Greetings from Mérida

I’m writing this on a seriously wavering wireless connection from our hotel room in Mérida, the capital of the Yucatán state. I had to manually configure the connection, as the DHCP server here appears to be dead.

We arrived in Mérida yesterday afternoon, following a 325 km drive from Cancún along the annoyingly straight 180D motorway. Where’s cruise control when you need it?

Cancún proved to be as tacky as the vast majority of accounts portray it. The Zona Hotelera resort area truly is a blot on the landscape, consisting largely of an endless array of awful American chain eateries, including everything from Starbucks to Hooters. Seriously, if you wanted to visit a place that horrid from the US, you wouldn’t need to leave the country. Just go to Florida.

On the other hand, if you skipped Cancún, you’d miss out on the one redeeming feature of our stay: dinner at La Parrilla on Av. Yaxchilán. That place was out of this world: nice surroundings, friendly waiters, good music and excellent overall value for money. In short, it was one of the best Mexican meals I’ve ever eaten.

In fact, the centre of Cancún didn’t actually look all that bad. Just avoid the Zona Hotelera like the plague.

Even our hotel there was a disaster. The Gran Meliã Cancún was painfully slow to check into and ultimately provided us with a room that turned out to be occupied by other guests. We could have taken their valuables and done a runner.

It eventually took ninety minutes, four different rooms and some seriously harsh words with the staff before we were finally given the type of room we had reserved several days in advance. I suggested to the reception manager that he throw in free breakfast the next day to compensate for the inconvenience, a proposal that he, to his credit, accepted.

We couldn’t leave Cancún quickly enough the next day. The weather had been cool and rainy, and the beaches had disappeared into the huge swell of the ocean, so neither walking along the beach or frolicking in the water had been an option. Hundreds of bored-looking tourists aimlessly ambled around the resorts, trying to dream up something to do.

Anyway, after filling up with petrol (a wise move, as it turned out there were no petrol stations for 100 km along 180D), we drove west, crossing the state border from Quintana Roo to Yucatán.

Mérida is a breath of fresh air, or would be if it weren’t for the stifling fumes churned out by the buses and cars that line the city’s narrow streets.

Nevertheless, it’s a charming, bustling city that has not succumbed to the pressures of tourism that have turned its easterly neighbour into a grotesque neon nightmare.

Mérida’s streets positively hum and vibrate with activity. The narrow pavements scarcely allow you to walk two abreast here, and buses hurtle along the kerb just centimetres from your elbow and hip. Small wonder that you see very few prams and buggies here, but it hasn’t stopped us pushing ours along the potholed pavements. You get used to it after a while.

We visited one of the city’s busy markets today. With Eloïse in the buggy, we settled down for some lunch at one of the many stalls lining the street. I had my first taste of panuchos, a Yucatecan speciality. It’s a puffed-up tortilla with beans and meat. I had pork in mine, sprinkled with lime juice. Yeah!

Sarah’s vegetarianism has proved a challenge at times. This is primarily because neither of us speaks decent Spanish. Plenty of people speak English here, but that still leaves plenty who don’t. And why should they? We’re in Mexico, after all. Ordinarily, I can just about get by in Spanish when ordering food, but there are so many things on the menu here that I’ve just never heard of. Many of the Mexican dishes are actually Yucatecan or Mayan specialities and it’s very hard to figure out what’s in them. It’s not all huevos rancheros, you know.

Street peddlers abound here, although they’re not quite as pushy as in some other countries. Just be firm and say no. It’s harder when someone suddenly appears from nowhere and acts as an impromptu tour guide during your visit to the cathedral. Only when you get outside does he make his real aim clear and try to cajole you into accompanying him to his handicraft or souvenir shop. The friendliness turns a little frostier when you politely decline.

The people here are great, though; very friendly and always willing to oblige. They’ve been warm and welcoming, especially with Eloïse, who always makes a splash in hot countries with her red hair and pale skin. One woman in the market today informed us that our little girl’s legs look as if they’re made of queso!

Tomorrow, we head out of town for Uxmal, the site of an ancient ruined Mayan city. We’re short on time, though, so we’ll double back and head on to Chichén Itzá to spend the night. It’s going to be another big driving day, but probably also our last. After this, it should be relatively short hops.

Open WiFi access is uncommon here. The few networks — including encrypted ones — I have managed to get onto have turned out to block SIP, so there has been no opportunity to call the home front cheaply from my mobile phone. My guess is that the upstream telco blocks this in an attempt to safeguard their revenue, although Skype seems to be popular here and offered by every corner Internet café. Perhaps there’s a less cynical explanation, but I’m not about to pay KPN’s international tariff.

Only one major purchase so far: a hammock. Sarah wants to hook it up outside in our soon-to-be-laid garden. Let’s hope the coming summer is a good one.