5/16/10 - Domingo en Merida

Today is Sunday, which is Domingo in Spanish. We're in Merida, so it's Domingo en Merida!

This morning my phone mysteriously died at some point during the night, so I woke up while it was still dark with absolutely no idea what time it was. Naylynn and I had plans to go to Mass at the Cathedral de San Ildefonso at 7:00. I didn't want to wake up Yoshi, so I just jumped in the shower with my fingers crossed, hoping that it was sometime around 6 am. I scrambled to get ready, threw on my dress and opened the door to Naylynn, who had just been about to knock. We looked at each other, and just busted out laughing. . . we were totally wearing the same dress, hers in green and mine in turquoise! We just shrugged and headed out, towards the Cathedral on the Zocolo. We made it there just as the bells started to ring. . . :D

It was the first Cathedral Mass either of us had been to. We stood in wide-eyed silence as the organ echoed off the immense stone walls and vaulted ceiling. It was all in Spanish, of course, but luckily the Mass is so universal I was able to follow along just fine. I think the only thing that snapped me out of the trance was the fact that the lectern had a microphone. I kept thinking, "you don't need that, Cathedrals are designed to project your voice..."

Here's an excerpt from John L. Stephens' Incidents of Travel in Yucatan, describing his and Catherwood's experience, in this very Cathedral when they first came to Merida in 1839:

"The next day was the fete of Corpus Domini throughout all Spanish America, the greatest in the Catholic Church. Early in the morning, at the tolling of the bell, we went to the Cathedral, which, with the palace of the bishop, occupied one entire side of the plaza. The interior was grand and imposing, having a vaulted roof of stone, and two rows of lofty stone pillars; the choir was in the centre, the altar richly adorned with silver; but the great attraction was in the ladies kneeling before the altars, with white or black veils laid over the top of the head, some of them saintlike purity and beauty, in dress, manners, and appearance realizing the pictures of Spanish romance. Indeed, the Spanish ladies appear nowhere so lovely as in church."

(Unfortunately the altar is no longer richly adorned with silver. This and many other churches were looted during the Caste War, which actually began just a few years after Stephens' account was written.)

On our way out of the Cathedral after Mass, we passed beggars lining the doorways holding out cups for change. Many of them were elderly and/or disabled, some mothers with children. They were all dressed in rags. Welfare programs in Mexico are virtually nonexistent.

A much happier sight, however, was the guy playing violin for tips in the Cathedral's courtyard!

We walked through the Zocolo on our way back to the Caribe, and as we were passing the square, we suddenly heard a marching band. We turned to look, and saw the Palace Guard marching, with snare drums and trumpets, towards the flagpole in the center of the square. They did a complete round around the Zocolo, then stopped suddenly, faced, and stood in salute as the Mexican flag was raised in the center of the Zocolo. It was definitely a cool thing to see, and apparently they do it every day! Merida is the capital city of Yucatan, in case I forgot to point that out earlier.

Back at the Caribe, we had breakfast and then the whole group congregated at our daily morning meeting with Professors Sahagun and Tromans. The plan for the day was to go to the Palacio Canton, which houses the Museo de Antropologia -- something I've been super excited for! I stuck to Tromans like glue through the museum, as he explained everything in the place, including a very in depth lesson on the Mayan calandar. Here's a link to my photo album on Facebook.

We made it back just in time to catch the traditional Mayan dancers in front of the Palacio Municipal, which was awesome!

Wandering around later that afternoon, we (by the way, "we" usually refers to Chelsea (Yoshi), Naylynn, JoAnn, Howie, Sam, and myself, give or take a few...) stopped by a little shop that sold bags, scarves, and other things made by the Mayan women up in the highland villages. There was a boy of about twelve or thirteen attending the shop, and I asked him, "cuanto questa? (how much?)" for a scarf. He replied, "treinta (thirty) pesos." One of the bartering techniques I've learned is, generally if you ask the seller how much they want for two items as opposed to one, they will lower the price significantly. So, I asked him, "Cuantos para dos?" and alas, he wanted quarenta (fourty) pesos for two, so I accepted. All I had on me was a cien (100) pesos bill, so I asked him if he had change. He took the bill, asked me to wait a moment, and went across the street to make change at the Oxxo! Of course we were all watching him like hawks and ready to chase after him if he were to suddenly bolt with my money. When he came back he handed me FOUR ten pesos coins. He owed me sixty pesos, not fourty, so I looked at him and said, "permisso," and with my very limited Spanish attempted to get the rest of my change back. He only agreed to give me ten more pesos, so I went and got Howie and Naylynn (who both speak Spanish) from where they were standing a few feet away to help me. We went back to the kid and he was standing, giggling, with another boy about his age counting the money they had both apparently been scamming from poor gringas like me all day. We got the rest of my money (twenty pesos) back and left, glaring and muttering, "sneaky little ladroncitos...."

5/15/10 - Progreso

Today we went to the beach at Progreso, which is a port city just north of Merida. During the henequen years, when Merida was at the height of it's prosperity, Progreso was the main export point. It was a huge tourist town in the 1920's and 30's, kind of like Cancun is today. During WWII the demand for henequen began to decline because of the increased use of synthetic materials for the purposes henequen once filled. Progreso lost it's appeal as a tourist destination, and has ever since been on the decline. A few years ago, Progreso signed a deal with Carnival cruise lines to become a tourist destination once again. A gigantic pier was built on the beach along with scores of new restaurants and shops. At the last minute, Carnival pulled out of the contract and Progreso was left to clean up the mess. But alas, the pier is still there, and all the restaurants, and it's still a pretty nice beach! So that's why we went.

So all fourteen of us sunscreen - slathered gringos got out of the bus and just followed each other in some direction, assuming whoever was in front knew where they were going. Meanwhile, Professor Tromans stood near the bus videotaping us, with a very amused expression on his face. Eventually we looked back and saw him walking in the opposite direction, and to make a long story short we eventually found the beach.

As a few of us were walking down the beach, we passed a little stand with cute little sun dresses on display. The guy selling them apparently saw us looking, and immediately started in with what Howie would call, the flamboyant gay Latino voice, "Hola, senoritas! Oooh la la, blancitas! Where you from, girls, France? Paris? You lovely ladies speak English, yes?" So, since we had already made eye contact, I decided to try and barter for one. . . it was only polite. So I asked him how much, in Spanish, and he replied, "twenty American dollars," in English. Turns out this guy was from Miami :D. I managed to get it for a hundred pesos, which is less than ten American dollars, so over all I was pretty proud of myself!

After strolling around and exploring a bit, we stopped for lunch at a restaurant across from the beach. On our way in, I was suddenly cut off by a group of three young girls, determined to sell me a starfish out of a bucket in which they had been collected. I, naively, again made eye contact, and just like that they were on me like piranhas. The youngest, who looked to be no more than six, extended her arms out from her sides and shuffled from side to side in front of me, giggling, while I desperately tried to pass! Eventually, Naylynn came to my rescue, and there will be no end of her and Howie scolding me for being too easily manipulated by the cute small ones :D

On that subject, I should mention that there are no child labor laws in Mexico. In a lot of ways it's sad to see. . . these really young kids walking around the street selling little things to tourists. But at the same time, there aren't really any horrible conditions that kids are working in, and it's not at all like it was in the U.S. when there used to be kids working in mines and factories and such. These kids are still running around together and playing (obviously having fun teasing their customers), and just being kids. They are closely watched by their mothers, who are also selling, but never too far away.

After we ate we went back down the beach, passing our friend the dress salesman again ("Oh you look ammmaaazing in that dress! That is your color, mamita!"). We found a little secluded area and had an awesome time swimming in the warm Gulf water. There was a highly amusing incident involving me, a wind tunnel and a bee (. . . :D), and we had a generally amazing time joking around and taking pictures on a random washed up rowboat we found.

Later on, we saw the little girls again, eating their day's profit at a cafe. We decided to ask them to take a picture with us. We knew they would be wanting a tip, so we were ready with pesos in our pockets. They smiled enthusiastically for the photo, then promptly stuck out their hands for money, “pesos para mi?” I pulled a handful of change out of my pocket, with the intention of giving two or three pesos to each of them. Before I could react, a boy of about ten or twelve who had been eating with them (probably their brother), snatched a ten peso coin out of my hand and bolted. The girls immediately chased after him, shouting. I hope they got it from him! This was the incident that coined the term, "ladroncito," or "little thief." (it's more or less a term of endearment. . .)

When we got back to Merida, Naylynn and I went exploring. We were decidedly in the mood for some sopa de lima (lime soup), so we found a restaurant where there was a Mayan lady in the window making corn tortillas by hand, and as such we figured this place was probably pretty good. The soup was awesome, and as we looked around we noticed that nearly all of the other restaurant patrons were drinking some sort of frothy green juice looking stuff. We asked our server what it was, and she brought out a leafy potted plant to show us, and told us it was called “chaya.” The juice is made from the leaves of the plant chopped and blended with sugar, lemon juice, and water. We ordered some and it turned out to be delicious!

On the way back to the Caribe, we visited the University of Yucatan, and talked to a guy who told us of the upcoming Mayan festival. The conversation between him and Naylynn was entirely in Spanish, and I was really proud of myself for being able to follow and understand it almost completely.

5/14/10 - Exploring the City

Today, after a delicious Caribe breakfast of huevos ala Mexicana y cafe con leche, we spent the morning and afternoon exploring Merida as a group.

We toured many of the important historical buildings, starting with the enormous Catedral de San Ildefonso. I found myself pretty much in awe inside the Cathedral. From what I've gathered, construction of this cathedral began in 1561, smack in the middle of the height of the Spanish conquest. It took thirty years to build, using the labor of the enslaved Maya. It's located on one side of Merida's Zocolo (or Main Square). The construction material consists mostly of stones taken from the Mayan temple which once stood in the exact place. Many of the stones had carvings and hieroglyphs in them, and so had to be turned inward. Some glyphs were still visible in the walls, and for this reason prompted a massive undertaking of stuccoing over the walls of the Cathedral as well as many more of Merida's buildings when the Pope came to visit in 1623. The flood of visiting clergy, government officials, and of course tourists, nicknamed Merida the "White City," because of the fresh white stucco all over everything. Luckily, that stucco has been chipped off over the centuries, and if you look closely some Mayan glyphs can be spotted here and there, especially towards the top. Anyway, I've been developing an interest in cathedrals for the last couple of years, and one of the things I've read about is the sense of awe and authority they are meant to project. I was actually kind of surprised to find myself under that spell as well. . .

The Palacio Gobierno was our next stop. It's located on the Zocolo as well, adjacent to the Cathedral and the Palacio Municipal, and directly across from the Casa de Montejo. It was built in 1861, and is a hacienda style building (like the Caribe), built in a square with open arches facing a central courtyard. It's beautifully decorated, and has these awesome Spanish mosaic tile floors. Everywhere you look there are murals (keep clicking through to see a bunch of them), mostly by Fernando Castro Pacheco, depicting Mayan myth and culture, as well as the disturbing and violent history of the conquest.

Inside the Palacio Municipal:

Our next visit was to the market, or mercado in Spanish ("meerkat-o!" is what helped me remember the pronunciation :D). Anything you can possibly ever want or need can be found at the mercado, from live chickens to jewelry, from produce to bedazzled cockroaches called makechs. No price is set, bartering is the rule. If you can't barter, or aren't good at it, you pay the "gringo price." I definitely payed the gringo price for a little present for my sister. . .

Walking through the butcher section of the market was a little disturbing. Besides the slightly sickening sights and smells and lack of refrigeration, there were flies buzzing around. Some of the group members made comments on how unsanitary it seemed, and pointed out the meat without flies is obviously the most fresh. A minute later, I turned and saw a woman pull out an aerosol can of insect repellent and spray it all over a slab of meat. It was at that point I realized that flies are not necessarily a bad thing. . .

Professor Tromans pointed out that this meat is actually much fresher and probably healthier than the packaged meat we buy at American grocery stores. The head of the animal is displayed to show how recently it was killed, usually just hours before it goes to the market. American meat is full of antibiotics and hormones and doesn't get to us until at least three or four days after the animal is butchered.

For lunch I had cochinita pibil, which was freaking amazing. I've discovered that I really like Yucatecan food. While we were eating, there were two men playing drums and a saxophone, and a woman dancing. I was surprised, though I guess I really should have expected it, when she held her basket out for tips. . .

Walking around town near the Caribe later on, Naylynn, Chelsea and I met a guy named Ricardo. He spoke Spanish as well as Mayan, like most of the Maya who live in the city, and his English was also very good. He struck up a conversation with us and walked us over to his shop, obviously an attempt to get us to buy, but along the way we talked about some Mayan history. He mentioned that it's difficult for him to trace his ancestry since so much time was spent in turmoil during and after the conquest, connections to family members were lost or skewed. Actually, “fractured” was the word he used. He tried to teach us a little bit of Mayan, all of which I've already forgotten. He had a little trouble pronouncing Chelsea's name, though, and we settled on "Yoshi." From this point on, she will be referred to as such. . .

Dinner was at a pizza place, recommended by Professor Tromans, called “Vito Corleone's” (ha ha). It's literally a garage, which opens up into a space with a counter, a gigantic oven covered with tiles painted with Mayan symbols, and some long tables with benches. Above that is an "upstairs," which is pretty much a wooden deck built inside the garage, which creeks and wobbles as you walk up the stairs. There are more tables up there, there's no A/C, and it's always packed. It was amazing. Who knew Mexicans were so good at pizza?

After we ate, we stopped by an Oxxo (seemingly the one and only convenient store brand in Mexico) for our daily ritual of buying gigantic bottles of water. I'd like to take a moment to point out that we were at this time aware, but not really all that concerned, with the fact that prostitution is legal in Mexico. Anyway, we noticed two men go upstairs with beer, shortly followed by some grunts and a LOUD female voice that couldn't be anything else. . . if you catch my drift. We were giggling so much we stepped outside, but soon realized we could still hear it -even louder, actually, through the windows! From now on, this place will be dubbed, "The Oxxo With the Questionable Business Upstairs."

On a slightly related note, PDA seems commonplace here, and even encouraged. There are people, at all times of day, making out on street corners and park benches. Even in the courtyard of the Cathedral. I find it quite charming :)

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. . .