Feathered serpents, dancing girls and sacrifices!

March 16

I’m definitely not in Uganda.  I know this because I am on a bus writing a blog and said bus has wide seats, a foot rest, Wi-Fi, movies and a BATHROOM! Also, not a goat or chicken in sight (on this particular bus - tho such buses do exist), no prayers before leaving – although I always thought that was a good idea considering the risks of riding a bus there. Got the senior discount - one advantage of age, plus my hair somehow got sexy or so I was told last night. Go figure... The eight-hour bus trip was a total of about $28.00 US.  Oh – and a snack: apple empanada and a coke.  The bus terminal in Guadalajara felt more like an airport than anything you’ll see in the States.

I’ve completed my month of Spanish lessons – great teacher – beautiful city. I’d not actually thought of going to Mexico City until two lovely young women – sisters – who live there offered to show me around.  So, I’m headed there with a view of the full moon out of my window and looking forward to immersing myself in Aztec and Mayan culture for a few days:  museums, a visit to the Temples of the Sun and the Moon and a trip through the Frida Kahlo museum, before heading to Merida on Friday.

 One not so happy discovery before leaving Guadalajara was how hard it is to ship something from Mexico to the States.  After packing a box of clothes-too-warm-for-Yucatan and walking the mile to the FedEx office, it took me an hour and a half to mail a box.  Yes, yes – I had to list every item – rather to be expected.  But they also required the contents of each item – i.e. percentage of polyester, cotton, silk.  To add hassle, I was required to unpack the box, and remove the three bars of this magnificent soap I’d purchased as gifts. I’ve coveted Maja Maguria, the richly scented olive-oil based soap made in Spain, since the 70’s and it has become increasingly hard to find. Moving forward, I’d also mailed back running shoes and that triggered an entire page of small print questions:  specific chemical content of uppers and lowers? rise above the ankle? steel toe? water proof?  flame retardant? Being neither a chemist nor a shoe manufacturer, I threw up my hands in despair  after guessing at half the answers, but ultimately managed to negotiate this debacle – a goodly amount of it in Spanish.  It was suggested more than once that this is a bit of payback for what Mexicans encounter at the boarder…  and it's FedEx imposed.  I’m now praying that the box found its way to Oregon, theoretically the next place I will need warmer clothes.

Mexico City: 10th largest city in the world lives up to its reputation as enormous, intimidating and beautiful.  Had it not been for my two young friends, Diana and Marta, I would not have dared navigate this city  since tales abound about people getting lost for a day.  They were gracious, fun and incredibly well versed in the history of Mexico, their city and Mayan/Aztec culture.   I don't know a single American twenty-something as informed about our own history.  The first night out, they introduced me to Leche Frita (literally fried milk) - a flash fried flan served with a creamy sauce.  No calories there.... Good thing I can't stay longer. 

They educated me on the differences between Mayans and Aztecs and informed me that the Temples of the Sun and Moon in Mexico City actually preceded the Aztecs, who discovered the pyramids after the culture that built them had vanished.  The wall to the right is part of the Anthropological Museum which is built around some of the exhibits.  Started in the late years of Freida Kahlo and Diego Rivera (late 1940s - early 50s) as a result of their encouraging the Mexican government to protect the ruins for future generations, it didn't take its present form until the 70's. Mind boggling in its size, presentation and complexity, we saw about a third of it in the half-day we were there.

One treasure I discovered while there was the ball court where warriors attempted to get a ball, signifying the sun on it's way back into the sky after spending the night in the underworld, through a stone hoop 20 feet above ground using the hip or elbow.  For ceremonial games, the winners had the honor of being sacrificed.  The losers sometimes shared the honor. Anyone sending the ball through the hoop in the wrong direction (bad for the sun) was decapitated to fertilize the earth and make the sun happy.  Puts a different spin on losing the Super Bowl doesn't it - and gives new meaning to the saying, "You can't win for losin'."

The "snake" I never saw...

In addition to Mexico City, another unexpected gift was the accidental scheduling of my arrival in Yucatan to coincide with the Spring Solstice – the single most important time of the year for Mayan-lore aficionados. Supposedly the sun aligns with Chichen Itza in such a way that - at a specific time of the day, a shadow creeps down the side creating the illusion of a serpent slithering down the step. This phenomenon brings Mayan enthusiasts from all over the world to the Yucatan filling every hotel, hostel and campground on the peninsula.  Having bought my plane ticket before knowing that or finding a place to stay, I lucked out and found the last budget room in Merida.

March 22:

Not to allow this process to be too straightforward, the universe continues to throw in reminders that – as familiar as Mexico seems in contrast to Africa, I am still a stranger in a strange land.  Google search, switching me back and forth between English and Spanish,  confused the Expedia process of buying airline tickets and produced a confirmation not for the 9:30 AM departure I thought I'd paid for, but for a 6 AM departure, necessitating once again a 3:30 AM wake-up to get 4 AM taxi.  This seems to be hardwired in my psyche, since it started in D.C. when I was still consulting in Texas.  It continued in Africa when I needed to get the goat-bus to Kampala.   I need to have a conversation with my internal scheduler to rewire that circuit.

Still, in that Pollyanna way of justification of which I have been accused, the scheduling mistake got me into Merida at 7:45 AM in time to check into a rather disappointing hostel  (a young man sleeping on an air mattress just inside the front door), BUT in time change clothes and hoof it to the bus station to get a ride to Chichen Itza in hopes of seeing "the snake."  Still no-goats, but a more ordinary bus with AC cold enough to freeze even the dead, I bounced and swayed the two hours to the pyramids to find much of Sweden, Asia, some of the US and 1000 local vendors, indigenous  dancers and flute players gawking and hawking their way around the pyramid complex.  Turns out the snake was not “scheduled” to make its descent until late afternoon. Exhausted, I left at about 2:30 just as the second swarm was arriving to see the show.

 Three hours of swaying-and-stopping later I dragged myself back to the hostel to meet the owner’s firm insistence that he be paid NOW.  Ever the polite, though foul-mouthed, southern woman (who supposedly can tell you to go to hell in such a way that you'll enjoy the trip) I dutifully went in search of an ATM.  The Friday night scene in El-Centro Merida is a crush of humanity shopping, coming and going from work, lined up at every ATM (Tarjeta Automatica) all taking out money for the weekend. My trip to the grocery store resembled CostCo on steroids on a pre-holiday weekend.  Having not yet graduated to an ATM with out training wheels (English subtitles for transactions) I made an error and thought I’d just paid the balance in my US checking account to some unknown entity.  Playing the damsel in distress didn’t require much acting, so I finally got an off-duty bank employee to explain that I’d simply printed out my bank balance, which in pesos, is thirteen times bigger than it actually is.  The confusion comes in because both the Peso and the Dollar use the "$" sign.  After getting the barest essentials at the store, I limped my way back to a 3-wheeler ScotiaBank Tarjeta Automatica and managed to get money for the hostel-jeffe.

The night was surprisingly quiet, thanks in part to the noise of a blessedly powerful ceiling fan (YESS!!!) and I sit now in a patio surrounded by the detritus of the six, 20-something young men staying here.  But the birds and the city are waking up, I’ve been able to fix coffee using my baby French-press and am listening to the sounds of the city. I’m hoping for a less frenetic exploration of Merida today and understand there are some beautiful historical sites and murals.

Merida redeemed:

Traveling is loosing a bit of its luster.  I spent all day searching for a hostel anywhere on the peninsula that is NOT Merida.  Spring Break combined with the equinox is the perfect storm.  After finally shifting gears to go to Isla Mujeres where I found ONE hotel room that I would/could afford, I went downtown and caught the final festivities of Family Night.  The plaza was filled with dancers from the Folklorico dance schools and what a sight!  Here is a still-shot. I was unable to load the video, but play Cielito Lina in your head and you'll have it.  There are hundreds of women dancing in full traditional, hand embroidered dresses, ribbons and flowers in their hair and fans flourishing.

All this exploring is fine.  Spanish is improving, but I still find myself at a peculiar place in terms of knowing what-I-want-to-do-when-I-grow-up. I AM sure I want to stay down here long enough to let new ideas percolate up through the miasma of a brain and life re-calibrated or should I say de-calibrated by two years in Africa.  Have really not stopped long enough to catch my breath and look forward to finding a little place to hunker down for a few months and just let the energy of the sea and the Mayan world wash over me for a while – meditate, write, walk, explore, think and determine how to capture the best elements of my former life and the core elements of me and put them into play in a way that has not yet made itself known.  I’m not nearly as Narcissistic as that sounds, but am hoping that the universe or God will speak to me in terms I can translate – please not Spanish or Acholi.  I suspect that I will have to stand still for a bit for me to be able to hear and thus far have not found a place that beckons.  Tomorrow – I’ll buy the bus ticket to Isla Mujeres and get closer to blue water!  It's a nice problem to have I suppose, but worrisome nevertheless.

More from your questing friend when I get to blue water!