Ex-Cozumel, aka Valladolid

The colonial city of Valladolid. It sits just 2 1/2 hours from Cancún. However, since we took the "scenic" 2nd class bus, it took us 4 hours from Playa de Carmen. The bus fills up at each spot: Tulum, Cobá, and Chemax (which to me sounds like some kind of Discount Warehouse, rather than a city name). When every seat is occupied the aisle, then, fills with passengers and their equipaje. I am relieved that some dude decides to give up his seat to the lady standing, holding a newborn. I didn't really want to spend the remaining 2 hours of the bus ride standing in the aisle--but also don't think I could have watched her hug her baby to her chest at every twist, turn and tope the bus overtook. What work it is to think about being a Good Samaritan without actually doing it! :)

We arrive, slug our bags onto our backs and hike the three blocks to the town Plaza, off of which squats our hotel, Mesón de Marqués. Two main courtyards circle a pool and a small restaurant, respectively. The lobby is a flurry of action, so we dump our bags behind the counter and hunker in for some lunch in what we've heard is "the best restaurant in town."

A small stone fountain overlooks as we munch on guacamole and totopos (chips); we're awaiting the main course--which takes quite a while to prepare, we discover. Aaron eats light, protecting his still somewhat-fragile tummy; Sarah has a chicken dish; and me, well, I decide to tackle one of my greatest fears. Maybe it's the afternoon sun dipping in through the skylight. Maybe it's the trickle trickle of the fountain. I'm not sure. But when I order the Pey de Cazón (shark pie), I have to practice Lamaze breathing techniques to prepare myself for the sure-to-be strenuous battle. As some of you might know, I have a very vivid and very irrational fear of sharks. So all three of us really felt that eating this shark pie was the first of many steps I could take to battle my phobia.
After comida, we pass to the inner courtyard complete with tall, lofty green trees and a cold, but beautiful pool. Sarah and I are anxious to see a bit of the city before the sun sets. We leave Aaron to the calm of the room for a nap and make our way across the town Plaza to get a look at the Cathedral. (Cathedral, check) Sarah surveys her guide book and reads that the oldest Christian structure in the Yucatán is just a quick 1km walk away from the Plaza. We cut across town and make for the prettiest, little diagonal street around (picture at top of page). The cobblestone street stretches long and straight, each small, one-story home flush to the road (like Park Avenue!); each painted a different Easter-egg pastel. We stop in at a perfume shop, sniffing glass bottles of lime & mint, or mandarin & cedar. The shop keeper shows us the back garden where one can receive an outdoor massage, the sounds of birds wafting through the air. Side bar: there is an incredible amount of bird life in Valladolid. Just the sound from the ones huddled in treetops off the Plaza are somewhat deafening. When I told a friend from NY that I'd traveled to Valladolid, the first thing he asked me was if I'd noticed the bird song in the Plaza.

Sarah and I come upon the Ex-Convent (which we both agree is a great name. Like, "Hello. Nice to meet you. I'm Megan, ex-virgin." Naming something by what it is not is hilarious!). A man greets us at the door of the Museum/Ex-convent to charge us 10 pesos for our entry. We're not entirely sure he really works there, but he lets us snap a photo of his frat boy-esque t-shirt--so it's worth the $1. The museum turns out to be just a series of photos and explanations of rifles and artifacts that the town has pulled out of a nearby cenote. We quickly discover that "nearby" means right out back. A large, crumpled, stone cupola sits there. We wind up its circular stairs to the entry of the cenote (sinkhole). A miniature bird escapes from the hole and darts around the dome ceiling and then back inside. We realize its no bird, it's a bat. And as we inch closer to the mouth of the hole, more bats missile in and out of the cave, their little den.

The day is almost entirely gone. So this whole experience is cast in the whisper of sunlight that still hovers--the sky strewn with purples and pinks. We slide in through the back entrance to the Ex-convent and discover the creepiest dark stairway, complete with horror film lamp, twittering on and off sporadically. I snap this one from the second floor, where we have to skirt about, sometimes using hands to feel our way around bends in the passageways.

When the Ex-Convent grows dull, we make our way back into the center of town. A late night dessert of Mayan Fantasy and Flan awaits us. Here's my conversation with the waiter:

Me: What is a Mayan Fantasy?
Him: Well, it's kind of like a pancake, or this kind of crepe, not really, a kind of...it's hard to explain what the outside is...
Me: Okay. So what's inside the crepe?
Him: It's not a crepe. It's not really a crepe.
Me. Right. So what's inside this crepe-like thing?
Him: It's not a crepe.
**Neither of us can come up with the word in Spanish for pastry bread.**
Me: Yea, I got it.
**Awkward silence.**
Me: Um, bring me one of those.

By the way, Mayan Fantasy = Deliciuos

We head to bed because the next morning we must rise early for Ek' Balam!