5/13/10 - Arrival in Merida

Today, after months of planning and anticipation, I'm finally in Mexico. My sense of excitement kept me from sleeping much last night, and it feels almost surreal to be already at the beginning of this adventure.

Anthony and I drove to the Miami airport this afternoon, well, more like we finally made it there right on time after battling through the congested quagmire we call Florida traffic and getting lost a few times. Catching sight of my group at the AeroMexico check

-in, I hugged and kissed him goodbye and, as he walked away, consciously attempted to store the moment to my memory to retain for the next three weeks. After checking in our bags, all fourteen of us (twelve students and two professors) nervously boarded the tiny plane that would take us to Mexico.

The flight itself was only about two hours, directly across the Gulf of Mexico. The scenery included an awesome view of the everglades meeting the ocean, then mostly water until we finally spotted the sandy coastline along the edge of a huge expanse of jungle far below us. It seemed strange to be so close to home yet seemingly on an entirely new planet.

Upon landing in Merida, we waited in line with our passports in the customs office, conservatively decorated in green, white, and red. For whatever reason, this seemed odd to my American eyes, which are apparently used to seeing red, white, and blue everywhere. The customs officials were friendly as they asked us a few questions about our intentions in Mexico, stamped our passports (yay!) and sent us on our way. We caught cabs to take us into town, to the Hotel Caribe, which would be our home for the next week or so.

On the way into Merida, I noticed right off that the infrastructure of the outskirts of town seemed to be in disrepair. I wondered if this was due to a lack of funding or maybe public interest leans more towards the maintenance of historical sites?

As we arrived at the Hotel Caribe, I was awestruck by the gigantic Catedral de San Ildefonso outside, and began snapping pictures before I even got out of the cab. . .

The hotel itself is absolutely beautiful. It is a hacienda built in the late 1400's to house a monastery, later on a boarding house, a college, then a hotel. It's located in between two huge cathedrals: the Catedral de san Ildefonso, and the Iglesia de Jesus. It's awesome to be staying in a building so old and with so much history. Our rooms are on the top floor. Chelsea (my roomate) and I are staying in a room literally right next to the pool.

Professor Tromans mentioned at the class meeting a week ago that we would be surprised at how fast he could get his swimsuit unpacked, on, and in the pool. He was right.

The pool is watched over by a Mayan monumental figure, which I'm quite sure is a deity thought I don't know which. I was assigned by Professor Tromans to find out.

It turns out that the monument is a Chac Mool, the Toltec version of the god of rain, Chaac. I was only familiar with the Mayan version, which is depicted as a mask with a long hooked nose. The Toltec version is a reclining figure with a slight smile, holding a bowl on his belly. Traditionally, he would be located at a cenote or a pool. A sacrificial "victim" would lean over the Chaac figure, face up, and their heart would be cut out and placed into the bowl. Then their body, still alive and breathing, would be offered to the water. By the way, I hate using the word "victim," because being sacrificed meant someone was worthy to commune with the gods. A high honor. To the ancient Maya, dying of old age is an act of selfishness. Besides being sacrificed, which is highly unlikely if you're a common person, your other options are dying in battle or childbirth. . . or suicide, if you want to go out with any dignity.

We spent a good part of the afternoon lounging around the "Chac Mool pool," talking and getting to know each other. It seems that the group has more or less already split into two distinct social circles. . .

Incidentally, we also discovered that Mexican Cheetos are amazing.

We headed down to the Hotel's courtyard for dinner around 7:00. Romantically lit by candles and 17th century chandeliers, we sat at a long table, talking and munching on chips and salsa while the two caged toucans squawked their hypnotizing night time rhythm. Two waiters appeared, carrying bowls of delicious Sopa de Lima with bread. I was instantly in love. Finishing our soup, Howie and I soon discovered that we share an undying appreciation of salsa. Arguing over who would lay claim to the entire bowl, we soon settled on the compromise that we could each have half. "But that," I said, pointing to the bulbous green vegetable adorning the edge of the salsa bowl, "is mine." He asked what the heck it was and I explained that it was a tomatillo. They're delicious; my parents grow them in their garden. Intrigued, he then noticed there was another one on the side of the bowl down the table a bit, and immediately claimed it. As I popped the tomatillo into my mouth and bit down, I soon realized it was NOT the sweet and tangy taste I was expecting but in fact the viciously painful burning sting of a Mexican habanero! I spit it out immediately, but already the damage was done. My mouth, lips, throat, and stomach were on fire. Tears were streaming from my eyes as I gulped down water. Recovering slightly, I managed to look over at Howie. With a thoughtful, contained expression, he was slowly chewing. As he swallowed with a gulp, he could no longer control his reaction to the extreme discomfort, and soon joined me in the throws of fiery death-by-habanero pepper. Gasping, I asked in bewilderment, "Why the heck did you keep chewing?! I spit it out right away and I still feel like I'm spontaneously combusting!" With no explanation, he shrugged and we commenced our frantic chanting of "PICA, PICA PICA PICA PICA!" To our rescue, the young waiter appeared, instructing us to pour a bit of salt on our hands and then lick it. Obeying, we followed his example and immediately the fire was put out.

There has been no end to the torment ensued by my mistaking a habanero for a tomatillo. But for the record:

Can YOU tell the difference?

From this day on, habaneros shall be hereby dubbed, "Tomatillos del Diablo."

After dinner, we all took a walk through Merida to the Monumento a la Patria, which was beautiful. . . and fun to climb.

We saw a few notable buildings along the way, like the Twin Houses. As I was informed, they were built by two brothers in an attempt to determine whether Mexicans or Italians were better builders, during a time when Merida was at the peak of it's wealth. I'm super excited for our real tour of the city tomorrow. First, though, I should probably sleep. . .