Mexico: Art in Merida

This is a food court in a small shopping arcade off the main square. walk in from the street, and there they are, surprise murals. Art is everywhere in Merida.

Earlier I mentioned the arts festival that is held every February in Merida. For three weeks there are multiple free concerts every night. There are plays and dance performances. Ethnic dance groups from other parts of Mexico and other countries perform in the streets in addition to the standard Yucatecan dances.

The rest of the winter was rich in art, too. While I was there I saw an exhibit of Picasso drawings, a display of Faberge eggs and other artifacts from the time of the Russian czars, and several local art exhibits. The Russian exhibit was staged in the Governor's Palace, in rooms dedicated to murals by the Yucatecan artist Fernando Castro Pacheco. There's art on the street, too, along the Paseo de Montero.

The cost of all this was - zero. You can pay a few dollars, too, to visit the anthropology museum or the cultural museum. Even the hostel contributed by providing a local musician in the common areas four nights a week, after the free salsa lessons.

There are lots of reasons to love Merida, and art is one of them.

Mexico: Izamal, the Yellow City of the Yucatan

In the center of Izamal, all the buildings are painted yellow.  I'm not sure how this started, but the result is charming.  I'm not sure why this is so.  Having all the buildings in a town painted the same color should be boring and dull, but it isn't.  Even the Convent of San Antonio de Padua is the same dark yellow.

The convent is the main tourist attraction in Izamal.  The front side of the arched porticos that surround the outer courtyard form one side of the main square, or zocolo.  I enjoyed prowling the interior, climbing to rooftop terraces, and trying to imagine life there in 1549, the year it was founded.  From this convent Frey Diego de la Landa ordered the complete destruction of all Mayan artifacts and writings, in spite of his interest in Mayan culture.  Later, stricken by remorse at what he had destroyed, he recorded everything he had learned of the Maya, maybe as a sort of penance for what he had done.

There are three Mayan ruins in town.  I walked to two of them, which were unremarkable hills to an amateur eye.  I was more interested in the street that was being paved.   I had to negotiate a rather twisted path through the roadworks.  The final layer was being put down, a reddish topcoat that was stamped with a stonework pattern so it looked more like old brickwork than a new road.

I finished my day with tortas from a street stand, spicy ground pork on baguettes, freshly cooked, cheap, and delicious, then a quick walk to the bus station to catch the last bus back to Merida.

Note:  I'm writing this after returning to the US, and I am not currently in Merida.

Mexico: Something to Aim For

I've been thinking back on my Mexico trip, reminiscing a bit.

The woman in the bed next to mine went home at the end of January, winding up a month-long break from the Michigan winter. She won't be home for long though, because at the beginning of March she will leave again. This time she would spend three months traveling with a friend through Argentina and Chile, with a brief stop in Brazil to visit Iguazu Falls. She backpacks, staying in hostels and guesthouses, cooking her meals and doing her laundry by hand, roughing it more than I do.

And in between the two departures, she will celebrate her 77th birthday.

Now, just in case you think she might be overly ambitious with her travel plans, in the past few years she and her friend traveled through Eastern Europe for three months, and spent three months seeing Australia and New Zealand. She mentioned other trips, one to Kruger National Park in South Africa, two trips to China, and many previous trips here. She talked about how much she likes Norway, and there was something about ferries in Scotland.

She does't like to plan too far ahead, but she does have a couple of trips in mind. She wants to visit western China (she takes tours there, because of the language difficulties), and maybe do a road trip in the US, to visit all the Frank Lloyd Wright buildings. But, she told me, she's saving that for when she's old.

Note:  I wrote this a while ago and recently came across it in an orphaned folder.  I am not currently in Mexico.

.

Mexico: Racing Through the Ruins - Ruta Puuc

The ruins of the early Mayan Puuc are concentrated around Uxmal, a major site an hour or so south of Merida. Strictly on impulse one day, I decided to take a special bus that would deliver me for a brief stay at four of these ruins in the morning, then deposit me at Uxmal with a couple of hours to explore. I'd been to Uxmal before, so this seemed reasonable.

I had originally planned only to revisit Uxmal, but on the bus ride down I changed my mind. When we parked at Uxmal, instead of getting off the bus, I suddenly stood up and gave the driver the extra money needed for the full route. I still don't know why. I like to take my time when I visit ruins, to wander and sit and try to imagine life there. I don't like to feel rushed and tied to a schedule, but there I was.

At the first site, Labna, we were allowed thirty minutes. The site was small, but I spent two much time at the main building, and not enough exploring the more interesting arch. I just barely made it back to the bus in time. I vowed to do better at X'Lapak.






There, we had only twenty minutes, and that was fine. Or it would have been if I hadn't been the only one who made it back in time. I promised myself I wouldn't push too hard at Sayil. And I didn't, and ended up being one of the last to reach the bus.










Kabah was the last of the small sites on the tour, and should have been the most interesting of the four. It has a famous wall of masks. Or so I hear. The wall of masks is on an upper level, and you have to climb a steep st of fairly high steps to see them. I have arthritis, and I'm heavy, and since I broke my ankle I'm not wildly confident on steps. I really don't like those without railings. As I debated whether there was time for me to give it a shot, I watched a young man in his twenties sidestep down, very carefully. That settled it. It wasn't for me.








Later I heard it was easy to go up, despite the high steps and narrow treads, but the view from the top was very disorienting. The steps were wide, running the length of the plaza, steep, and visually unsettling because there were no sides. Turning sideways eliminated the feeling of being about to pitch forward over a cliff. That explained why everyone seemed to have developed instant arthritis.

The group didn't come back from this part of the trip on time either, so we arrived at Uxmal half an hour late. I was hungry, and I was tired, and I was hot. And I had seen it all before. Why, I thought, should I pay a fairly steep entrance fee to rush around the site. I may have been rushed at the other sites, but the price was right. Two had been free, and the others cost 35 pesos (about two dollars) each.

I declared the race through the ruins over, and had a nice leisurely lunch, a quick walk through the small museum, a look at the shops, and an ice cream. Sitting on one of the slab benches in the visitors center, I remembered that all of these sites had been connected by raised roads, and that they probably had been busy with traders and officials and messangers. Maybe racing through the ruins was the right approach. Maybe it was, in a distorted modern way, a view that the residents had, a quick look as they went about their busy lives.

Mexico: Cool in the Yucatan

While it is hot during the day, I'm wearing long pants and long sleeves in the evenings. I even dug out a sweater. I'm planning on going to San Cristobal de las Casas, but was a little put off when someone from Finland told me "It was really, really cold" there. I certainly hope that they had been traveling in the tropics for a long time, and were thoroughly acclimated. Otherwise, I'm not going to enjoy it much.

The last few days it hasn't even been hot during the day. It's rainy and cool. I feel sorry for people who are here for only two weeks and came partly because they just wanted to get away from winter, be warm, and enjoy the sunshine.












St. Pete sometimes gets these winter storm systems, and as the days wear on, everyone gets noticably more irritable. Floridians expect to see the sun every day, for most of the day. Even the rainy season only means afternoon thunderstorms that rarely last more than fifteen to thirty minutes. A passing hurricane can mess things up for a few days, with the same grim effect on peoples' attitudes. We all go around apologizing if we happen to talk to a tourist, as if the spoiling of their break to the sun was our fault somehoe.

Mexico: Merida

Merida is one of my favorite places in Mexico. It was hard to drag myself away from the beach, but I finally managed it. And now I'm having an equally hard time dragging myself away from Merida.

Why do I like it so much? The local people seem to enjoy the city a lot, coming out to dance and wander the old city. Most of the tourists are Mexican, which is nice. I don't feel as if I've been dropped into a gringo enclave.











The location is just about ideal. Besides its own attractions, Merida is a great center for day trips. Besides Chichen Itza, there are many other Mayan ruins within two hours of the city. One can go swimming and snorkeling in several different cenotes (sink holes), visit an old monastery in a town that is painted all in ochre, or go to the beach.















I'm more into wandering, though. I sit in the plazas and listen to music or read, or watch the children play, or pop into an art gallery or small museum for a quick look. It's pleasant and relaxing and suits me to a T right now.











However, Merida has been eliminated from my list of potential retirement homes. Why? In summer the temperatures reach 44 degrees Celsius. Since 40 degress is 104 Fahrenheit, that makes 44 about 112 degrees Fahrenheit. Add high humidity, a general lack of air-conditioning, and high electric rates, and another candidate bites the dust. Isla Mujeres has the same problems, combined with being a bit on small side.

Mexico: Dancing in Merida's Streets, and Elsewhere

The tiny woman next to me was dancing. Her feet barely reached the ground from the park bench where we were sitting, but they were moving. Tap-tap, slide, kick-kick, heel-to-toe and heel-to-heel. It was a Sunday afternoon in Merida.

The streets near the zocalo are blocked off on the weekends. They turn into pedestrian walkways, outdoor cafes, music venues, and dance floors. Typical dances are demonstrated, musicians perform on small stages set up near the newly blossomed outdoor restaurants, and everywhere, people dance.









Dance styles range from salsa to what we called the 'pony' when I was a student. The style, however, is not related to the music. Old men hold their hands in the air and snap their fingers to a techno beat, and young people dance however they want to traditional music.

Even the beats are different. When the music is Latin, there are a lot of beats to choose from, so some dance to a major rhythm, some to an underlying faster pace, and some mix the two.















And, as I mentioned, dancing is not confined to designated 'dance floors'. Your waiter might execute a few steps on the way to the kitchen, or a spectator from the back of the crowd may break into dance alone. When this happens, someone usually joins in, creating a sattelite. Grnadmothers carry their grandchildren, tapping their feet and teaching them to snap their fingers. Little kids show off for their parents. Everyone dances in the streets.

Mexico: A Belated Merry Christmas from Merida!

So, Christmas in Merida! I went to Burger King, and treated myself to a half pint of Neopolitan ice cream.















Some of the people in the hostel were talking about what is different about Christmas here. A woman from Australia was really impressed with all the lights, especially the ones which hang over the streets in the center of town. She thought they were uniquely Mexican. I let her go on thinking that.

Mexio: Hanging in Isla

I've discovered that blog entries are much easier to do when you are doing nothing. My days in Isla Mujeres were filled. Filled with things like chatting to Moses the Texan, who owns the book exchange in the purple house, enjoying the '50 pesos for 2' margaritas at the beach (13 pesos to the dollar mind you), turning brown, eating hummus and pita bread at Manana (owned, as I was often told, by an Italian Jew - I don't think anyone knew there was such a thing). I also put in a considerable amount of time at hostel, talking to people, reading, eating, and taking advantage of the free wi-fi.












Another really important activity was getting lost. The tourist area in Isla is tiny, yet I managed to get confused nearly every day. I think I tend to orient myself to the water. So, if I am facing the water, that restaurant is on the left, and the hostel is behind me. On Isla Mujeres, I was staying at the top end, and there was water on three sides, which was disorienting.

Add the fact that most of the shops are souvenir shops and pretty much look alike, and I get to demonstrate repeatedly that I am truly directionally challenged.

Mexico: Isla Mujeres At Last

When I got to Isla Mujeres, all I wanted to do was sleep, and all I did was sleep. I didn't even want to eat. I'd had a bad getaway from the US, and had been awake for close to forty hours when I stumbled out of the shower and into my dorm bed.

Of course I didn't get packed when I thought I would, so it was well after dark when I stopped at the gas station just a few doors down from the place where I store my car. I went inside to ask if I could put a small bag of trash in their dumpster, and to look up the number of a taxi company. I mentioned where I was leaving my car, and that I thought I'd walk back and call a taxi from their place.

The husband and wife who staff the place were horrified. They pointed out the two cop cars sitting at one of their exits, noses pointed out to 34th street. I had assumed they were looking for speeders and people jumping red lights. Uh, uh. The couple had called the police because they had seen a man holding a gun, running down the street chasing another man.












I made an instant revision to my plan and called the taxi to pick me up from my car, right there in the lot.

Between that and my 3 am wake up call for my 3:45 am shuttle for my 6 am flight, I got no sleep at all. I didn't nap on the flight to Atlanta. I got about fifteen minutes on the flight to Cancun, which had been delayed an hour. Then there was the long shuttle bus ride, and the wait for the ferry.

I knew I wasn't going to be able to walk with my pack, so I hired a guy with a bicycle cart to haul the bag. I followed him for a while. He had to walk the bike, because I was so slow he couldn't get up enough momentum to keep going. Finally, I was so tired I climbed in the cart and rode with my bags.















Then at last, cleanliness and sleep. I arrived on Thursday. I didn't get to the beach until Saturday.