View from the Balcony

This is a shot from the balcony of the hotel I'm staying at in Playa del Carmen. I look out over the beach and the turquoise blue Caribbean Sea (for those of you suffering late winter weather back in the States, sorry). Every time I come here, I'm freshly amazed at the intensity of the blue waters. Bluer than the Pacific, bluer than the Atlantic (or Lake Michigan). It's as though some heavenly painter spilled his paint pots with every pure shade of blue across the canvas of the sea and sky.

With this stop I've covered the complete length and breadth of Mexico: from Nogales, Sonora at the northernmost point, down to San Cristobal de las Casas, Chiapas in the south. From La Paz, Baja California in the west (on the Pacific) now over to Playa del Carmen, Qunitana Roo at the easternmost point (on the Caribbean). Do I get an award now?

I've come to Playa del Carmen with my Chicago friends off and on for over 15 years, and it's changed substantially in that time. It used to be just one short pedestrian street (5th Avenue) with a few shops and hotels. It tapered off into unpaved path. Today, it's Las Vegas, Miami Beach, and Acapulco. Very glitzy. 5th Ave. has sprouted hundreds of shops, all seemingly selling the same sombreros, ponchos, Cuban cigars, blankets, onyx, and carved masks. Cruise ships dock here during the week, and the town fills up. You can look down the main drag of 5th Ave. and see throngs of people filling the street for as far as you can see. Wandering (weaving) around with yard-of-beer plastic beverage containers. Bright pink sunburns. Folks, both men and women, in unfortunate clothing choices which make them look like stuffed sausages. Please: No spandex after age 20! And nonstop NOISE-- It's like a great big frat party on steroids. Maybe these were spring breakers, but it's seems a little too early in the season for that. And a lot of the revelers were waaaaayyyyy past college age (but still acting silly).

As I write this, there is a mariachi band playing just outside the hotel lobby, in the middle of the pedestrian street. If I hear "La Bamba"or "Guantanamera" one more time, I'm going to shove a burrito down their throats. And there's also the guy with the whistle. Not a cop. But he just uses his whistle in short bursts, over and over. Perhaps a cleverly endearing sales technique to get shoppers into his store? Once again, I'm on the verge of putting his whistle somewhere whistles don't fit so well.

It's very clear there is a difference between Mexican towns that are real towns and those that are simply creations for the purpose of tourism. The contrast is clearest between Campeche and Merida and Playa del Carmen (all on the Yucatan Peninsula). Tourism is hardly a factor in Campeche (although they'd like it to be a more important factor in their economy). Folks largely leave you alone. Very few of what you'd call "tourist shops." Merida, a little more tourism. Of course I was there during Carnaval, so there were more tourists at that time. But it has been a town for 400 years, with real people going about their real lives. And then there is Playa. It's 100% tourism. Every single shop on the main drag sell tourist junk. It's not that that is so surprising to me. It's that people actually BUY it.

READ THE TEESHIRTS:
Teeshirt shops selling shirts with shameless witticisms. These were sighted:
"Take Me Drunk, I'm Home"
"Objects Inside Are Larger Than They Appear" (woman's section)
"Give a Man a Fish, and He'll Eat for a Day....
Teach a Man to Fish, and He'll Take a 6-Pack and Sit in a Boat for Day"
"I Love (heart) to FART"....(my personal favorite)
"FBI....female body inspector"

Ni Modo

I witnessed a little scene yesterday that I think typifies the Mexican personality (if you can generalize to that extent). Here's how the story unfolded:

It was in the middle of Carnaval (Latin equivalent of Mardi Gras....goes on for a week here). The city was crazy. About 200,000 people watching the parade. Most major streets in the central city blocked off for the parade. Lots of noise. I'm walking down the sidewalk, just minding my own business. A car, turning into a parking lot, turns left in front of me. The entrance is a stone archway....this clearly used to be a commercial or residential building. All that is left is the stone facade.

So the driver (with passenger), turns left....and doesn't cut it quite sharp enough. The car swings left, over the sidewalk, and SPLASH!! his front right fender bangs into the side of the stone doorway. You hear the "crunch" of sheet metal. All the bystanders cringed. Me, too.

So: what would you have done? Said a bad word (yep, probably)? Screamed? Pulled out your insurance card? Cried?
Well, the Mexican guy just smiles at us, shrugs his shoulders as if to say, "oh well...." backs up, and tries it again, successfully. No concern at all... In Mexico, there is a saying, "Ni modo." It means "no big deal."

At the time I thought how different the reaction of most folks back home would be.

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Show me the money:
Unlike the dour portraits of men on U.S. currency, Mexico has a woman's portrait on one of their currency bills, the 200 peso note. Sor Juana (Sister Jane) was both a Catholic nun and Mexico's first woman poet, journalist, musical composer, favorite in the court of the Spanish Viceroy, and and early intellectual (in the 1660's). Her life was impressive in any context, but especially considering the role of women in the 17th century. And the macho Mexican society honors her on their currency. For more information, here's a link to Dartmouth's Sor Juana Project-- http://www.dartmouth.edu/~sorjuana
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Names of three local businesses I noticed as I was walking by:

The first, a muffler and wheel alignment shop called, "Miracle of God" Muffler Shop.
OK, I've had cars like that...getting anything to work right was a miracle of God.

The second: a bakery called, "The Return." So...they're advertising that customers return their products? What?

And the third: "1000 Jokes" Restaurant. Would those be jokes about getting sick in their restaurant?

Why I like comida corrida

Comida corrida is one of my favorite things about Mexico. It literally means "everyday food," or, we'd say, "special of the day." When you go into a local restaurant, the simpler places will have 1-4 specials of the day offered (in addition to their regular menus). I always go for the comida corrida, since it's such a bargain.

My favorite place here in Merida is called El Trapiche, which means something like "The Sugar Mill." Today, they offered 4 choices of comida corrida, a couple of chicken dishes, breaded fish, and another that I didn't recognize.

I ordered the fish. First, comes an order of tortilla chips with 3 salsas....just to get you started. Then comes a big bowl of soup. Today's was a tomato/pasta soup. Then comes the entree (fish) with a side of rice and beans, and a small salad on the plate. Oh, it's served with warmed soft tortillas (in lieu of bread). And a cold drink is included. Price, 33 pesos ($2.30 US). When was the last time you had a meal like that for less than $2.50? Maybe 1960?

No wonder most Mexicans do their big meal in them middle of the day (between 1-3) and then only have something small at home for dinner.

Merida, Governor's Palace

Located on the main public square, across from Casa Montejo. It's built in the classic Spanish Colonial style around an open courtyard. Upstairs is a history exhibition with monumental paintings by artist Fernando Castro Pachecho (1971).

Skype vs. Yahoo Voice, Hint: Skype is Better

It's an easy call. Skype is better by far. Both, of course, are VOIP (Voice Over Internet Protocol) telephone service providers. Both allow you to make phone calls from your laptop computer to any landline (or other computer) anywhere in the world.

As many of you know, when I started on this long journey, last October, I signed up for Yahoo Voice. It works just OK. The salient feature is that it's super CHEAP.....one cent a minute. So, I was able to call businesses and friends back in the States. Downside, the connection and sound quality were lousy. One my end, I could hear just fine. But on the other end, folks kept saying, "what did you say? You're breaking up. Are you still there? I can't hear you. Repeat that, etc."

So, here in Merida, 4 months into my trip, I met an American guy from North Carolina. He was using a voice-over-computer service here in the hotel lobby, and apparently having no problems with it all. I asked. He told me, Skype. Now, I had known about Skype, but thought it was a pricey subscription service. Nope. I went to their Web site, and discovered that you can "pay as you go," in other words put in $10 US into your account, and start making calls until you use up that amount.

With both services, I can also call within Mexico. Strangely, that's considered a "long distance" call, and the rate is something like 11 cents a minute. But it's still useful to call onto the next town and check on hotel availability. It's "computer as telephone!"

So, being a reformed academic type, I put them to a test. I did a couple of side-by-side tests, calling a number in the U.S. first on Yahoo Voice, and then calling back with Skype. The call recipient on the other end said Skype was "100% better," and "like being in the next room." The cost is a little more, about two cents per minute anywhere in the U.S. But, in my opinion, well worth the cost to have a clear connection.

Of Condoms and Pink Onions

Some random observations about Mexican culture:

Every time I go into a restaurant, I am served a little side dish with condiments. One, which previously had been unidentifiable, is little pink crunchy vegetable slices. Finally I asked a waiter. What? The mystery solved: they are pink onions. And how did they get pink? They are soaked in beet juice. This isn't just one restaurant, but restaurants all across Mexico. Me? I'm perfectly happy to take my onions in plain old white. But pink must be considered something extra fancy here.
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In the U.S., we say it's "black & white." In Mexico, it's always "white & black." Why? I don't know, and I'm not going to do any linguist anthropology here.
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Last night, bored, I turned on television. It's a real treat to have TV, since my hotel in Campeche was TV-less. Here, it's not cable, but just local stations (in Spanish). To my SHOCK, I happened to turn on a COMMERCIAL. In the commercial, a mouth, speaking into a microphone, was reading off a list of veneral diseases. All of a sudden, a hand places a condom over the microphone, and the list is silenced. Clever...it made its point. But it's a commercial that would never, ever, be allowed to air in the U.S.
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Since I enjoy wandering around in bookstores, I've done that in Mexico, too. Some thoughts.
1. There are many fewer bookstores in Mexico. Only in larger cities, or near universities will you find bookstores. Reading for pleasure is done at a much lower rate than in the U.S. or Western Europe.
2. Most are independent bookstores. Nothing is like the big U.S. monsters, Barnes & Noble and Borders
3. The selection here is much more limited. Fewer books and fewer titles.
4. Surprisingly, the Mexican bookstores always have a much richer assortemnt of poetry titles. Those romantic Latins!
5. And the most frustrating--Whereas in the States, booksellers do everything they can do to get you to thumb through their books, including allowing you to take them into the instore cafe and browse over coffee....in Mexico every book is shrink-wrapped in cellophane. What are they afraid of: that by looking through a copy you might actually want to BUY a book? Duh!
6. Think maybe #5 and #1 are correlated?
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In U.S. department stores, women's fashion is always placed near the entrance on the first floor, men's stuff on the second floor. In many stores in Mexico, I've noticed the reverse. Men's on the first, women's upstairs. Probably the remnants of the macho male-oriented society.
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A year an a half ago, I had an astrological reading done by an astrologer based in Utah. She knew nothing about me other than the time and place of my birth. In our conversation, she (unprompted) said, "do you know Merida, Yucatan? It's a very good place for you to be." And here I am. Hmmm...
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When I was here in Merida two years ago, I met a guy at the American Library who had a Mexican friend who runs a tourism school here. I took down the name and address and walked over to ask about teaching English there. Fast forward 2 years to today. After checking in and getting settled in my hotel (which I found on the Internet), I went out for a stroll. Directly in front of the hotel, across the street....the very same tourism school. Chance? Maybe.

Twenty Twenty Vision

Remember the last time you went to have your eyes examined? The optometrist places your head so that the chin is resting on a little support thingie. Then he slides over this big apparatus which tests for various lens strengths. “Look through here, “ he says, “which is better? One....or Two. Now again, Two....or One?”

I thought about that last night in the context of which typical Sunday evening experience was better for me, One or Two.

Lens One:
Last night, I sat in the town square park on a wrought iron park bench watching the Municipal Band (love those tubas). Even though the day had been hot, the evening—at 7 p.m.--was pleasant, with a light breeze blowing off the Gulf. Families were out with their kids. An older gentleman sits down next to me on the bench, and we begin a conversation about Campeche's weather and hurricanes and the cost of living. His wife arrives a few minutes later and they scuttle off. Snapshots: a little boy cruising on his tricycle with a pull toy trailing behind. A balloon vendor walking around, followed by a roving cotton candy seller. Couples, old couples, walking around the bandstand holding hands. A little girl in her starched pink Sunday-best dress. The (electrified) gaslights lit. The lower level of the double-decker bandstand is an open-air cafe, where you can order “just a lemonade, please” and they're perfectly happy to serve you. A couple of girls training the tiniest poodle puppy I've ever seen, bouncing along behind them. The cathedral lit up like a pastry confection, doors open to all. The streets on all four sides of the square are closed to traffic, and the long stretch in front of the church is given over to 10 tables or so of the local variant of Bingo, “Campeche Lottery”: same idea, just different pictures in the squares instead of B-5, etc. The “caller” turning the handle of an enclosed basket with the various lots, drawing them one by one and calling the names into a microphone. And the ladies (almost all players were women) playing multiple cards with exactly the same intensity as you'd see back home in a church basement bingo hall or casino. A few street vendor ladies with carts selling cookies and cakes made at home. I swear Norman Rockwell would grab his paintbrushes. It is a little slice of 1940. Very sweet and charmingly old fashioned.

Lens Two
Rod at home back in Phoenix. It's Sunday night. I walk the dog, watch a little TV, maybe iron a shirt for work Monday. So, which is better One or Two? Again, Two or One. You guess.

Campeche Cathedral from Town Square

Reflections

A look back.....and forward (without the use of a mirror, thank goodness!):

Today is Feb. 10. That makes it a full month that I've been on the road again.
In that time, I've seen Mazatlan, Puerto Vallarta, Guadalajara, Merida, and now Campeche.
This make 22 towns I've seen since I started on this journey, trek, walkabout, perambulation (whatever you want to call it) last November. Now that I've counted up the number, it is really a bit overwhelming. By way of analogy, it's as though you'd traveled to most of the major towns in the U.S.....and not just in one region, but Midwest, South, Northeast, West Coast...the whole country. That's a lot of traveling.

I've realized that I like to travel.
Which shouldn't be surprising to anyone. I got the “bug” immediately after graduating from college back in 19 (uh, hum...) whatever. I gave myself a European tour for a graduation present. And I had a ball. And then—some of you remember—I worked 6 years for that international travel company (Thomas Cook Travel). During that time, I went all over the world: Russia, China, Europe, South America, Africa, Fiji, New Zealand....you name it, I went there. And, being a travel agent, mostly for free (or for very little). Not bragging, just grateful to have had the chance. So now that I'm having my second childhood (did the first one ever end?) it shouldn't surprise anyone that I simply said---as the name of the blog clearly denotes—“to hell with it, I'm out of here.”

Why Mexico? Well, it's closer than Chile or Argentina, for one. And cheaper. I can be back “home” in the States (wherever that is....not sure any more) in a half-day's flying time. Mexico is a Spanish-speaking country, and I want to improve my Spanish. I find the people, by and large, sweet and friendly. I'm getting accustomed to the pace of life. It's slower. I want to start a radical movement : “DEATH to Multi-Tasking!!!” God didn't make us to do six things all at once. Now I don't have to.

On this trip I've been to coastal places, to mountainous places, to hot places, and cold places, to urban places, and hick town places. Why so many? Partly because I'm having fun doing it. And partly because I didn't start out with a clear idea in my own mind of what I was looking for. That's clearer now: I don't want to be in a big city. I've done the Chicago and Phoenix thing; now it's time for something slower. I don't want to be cold; after nine years in Phoenix, hot is better. And being close to water is awfully nice. In Chicago, most of the year you could find me at the lakefront.....running, biking, walking, sunbathing. I find water soothing. So, anyway, I'm getting closer. It won't be Utopia, but it will be my own little slice of heaven.

Snapshots of Campeche:
Sunday night, and on most weekends, they close off the streets surrounding the main town square/park. This last Sunday, they had the Campeche Symphony playing open-air, under the stars, free....right in front of the town's decorative bandstand. Several of the restaurants ringing the square take advantage of the festivities and move tables out into the street for diners. I took advantage of the dining alfresco service at Hotel Campeche. I sat having a nice spaghetti dinner, watching the orchestra, with a gorgeous big full moon in the sky right behind the illuminated main cathedral. Wow! It was a stunner of an evening. After the orchestral “set,” another group came on stage, this time an Andean music group from Chile. Since I spent several months living in Chile about 17 years ago, this was a pleasant trip down memory lane. They even started off with a bit about the crimes of the Pinochet regime. All very familiar, since I was down in Chile in the year or so immediately following that period.

I go to the public library on the main square each day to read the local newspaper. It's a handsomely renovated colonial structure, with completely modern facilities inside. I like to sit at the long tables in the reading room, each table lit with a long built-in florescent overhead. The librarian asked me to please NOT reshelve books after I'd thumbed through them and came me a little slip of paper, a call slip, to fill out in order to request a book. In her free time, she crawls up a set of moveable stairs and dust the bookshelves. It's so “Marian the Librarian.”

Each evening around sunset, I like to go down to the Malecon (seaside walkway) to sit and watch the sea, and folks out for evening strolls. It's kind of a small town, enjoyable pastime.

Yesterday, I took the city's official tourist trolley (sponsored by the office of tourism) on a 45-minute ride around town. There were only eight of us, so we got a personalized version. Folks from the U.S. (me), Holland, Germany, and Mexico. One of the stops was at the church which marks the site of the very first mass said by Cortez and his crew when they first arrived in Mexico. In another neighborhood, San Román, we stopped to see the Black Christ.

It was a long, but fascinating, legend. It goes like this (from www.campeche.ca):

The legend goes that a beautiful crucifix hand crafted in Civita Vecchia, Italy was sent to the church via the port of Veracruz. A man by the name Juan Cano was to take it from Veracruz to Campeche City. Looking for someone to take him and the crucifix by sea he came upon a protestant Englishman who refused to take him on his ship. Another man, a Spanish merchant, agreed to take Cano to Campeche and in fact removed some merchandise from the ship to make space for the Black Christ. During the journey up the coast of the Gulf of Mexico, there was a terrible storm. However, the ship made it to Campeche on September 14, 1565. The Englishman's boat dissappeared during the storm and no one ever saw him again. And that was the first miracle attributed to the Black Christ.

My miracle was, the day after viewing him, I found out the State of Illinois had sent me a letter saying they are holding unclaimed property (money) in my name. I have no idea from where or how much. But every little bit of sunshine is welcome. One more happy tourist. One more miracle.

Hotel Atrium

These are shots of the central courtyard/atrium at my hotel. Interesting thing is that it's open at the top. There IS a roof, but it sits on legs about two feet above the level of the top of the atrium, so that light and air circulate. In the super-hot summers, the heat rises from the atrium, and can escape around the four edges, rather than being trapped inside.

Cool Vintage Furniture in My Hotel

Scenes from Campeche

That turret-looking thing is a "baluarte" (English, "bulwark"), part of the defensive walls which once ringed the city. Large sections of the wall remain, and 7 of the baluartes. Some now function as museums or public gardens.

Pretty, Historic, and Cheap

No, not me, silly! Campeche.

That's where I am right now. It is the capital of one of three states in the Yucatan peninsula. Campeche State, Campeche city. The town is located on the northern coast of the peninsula, facing the Gulf of Mexico, directly south of New Orleans. Recently, the city was granted the United Nations (UNESCO) World Heritage Site designation. They call it “Patrimony of Humanity.” And, as a result the city fathers (and mothers) VERY wisely decided to spruce up the town. Within the historic center of the city, which is encompassed by the remnants of the original town walls, they have repaired the facades of all the old buildings and painted them in gorgeous pastel colors. And they've hired a crew of street cleaners and trash removers. As a result, the place is lovely—clean, pretty, architecturally interesting. I plan to walk into the local tourist office and compliment them on their sound planning. I suppose they are looking to increase tourism, and this seems an excellent way to go about it.
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I flew from Guadalajara, via Mexico City, to Merida. I'd been there before...a couple of years ago. So I only stayed one night before taking the bus over to Campeche (it's only a 2.5 hour ride). Watching local television in my hotel room in Merida, I was taken aback by a couple of things: first, as I was in the bathroom, I heard the 5:00 newscast come on and I simply could not understand it. I thought, well, maybe I'm too far away to hear properly. So I went into the bedroom where the TV was. Still couldn't make out anything. “Gosh, I'm losing my Spanish skills,” I thought. Then, the title came on the TV screen: “News in Mayan.” Ummm, no wonder I couldn't understand. The Mayan language isn't one I've mastered.
The second odd thing was a commercial came on TV for an upcoming bullfight. I watched with great interest because I like bullfights, and have been to several (I know that's not politically correct). But this bullfight---get this—was a bullfight with MIDGETS as matadors. It seemed to my Americanized sensibilities shockingly politically incorrect to see these little people running around in the bullring, dressed as matadors. I didn't attend. It does, however, represent a different, Mexican, take on life. I've written earlier of how Mexicans think nothing about calling friends: “whitey,” or “darkie,” or “fat-so,” or “shortie.” I had one explain it to me as, “if that's the way God made you, why should we try to tap dance around it?”
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W.C.'s
Water Closets. I never clearly understood until now why bathrooms are called “water closets.” The hotel I'm staying at in Campeche, the Hotel Colonial ($14/night), is an incredible time machine. It was a centuries-old mansion, converted into a hotel. I will post some photos of its plant-filled central atrium here. In my room, a bathroom has been literally carved out of a space the size of a closet. A tiny stand-up shower that's impossible to turn around in (no shower curtain). A tiny hand sink. And the toilet set off from the shower by a narrow wall. The whole thing is enclosed in a wall that doesn't reach to the ceiling (ceilings are about 20 feet). So, indeed, it was added as a much later afterthought, a closet with water pipes. Oh, and a footnote about the toilet itself: I've never seen one like it. The flush mechanism isn't a tank with a lever, but a turn-valve right on the water intake pipe. Works just fine. Just have to remember to turn the handle completely off, or it will run forever! The toilet seat is built right into the porcelain. No plastic seat. So, not to be indelicate, but you sit right on the porcelain. And, of course, it always feels like you're going to fall in. But it's not the normal rim of a toilet, but a maybe 6-inch wide porcelan lip all the way around. Never have to remember to put the seat down. However, this is a fine idea for girls, but for boys, not so much.
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Also in my room are two thick metal eyes, about 3” in diameter, mounted right into the stone/cement walls at opposite corners of the room. Look like they've been there for a century. What's the purpose, you ask? Ahh, hammock hooks. In the olden days, folks here didn't have beds, just hammocks. Better air circulation all around your body on those incredibly hot nights without air conditioning.
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Another weird little thing I've seen in most drugstores: a plastic nose insert. Yep, they've got a poster with photos showing how to use the things. The local indigenous population is Mayan. The Mayan people have a prominent hooked nose. This device, when inserted into the nose, reshapes the nose (temporarily) into a more aquiline profile. I suppose that's someone's idea of more beautiful. But we Americans can't talk. We've got tattoos, piercings of more body parts than I want to know, Botox injections, and lipo. Oh, Sweet Vanity, you are truly cross cultural.
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My taxi driver told me a famous saying by Benito Juarez (Mexico's much-loved Indian president...sort of a Mexican Abraham Lincoln). It goes like this:
“Among individuals, as among nations, respect for the rights of others is peace.”
Nice, huh? This from the guy who ordered the assassination of Emperor Maximillian (after the French intervention in Mexico). Sort of like "you be nice to me, I'll be nice to you. If not, I'll murder you."