The big city

I'm hot and sticky, it's 2:22 in the morning, the back of my neck and hair is wet from the heat.  I'm in my studio apartment in Puerto Vallarta.  There's a trio of drunk mexicans sitting on the corner and I can hear their conversation through the loud hum of the floor fan blowing towards my bed.  I can hear someone out there sneezing for god's sake.  I want to yell out something smart and succinct at them, but it would take too much energy and thought.  The all night Oxxo store, like a 7-11, is in front of me.  I could spit on both the store window and the jerks on the corner.  The street is Juarez, a very busy downtown street that is continually full of traffic, no matter that all the stores lining it have gone to bed at 9pm.  I finally have a clean floor after moving into this second spot, which was vacated by a girl I knew and is a lot cooler than my first apartment one floor higher.  There, I melted into a puddle from 11am till 11 pm.  In this new one, I have a balcony; which is good for spitting from and if I look right, I can see the pacific ocean and the boardwalk.  So, on a positive note, I have an ocean view!  I spent my day off cleaning it as whoever did the cleaning after Megan left, should really find another job.  Do you know that a sponge mop is impossible to find here?  Also an electric kettle; they apparently don't exist either.  But I digress.

It's been a week since I started working at the Blue Shrimp, a high end restaurant on Morelos St. just one street over and half way down the block.  I could probably spit on it from my balcony too, if I was really good.  What I love is that I can leave my house at the same time as I'm due at work, something I've not been able to do legitimately since I lived across from my elementary school and used to jump the fence as the bell was ringing.  I swear being so close to my school for 8 years, ruined me for life.  I have always since then, been chronically late (5 mins. or more when I'm really trying to be on time).  Ah, well, I"m enjoying this.  I put my lipstick on halfway there, using a car window as a mirror.

So, I"m a hostess, or as they have it in my contract; a hosstes.  That's mexican for hostess.  I don't know why I'm there actually, because I hadn't wanted to work that much, but somehow, here I am, helping them out, starting right away because their other person was leaving.  I interviewed with the owner to dance at the opening of his new and third restaurant in the old town, on the beach.  This hostessing thing is short term, apparently.  But apparently, 2 weeks til opening has turned into 4. 

My feet are killing me, I"m a wimp, not used to working all day with only one day off a week.  That's normal in Mexico. They think we are all rich and lazy in Canada for taking two in a row off, generally speaking.  I'm planning on doing the same here, as soon as I make my self invaluable and can ask for something.  I mean really, they are lucky to have me.

Basically I stand outside in the hot sun (I go across the street to the shady side in the morning) watch for tourists, who are damned easy to spot and chat them up and give them free appy coupons.  I also offer trays of coconut shrimp, I  seat people, explain the menu, find out where they're from and where they're staying generally be the nice girl who asks how everything is and gives directions to the beach, shopping, and how to take the bus.  I also snap my fingers and a cab appears for them, but that's a trade secret.

The staff are hilarious.  Nobody works too hard, and there is frequently a plethora of waiters and bartenders with absolutely nothing to do but hang out near the bar and gab.  I miss out on this because my job is outside, but once in awhile, when the bosses are gone, I get to go to the back and be "one of the guys".  There is one female waitstaff and she is gorgeous and snooty but cool.  Lupita.  I love that name.  They tease me and play word games because they know I'm not perfect in their language.  But one day. . .   Luisa is also wonderful and works in purchasing.  

The other day, I was working my street (ha) and two mexican ladies passed by with a very little baby, 2 months old and I guess by the way I looked at it, they must have had some 'woman sense' and she came back and plunked it in my arms.  Their car was nearby on the street, they were about to go somewhere.  I couldn't get over the amount of HAIR it had for two months.  A full head.  So funny, he was sleeping so soundly and the aunt and I chatted for awhile.  No children? she asked.  No, not yet I said.  One day.  It was so sweet and I thought it was a lovely gesture on her part.  I miss having girlfriends.

I watched the sunset on the boardwalk last night.  I was walking down the busy side streets and saw this big orange ball in the sky and thought I had better go one block and get to the water to enjoy it.  It was nice.  I'm 2 blocks off the water and have not even gone to the beach yet.  It's kind of rough and rocky and there is an undertow.  One day, on a day off I will take the bus and go to the beach everyone talks about, towards the south.

Pictures soon!

Return to Yelapa

I went to Yelapa after a week of being in Vallarta.  It was a hot day and I took a cab down to the pier because of course, I was running late.  I asked the fellow on the dock who was it that was driving the boat today and it was Jorge, who I knew from before, and who I found sitting in the seaside restaurant in his signature pink lacoste shirt and wayfairers.  His daughters keep giving him pink shirts for Father's Day he tells me.

He is a big man and very sweet, from what I can tell.  He remembered me and asked me to join him, and another friend who I discovered was a singer in Vallarta and very friendly as well although I cannot remember her name.  On the way to the dock later, salesmen in white uniforms started asking "going to Yelapa?"  wanting to sell me overpriced tourist tickets.  Jorge waved them away telling them:  "Don't ask her, she lives here."  "Oh", they would respond, "she lives here, okay sorry."

I felt so special.  I didn't get the 50 peso mexican price, but I got the gueyra-who-lives-here price (90) which is cheaper than the 120 peso tourist price.  However, once we docked in Yelapa, Jorge gave me a coupon for a free ride back on the morning boat, and said to come talk to him next time I'm over and he will make sure I get a better deal.  I felt very honoured.

On the boat over, I met a cool lady named Nancy who was just traveling on her own because her husband doesn't like to travel that much.  She didn't know anything about Yelapa, so I offered to show her around.  There is not a lot to see in the very low time of year.  Even the waterfall is not that watery, but we hung out and I walked her around.  I saw Elide and Hermalinda on the path by their house and we met on the bridge and yacked for a good 40 minutes.  They were very happy to see me and wanted to know what I had been up to.  It was so nice to see them, as they are my very first mexican girl friends.  Hermalinda offered me one of her places to stay in for free if I needed it, the one my friend Dan was living in.  I was so touched.  If only Yelapa wasn't so damned hot and full of bugs right now, I would jump at the chance.  But in July, August it's a jungle, in every sense of the world and I had already planned to hang out in Vallarta for that time.  I told her I would love to come back for a weekend and might take her up on it.  I was going to stay this night with Felix, my buddy still in Yelapa, who I  hung out with in March who has a new place.  He was meeting me at 4, after his work at The Verana.  I realized that in the whole time I had been traveling, I had never come back anywhere or had the experience of being missed.  I really loved the feeling of someone happy to see me.  My spanish was way better and I could understand Hermalinda and Elide a lot more than before.  We actually joked and I could tell them stories, it was so cool.  Nancy didn't mind as she is learning spanish and was happy to listen and try to speak occasionally .

I asked Celida at the Inernet cafe if I could keep my bag at her place and of course, she said, no problem.  We chatted a bit and she told me about her daughter going off to Vancouver to study.  Her place is closed for the summer, and they are taking a break from everything.  She is so lovely.  I introduced Nancy to her, telling her that Celida makes the best tortilla soup in Jalisco.

I took Nancy to the beach and we met some cool people there from Java and the Indonesian islands.  There wasn't much more time left before she had to take the 3 o'clock boat back.  It was ten to three and she was worried.  "Don't worry," I told her, "It will take 7 minutes to walk to the pier and another 10 before the boat comes to the dock and then another  5 minutes to load.  Relax, this is Yelapa."  

After the boat left, I hung out by the shady part by the dock and ate my bag of cookies, sharing it with a very sweet blond lab puppy who wouldn't leave me alone and then brought two other friends over.  A few people walked by and recognized me.  Gee, I like that feeling.  Eventually Felix showed up from the walk back from Verana and it was another reunion for me!  I hadn't seen him since I left to go to California.  We walked back to his new place, up a bit high, and with a view of the bay and very jungly feeling.  His kitchen was outside on the deck, with two rooms inside and a deck facing the bay, overlooking banana trees and other houses lower down.  Flojo, the pit bull/mastif was excited to see us and was still as big a pain in the ass as always.  Poor thing.  He had gotten more muscular but not that much bigger.  Still had fleas, and now had found his voice.  I was surprised by how sloppy Felix's place was, not at all like the impeccably clean flat he had down in the village.  He must be working too many hours, I thought.  Or he was just turning lazy.

We went out for tacos at Glorias, which had a closed sign on it, but of course because the family lives there and we popped our head in to ask if they were REALLY closed or could we eat.  Of course, we could eat.  The rains had not really come yet and the river which runs beside the house, was a trickle.  There were a lot of flies around and we made a game of shooting them with spit balls through a straw.  Felix was a good shot!   There wasn't much else to do but go home and sit in the hammock and play with Flojo.  Felix fell asleep and there was no waking him.  I sat on the balcony and just listened to the amazing sounds of the jungle.  Birds screeching, big insects humming, and other things I don't know about making interesting exotic sounds.  I wish I had brought my sketch book.  Or even better, a tape recorder.  I was mesmerized by all the sounds, the warm rich air, the smells and the gorgeous plant life surrounding this place.

I was tired too, so also went to bed early, but got awoken at midnight by the dog who wouldn't shut up.  I yelled at Felix to let his dog in but he wasn't waking up for anything.  After I got up and pulled Flojo inside, he kept growling like there was something out there.  I could hear animal noises and was worried that a skunk or racoon would walk in from the open deck. I didn't sleep much after that, then a couple of hours later the electricity went and I was woken up by the heat, since the ceiling fan wasn't turning anymore.  At dawn the church bells started ringing which you would think would sound nice - but in Yelapa, the sound is akin to someone smashing a metal pot over and over again, against a rock.  Really nasty.  I couldn't wait to leave!  I could have stayed longer, but also I had to leave so I'd be back for my 11 am job interview in the city.

Have I turned into a princess or is it just too jungly for sane people at this time of year?  I had planed to get to Keradwyn's to get some of my stuff I had left there, but I realized that I had a rucksack and a beach bag and not enough hands to carry what I wanted.  It would be over rocks and through the jungle and well, I just wasn't up for it.  Felix was no help, he was sleeping like the dead and I didn't have the heart to wake him, although briefly,  I did think it would be fun to spill some water on his head.  I was feeling rather bitter about how he could sleep through an invasion of roman soldiers and me, as soon as the fan stopped turning, was wide awake.

So, instead of hiking through the jungle, I hiked up to Donkey Heights to visit Aurora, my former landlady.  I knew that at about 8:15 in the morning, she would be outside doing laundry at the big cement washing stand.  The dogs were still barking like always as I approached the house, passing the donkeys tied up to posts.  I peaked my head around the back and there she was.  "Oh, santos cielos, eres tu Sandra! -  Que sorpresa, que placer de verte!"  She smiled a big smile and gave me a hug, still in her house dress.  "Come on inside and let me make you some breakfast - will you eat some fruit with me?"  It was so nice to see her face again.  I love watching her prepare fruit and I sat on the stool at the counter chatting while she made up a plate of mango, banana, papaya, pineapple - all with with salt and lime.  Veronica came by later on and we hugged and had a good chat while she walked me to the pier for the 9am water taxi.  I saw a bunch of people I knew and it was different saying goodbye this time, because I know I'll be back.  

Grey Days

So, I get to Puerto Vallarta and after that crazy cab driver drops me at the swanky Playa del Sol, I am in this lovely room with a view of the ocean and it is raining.  It has been raining for 5 days straight.  Okay, today it didn't rain till 3pm, but I still got stuck in it.  I took a picture of the grey area that is called the Pacific, and when I looked at my photos, I thought these ones were in black  white.  It's enough to make one go to California, to dryer climes.  

People say it is not normal.  This is actually the very beginning of the rainy season.  Guess I was just lucky.  But it doesn't usually do this, they say.  It rains, but it rains in the late afternoon for a couple of hours, and then it's sunny (and muggy and buggy) again.  I have been so depressed, I can't tell you.  There's this lovely pool and bar and beach and I just look at it from my balcony, praying for it to stop raining.  The maid must think I'm a hermit. She has only come in twice in 5 days because I have my "no moleste" sign up.  I've been getting a lot of writing done anyway.

I got inspired by the lovely concierge lady, who was helping me with calling places for rent.  I took the bus to a place a ways from downtown and by the time I got there on the bus, and walked the 6 blocks in the rain to find it, the lady (cabrona!) had already rented it.  What a cow.  So, then I got stuck on the milk run all the way downtown.  An hour and 1/2 later, I met another guy to look at a place; it was 4000 pesos for a room with a kitchen sort of, a bathroom and a bedroom and one window in the whole joint.  The towel bar was missing in the bathroom.  Partly furnished obviously means a bed and a TV.  Utilities not included. Way too much I told him.

I was exhausted and came home soaked to the skin.

Another day, another downpour.  I finally bought an umbrella at Woolworth's today.  5 bucks.  Yes, there still is a Woolworth's in existence.  I thought they had gone the way of the do do, but no, there's a big one on Juarez street and it is thriving.  The slogan in spanish makes me laugh: "Es que es muy barato."  "Well, it's just cheap"   Works for me.

I met Susan for a 7 dollar margarita after her work yesterday.  I still can't figure out the busses here, and each time I get a great explanation, it is in spanish by a fast talking guy, and my eyes start to glaze over and I just nod because it is just too much trouble to stop him and say slow down etc.  I end up doing a LOT of walking.  But I need the exercise.  I know if someone were to explain it to me in english, I would figure it out.  One day maybe.

When I got back to the hotel at about 6:15, I had just missed happy hour, whatever that means.  I have a ticket for 2 free drinks, so I though, okay, I should get out of my room and try to be social.  I might be missing out on meeting people or mexican bartenders.  I brought my book, by bag of sabritas, and sat at a table trying not to get wet, since most of the restaurant and bar are open.

I was greeted by this guy who was busy putting the free popcorn away, and then promptly ignored for the next 15 minutes.  I was reading so I was fine.  But I thought it would be nice to have a margarita, and I was all primed in spanish with the lingo.  Un margarita por favor con Don Julio blanco, en rocas, sin sel.  . . . . but . . . . nada.  I saw two fat american ladies come to the table aways from me, sat down and got asked what they wanted right away.  The were high maintenance and it took 5 minutes for them to tell the guy what and how they wanted whatever it was they wanted.  I felt sorry for him.  At the bar, all I could hear was american and the drone of stupid unimportant shit going on and on and on.  Well, I obviously wasn't missing much by staying in my room.  After a good amount of time, I got up and left.  I will use my free drink tickets tomorrow after lunch and I will go up to the bar and order them myself.  I just didn't care that much tonight.  

Tomorrow I'm off to see one more place and then to Isabel's house, who I know from Yelapa.  She rents rooms in a house she owns in a very mexican part of town, close to downtown.  It's slow season and she's not taking guests. She tells me I can stay there for free if I would just clean up the water a bit, feed the cats and maybe feed the maintenance guy who doesn't have any money.  Gee, what is she paying him? Or maybe she's not.

I will check it out tomorrow.  It might be worth 300 bucks a month to have my own place that doesn't leak and not have to share it with a maintenance man who obviously doesn't know how to fix leaks.   I have a feeling I might become the maintenance lady if I stay there.  Apparently the kitchen is leaking as well as a couple of the bedrooms.  The bathrooms/shower are outside, so a fan or hair dryer is going to be needed at some point.

The thing that keeps me going is the wonderful adage:  "This too shall pass."

Planes (no trains) Automobiles & Sex

Well, it was so simple; I booked the ticket online, got to the airport, my name was in the system, I got on the plane, I got off the plane in Mexico City, I walked to the end of the corridor, got on another plane and here I am in Puerto Vallarta.  It didn't take long at all, plus I got a couple of hours extra with the time change.  People talk about how awful it is to travel or fly within Mexico . . . and so maybe I was lucky? 

On the flight from Merida, the fellow beside me, I find out is a first timer and nervous.  I feel benevolent; so I give him my window seat.  He is so excited and nervous.  He's older than me and has never flown before.  I tried to reassure him with my newly acquired words: subir and bajar; up and down.  So I tell him "we go up, and then we come down, really simple, really easy, no problem".  I tell him the statistics on the safeness of flying compared to say bus travel (and that has got to even worse in Mexico)  He is somewhat reassured.  He asks if that white stuff we are flying through is cloud.  Yup, we're flying right through the clouds, I tell him.  I find it so charming that he is so child-like.  We end up gabbing the whole way, and finally, I really wanted a rest, so I gave him one of my books, the one with all the bad swear words and expressions in spanish; I figure that will keep him amused for a brief time.  I tell him next time he comes on a plane he has to bring a book or something to keep is mind calm.

So maybe it didn't occur to him that I wasn't a native speaker because near the end when I tell him where I'm from, he is shocked to discover that english would be my first language.  Wow, I'm really kicking butt in the spanish language department I think to myself.  That makes three huge conversations I've had in the last three days.  Still, there are days when I goof up on "how are you", so I won't let it go to my head.

At the airport I find two british gringos and ask them if they want to try to share a cab if we are headed in the same direction.  We give it a shot and supposedly it will work.  I make a deal with the driver for less, and off we go.  Then the driver has an issue and tells me his boss was wrong, that in fact I'm going in the opposite direction.  It is actually the truth. It ends up I'm paying more because the cheap brits don't pay enough but I wasn't going to argue.  I was so enthralled with the conversation that ensued once they left, that I didn't care.  That makes four conversations.  It ends up the nice taxi driver starts telling me his marriage troubles.  I don't know how it got on the subject of sex, but there was no stopping him complaining about his wife who won't do it with him, more than once every 15 days.  I tell him it's probably going to get worse, since he's been married 15 years, then when he's married 20, it will be once every 20 days and so on.  I wasn't helping.  He told me that "americanas" have this reputation by mexicans that they really really like sex and want to do it all the time.  Was it true?  Well, not being an americana, I couldn't say, but speaking from a canadiense perspective, I would have to say its not true in general.  But, si, he insisted; he has friends who tell him this, that the americanas  can't get enough, and want to make love all day and don't care about the cleaning, the laundry, the cooking etc.

Hm.  I assure him that might be true, but that the making love all day is an urban myth.  "It's more likely that they don't want to cook, clean, OR make love I tell him.   "Really?" the poor guy asks, not wanting to hear this. We mexicans are demanding, he tells me. We want to do it at least once a day.  Well, I consider his problem with his wife and suggest they come to a compromise somewhere between once a day and once every fifteen days.  Have you tried talking to her?  I ask. Si, si, he assures me, he complains all the time.  She has told him he should just go out in the street and find somebody and get is fix and then come home and be nice.

Huh, I tell him, now you have permission so what's the problem?  He is outraged; "do know how expensive a prostitute can BE??"  I suspect he feels he should be able to get it for free at home.  Doesn't seem to be working for you so far does it - I ask.

He goes on about a gringo friend of his who is not highly sexual and has married a Mexcan woman.  Why the hell did you go and do that? he gets asked by the mexican men.  He is happy because she cooks, she keep a spotless house, does the laundry and takes care of him.  No american woman knows how to do that anymore.  Well, I suggest, it's a matter of priorities.  Some men just don't have a high sex drive.  Well, the taxista thinks, maybe it would all be better if mexicans married gringas and the mexican women married gringos.  In the end, I didn't know what else to say except that he should see a marriage counselor.

I feel like he should have paid me for the cab ride.

Progreso by the Sea

It was just starting to turn nice when I decided to blow this popsicle stand and head for the ocean again.  The city of Merida is great, but I just never got into the vibe and not knowing anyone who knew anything was starting to get to me.  Plus, the flying ants had made their way into my room, and it was just getting hotter and hotter with increasing mosquito populations seeking my flesh.  I was on my way back to Vallarta in a couple of days, so two days by the sea would be a nice change.

 

During my stay at Casa San Juan, Claudia, the day manager, and I had bonded quite a bit, since I was basically the only one there.  I told her she didn't have to serve me in the morning so I'd make my own tea in the kitchen and do my own dishes and we would hang out in there and gab.  One day we spent all morning just talking about stuff like men, marriage, relationships, children and mothers.  Universal subjects.  She asked me once if I had a latino mother or father because I spoke spanish so well.  That was nice. I was thrilled that I could be sitting at a dining room table over tea, having these kinds of conversations and understanding 90%.

 

She helped me carry my small backpack to the bus station down the street, while I had on my big giant one that I had tried so hard to make lighter.  She told me the bus would be coming around this corner, so instead of walking all the way to the station, we'd just stop here and flag it down when it came.  Ok.  I thought, she must know more than me.

And she flagged it down, threw me on with my giant backpack, my little backpack, said adios and off she went.  I stood there at the front with all the people sitting down staring at me, and not even being able to walk down the isle without touching seats, I felt very in the spotlight. I could hardly walk with the jolting of the bus, and I ended up just stashing my luggage on a free seat beside me.  If I had gotten on at the station, I could have put the pack in the storage under the bus.  It was clammy and hot, but before I knew it, I was in Progresso. 

 

I took a taxi to this one place I saw on the internet, but they were not lowing their prices, so I left. It was really nice.  The taxi driver was waiting for me as I had asked.  He was young and knew the area and said there were tons of places along the beach for 20/night.  I found one for 25 right on the beach with a balcony and a fridge.  It had no sheet on the bed mind you, and tiny ants all over the place, one clothes hanger and no toilet seat, and no hot water . . .  BUT, it had a fridge.

I had talked to some people who were running a little store and beach shower service - right beside the hotel. They had gone and fetched their uncle for me, who ran the hotel, and who had gone for lunch.  A lovely young woman, Deanna, her cousin Enrique and his younger brother Miguel. Deanna was thrilled to speak english again, as she had spent 8 years in Orlando and just moved back here to be with her father in Progresso 3 months ago.  Enrique and Miguel were from here.  Enrique, or Quique, as he is called, runs a scooter, golf cart rental place out of this little store, which is his Dad's and where the boys take turns along with him, running.  They depend on the cruise ships stopping at port with their load of tourists, three times a week.

Quique has a  degree in industrial engineering and is just finishing his thesis.  But he realizes he doesn't want to work for a big company or be an employee.  He started this little business 6 months ago with one scooter, and now has 3, plus 3 mini quads and some golf carts.  He wants to do his own thing.  He's proud of his degree and hasn't just ditched the thesis, but he says it has taught him a lot about what he doesn't want to do and that is invaluable.

The malacon (sea walkway) is right across the street and the salt air sticks to my skin from the breeze.  We go for a  walk along it and he tells me about the city, and we have lunch at a place run by more family.  Deanna joins us as she is jogging by, telling us her boyfriend woes and blowing off her exercise to drink micheladas with us instead.

Then, we all went quading in Quique's machines along the beach at the end where it is all wild. Later ours stopped working and it wouldn't start anymore, so we had to climb onto Deanna's who trippled us home through the town.  Everyone had a sore backside!

Then we just hung out on the malacon, Quique's friend Uciel joined us and we drank till it got too windy, then went up to my balcony and used the fabulous fridge to keep the beer cold and eat chicharron and sabritas.  It sounds exotic, but it's really just pork rinds and potato chips with salt and lime.  Don't get me wrong, I LOVE chicharron and sabritas.  If I could pack a truckload back to Canada, there'd be a lot of happy snackers there. Why does't anybody make potato chips with lime and salt?  Dill pickle be damned! We are seriously missing out. 

We had all gone to the the big walmart affiliated store and picked up stuff to have for our fiesta.

It's a way bigger city than I thought.  60,000 pop. which probably quadruples in high season.

At 11pm, Quique had an idea, and we all jumped into his car to go swimming in his friends empty condo/hotel in the nice pool, in front of the ocean.  They were all shivering like crazy and I was the only one who thought the water was nice.  You guys don't know the meaning of cold, I informed them.  I love telling mexicans from the tropics just HOW cold it can get in Canada.  It's a concept difficult to even imagine for them.  Both Quique and Uciel have considered coming to Calgary to work in construction for a while, to make money before they travel to europe.  I think they have contacts and it might start in September.  Nice time of year I said, the beginning of winter in Calgary. ha. They had lots of questions about Canada which I was happy to answer and be sort of an ambassador, while trying not to scare them away completely from the country.  One funny thing I got asked about was:  they heard that there were no stray dogs in Canada, why was that?  Too funny.

Next day, it was hot and sunny and the wind from the ocean came right into my room.  I felt like I was on display, with two sets of sliding doors looking over the main street, and today was Friday, so it was a lot noisier than yesterday.  I peeked my head out the balcony and saw Quique sitting here reading the paper, tending the store.  He saw me and beckoned me down.  I sat there with him and Miguel and their dad trying to stay out of the sun.  I had told him I wished I had been able to go the swamps and see the flamingos but I wouldn't have enough time.  Ten minutes later, we were on a scooter going to this village 15 minutes away to see the flamingos. Quique learned to drive in Mexico City, so I'm not sure if that makes me more nervous or less nervous.  It was fun, let's just say.  Unfortunately, there were no flamingos where they usually gather in great heaps along the estuary, but the view was still beautiful and there were other birds.  We saw the mangrove swamps on the way up.  Both of us couldn't figure out why mangroves were so interesting or even on the tourist map.  What do mangroves do anyway?  I'll have to google it.  It was a very windy day.  When we got back to town, there was a lot of traffic, so Quique had to get back to work to help his dad and brother.  I went to my room to lie down for a siesta and pack.  Later, we went for a late lunch and I tried the specialty Poc-Chuk, which sounds like a Mayan name, but really it's a piece of flattened bbq'd pork.  Pork Chop and Poc-Chuk sound a lot alike; coincidence?

It was my last night in Progresso and I didn't really want to go.  Why did I go ahead and buy that ticket to Vallarta?

It wasn't a late night because I was leaving at 6am back to Merida, so Uciel took me for tacos and then we met the gang for another very small balcony party, where that fridge came in very handy.  I promised I'd be back.  Photos are the view from my balcony during the morning, and during the sunset, the actual balcony and Enrique, or better known as Quique my gallant tour guide.

 

 

 

More photos of Chichen Itza & Merida

I can't always fit all the photos onto one blog, as there is a limit, so here a few others; the observatory at Chichen Itza, and various shots of the pretty Casa San Juan where I stayed.

Merida, capital of the Yucatan

I'm sitting in a 16th century dining room, having my tea and muffin at the Casa San Juan where I'm staying while in Merida.  The rain just finished its first sweep for the morning, and now the sun is brightly lighting the courtyard that I see through the big tall wooden blue doors, just to my right, ajar to let in the air.  There is a wonderful contrast between light and dark in this old restored (sort of) colonial casa.  Giant wooden chairs sit primly against an immense dining table, enclosed by coral coloured adobe walls on which a variety of decorative objects are hanging. 

I enter from the back, where my room sits off the back walled courtyard.  I wrapped my computer in a towel and ran for it, to get to the kitchen where I made my breakfast.  Through the dining room, is an open courtyard filled with ginger trees, palms and exotic foliage with a fountain in the middle in which the grackles love to bath and sing their exuberant songs of incredible sounds.  Continuing on, is a sitting room, with ceiling and more decoration.  I can imagine it in the 1500's, and later. . . a rich spanish family maybe living here.  It's built for hot weather, immensely high beamed ceilings, open air.  Geckos running around. Too bad they don't catch many mosquitos . . . I'm getting bitten alive.  I had to retreat to my very warm room to save my skin a little and continue writing.   In here, I've got a big fan and 2 windows, and so far the evenings have been bearable with just a sheet for sleeping.  There is no internet in this place, and it's a fair walk to the wireless section of town.  I realize I'm a bit of a connectivity junkie.

Merida has the oldest cathedral in North America, dating back to the 1500's and shown here at the bottom.

Cancun was okay, but sort of big and ugly.  My friend from the resort's gym, Edgar, showed me around a little one evening he had free, showing me all the gyms and dance studios and language schools I could get work at if I stayed.  I went to Playa de las Tortugas (Turtle beach) one day, and realized I had already been on some of the best beaches already.  It was so so.  I went with my gut, and my gut said, Cancun is a good place to get work but a big crowed icky city to live in.  It's not like I've seen a ton of places to draw from . . .  but Cancun was not difficult to leave.

So in Merida, I saw some dancing and general touristy entertainment last night at the Noche Mexicana in a plaza on the north part of the historic centre.  It represented performance art from differing areas of Mexico.  The mariachis were wonderful and the ranchero singer who sang a bunch of Vicente Fernandez songs, ( a guilty pleasure of mine) was a big hit.  The "native indian" dances of lost their authenticity when they showed up in hot pink tunics.  I saw the real thing in Vallarta and there is no comparison.

Afterwards, me and Micky, the 60 some texas oil importer who is also staying at the Casa San Juan, and whose company has been, well, um, company, had a beer at a place near the plaza.  I really didn't want to be there, because I had had enough of his know-it-all-american/Texan attitude.  He talks like he's the only one who knows anything  about anything and then feels compelled to inform me about it all.  Oh god.  I sit there and just shut up, listening to him tell me (50% incorrectly) about things I already know.  It's sad.  But well, it was sort of nice to go places with someone in a city where I know NOBODY.

Me, I wanted to find a dancing place.  But I was biding my time before I could make my escape.  On my way to the bano, finding it occupied, I found my way back to the table, not looking at all, and sat down while mumbling about having to wait.  I looked up, expecting to see Micky's face.  It was the face of another older man, a mexican in a great cowboy hat who looked at me bemused.  It was like something out of a movie . . . like when the scene changes in an instant and a different person appears.  I had mistaken his table and his figure for my table and Micky's figure!  I was so embarrased.  I can't imagine the look that must have passed my face. And no, I hadn't had anything to drink!   He was ever the gentleman and said what luck that a beautiful woman had sat down in front of him.  Well, I couldn't just leave then . . .  so we chatted for awhile and he was great.  He knew Canada, had been to Calgary, loves cowboys, even though he was born in Merida.  Knows ALL about Mexico and has seen a ton of it,  is retired and writing a book.  He told me a bunch of things and places to go and what's going on in the city.  A real gem.  How serendipitous.  So instead of sitting at a table wishing I were elsewhere, I got to meet an interesting person who was helpful and a resource for my travels.   Coincidence?  Hmm.   I did get to the disco, after having to practically tell Mr. Texas  to leave me be, I could take care of myself thank you very much.  

I did wonder for a moment what I had gotten myself into as I entered this disco, however.  I was going to just turn around and leave as I stood in line debating whether it was worth paying  the 7 dollars to get in.  All I saw was a mass of small dark mexican bodies, gyrating as one unit.  Oh god, there was no room to even breath.  The floor was covered with spilled everything and quite a challenge to navigate in chanklas (flip flops).  My feet were black when I got home.  I was the only guera in the joint and for a moment I thought maybe it was not such a good idea.  But my rebellious side took over and in I went.  It was physically demanding to stay standing upright, with all the pushing to get to the bar.  With my 70 peso bracelet, I was informed by a kind drunk fellow who felt sorry for me, looking so lost probably; I could get one drink.  I only wanted beer, but NO, the bartender informed me, they were all out of beer even though there was cooler full right behind him.  Maybe it was draft he meant.   I argued and argued, after any charm I possessed had worn off, but no, I ended up with tequila.  Whatever.  It looked like everyone was drunk, certainly  all the males anyway.  In general,  lets just say . . . not a pretty crowd.   And I was in munchkin land . . .Mayan country, a race of very short people.  In a while they had some live samba drumming happening and that helped.  The drummers looked a lot different from the rest of the crowd.   I don't know what it is about drumming and drummers, but it seems to be always popping up in my travels so far.  And I never plan it, it just happens.  So, yes, I spent the rest of the 1 hour or so left, talking about rhythms with the drummers and finding a very tiny space to dance.  They wanted me to promise I'd come back and see both their acts on Sunday.  We'll see.   Drumming and dancing; It's my language.