Merida must have been planned by an MIT grad. It's streets all have numbers: the odd ones run East West the even ones South North. There is the occassional Paseo or Avenida behaving a bit oddly but by and large it is all very logical - and confuses me no end. My brain just doesn't work this way, I can't remember that the store selling wrapping paper is on Calle 57 between 64 and 66, I can remember that it is close to that yellow bar that sells three kinds of beer and that nice house with the lavender color - but that won't do me any good because I can't remember how to get to these locations either. The whole system really reminds me of Sloan where we went from class 15.230 in room 525 to class 15.650 in room 350, Building 3 with a pipi break in between in bathroom 455. Surprisingly we actually ate pepperoni pizza, not nutritional item 165. But that was then, maybe they streamlined the food court as well.
But back to Merida. I am slowly getting the hang of it. After a few surprises - we turn a corner and I go "so, that's where we are" - I have enough landmarks in my head to get around reasonably well - makes sense, we are leaving Saturday and so this is perfect timing.
We keep ging back to the main plaza, the Zocalo, in the evenings. It's a nice big plaza with important looking buildings (governmental palace, e.g.) and at least one "iglesia" (Max seem to have forgotten the German word) whos bell rings like 30 times in a row in odd intervals and stores and restaurants. A busy street runs around it but in the very middle is a little park: a platform where every evening the Mexican flag gets lowered with lots of pomp and circumstances, street vendors sell stuff, families stroll, Max's favorite pigeons are being fed and huge old trees provide some shade. As soon as it gets dark the trees come alive. They are teeming with birds, tausends of them, who start screaming - there really is no other word for the sound they make - when it gets dark. Is really funny and deafening, it's hard to have a conversation there because of all the screaming that's going on. The place has it'sown vibe and one that Max is particularly sensitive to. He gets really crazy and wild every time we go even close to Zocalo. Maybe it's the memory of his great dance adventure the first day we were here or of all the energy the place exudes. Every time we go there we hope to be able to sit on a bench and have a bit of a conversation, watch people, etc. but every time Max jumps up and down like crazy, runs in circles, screams, runs off and sits with total strangers talking in German to them, doesn't want to leave, wants to start dancing and chases pigeons
with abandon (they, however, leave when the screaming birds start doing their thing, must be too noisy for them). His favorite restaurant is there too, they serve rice and platanos - which has saved us many an evening with our super-picky eater (no piece of fruit other than banana has crossed my son's lips since he stopped eating mashed up food out of little jars).
I thought I would get tired of Yucatecan food pretty quickly and I sort of have but not in a "I can't see it anymore and if I have to have another bite I'll scream" sort of way. I'd kill for a bit of Sushi or some Dim Sum,mind you,but I get by on panuchos and sopa de lima just fine (I guess we fall squarely into the group of Sushi-eating, New York Times-reading, gay-loving West Coast liberals that is so reviled in what is called the "heartland" - don't get me started this will be political and ugly in a sec if I go down that path). After more than 10 years in the US I am used to gargantum portions sizes - freuqently Uli and I will share an appetizer, a main course and a desert coming away feeling that we overindulged again - and can't help but look at the portions they serve here and think that people in the US would be offended by them, at best. Don't get me wrong, I love it. I am our typical kids-are-starving-in-Africa-so-better-finish-up-your-dinner guilt eater and if you put a truck load full of rice in front of me I'll do my best to eat it, even if I hate myself for it later. If you put a couple of teaspoons full of rice in front of me I'll eat it too but not much harm is done. There are two things served in abundance, limes, as I mentioned in an earlier post and tortillas which are served with just about everything with the possible exception of ice-cream but I am sure you'd get a bunch if you'd ask politely. Looking around Yucatan and the obvious problem they have with obesity I think that the darn tortillas must be single-handedly responsible for all that extra weight. The limes surely play no part in it.
I am getting started on packing the suitcases - that's the part I hate most. Yucatan has been/still is a really great experience and it is great so see how easily Max settled into a new surroundings and rhythm. He is old enough not to have forgotten about home and so we frequently talk about the house in Sunnyvale, Nelly and the kids, our friends and doing what we are doing there. He seems to find this all quite normal and unremarkable and fortunately the change is not upsetting at all to him. I think taking the time we are taking, not trying to do too much, seeevery last sight, stay in an endless number of hotels in different places really helps. So I am really glad we are doing this the slow way and we will all be sad to leave despite the fact that we just spend more time in Merida then I have ever spend in any city with the exceptions of those I lived in.
But back to Merida. I am slowly getting the hang of it. After a few surprises - we turn a corner and I go "so, that's where we are" - I have enough landmarks in my head to get around reasonably well - makes sense, we are leaving Saturday and so this is perfect timing.
We keep ging back to the main plaza, the Zocalo, in the evenings. It's a nice big plaza with important looking buildings (governmental palace, e.g.) and at least one "iglesia" (Max seem to have forgotten the German word) whos bell rings like 30 times in a row in odd intervals and stores and restaurants. A busy street runs around it but in the very middle is a little park: a platform where every evening the Mexican flag gets lowered with lots of pomp and circumstances, street vendors sell stuff, families stroll, Max's favorite pigeons are being fed and huge old trees provide some shade. As soon as it gets dark the trees come alive. They are teeming with birds, tausends of them, who start screaming - there really is no other word for the sound they make - when it gets dark. Is really funny and deafening, it's hard to have a conversation there because of all the screaming that's going on. The place has it'sown vibe and one that Max is particularly sensitive to. He gets really crazy and wild every time we go even close to Zocalo. Maybe it's the memory of his great dance adventure the first day we were here or of all the energy the place exudes. Every time we go there we hope to be able to sit on a bench and have a bit of a conversation, watch people, etc. but every time Max jumps up and down like crazy, runs in circles, screams, runs off and sits with total strangers talking in German to them, doesn't want to leave, wants to start dancing and chases pigeons
with abandon (they, however, leave when the screaming birds start doing their thing, must be too noisy for them). His favorite restaurant is there too, they serve rice and platanos - which has saved us many an evening with our super-picky eater (no piece of fruit other than banana has crossed my son's lips since he stopped eating mashed up food out of little jars). I thought I would get tired of Yucatecan food pretty quickly and I sort of have but not in a "I can't see it anymore and if I have to have another bite I'll scream" sort of way. I'd kill for a bit of Sushi or some Dim Sum,mind you,but I get by on panuchos and sopa de lima just fine (I guess we fall squarely into the group of Sushi-eating, New York Times-reading, gay-loving West Coast liberals that is so reviled in what is called the "heartland" - don't get me started this will be political and ugly in a sec if I go down that path). After more than 10 years in the US I am used to gargantum portions sizes - freuqently Uli and I will share an appetizer, a main course and a desert coming away feeling that we overindulged again - and can't help but look at the portions they serve here and think that people in the US would be offended by them, at best. Don't get me wrong, I love it. I am our typical kids-are-starving-in-Africa-so-better-finish-up-your-dinner guilt eater and if you put a truck load full of rice in front of me I'll do my best to eat it, even if I hate myself for it later. If you put a couple of teaspoons full of rice in front of me I'll eat it too but not much harm is done. There are two things served in abundance, limes, as I mentioned in an earlier post and tortillas which are served with just about everything with the possible exception of ice-cream but I am sure you'd get a bunch if you'd ask politely. Looking around Yucatan and the obvious problem they have with obesity I think that the darn tortillas must be single-handedly responsible for all that extra weight. The limes surely play no part in it.
I am getting started on packing the suitcases - that's the part I hate most. Yucatan has been/still is a really great experience and it is great so see how easily Max settled into a new surroundings and rhythm. He is old enough not to have forgotten about home and so we frequently talk about the house in Sunnyvale, Nelly and the kids, our friends and doing what we are doing there. He seems to find this all quite normal and unremarkable and fortunately the change is not upsetting at all to him. I think taking the time we are taking, not trying to do too much, seeevery last sight, stay in an endless number of hotels in different places really helps. So I am really glad we are doing this the slow way and we will all be sad to leave despite the fact that we just spend more time in Merida then I have ever spend in any city with the exceptions of those I lived in.
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