Tag Archives: Merida

The Problem with the Muchacha

Inspired, Life in the Yucatan, Ti'ho Tales, , , , , , , ,

“I mean it’s not like she’s actually stealing anything” said Pat, holding the cup of decidedly watery coffee with both hands, feeling the cups smoothness and marveling at the fact that you could even hold a fresh cup of coffee in a porcelain – albeit chipped – cup with both hands. Shouldn’t this be hotter?

Betty nodded, completely in tune with the frustrated sentiments of her recently arrived friend from Baltimore, for whom Betty had procured a maid in response to Pats request because, as she had put it, “I need more time for my art.”

Blonde, blue-eyed and originally from Guelph, Ontario, Betty had had similar concerns when she first arrived in the formerly-white city of Merida some years ago but now had become accustomed to the locals way of doing things. She recalled the shock of finding her mozo, a young lad of about 22 with a limited command of English and decidedly Mayan features whom she had hired off the street, poking around in her kitchen when he was supposed to be watering her garden. “Que haces, Juanito?” she had asked and the mozo had simply shrugged and left her there, wondering if she should make it more clear what his job description was and seriously debating whether or not she should count the spoons.

Pat interjected with a sigh. “I know she is a sweet girl and would never take something without asking” she said “but I can’t shake the feeling that she has been through my things”

The waiter, a man in his fifties with a large belly completely inconsistent with his income, approached the outdoor table. “Mas cafe?” he asked, all the while checking out Betty’s legs, which were bare, muscular and tanned, thanks to her plaid shorts and a strict regimen of daily swimming and walking her dogs. “No, gracias” said Betty, while Pat just shook her head. The waiter retreated into the dark confines of the cafe.

Pat continued. “I mean there I was, in my studio doing some work with forks. You know I am working on a piece that involves forks, right?” Betty nodded. “And I look over at the kitchen and there is Seidy talking on her cell phone and putting something in her purse. So I put two and two together…” Her voice trailed off.

“Look,” said Betty soothingly, “you really don’t know what she was up to and I’m sure you’re just jumping to conclusions. Remember that I talked to Seidy’s mother before we had her come to work for you and she assured us that Seidy was very responsible and completely dependable.” Pat nodded. “Why don’t you ask her what she was doing?” continued Betty.

Pat shook her head, setting down the chipped cup. “I couldn’t do that” she said, “I would be accusing her of something and what if it is all a misunderstanding?”

Betty smiled gently. Pat had been through a lot in the last few years and her self-esteem was still somewhat fragile. After her husband had left her in yet another classic middle age crisis love story, Pat had spent much of her time depressed and only when she discovered her passion for art – and anti-depressant drugs – did she climb out of her funk and rejoin the living. Now she had managed to purchase a small home in Merida and was getting by on her savings and the occasional sale of her rather controversial art. There was not a huge market in Merida, it seemed, for abstract sculptures made of kitchen utensils.

Betty signaled for the bill to a passing busboy using that ‘writing-in-the-air’ motion she had picked up as part of her cultural conversion, who nodded and continued on to the cafe’s interior. A moment later the waiter emerged from within and asked Betty if she wanted the bill. “Si, por favor” she said and a few minutes later was fishing through her fanny pack for some pesos. Placing the money on the bill and mentally calculating the 10 percent she was leaving as a tip, she looked at Pat. “If you like, next week when I have a moment, we can sit down – together if you like – and talk to Seidy and find out what she’s up to these days. You know, sometimes when you talk to them, you get to know a little about what it is that’s going on in their lives and everything is really OK.”

Pat’s slightly worried expression seemed to brighten a few shades. “That would be great Betty” she said, “can I call you?”

“Of course” Betty replied with a smile. They got up and made their way down calle 62 until they came to the corner of 61, where they parted, with a peck on the cheek just like the local ladies of a certain economic and social background do it, and continued on to their respective homes in Centro.

——————————————————————————————

Will Pat resolve her doubts? Will Seidy cough up her secret? Will Betty adopt another street dog?

Stay tuned for another installment of Ti’ho Tales, coming soon, should the inspiration strike!

Here’s a Weird Fruit You Won’t Find in Publix or Safeway

Life in the Yucatan, , , , , , , , , ,

In an ongoing conversation I am having with someone online one of the things he mentions is that he wants to buy some vanilla-flavored tequila on his upcoming visit. Not being familiar with flavored tequilas, I stop at COVI, our local specialty liquor store to see what they have available. There is no vanilla-flavored tequila, but there is tequila almendrado which means it has been flavored with almonds and tequila with membrillo.

What the hell is a membrillo anyway?

A stop at Walmart to check on prices for some Microdyn that another online acquaintance is asking for, I pass the newly refreshed fruit and vegetable aisle and what jumps out at me (figuratively, not literally) but a whole bin full of membrillo. So I buy one.

It’s a hard fruit, like an unripe pear and cutting it open is difficult and yields a hard flesh and stony seeds. I have seen dulce de membrillo here and there so I suppose that this is what it is best suited to; cooking the bejeezuz out of it with lots of sugar. It’s flavor is slightly applish but takes so long to chew that I don’t have a second chunk.

If anyone knows the story behind the membrillo, don’t be afraid to share!

Here are some photos of this strange and decidedly exotic fruit:

HSBC and their Screwy Online Banking

Inspired, Life in the Yucatan, , , , , ,

If you are unlucky enough to be dealing with HSBC in any capacity, you will no doubt be familiar with their lackadaisical service, their never-ending charges for all kinds of ‘services’ in dealing with what is essentially your money and their flaky online banking.

This mornings attempt to pay some taxes online was yet another incursion into their frustrating world.

The video below shows the popup window from hell; the one that never goes away and makes it impossible to close your browser window, necessitating a reboot of your computer. Thank you HSBC for these heart-pumping moments of throw-your-coffee-cup-at-your-monitor fury.

ARGH

New PhotoBook on Meridas Fabulous Doors Now Available!

Inspired, Life in the Yucatan, , , , , , , , , , ,

My good pal and associate Ralf has published a new photobook of a very small selection of Merida’s beautiful doors, taken in downtown Merida one sunny afternoon! If you like reading this blog and have found some use for the information contained herein, you can support the effort and get an attractive Merida souvenir at the same time! Enjoy!

Vivero Fun

Inspired, Life in the Yucatan, , , , , , ,

One activity I enjoy here in the Yucatan is a visit to the local nursery; not the ones with the screaming babies but the ones with the plants, flowers and trees. I have always thought that it would be fantastic to have a nursery on each block (or every two blocks, like an OXXO) to provide a shady, oxygen producing oasis for the surrounding concrete misery that makes up so much of Merida’s new fraccionamientos.

These photos were taken this morning at the Verde Vivo nursery, albeit with a phone camera so they are not that great, but you can still get an idea of all the color and exotic greenery that is available out there.

While we are on the subject of Vegetation…

Inspired, Life in the Yucatan, , , , , , ,

I have this palm variety in my backyard, a shorter plant, that at this time of the year produces fruit in the form of berries. Each morning I wake up and see them lit up in the morning light just outside my window. I think the photo below (the one that is bright orange) captures the beauty of these little guys quite nicely; if anyone knows what the plant is, let me know!

El Chaka – A Yucatecan Tree with Papery Bark

Inspired, Life in the Yucatan, , , , , , , , ,

The Chaka (chah-KAH) tree is found everywhere in the Yucatan and can be identified by its papery, red colored bark which seems to be suffering from some sort of skin disease as it is constantly shedding. Many locals consider it an ‘acceptable’ tree to leave on ones property when clearing in preparation for building a new home. While the other endemic varieties such as chukun, catzin and even the honey-producing dzidilche are considered ‘undesirable’ because they either have thorns (like you are going to be climbing these trees every afternoon) or produce garbage (in the form of leaves, the horror), the chaka is left because it has neither thorns nor a huge amount of leaves and many think it is attractive (which it is). So, when coming upon a cleared lot you will often find that the chakas have been left standing as solitary reminders that some native trees are more desirable than others and testament to the owners – or in many cases the architects – somewhat tepid desire to preserve at least some of the local vegetation.

Unfortunately, the chaka is a soft wood whose root structure seems to be largely superficial and in my time here in the Yucatan, which has included observing the passage of more than one major hurricane, I have noticed that the chakas, when left surrounded by their more hardy, deep-root, neighboring trees, survive strong winds much more handily than when left alone to fend for themselves. Standing alone, they easily succumb to a strong gust of wind which snaps their branches and if the gale strong enough, uproots them entirely.

You can read up on the chaka here (en español) but in a nutshell it says that the tree is indigenous to the area, and its leaves are used for medicinal purposes (curative baths for fevers, according to this site), its wood for carving (although most wood carvers will use other, harder wood varieties) and as an ornamental tree in parks and gardens.

I have several in the backyard and here are some photos of their trunks and bark, which I find quite interesting.

That New Meat Place with Giant Skewers next to Walmart

Casual Restaurant Critic, , , , , , , ,

How’s that for a title?

Either the Critic was too distracted or never did find out the name of this “Brazilian” rodizio-style meat restaurant located in the City Center mall (Merida not Vegas) , just off the periferico and at the entrance to Walmart. UPDATE: Thanks to the Critics good friend, the intrepid Juanita, the name of this restaurant is ASADO BRASIL.

In any case, he accompanied the always better-looking and better-humored Better Half and another couple there for lunch. As usual, the restaurant was packed with hungry and motivated Yucatecan meat lovers, out to get their money’s worth of the all you can eat menu.

The overall impression is that the place is decent enough, although it is extremely noisy due to an excess of hard surfaces and two televisions (one with sappy telenovelas, the other with a raucous futbol game) and is somewhat charm-challenged. This doesn’t seem to be deterring anyone from having a grand old time however.

The salad bar, a term optimistic at best in this case, is a sparse arrangement of very basic items like lettuce, tomatoes and peppers arranged along one wall with a minimum of grace and fanfare. Just a 12 inch protruding shelf with the smallest of home-made glass acting – not very successfully – as a sneeze guard. The Critic stood in front of this rather sad display for some time before deciding that nothing appealed to him at all, except maybe for a few slices of tomato to offset the meat to come.

The meat, brought out on skewers and carved with a sharp knife in front of your face, is excellent. Everything from chicken and arrachera to pork to sirloin to a truly succulent slice of picaña; and you can eat and repeat as much and as many times as you want. Apparently, the price hovers in the $180 per person range, which is not unreasonable given the amount and quality of meat.

The service was a little lackadaisical at first, but the meat carving specialist, from Argentina apparently, was a joker as was his assistant and made the meal quite entertaining.

For desserts, there is ice cream and some bananas on the salad bar display thing with thick, sweetened Nestle milk to pour over them if you need a real sugar fix after your protein overload.

Would the Critic go back? Sure. Just don’t expect fine dining.

Hanging out with the Expats at the Living in Merida Book Launch

Inspired, Life in the Yucatan, , , , , , , , ,

The other week, I felt strangely compelled to join other palefaces living in the formerly white city to an event organized by the Merida Verde people to officially launch the second edition of the Living In Merida book, now new and improved and chock full of information for new, English speaking arrivals, with the occasional tidbit that might be useful for those of us who have lived here longer than most and have our own personal favorite suppliers of everything from accurate law advice to honest real estate brokerage services to where to get a transmission repaired without losing an arm and a leg in the process.

To project an air of respectability I put on a clean shirt, picked up always charming Better Half and headed out to that hotel with the Pinedo Covalin boutique located on the corner of 47 and Montejo, right where Montejo ends and what some locals call El Remate which of course is a misnomer as it is not a remate as such, but a principio or beginning of that famous avenue modeled after Paris’ Champs D’Elysees.

Again, I digress.

There were all manner of expats milling about, some of which sported faces completely new to me, as I am somewhat out of touch with this crowd, who for the most part inhabit that part of Merida they charmingly call  ‘Centro’ and are not frequent visitors to the other end of Montejo, where the Fridays, Sams Club and McDonalds along with the mall and its adjacent Starbucks make for a very different, and oft-criticized by visitors, impression of Merida.

“I prefer the REAL Merida!” they will say, wrinkling their nose, as if everyone should be wearing white outfits and balancing trays of glasses and bottles on their heads while dancing a typical jarana, panucho in hand. God forbid the locals should aspire to eating a hamburger or having a double grande latte with non-fat soy milk.

As I made the rounds, I overheard – and occasionally engaged in – earnest, well-meaning conversations on organic gardening, saving yet another local dog, the latest restoration of yet another fabulous little colonial down on 66 and all the Art that everyone seems to be making. These subjects are somewhat foreign to me, having been here now for so long with my regular boring job, normal family obligations and other mundane, boring activities that leave me precious little time for this navel-gazing that seem to be so popular among those who have moved here from el norte, to relish the freedom that a bank account in dollars can provide in a land of pesos.

Inside, the wine flowed freely (hey it was free, aprovecha!) and as some of the dialogue began to get a little slurred, I tried to identify, without much success, some of the people who I might have engaged with only online, before moving outside for some fresh air and a smoke. This nasty activity is of course now banned anywhere indoors in Merida, to the delight of many and the disgust of many more who can’t understand why Merida needs to adopt these new regulations when there are so many other things to be improved upon.

Once the book was presented and the thank-you’s made to all the collaborators in a drawn out affair which proved that not only Yucatecans will continue their conversations while someone is making a speech, the little soiree was over. A little more socializing with a few good friends I found there and I called it a night.

And the book? I’m sure it will prove to be a valuable addition to the information already out there, particularly on websites such as yucatanliving and yucatantoday and of course lawsonsyucatan, but one must take it all with a grain of salt. For example, the section on buying a used car mentions that one place to buy a previously owned vehicle is the ex-Penitentiary, which, as any local will tell you, is rife with stolen automobiles, cars with ‘papers’ issues and the occasional con artist.

It was a strangely different sort of evening, a take on a Yucatecan night out minus the Yucatecans, featuring a fantastic selection of characters out of some travel novel from the last century; something by Somerset Maugham. And although at the time I was a little less than enthusiastic about going, I am glad I went.

Bella Roma – New Authentic Italian Find in Merida

Casual Restaurant Critic, , , , , , , , , , ,

Everyone is talking about it.

A new Italian eatery; a really authentic Italian restaurant, located in the most unlikely and hard to find places; the new, gigantic urban development known as Las Americas. Not the mall, but the Sadasi construction companys huge housing project near Dzitya, just off the Merida-Progreso highway.

The Casual Restaurant Critic, Better Half and several friends visited this hidden gem a few nights ago and the group was magically transported from Merida to a Roman neighborhood trattoria, where a large (20 members by one account) Italian family hosts Yucatecans and the occasional Canadian and offers up real food from the land shaped like a boot.

The pizza is of the ultra thin crust variety and while the ‘everything’ pizza was fine, it was the quattro formaggio with anchovies that wowed the group. Pastas were perfect; rare indeed is the restaurant that can put together a delicious pasta cooked perfectly. Elio al Mare is one, Bella Roma is another. Accompanied by a reasonably priced bottle of Moltepuciano red wine, the meal was perfect up to and including the tiramisu and limoncello (and mandarincello) for dessert. Exquisite!

Service was adequate, but the crushing onslaught of Yucatecans never stopped and the female waitresses, evidently sisters and daughters of the older folks in the kitchen as well as several young men including the Eros Ramazotti singing member of the family who provided live entertainment for part of the evening, were hard-pressed to spend much time at any table. Every few minutes, yet another Italian face would appear with a load of plates and the Critic counted at least 11 different members of the staff, all related apparently.

Dinner for 8 came to about $1400 pesos before tips which the Critic felt was quite fair.