Mérida, here I come...

So I headed off today to the burgeoning city of Mérida, found in the state of Yúcatan. Mom and I decided to meet up there for a joint vacation (as she's already explored Oaxaca when I was here before in '98). I will admit that the initial "heading off" took a while, since I was stuck in a taxi for 15 minutes a block from my house. I was departing for the airport at the same hour as every high schooler known to man seemed to be arriving at the private school down the road from my house. What a mess! Luckily, the Oaxaca airport is so tiny--it's really a breeze to check in and make your way to your plane.

I arrived in this warm city mid-afternoon, a few hours before Mom's intended arrival. So I took the chance to give a call to my fellow Fulbrighter, Victoria. Victoria is an art history doctoral candidate at UCLA. She's working on her dissertation right now on Mayan mural paintings in the region. She gave my mom and I some great suggestions on where to stay, and what to do in the area that proved invaluable. She also lives only a short walk from our hotel.

I headed over to have a quick bite with V. We chat about Mexican tramites, funding problems and Mérida. It's a city of over 800,000--so larger than Oaxaca. The city itself is a colonial enclave that boasts beautifully restored buildings from the age of Hacienda owners, who thrived off the production and export of henequen. It's remarkably clean and well-organized. I marveled at how well the industry of tourism functions in the Yúcatan. It's their main industry, now that henequen is no longer a frequently used product. But from the well-marked street signs, to the myriad of outdoor concerts, to the thorough Yúcatan Today English-language tourist magazine--this town is extremely keyed in to making it a pleasant experience for outsiders. Which incidentally, makes it a pretty thriving and lovely city for locals, too. That's what theorists say about tourism, it can and should better the living situation for locals first.

Once our lunchtime spaghetti bowls were licked clean and we move onto eating some birthday cake from V's fridge, her two neighbors drop by, Sam and Charlie. The pair play in Mérida's symphonic orchestra. Sam is from France, Charlie from the States (Oak Park, actually!). The latter plays the upright bass. The former plays the French horn. I can't get past that a Frenchman plays the French horn. He doesn't think it's funny; I'm sure he's heard these jokes before. Regardless, Charlie and I riff on shouldn't it just be a horn, then, for him? Or perhaps it's a Freedom Horn? Or Liberty Horn? Straight face from Sam. It's really interesting to meet two young expats living and working in town. I'm always amazed by what foreigners living in Mexico are up to. It's never a dull story like, "yea, I just wanted to come to Mexico to watch some TV and drink cheap beer." So it makes for interesting conversations.

I don't how it gets to this, but someone brings up the new ice rink found within a mall (yes a mall) just north of city center. We can't deny the inherent humor in ice skating in one of the hottest climates in the country. Plus, it's Victoria's birthday--so we have an excuse. And so there you have it folks, I traveled far from home, far from the cold temps of my mid-Western roots, to ice skate.













After removing my sweaty skates, I rush back into town to meet mom at our hotel. She beats me there, unfortunately. But she's made it safe and sound--and is ready for adventure. We wander next door for a quick bite. Mom hasn't eaten more than protein bars and trail mix. We sit in a window seat to watch the traffic roll by, Santa Lucía park across the way. Mom, ready to taste the region's delights, has Sopa de Limón and Pechuga Yucateca. I try to famous papadules, which are tacos with hardboiled eggs dressed in green and red salsas. Watch out for the green salsa here--these Yucatecos like their habañero pepper!




This is just a random shot of a brochure I found in our hotel room. It's advertising massage. But when I take a closer look at the tag line on the front cover of the brochure, I take pause. Can you see what that says...? "For reservation please contact the Front Desk. Total Seriousness." My first response, what do they mean by "total seriousness?" It almost sounds like some teen valley girl saying "Call the Front Desk, totally, like, for real, call them." But Mom brings up that perhaps they mean to convey that the massage service is nothing shady--no happy endings from this masseur! In the end, I think they perhaps mean to say they are a professional outfit. But man, what a weird translation!