The town and its folk

Day 2 starts with an early breakfast at our Hotel. I sprinkle green salsa over my eggs, and the first bite hits me like a jack hammer. woah! Someone warned me in advance about the yucateco spice factor--but I apparently forgot. I attempt to regain actual feeling in my mouth by munching on sweet melon and pineapple.

Mom and I wander to Mérida's main Plaza, a square ringed by traffic and historic buildings. I'm more accustomed to the small square in Oaxaca where only foot traffic is allowed. But the city's buildings are amazing. They are beautifully maintained, and I think, painted in colors distinct to this region. Somehow the seagreens and pinks take on a hotter glow here in this sweltering city. We check out Yúcatan University and José Peón Contreras Theater (where the Symphonic Orchestra plays and practices). We stroll into the Governor's Palace--which has a series of gorgeous paintings by local Fernando Castro Pacheco. We spend at least an hour here gazing at the paintings in the main ballroom, where they tell the story of Mérida's history in oil paint on canvas.

Mom standing next to a statue to honor maternity;
she feels uncomfortable at its cheese factor.

There's an outdoor art exhibit beside the Contemporary Art Museum. Students pass by, giggling at the tower of wood and found objects constructed to demonstrate how quotidian materials should be elevated to the status of beauty. Apparently, they don't agree: "Look a mop. How stupid!"

Modern Art

Mom and I pop in and out of a few buildings with promising courtyards or inner gardens. We check out the inside of the hotel we almost chose to stay at before we realized the daily taxed raised the rate by almost double. Eventually we make our way down to Hamacas Aguacates, a local hammock shop rated highly by my guide book. It's a family-run business with several generations visible working around the shop. The owner is kind, ushering Mom into an inner room to sit before a fan (we're a bit overheated from the walk--it's boiling and humid today). Every wall of the room is stacked high with colorful, hand-woven hamacas. The owner and his sons and grandsons pull out several different varieties to show us. We make our purchases and head out back towards city center. About 6 blocks down the road the owners son comes running up to us. "I gave you the wrong change. Here, we owe you another 50 pesos." Wow. That's an honestly-run shop. They have an online shop--so I recommend that you all check it out. The prices are amazingly thrifty. So I'm sure even with shipping you could find something for less than what you'd see in the States. Plus, it's of the highest quality; Mérida is known for her hammocks!

The hottest part of the day hits. Mom and I skitter from one side of the street to the other, chasing the shade. But both of us have red faces, we find not from sunburn, but from heat exhaustion. We make a note that we should plan our meals and indoor time around this hour of the day--so as to avoid the sun and humidity.

We collapse at our hotel, sluffing our pickings into a corner of the room. Can we rally enough energy to rise, brave the heat, and make our way to a restaurant to eat...? Yes we can. Our pick for today--Villa María. It's a large mansion, now converted into a hotel and restaurant. Paintings and sculptures that seem like they should be adorning a church or museum's walls, are peppered throughout. And what's strange, is the place is empty. We're arriving just past the comida hour at 4. But still. We ask, and they say that most of their meal traffic is at night, when tourists eat at their regular hour of 7. We take advantage and plop down at a table inside where the air conditioning is and enjoy the attention of great service from a staff that only has one table of customers to worry about.

It's a grilled shrimp salad with orange vinaigrette to start for me. Mom tries the nopal (cactus) salad with feta to her delight. We follow it up with squash blossom ravioli for me and Moroccan chicken with couscous for Mom. Mérida has a lot of outside influence in her food, as populations of Koreans, Lebanese and Africans came to the nearby shores years ago. And of course we enjoy a few drinks. It's supper hour afterall--and we're on vacation!

Moroccan Chicken & Couscous

The best piña colada ever arrives

...and five minutes later

We take our time chatting and digesting in the comfort of Villa María; then we waddle home. I take a quick dip in our hotel's pool to cool off. Of course it's not heated--none of the pools in this neck of the woods are. And even though it's hot out--I still have to keep moving around so as not to shiver.

Juanito, a picture he sent me in advance
so I'd be able to spot him easily.
Should I have known from this?

Later that evening Juanito, a friend of my pal Itzel (in Oaxaca) stops by to "help orient" us in the city. He's lived in Mérida all his life. He's offered to kind of show us around--or at least give us the rundown of some history of the city. We each brought him a little something from our respective homes (Mom a cubs tee and book of Chicago architecture, me a wood-carved bookmark and short stories of Oaxaca) as a thank you. Turns out no real thank yous are necessary--as Juan talks our ears off for hours that night about nothing in particular to do with Mérida. We try to distract by taking a stroll down Paseo de Montejo, Mérida's Champs de Elysees--but it does not dissuade this fellow from continuing full speed ahead into topics like "what I would name a girl and a boy if I have children some day" to "how I woke up one morning after getting drunk and this woman was sitting on top of me
." He's saying this in front of my mother!!! Mind you he never stops once to allow me to translate into English (he only speaks Spanish). And some topics I just don't even bother to translate because why would Mom care. So of course, she's getting a little bored. And I'm getting bug bitten and exacerbated.

I make excuses about needing to get indoors and away from mosquitos and we depart from Juanito. Mom and I return to our room and basically deconstruct this horrible recommendation from my friend in Oaxaca. And quickly we devise a plan on how to best avoid him for the rest of the trip. "Thanks for your help--but we won't be needing your help any more," seems harsh. We decide to got sit beside the pool and order a couple of drinks. Nothing like a late night mojito to make one feel better.