures.
The sun rises on this quiet city. Singing birds are the only thing I hear from the city. Tomorrow is Bastille Day so many took advantage of a long weekend to spend time outside the city. I will spend my Bastille Day arriving in Delhi and, after 5 times arriving in Delhi, finally leave the airport and catch a glimpse of the loud, colourful, massive, hot, exciting, noisy country that is India. What a switch from Strasbourg, I hope I can handle it!

On The Road Eastward

12:30 pm in Frankfurt. OK readers now the blog gets interesting. As per usual, I’ve left my NYC abode for a month of work with the Afghans. This time we’re doing the program in India which is rather exciting. After flying through Delhi five times, I finally get to leave the airport! But first, a stopover in Strassbourg, France to see Sveta, my very pregnant friend/former assistant from my Russia days. She’s decided that at 36, with no marriageable men in sight, she’s having a baby by herself. I’ve decided to give her a few days of pre-birth prepping before dealing with the Afghans. I think she’s going to have me paint the baby’s room and arrange furniture around her new apartment she just moved into. She doesn’t have many people she can rely on in Strassbourg so it’s the least I can do for her.
I left the cats in good hands with my friend Sam from Minnesota. He is the other half of Jeff and Sam, the high school sweethearts who used to live in NYC but moved back to the Twin Cities to buy a house three years ago. Sam had an itching to spend the summer in NYC so I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse—take care of my cats and house for a month rent free. Mama Suly’s cancer has subsided a bit thanks to Dr. Wen’s magic herbs, so I go to India with not such a heavy heart. Crossing my fingers and saying my prayers that she (and the other two) will be just fine for the month.
Leaving my house wasn’t as crazy as it usually is. Maybe because I had a friend staying and didn’t have to clear the closets, throw stuff in the basement, clean the house from head to toe. Sam’s easy going which made the departure less stressful. I even had time to hang out with Eddie and take a dip in his pool before heading to the airport.
Rather nice to be leaving later than usual and not going to Afghanistan where I while away my time waiting for something to happen. I managed to squeeze in a 4th of July weekend drive up to Maine for the wedding of Tim and Tana, two of my teachers from last year’s program. They insisted I come for the wedding and how could I say no. I didn’t want to sacrifice my personal time to swelter away in dusty Kabul. I’d rather go to a wedding in Maine! What a fun time it was despite the rain and mud. The very simple ceremony was held at Tana’s stepmom’s house out in the boonies. It had rained all week so the ground was well saturated and the roads rather muddy. I managed to find a somewhat firm place to pitch a tent for the night. The rain held out for the quick ceremony on the proch then we all went under a tent for the reception and dancing. A great time had by all. I was decked out in my Afghan garb which caused quite a stir. My line for the night was, “I’m the one that dragged them to Afghanistan.” Open your mouth about Afghanistan and you never stop answering questions. I was talking about it all night. The Justice of the Peace thought I was a Catholic priest in my robes. Boy does he need to get out of Maine more often!
The ride home was long and contemplative. I do my best thinking on the road. It was a chance to clear my head and prepare for this coming month in the Punjab with my staff and darling kids. I wasn’t alone on the trip, I bought 4 live lobsters to come down with me. We ate those up on Monday night out of Pete’s deck. Deeeeelicious!!!! Ah the Punjab, the program. So far none of the kids have visas to go to the US thanks to the 49% run-away-to-Canada rate this past year. We’ll see how many come to camp. Even if none show up, we are ready with a great teaching staff. Who knows what awaits me in the Punjab. In the meantime, I have a bus to catch to Strasbourg.

End of June update

Swine Flu missed me. Yet the eyes of suspicion and semi-paranoia were upon me though at PS42 as I told everyone about my trip to Mexico. A flu went through our school for a few weeks causing mass hysteria and low class sizes. Any kid with a fever was out of there. One fourth grade class had 9 out of 30 students present one day. Rather crazy May it was. Now we have this mysterious Fifth disease that is going around. It gives kids red cheeks as if they’ve been slapped around. Seems to always come around this time of year so as to add some fun to the end of the school year. I’m amazed that being HIV+ I haven’t contracted one of these ailments from the kids and croaked. Guess it has to do with sturdy genes—thanks mom and dad and all the generations before them.
Felix sits and stares at me as if he wants to tell me something. I think he’s just figuring out a way to snuggle between me and the computer. Forget it cat, it’s blog time. I have been more attentive to my cats’needs than my blog needs as of late. Speaking of cats, Mama Suly’s cancer has ebbed in the back of her mouth thanks to Dr. Wen’s Chinese herbs. I can’t believe that a dire diagnosis in January of 3 months to live has come and gone and now it’s 6 months later and here she is snuggling on my arm on the couch. Guess she has tough genes like me. Suly and I have been taking 1.5 hour drives out to Speonk on Long Island every two weeks to see Dr. Wen and track her cancer. One treatment didn’t take, another didn’t either and her mouth was inflamed red with the spreading cancer. The third and last protocol of herbs worked and we’ve kept the cancer down and her mouth looks a healthy pink colour. With a month-long trip to India in my future, such news makes me happy and relieved. Now I can go to India with not such a worried soul. Hampton Vet in Speonk is a great place. Everyone is so friendly and loves Suly (what’s not to love), the other petowners and I strike up conversations about our “kids” and how fabulous Dr. Wen is. I feel pangs of parent-ness when I ready the car for Suly and make the drive out there. Some think it’s rather excessive but she’s worth the time, gas, and money.
Rain, rain go away! How much water can we have? My garden doesn’t really mind it but after weeks of it, come one!! Puts a damper on all the outdoor barbeques I want to have and of course weekend street fairing. Luckily it hasn’t affected the weekends too much. Money is still being made. A new flea market has opened up near my house, the Park Slope Flea Market, which I’ve doing on Saturdays. It’s rather dead right now but slowly it will be a happening neighborhood event. I’m trying to get other local artists and designers down there to make it a fun market and get the cheap crap out of there.
Last week was Brooklyn Pride and after a day at the market (cut short by a rain storm) I decided to be prideful and go watch our little parade strut down 7th Ave. Haven’t been in a few years so I decided to get in touch with my gay side and do my civic duty as a homo. The Brooklyn Pride parade is so tiny that if you blink, you’ll miss it. Still it is compact, neighborhoody and full of pride. Being an election year, it was full of wannabe politicians pressing the flesh for the gay vote. In between were the various gay/lesbian groups, Dykes on Bikes, the Queer Cheer Squad, churches, fire and police departments, and of course the pro marriage brigades. I haven’t been to a gay parade in years and it was nice to go hang out with friends and show our pride. Things sure have changed since I came out years ago. Coming out doesn’t seem to be a big deal now, being gay isn’t such a shock to people, it’s more accepted. Still there are things to struggle for: equal marriage rights, HIV and AIDS is still a problem among the young gays. Where do I fit in to all of this? Is it enough to help run a monthly contra dance at the GLBT Centre? Should I be doing more in the community? Probably. I have some ideas on how I can be involved but we’ll table those until September. Right now I have to focus on my summer in India with the Afghans.
India with the Afghans? Well, if you know anything about me, you know that I go off to Central Asia to work on a US-funded high school program for students from Afghanistan. Things have been rather crazy the past few years with a large portion of students running off to Canada, still the State Dept. doesn’t cancel the program. Today the kids who are in the US now will be going back home after their year in the US, so it will be interesting to know how many get on that plane. About half of this year’s kids left for Canada (about 16 out of 37) so far, we’ll see what the final tally is when the plane takes off later today. In any case, I’m looking forward to going to India. After 5 times flying through Delhi, I finally get to leave the airport. Who knows how many kids we will have this year (so far 40 are planned but the US embassy in Kabul hasn’t issued one visa), in any case I plan, hire teachers, get the curriculum together, buy supplies—I’m ready. Leave in about two week’s time and much to do before that. House stuff, bills to pay in advance, classes to finish, a wedding in Maine to go to, a few more street fairs, maybe a dinner party…it just never ends. Maybe that’s a good thing.

Chilling on the Isla

Cold, grey, rainy New York looms outside my window. The beginning of May and we are a water logged city. Can I click my heels, snap my fingers, blink my eyes, anything to be back on Isla Mujeres?
SNAP! BLINK! CLICK! Aaah Isla Mujeres where the only worry seems to be whether you want to swim or snorkel. 20 minutes ferry ride from resort hell and there you are on this little island where the Mexicans go to relax and the foreigners who like the local pace come for some R&R from their hectic other lives.
Brooks and I got a room at the Posada Del Mar hotel right across the street from the beach for a few days of relaxation. The hotel is more quaint on the website but they’re making it bigger so there was construction going on all around us. Old pictures can be foolish. Still, the hotel was full of people from all over who make an annual pilgrimage to the Isla who were happy to be there despite the mess and banging of builders.
A lot can happen in 3 days in sleepy little place like Isla Mujeres. Lots to do: snorkeling, scuba diving, boating, driving around on a golf cart, paragliding, the list goes on. But I was happy just making my way across the street to the beach and laying under an umbrella all day reading a book. So that’s what I did. Now and then I’d jump in the water to cool off in the turquoise blue sea.
During the day, the Isla is crowded with obnoxious tourists coming over from their resort hells on big katamarans or party boats. They swim, do lunch, drink, shop and (fortunately) go back from whence they came by the end of the day. The rest of us take naps, sip drinks at sunset on the beach and then run into each other on Hidalgo, the long pedestrian street with all the restaurants, bars and shops. Despite the small size of the island, one could still remain anonymous if they wanted. Being inconspicuous and anonymous has always been hard for me so by day 2 we knew half the town. Daniel from Denver, Mindy from Minnesota, Rob and Jennifer from Buffalo, a hot black mama from Atlanta (I called her Boney M), Jill from Ft. Laud, a couple from San Francisco. We were all escaping our regular routines, getting off our merry-go-rounds and doing something totally different for a week or so.
A bright, colorful little place full of friendly people, Isla Mujeres has been able to stave off the resort hell-itis that plagues Cancun across the sea. Though some of that ugliness has popped up here and there around the island, it still remains a haven of peace and tranquility. One day an ugly family from Long Island caused quite a ruckus on the beach and were sent packing back to Cancun. Bad energy is not welcomed here!
My three days here helped suffice a long held dream of going away to Tahiti, laying on a beach reading a book under a palm tree and not having to know anyone or do anything. Tahiti is still a dream but seems so far away compared to a 4 hr flight to Cancun. Will Isla Mujeres be my new Tahiti? Could be.

Lazy Sunday in Merida

On Sundays in Merida, close off streets, open up the Zocalo to the pedestrians and have a ball. A market is set up on the square with lots of interesting things to buy: hats, wuipas, ceramics, paintings, jewelry, etc. All around the outside of the Zocalo are delicious food stands selling all sorts of great food. The locals and tourists linger at tables, eating, socializing and enjoying a quiet Sunday. In Santa Lucia park, a band sets up and people come to dance the afternoon away. Mostly older couples, these people can really cut a rug! All dressed up in their finery, they come to socialize, strut and court the ladies, flirt and coyishly refuse the invitations to dance (until finally saying yes), fan themselves and gossip, to see and be seen. Families ride bikes up and down the Prospect Mejor which is closed to traffic, artists sell their paintings all up and down the wide boulevard. What better way to spend a Sunday right? Brooks and I enjoyed this happy Sunday until we had to get on our bus to Cancun and then to Isla Mujeres.

I'm Ruined Part 2-The Road Trip To Uxmal

My $19 a day rent a car suddenly tripled due to insurance (hey better than getting in an accident and sitting in jail) so I figured I might as well use it to its full capacity while I had it. Saturday morning, Brooks and I were up early and on the road to Uxmal (pronounced OOshmal for all you rubes) another one of the many Mayan ruins that dot the Yucatan peninsula. About an hour from Merida, Uxmal is in the hilly part of the Yucatan and a hidden gem of a place. Definitely my favorite of the ruins I saw. Not only for its lack of tourists but for its layout and preserved state. Plus the legend that it was created over night by a dwarf scorcerer adds to the charm. Once again I walked around agog and thinking, boy did the Spanish fuck things up. For a civilization to plan and execute building on such a massive scale, and that most of the buildings still remain intact is just a wonder. Many of the buildings at Uxmal have intricate designs on the facades and amazing bas reliefs. How they pieced this all together to make it last so long is amazing. Brooks and I wandered the ruins in awe, stopping now and then in the shade to rest and drink some water on this very hot day. The grand pyramid loomed before us as we entered. Behind that were three courtyards of rather large scale which were quite impressive. Unlike Chichen Itza, Uxmal doesn’t have any echo tricks so no one was clapping (Thank God). We meandered through the courtyards, down to the ball court (smaller than the one at C.I.) and up a massive staircase to the Governor’s Palace. Perched on a hill, the governor could keep an eye on all his people as they went about their business. I wondered what the inside must have been like in its heyday for now the interior was a cold, damp, stinky, dark place with bats. You could hear them squeaking as you glanced inside. The smell of guano and mildew kept you out though. After climbing the steep stairs of the grand pyramid, the mid-day heat was beginning to get to us so we made our way back to the entrance for some cold water and our AC-ed rental. Being the Yucatecan food connoisseur, Brooks knew of a restaurant known for its Poc Chuc--pork marinated in sour oranges and achiote and cooked to deliciousness. El Principe Tutul-Xiu in Mani was THE place to go for Poc Chuc so off we went down the road to Mani. Driving through small towns, we got a glimpse of everyday village life: big churches on main squares, houses in vivid colours of pink, turquoise, yellow and sky blue, men on 3-wheeled bicycles carrying goods or people, children playing in the streets staring and waving as we drove by, dogs lazily asleep in the shade of a tree. When we got to Mani, the place was dead. Lunch time siesta was in full swing, everyone inside hiding from the blazing sun. All the action was at El Principe Tutul-Xiu as far as we could see. We got a table in the shade of a giant palapa and ordered up some Poc Chuc, Relleno Negro (turkey cooked in a black chili sauce which looks like motor oil) and beers. The Poc Chuc was amazing, the Relleno Negro good too but not fantastic. Tutul-Xiu has a branch in Merida but this is the original restaurant and definitely worth the drive down to take in the local flavor and savor this amazing pork dish. Besides Mayan ruins, the other thing to do here is go swimming in a cenote (that’s se-NO-tay for the same rubes). After our lunch we drove off down a country road, through more villages to a cenote that was recommended to us. Instead of taking the main road, we decided to take a little two laned road in the middle of nowhere, twisting and turning through the countryside. I didn’t know if we were on the right road but I knew we were going in the right direction. Now and then we’d meet another car coming from the opposite way so we knew we must be going toward some sort of civilization. Mexican maps aren’t always clear, nor are the signs so you have to ask people to make sure you’re going the right way. Lo and behold, we ran into our cenote place almost by accident. In a small town that used to be a booming henequen plantation, it’s main allure now is the cenote tour. The small town is dominated by a crumbling hacienda and factory where they processed the henequen (an agave-like plant used for making rope—big business here back in the shipping days). There are a set of mini train tracks that lead out into the fields where henequen was grown. Back in the day, they would load up the henequen on horse-pulled carts and transport it to the end of the line at the processing factory. Nowadays, this rail is used to take avid swimmers to the three cenotes on this vast swath of land once owned by some mighty rich person. Brooks and I piled onto our little cart driven by a man and his son, pulled by a skinny little horse who seemed unenthused about making another trek to the cenotes. It’s a single track so when you meet someone coming the other way, the drivers figure out who is going to take their cart off the track. Once it is figured out, you get out of the cart, the driver pulls the cart off the track, lets the other one pass, then plops your cart back on the track and away you go. The carts are really big sleds on rail wheels, not heavy at all. I forgot to tell you what a cenote is—an underground pool. The Yucatan has many a cenote to visit and they make a nice swimming reprieve to a hot day of touring. This tour was special because you got to go to three cenotes to swim. Turquoise pools of water underground in caverns dotted by stalagtites and beams of sunlight shining through, the cenotes are a little scary but overall a great place to swim. The first one was rather deep (about 70 feet) and dark in the corners so Brooks and I didn’t enjoy it as much as the second or third. Descending down wooden stairs or ladders in some cases deep into the earth we took cooled down from a long hot day of touring in the cool waters of the cenotes. The second one was my favorite, the third was the most treacherous, climbing down a ladder into the dark unknown, trying to keep your grip on the ladder and towel and not slip off. Along the way we would meet other swimmers, families of all sizes having a ball swimming underground. I imagined ladies of the hacienda taking rides out here back in the day to be
lowered down into the pools, swimming in Victorian era bathing suits, making an entire day of it. In our case we only had about 1.5 hour to see all three as the sun gently began its descent into evening. The ride back was magical, the clopping of the hooves, the golden sunset behind us, the gentle rumble of the rails and swaying of the cart. I can’t tell you where this place is, but I can show you on a map. Brooks knows the name of the place—we’ll ask him. Never a dull moment in Merida, we headed back into town just in time to get dressed and head down to the square for the Saturday night concert. More dancers, singers and musicians, food stalls serving up fantastic food: elotes, tacos, tamales, esquites, marquesitas, sopas, and much more. A fun night for the whole town. Women sang along with the singers, children ran around or sat obediently with their parents watching the show, families ate and listened to the music. We Americans have such a skewed vision of Mexico which is a real shame, because here is the real Mexico and it’s so much like us. Too bad more people can’t get passed the stereotype. Or maybe it’s a good thing, why bring narrow-minded people here to this fabulous party and ruin it. My final night in Merida was coming to a close. Tomorrow, Brooks and I were heading to the beach at Isla Mujeres—a gem of an island off the coast of resort hell (Cancun).

The Swine Flu Proviso

Just to let you know readers, I write about my Mexico trip from the comfort of my Brooklyn kitchen. With the swine flu raging around the world, I wanted to let you know that I left Mexico the day before all this flu madness began. No illness to speak of yet (knock on wood).

I'm Ruined Part 1-Road trip to Chichen Itza

When one is on the Yucatan Peninsula, there’s two things they must do—go to the beach and the ruins. Chichen Itza is the granddaddy of all the Mayan ruins and about an hour down the road from Merida. There are various ways of getting there and I decided to rent a car. After the 4 hr journey from Cancun, I wasn’t in the mood to hop on another bus. Plus I like the freedom a car brings. Online I found a really cheap rate but after the insurance and taxes, it wasn’t that cheap. Oh the price of freedom huh? Better pay more than sit in a Mexican jail.
I wanted to get the car early so I could get to Chichen Itza before the heat of the day. Of course being Mexico that wasn’t going to happen. Instead of an 8:00 start, it was more like 9:00. The Hertz girl was late, so I went to eat breakfast, we had to wait for the car to arrive from another location, and so on. I kept my inner Brooklyn at bay and repeated the “This is Mexico, go with it” mantra and was just fine. Worse comes to worse I just add more sunscreen and drink more water. So by 9:00 I was on my way to the famed ruins of Chichen Itza.
Speeding down the highway to the C.I. turnoff, there’s not much really to see. The drive is through flat, drab scrub land. Occasionally there’d be a fire for the locals like to burn plots of land for some reason. Maybe for farming or to promote new growth. Besides being nothing interesting to see, there’s no roadside stops or gas stations either. As the gas tank edged closer to empty, I hoped there was a gas station near Chichen Itza or I’d be walking home. Fortunately in the town of Pisto near the ruins I was able to fill er up.
I had a bit of trepidation going to ancient ruins after my four-day trip to Angkor Wat so fresh in my mind. Would they all blend together like an ancient civilization milkshake in my mind? Would I be underwhelmed by Chichen Itza? There was only one way to find out. I pulled into the parking lot and made my way through the tour buses and crowds to the ticket booth. The entrance to Chcihen Itza is like a circus; groups of tourists waiting, Mayans protesting the exploitation of their ancestral home, a big souvenir market. I ignored it all and just walked up to the ticket booth, got my ticket and went inside. No need to be with a tour guide, I have an aversion to them since my Russia days. If I needed information, I’d buy a guide book inside (which I did).
Part of getting in to the place is wearing a day-glo wrist band that says “Chichen Itza” on it. Branded like a calf with my temporary accessory, in I went to view the ruins. There it was smack in my face upon entry, the famed pyramid that is familiar the world over. I expected it to be bigger but still was impressed by its construction and the fact that it’s still standing strong after all these centuries. Bummer that you can no longer climb to the top of it. A rather daunting task, given the tiny steps and the steep grade. I’m sure many a tourist has fallen from those stairs. Groups of tourists from Cancun were all there for the day, each nationality easily spotted—the Brits, the Germans, the French, the Italians, the Americans (always the fattest). Moving about in clumps with their guides, I would sometimes sidle up to listen for a bit before moving on. Chichen Itza is very impressive. As I walked through all the ruins, one thought kept going through my head: “The Spanish really fucked things up”. Well they did. If there weren’t so narrow minded and embraced this pretty advanced culture, things would have turned out so much better for the Mayans and their culture would probably have still been around prominently today. Instead they had to destroy their buildings, books and force the locals to convert to Catholocism. Well, there’s no way to turn back time now. I was impressed with how advanced the Mayans were. The had an observatory to study the stars, a school of philosophy, written books, a code of hieroglyphics and an interesting outlook on life. If they could’ve just given up the more barbaric things like human sacrifices and beheadings, I’m sure they get along just fine with the Spanish.
At the pyramid and the ball court (my favorite spot) the guides tell people that if they clap, it will echo 7 times. So as you walk around the ruins, you a trailed by a cacophony of clapping, so much of it that you never do hear an echo. Rather funny. Chichen Itza is more than just that big pyramid—a sprawling complex of interesting buildings and temples. I toured all of them until the mid-day sun zapped me of all energy and interest in Mayan ruins. So after a cool drink in the shade and a walk through of the souvenir market, I hopped back in my car and headed back to Merida via Izamal, a small colonial era town known for its convent and yellow colour.
I always believe in taking a different road home so instead of getting back on the toll highway, I took the backroads which proved to be more interesting. Sleepy little towns with brightly coloured houses, gardens, palapas (Mayan houses of wood and thatched roofs), people lazing about in hammocks, children riding bicycles waving at me as I passed. For the most part, there wasn’t much life going on in many of the villages. Being mid-day, everyone was inside out of the heavy rays of an unforgiving sun. I’m sure closer to evening the little villages come alive again but I was not going to see that today.
Izamal didn’t underwhlem me in the least. A gorgeous little town of yellow ocher buildings surrounding a big convent/cathedral on a hill in the center of town. I don’t know whose idea it was to paint the town yellow but it works. It’s especially impressive with a blue sky as a backdrop. Izamal too was rather quiet, with a few clumps of tourists to be seen walking around the convent. To my dismay, my camera batteries died in Izamal so I wasn’t able to snap away as I would have liked. Still I got osome pictures of the church and yellow buildings around it. After my little tour, I sat down to lunch in the marketplace across the street from the convent in a little café Los Portales for a carne asada lunch and a grand view of the square. The lunch was very good, I loved the homemade hot sauce of habaneros and sour oranges—two local staples in a lot of the cooking here. As the sun began its descent toward the west, I followed it through more quiet towns on country roads back to Merida.
After leaving Brooks all day to work inside, we decided to take advantage of the car and drive to Progreso, a town on the coast 30 mins away from Merida for a swim and dinner. When in the Yucatan, apparently, one must go to Progreso for fried fish. So after a swim in the warm Gulf of Mexico, we dined on whole fried fish, washed back with cold Victoria beer at Flamingos (one of Brooks’ Progreso eateries). We strolled along the promenade post dinner among all the locals who were hanging out as we were doing, past the marquesita and elote sellers, past the carnival with the Ferris Wheel all aglow, past the excited children with their parents. We drove home around 10, back to a Merida just coming alive with activity. A long day indeed for me but oh so enjoyable.

Getting in the Yucatecan groove

I don’t think I’ve ever wrote this on my blog but it is one of my traveler truisms: The more I see the world, the more I realize that the world is normal and the US is not. While we in the US speed up with advanced gadgets and technology, we seem to have forgotten the simple things in life. The rest of the world moves at a more normal human pace, yet we speed along and expect everyone else to follow along with us. And when they don’t, we yell and scream, beating our chests with superiority, looking down our noses in contempt. This is not the way to go about the world, no we need to let go of our Americaness and embrace wherever we are. Such is the case with Mexico. I feel sorry that such a warm, vibrant culture is getting so misaligned in the US press causing fear and trepidation about travel to our neighbor to the south.
Well all of that was far from my mind as I explored the sites of Merida and beyond. The sun’s heat begins early this time of year in Merida so people are up early getting as much done before the full intensity of the sun hits mid-day. The bustling pace quiets a bit until about 3 then picks up again until late into the evening. Merida is a cultural gem and there’s so much to see. I didn’t rush to see everything for I wanted to save some things for future visits. Brooks and I spent our first morning shopping at the market, a huge complex of stalls seeling everything you need: fresh fruits and vegetables, spices, shoes,
meat, seafood, chickens, backpacks, souvenirs and so on. This is where the everyday bustle of life goes on and where to see the locals in action. Afterwards I went to the city museum to get some “kul-chah” while Brooks went home to work. I meandered through the museum and then on through the small calles to the Zocalo, snapping pictures along the way, stopping in to see the main cathedral (built by the Spanish on the spot of an ancient Mayan pyramid, built with the stones from this pyramid—talk about recycling) and giant murals in the municipal building. The intense heat kept us inside after lunch, so I siestaed in my cool room in Brooks’ beautiful colonial casa. Brooks has a great little house in the center of town designed around a central courtyard, streaming in light yet keeping out most of the heat. Its best feature is the old floor tiles, done in an Art Nouveau/Deco style. Geometric patterns framed by a repeat of a poppy, a floral design in browns and blues. Tiled versions of oriental rugs. Many of the older places still have these floors—probably a selling point to the many Americans looking at property down here.
Brooks, being the food lover like me, had a list of Yucatecan dishes to try and where to sample them. As the intense sun made its way into sunset, we made our way out into town to try some of the local fare. I grew up on Mexican food and here on the peninsula the food has a different flavor. Habaneros are used a lot but also sour oranges and limes to flavor the food. Being close to the water, seafood is eaten a lot. Turkey is too. Poc Chuc, Relleno Negro, Panuchos and Sabultes, Pibil, Sopa de Lima, Papadzules—so many new things to try, and so many good restaurants to try them in. What I like about Merida is that you can try these dishes in little cafes or fancy restaurants and either way they’re both great. Washed down with a local beer and you’re good to go. Even the street food is good—Elotes (corn with cheese, cream and a spicy lime sauce) and Marquesitas-crepes with cheese or Nutella. It’s all good and safe to eat.
After our dinner we headed to Santa Lucia square for the Serenade, a Thursday night free concert. Instead of being couped up at home watching TV, the locals come out to hear music from local musicians and singers and see dancing groups as well. It’s a wonderful night of culture that’s been going on for over 30 years. The square was full of both young and old, foreigner and local, everyone there to enjoy a night of music and dance. I was most impressed by the women’s costumes of the Yucatecan Ballet Folklorico. White wipas embroidered with colorful flowers and their hair all in a bun and abloom with more flowers and bows. An inspiration for collage, I went back stage after the show to snap a few of the girls dresses and heads. Fortunately they didn’t seem to mind and posed happily.
As the streets quieted, we walked home, stopping at the Café Impala for a late night mango frappe. A perfect end to a perfect first day. Tomorrow is an early day for me as I decided to rent a car for a few days and tool around looking at the ancient Mayan cities. Next stop-Chichen Itza!