Merida Dias y Noches

Merida, the swirling, hot, friendly corazon of the Yucatan Peninsula invited us to dance and eat and converse with a blat of mambo trombone, a scuff of tapping shoes on limestone and a rhythmic wiggle of hips. We, once again, mastered the art of dodging traffic, negotiating taxis, collectivos, buses, reading maps on the fly, and a host of other sundry skills essential to Mexican city survival.

Our guard dog Lily at Hotel Mucuy

Our tiny, but dignified, Hotel Mucuy, overseen by a retired Flamenco instructor and her extended family, gave us a strategically located platform from which to plunge into this nonstop, 24/7 fiesta. A typical Merida day and night, if there was such a thing might include: a morning breakfast with the wise old men of Merida at Pop – a restaurant just down the road, then a visit to a museum to escape the midday heat, then a lunch at the central Mercado – another wise old men hangout - with (very good) roving musicians and outstanding street food  (good grief, there’s a taco truck on every corner), a paseo in one of the many parks, a return to the hotel for a siesta and swim.

Once refreshed, a second lap in the cooling evening air, dinner at the old hotel with stained glass entry way, a mambo or a folklorico concert to check out, a “walking”dessert, such as a marquesita – a delicious, baked-on-the-spot crepe-like waffle, with a filling of your choice, rolled and served “to go” (we developed a weakness for marquesitas filled with Nuttella and fresh strawberries, go figure).

We realized we could easily float on the surface of this joyous madness by following this routine for our entire time in this city, but that just isn’t our style. We sought out the deeper water.

To get the lay of the land, we first hopped on the Gua, Gua (pronounced Wah, Wah, after the sound its horn used to make that indicated a passenger stop). This was a “no frills” bus tour of the central portion of Merida that told the story of the city’s history through the commentary of the bilingual guide. It also provided valuable information as to where the important museos and art galleries were located and their hours of operation. From that trip, we worked out a plan of attack for the city.

Hot days were for museums, more temperate ones were for excursions to sites further away. And as always, no matter the plan for the day, we wanted contact with the natives. We wanted to practice our slowly expanding Spanish language skills and to hear, as much as possible, stories.

Stories like the one we encountered in a restaurant one afternoon. Eric has developed an interest in the Mayan language and has managed to eke out a few elementary phrases that he decided to try out on our waiter. The momentary look of astonishment to “bash-kawa-leh” (phonetically spelled greeting similar to “hello”) was hilarious and priceless. Upon hearing Eric speak those words, a workman who had been cleaning the restaurant windows magically appeared beside us. He responded to the greeting and Eric responded to that – exhausting his vast reservoir of phrases. As it happened, Eric had a copy of the Popul Wuj, a compendium of Mayan creation myths in his daypack. By now, yet another waiter had joined us. Eric thumbed through the book to an illustrated section that showed some of the fearsome “lords” or god-like creatures that populated the Mayan pantheon. The window cleaner jabbed his finger at one image in particular and explained, with the help of one of the waiters, that, apparently, this creature is often seen at the entrance to Mayan villages in the area. Only the village sorcerer, the brujo could manage these beings by pinning their arms to their sides and casting them out. Apparently, as best as we could decipher, it didn’t hurt the situation if the brujo happened to be a little drunk during the struggle. We continued talking for a few minutes more and were given a few more Mayan phrases to practice. Then, just as quickly as they had gathered, everyone dispersed and returned to the businesses at hand: washing windows, clearing tables, totaling the lunch check.  As we were leaving, the window washer wished us “yu’um bootik” (God go with you) and Eric tried out a newly learned “ni bo olal” (thank you), and received a smile as reward.