In 1989 I had a book, a used discarded library paperback called, "Mexico on Ten Dollars a Day". I don't recall what it looked like exactly, but I think there was a photo of the Mayan pyramid at Chichen-Itza on the cover. Well, one night I picked it up, started leafing through it. I randomly opened it to the section on the Yucatan Peninsula. Did I mention that I studied Archaeology in college? I did, but bailed on a career in that field after a year and a half of graduate school. Thats another long story...
I found myself reading a section on the city of Merida. There was a general description of the city and it's colonial history, with a list of the hotels, pizza joints, bars, museums, day-trips, etc. I need to mention here that this was before the Internet, so I only had my imagination to visualize what I was reading about this distant, topical place. It was a process that is unknown today in our instant information age. At any rate, I happened to read about a very cool, old hotel called the Hotel Colon. It had a pool, and steam baths in every room. Best of all, the rates were very reasonable. $28 per night, and included a free breakfast to boot!
This was a time in my life when I lived in Santa Ana, California. I lived about three blocks from downtown, and there were lots of Mexican tourist agencies. Santa Ana had, and still has a large Hispanic community. Anyway, I walked into a travel agency one afternoon and bought myself a round trip ticket to Merida, and ten days at the Hotel Colon. By the way, the hotel still exists, and yes, they have a website(http://www.hotelcolonmerida.com/el-hotel.html). So I walked out of the travel agency with my plane ticket, visa, and hotel reservation. I kept re-reading the section on Yucatan in my book, thinking of the interesting times that were in store. It wasn't my normal style to go adventuring solo, but I didn't have a girlfriend, wanted to get away to a place I'd never been before. I was really excited.
After an incredibly long plane flight, in a DC-10, sitting in the rear under the very loud engines that vibrated to a terrifying degree, I landed in Mexico City where I waited for the connecting flight to Merida. Descending through a tropical thunderstorm that caused the small plane to rock and forth had me thinking I would be burned to a crisp, dead in the jungle in a foreign country. Great. Obviously we landed and I survived. Stepping outside of the terminal with my suitcase, the tropical heat and humidity were oppressive. I was shocked in a nice way, however. Palm trees, brilliant flowers sprouting from winding vines, the smell of exhaust, the frantic movements of Volkswagon Rabbit cabs zooming in and out up to the curb. I flagged down a cab and said, "Hotel Colon, por favor".
Twenty minutes later I was dropped off at the hotel, checked in, found my way to my room, and collapsed on the squishy, queen-sized bed. There was a ceiling fan humming away, and off I drifted to sleep. Next morning I awoke, dressed, and walked out to find a cup of coffee. Never mind the free breakfast, it was only from 7-9 a.m. I overslept. Stepping out to the sidewalk the heat hit me like a wall, the near 100% humidity made me sweat from every pore in my un-acclimated body. It was oppressively hot! I bought some postcards and headed for the post office to write and mail them. While I was scribbling on the postcards, someone tapped my shoulder. Turning around, I saw a small, brown man, about 5 feet tall facing me. In broken English, he asked me if I wanted him to take me around the city. Not knowing what to make of him, I said I was fine on my own, didn't need any help. He followed me out through the front doors of the post office, and asked me again if I wanted him to show me around to town. I agreed, then he began leading me down the street in search of places to spend my money. He must've had deals with local vendors because he took me to particular stores, places where all manner of tourist items were sold. Hats, silver, hammocks, boots, you name it.
He kept urging me me to buy everything, like the rich gringos do. I explained to him in my broken Spanish that I had travelled to Mexico many times when I was younger, and that I really didn't need a bunch of stuff to lug home. But he didn't get it. I thanked him for his help, and opened my wallet and gave him a twenty dollar bill. He seemed satisfied with the amount, and asked if he could meet me manana to show me more cool places to shop. I reluctantly agreed.
The next morning he was sitting in the lobby of the Hotel Colon, in the same clothes he had worn the day before. Strange...but he was just trying to make a buck. He told me he worked in the Coca-Cola factory at the edge of town, had a wife and bunch of kids. He told me we going someplace special, to the giant mercado in the center of town. Off into the tropical heat we walked, he, cool as a cucumber, me sweating from head to toe, looking every inch the tourista that I was. We found the huge mercado, and looked at serapes and silver jewelry, then he led me up a series of stairs to the third floor. It had a strange ambience and was air-conditioned. As I stood taking in the vibe, I noticed a door opening on the other side of the room. In walked my erstwhile tour guide with three teenaged girls, dressed in tank tops, mini skirts and platform shoes. He presented them with a flourish of his hand, then he moved close to the wall and said, "You like these girls?" I hadn't expected this at all, and even though I didn't want to insult him or the girls, I politely declined. The girls didn't seem to care at all, and I told them all I wanted to buy was some silver, not sex. They hooked me up with a jeweler downstairs where I bought a really nice, fine silver chain, and a strange closed fist bauble to hang on it. I let my tour guide take me to a couple more places where I bought a hammock, a guayabera shirt, and some other little tourist things.
The next day my plans changed unexpectedly. That's part two, and my next post.
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