The following takes place between 7pm Sunday the 4th and 1pm Friday the 9th of May.
Mexican rock:
To experience proper Meridan culture we made the decision to start going to some of the free local events in the ‘cultural centres’ dotted about the city. On the weekend we chose a music show, what we thought would give us some idea about the sorts of sounds developed in Latin America. We went expecting some Mexican rock music, their version of guitar-based wailing and youthful angst that you expect from the genre but with infamous Mexican guitar intricacies and, well, lyrics. What we got was not this! We queued for about 30 seconds to get in, and were seated in a beautiful white building with a fabric dome as a roof, well kept shrubbery, a girl playing the violin and a man giving what must have been a very stirring speech backed by the acoustic guitar; not quite rock city I hear you say.... The audience consisted of two rows of teens who sat very orderly and sensibly at the front. Behind then sat their mothers, fathers, grandparents or other responsible family members to keep on eye on what they got up to. We tried to figure out what was acceptable behaviour for a teenager from Merida, was holding hands with a boy too much? It seemed to be because in the first 10 minutes a women sitting next to us stormed to the front, picked up her daughter by the ear and dragged her out of the venue. Then the bands began to play, dressed in white, flailing across the stage with their electric guitars, head-banging along to the hardcore tones of the Beatles ‘Yesterday’. At the end of each song, (all American), the audience (still sat) muttered a respectable ripple of applause. If this is the underground rock and alternative culture of Merida then everyone else must be actual saints! I’m not going to lie, we were a little disappointed, our search continues for the ‘real Merida’, the grit and the angst, surely it can’t be sweetness and light, right? So the next day we headed off to Celestun (to the west of the city on the coast).
(we should also note that during this period we met up with Gemma, who use to live with Tessa, and her friend Kay, who lived in Solihull before setting off around the world)
Celestun:
Celestun is said to have the one of the largest population of Flamingos in the world, and at times 25000 birds can be seen in the mangroves and low waters around Celestun. Upon arrival we headed to the beach to find the fisherman coop, which provides the locals an extra income, fishermen take tourists out to see the birds, this option seemed better than the big tourist chains that provide the same tour. As we walked down the beach a cry of “FLAMINGO, FLAMINGO” from a group of men in boats let us know we were at the right place, we decided to wait for some other English speakers to fill the boat up (and split the cost), and so to pass the time we sat at a near by bar to get some drinks. This for me was the starting point when the cracks in the Yucatan sweetness began to appear. We sat for a while and a young man came over to take the order, then he simply disappeared….gone….vanished…..so we sat, and sat waiting with idle conversation. In the end (no idea how long had passed) some more English speakers had arrived and the boat was leaving so we left drink less and got on the boat.
Considering how much effort the man on the beach had put into getting all the English speakers into one boat, we had expect an English speaking guide, nope the guy didn’t speak a word of it, and neither did we. He did however insist on giving his tour (didn’t matter no one on the boat understood a word he said!) and so off we set to the petrified forest. Too cut this long story short we saw some tiny crabs, like 12 flamingos (this is this the biggest flock I’m worried about the state of the flamingo population, well not that worried, I’m still going to sleep ok) some pelicans and fishermen pushing there boats around (seems no one told them about oars or engines).
The highlight was the fresh water pool which was a brilliantly tranquil blue pool in the heart of the mangroves, well it was until Tessa and Gemma jumped in! Full of fishes and bubbling springs, it was really amazing!
So after the 12 flamingos we headed back to get lunch, we tried several establishments, one in which no one would serve us as they watched Tv in the kitchen, the one we settled with gave us our drinks quick enough, but no food menu (this was a restaurant) so when we finally got one we had to go looking for a waiter to take the order… and at the end trying to get the bill and pay involved us waving at several members of staff who just waved back with a smile until we started getting up and leaving. Also they split my beer on my lap and over Gemma, so that half the bottle was gone, didn’t get me a new one or apologise or take that one off the bill. It seems the service industry hasn’t really got to Celestun (or am I just so use to American style service?)
Anyhoo we headed home, vowing not to return.
Cenotes:
Yesterday we went to find our first cenotes. Do you know what cenotes are? I’m sure I didn’t before I studied them… well, the Yucatan is basically a huge limestone outcrop, completely flat and riddled with holes which act as entrances to a vast underground river system.
These holes are called cenotes (se-note-ehs) in Mexican and sinkholes in English (Our language really is beautifully evocative isn’t it?!). Anyhoo, they look a bit like caves filled with big pools of clear, fresh, indigo blue water illuminated by shafts of light from the holes in the rock above. Often the roots from the trees above stretch down to the water, as do stalactite looking rock formations. They are really beautiful, mystical places, which the ancient Maya held sacred. They used to place votive offerings of jadite plaques into them and worship in them. When you see the photos you’ll probably understand why, but also they are also the only means of getting fresh water in the Yucatan (cause its so flat there are no normal rivers!). So we decided to go see what all the hype was about. We chose not to go with a tour operative (very oddly after our experience at Celestun), but to support another one of these eco-sustainable- local cooperative thingys. We caught our first combi bus from merida. This was an experience in itself! When any normal person would consider all the seats taken, the driver this was only half satisfied and continued to cram more and more people in. I don’t know if you have ever had the pleasure of thigh on thigh contact with the people around you in 90 degree heat; its definitely a bonding experience! I didn’t know whose sweat was whose … at least if we’d crashed we’d have not moved in our seats as sardines in a can springs to mind! The driver, having taken one look at us knew where we (as opposed to all the other locals) were going and kindly offered to take us a little closer to the site for a small additional fee. We literally tumbled out of the van, peeling ourselves off of the people next to us, sweating profusely; it was all very attractive and paid the driver a meagre 20 pesos (£1) each for the hour long trip. As the combi pulled off we were left to negotiate with the local chaps a price for the next leg of the journey. This was really the best bit! The cenotes are reached by horse drawn wagons on an old rail system (left over from the 1900’s when they were used to bring precious natural fibres from the jungle – the strongest in the world). Ok, I know the picture you have conjured up in your minds; something resembling some kind of stage coach I bet. You’re sooo wrong! It was definitely more like a cart, or one of the wheeled boxes you see in mines in the movies. We almost fell out at every corner. The horse obviously thought it was far too hot to be pulling along four English tourists and fought every step of the way, rearing and bucking and intermittently galloping as we jiggled up and down, side to side, almost head butting each other on a regular basis. And so we made our way down, deep into the jungle. I’ve no idea how long it took to reach the first cenote. Fear for my life and the distracting itching as my sweaty thighs vibrated along with the cart must have messed with my sense of time, but as we arrived it was soo worth it! The driver cast as ominous gesture in the direction of a small wooden platform (resembling the gestures of the ghost of Christmas future in ‘A Christmas Carol’). Dubiously we trekked off and descended into the ground.
It was absolutely incredible, truly breath-taking and within seconds we had stripped off to our swim clothes and dived in. I’ve never felt anything so refreshing. The water was crystal clear and fresh, not salty or chloriney, just delicious and reviving. We spent the full half an hour swimming around the cave and pulling ourselves out just to jump back in again from the platform. It was really deep and there were little fishes swimming about that would come and investigate you if you sat still enough. The colours and the cave rocks were mesmorising. Check out the pics. We reluctantly returned to our cart and were taken to the second and then a third cenote. While as the first had been in a large-ish cavern that had been made easily accessible by wooden steps down from the surface, the second and third were progressively more precarious. I don’t mean dangerous at all but just much more restricted access with only small entrances, the second you’d have to duck under the rock or you would hit your head! The third was fully enclosed except for a small hole through which a vertical ladder took you into the darkness of the cave. At first we couldn’t see anything and I had to feel my way down into the water. Scary stuff! Gradually our eyes adjusted and we got some of our best pictures in the cave. By the end of the day I had done so much swimming that I could barely keep myself afloat! We took our cart back to the village; every now and then having to disembark as another cart came the other way! Finally, to get us back to where the combi would pick us up we paid some poor guys to cycle us for 20 mins in the heat, back to the bus stop. At least they were getting fit for the £1 they earned! Truly I’m beginning to feel like a colonial English explorer. This was my best day so far (sorry about the excessively long blog!). Tomorrow we have been here three weeks … we are yet to see any rain or Mexicans dancing on their hats (I’m beginning to think that you may have got the words to the song a little wrong…maybe.)
Mexican rock:
To experience proper Meridan culture we made the decision to start going to some of the free local events in the ‘cultural centres’ dotted about the city. On the weekend we chose a music show, what we thought would give us some idea about the sorts of sounds developed in Latin America. We went expecting some Mexican rock music, their version of guitar-based wailing and youthful angst that you expect from the genre but with infamous Mexican guitar intricacies and, well, lyrics. What we got was not this! We queued for about 30 seconds to get in, and were seated in a beautiful white building with a fabric dome as a roof, well kept shrubbery, a girl playing the violin and a man giving what must have been a very stirring speech backed by the acoustic guitar; not quite rock city I hear you say.... The audience consisted of two rows of teens who sat very orderly and sensibly at the front. Behind then sat their mothers, fathers, grandparents or other responsible family members to keep on eye on what they got up to. We tried to figure out what was acceptable behaviour for a teenager from Merida, was holding hands with a boy too much? It seemed to be because in the first 10 minutes a women sitting next to us stormed to the front, picked up her daughter by the ear and dragged her out of the venue. Then the bands began to play, dressed in white, flailing across the stage with their electric guitars, head-banging along to the hardcore tones of the Beatles ‘Yesterday’. At the end of each song, (all American), the audience (still sat) muttered a respectable ripple of applause. If this is the underground rock and alternative culture of Merida then everyone else must be actual saints! I’m not going to lie, we were a little disappointed, our search continues for the ‘real Merida’, the grit and the angst, surely it can’t be sweetness and light, right? So the next day we headed off to Celestun (to the west of the city on the coast).
(we should also note that during this period we met up with Gemma, who use to live with Tessa, and her friend Kay, who lived in Solihull before setting off around the world)
Celestun:
Celestun is said to have the one of the largest population of Flamingos in the world, and at times 25000 birds can be seen in the mangroves and low waters around Celestun. Upon arrival we headed to the beach to find the fisherman coop, which provides the locals an extra income, fishermen take tourists out to see the birds, this option seemed better than the big tourist chains that provide the same tour. As we walked down the beach a cry of “FLAMINGO, FLAMINGO” from a group of men in boats let us know we were at the right place, we decided to wait for some other English speakers to fill the boat up (and split the cost), and so to pass the time we sat at a near by bar to get some drinks. This for me was the starting point when the cracks in the Yucatan sweetness began to appear. We sat for a while and a young man came over to take the order, then he simply disappeared….gone….vanished…..so we sat, and sat waiting with idle conversation. In the end (no idea how long had passed) some more English speakers had arrived and the boat was leaving so we left drink less and got on the boat.
Considering how much effort the man on the beach had put into getting all the English speakers into one boat, we had expect an English speaking guide, nope the guy didn’t speak a word of it, and neither did we. He did however insist on giving his tour (didn’t matter no one on the boat understood a word he said!) and so off we set to the petrified forest. Too cut this long story short we saw some tiny crabs, like 12 flamingos (this is this the biggest flock I’m worried about the state of the flamingo population, well not that worried, I’m still going to sleep ok) some pelicans and fishermen pushing there boats around (seems no one told them about oars or engines).
The highlight was the fresh water pool which was a brilliantly tranquil blue pool in the heart of the mangroves, well it was until Tessa and Gemma jumped in! Full of fishes and bubbling springs, it was really amazing!
So after the 12 flamingos we headed back to get lunch, we tried several establishments, one in which no one would serve us as they watched Tv in the kitchen, the one we settled with gave us our drinks quick enough, but no food menu (this was a restaurant) so when we finally got one we had to go looking for a waiter to take the order… and at the end trying to get the bill and pay involved us waving at several members of staff who just waved back with a smile until we started getting up and leaving. Also they split my beer on my lap and over Gemma, so that half the bottle was gone, didn’t get me a new one or apologise or take that one off the bill. It seems the service industry hasn’t really got to Celestun (or am I just so use to American style service?)
Anyhoo we headed home, vowing not to return.
Cenotes:
Yesterday we went to find our first cenotes. Do you know what cenotes are? I’m sure I didn’t before I studied them… well, the Yucatan is basically a huge limestone outcrop, completely flat and riddled with holes which act as entrances to a vast underground river system.
These holes are called cenotes (se-note-ehs) in Mexican and sinkholes in English (Our language really is beautifully evocative isn’t it?!). Anyhoo, they look a bit like caves filled with big pools of clear, fresh, indigo blue water illuminated by shafts of light from the holes in the rock above. Often the roots from the trees above stretch down to the water, as do stalactite looking rock formations. They are really beautiful, mystical places, which the ancient Maya held sacred. They used to place votive offerings of jadite plaques into them and worship in them. When you see the photos you’ll probably understand why, but also they are also the only means of getting fresh water in the Yucatan (cause its so flat there are no normal rivers!). So we decided to go see what all the hype was about. We chose not to go with a tour operative (very oddly after our experience at Celestun), but to support another one of these eco-sustainable- local cooperative thingys. We caught our first combi bus from merida. This was an experience in itself! When any normal person would consider all the seats taken, the driver this was only half satisfied and continued to cram more and more people in. I don’t know if you have ever had the pleasure of thigh on thigh contact with the people around you in 90 degree heat; its definitely a bonding experience! I didn’t know whose sweat was whose … at least if we’d crashed we’d have not moved in our seats as sardines in a can springs to mind! The driver, having taken one look at us knew where we (as opposed to all the other locals) were going and kindly offered to take us a little closer to the site for a small additional fee. We literally tumbled out of the van, peeling ourselves off of the people next to us, sweating profusely; it was all very attractive and paid the driver a meagre 20 pesos (£1) each for the hour long trip. As the combi pulled off we were left to negotiate with the local chaps a price for the next leg of the journey. This was really the best bit! The cenotes are reached by horse drawn wagons on an old rail system (left over from the 1900’s when they were used to bring precious natural fibres from the jungle – the strongest in the world). Ok, I know the picture you have conjured up in your minds; something resembling some kind of stage coach I bet. You’re sooo wrong! It was definitely more like a cart, or one of the wheeled boxes you see in mines in the movies. We almost fell out at every corner. The horse obviously thought it was far too hot to be pulling along four English tourists and fought every step of the way, rearing and bucking and intermittently galloping as we jiggled up and down, side to side, almost head butting each other on a regular basis. And so we made our way down, deep into the jungle. I’ve no idea how long it took to reach the first cenote. Fear for my life and the distracting itching as my sweaty thighs vibrated along with the cart must have messed with my sense of time, but as we arrived it was soo worth it! The driver cast as ominous gesture in the direction of a small wooden platform (resembling the gestures of the ghost of Christmas future in ‘A Christmas Carol’). Dubiously we trekked off and descended into the ground.It was absolutely incredible, truly breath-taking and within seconds we had stripped off to our swim clothes and dived in. I’ve never felt anything so refreshing. The water was crystal clear and fresh, not salty or chloriney, just delicious and reviving. We spent the full half an hour swimming around the cave and pulling ourselves out just to jump back in again from the platform. It was really deep and there were little fishes swimming about that would come and investigate you if you sat still enough. The colours and the cave rocks were mesmorising. Check out the pics. We reluctantly returned to our cart and were taken to the second and then a third cenote. While as the first had been in a large-ish cavern that had been made easily accessible by wooden steps down from the surface, the second and third were progressively more precarious. I don’t mean dangerous at all but just much more restricted access with only small entrances, the second you’d have to duck under the rock or you would hit your head! The third was fully enclosed except for a small hole through which a vertical ladder took you into the darkness of the cave. At first we couldn’t see anything and I had to feel my way down into the water. Scary stuff! Gradually our eyes adjusted and we got some of our best pictures in the cave. By the end of the day I had done so much swimming that I could barely keep myself afloat! We took our cart back to the village; every now and then having to disembark as another cart came the other way! Finally, to get us back to where the combi would pick us up we paid some poor guys to cycle us for 20 mins in the heat, back to the bus stop. At least they were getting fit for the £1 they earned! Truly I’m beginning to feel like a colonial English explorer. This was my best day so far (sorry about the excessively long blog!). Tomorrow we have been here three weeks … we are yet to see any rain or Mexicans dancing on their hats (I’m beginning to think that you may have got the words to the song a little wrong…maybe.)
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