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.
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