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.
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