Midnight in Merida

Back in July 2017, I decided to take a little detour from my American adventures for a while and head down to Mexico, catching a plane from LAX to Cancun. I'd taken an Uber to the airport but was left completely dumbfounded when this clearly busy LA native had dropped me way outside of the actual grounds, with no way to enter by foot. Approaching the nearest car park, I came across a family from Texas who offered me a ride in the back of their pick up truck. Once again I found myself relying on the kindness of strangers, but the slow drive in through hoards of traffic gave their astounded 12 year old son many opportunities to ask questions about dear old England. Parting with their delightful company and heading in to find my gate, it wasn't long before I was on that plane and headed towards the heat and beaches of the Yucatan Peninsula. I had decided to only book one nights stay in Cancun, at a hostel I believed to be lacking in the party criteria. Unfortunately, I couldn't have been more wrong. After arriving at 6am and spending the morning and afternoon discovering what Cancun had to offer, gigantic hotels, crowded beaches, and unbearable touristic features, I headed back to the hostel.

Accompanied by Jonathan Safran Foer's brilliant 'Everything is Illuminated', I happily occupied a swinging hammock for the next couple of hours and napped in the heat. In a party city or party hostel, there is no bed time so to speak. You rest when you can. The heat was unbearable, drenched in sweat bearing a thin blanket to cover from any wandering eyes, opposite me lay a German girl, desperately trying to fix the ever failing air con. The next moment my eyes are open, it's 4am and like a mentally deficient swat team, our four roommates burst through the door, shouting, drinking, punching, flailing arms. I accepted that I may have no more sleep tonight but thankfully, arising at 6am I must have drifted off through sheer exhaustion. The German girl was gone already, perhaps switching rooms earlier. I was up and out, grabbing a few select pieces of fruit as fresh as it would get in this heat. With my already unopened bag as though I had expected a quick getaway, I headed straight for the desk to checkout. Walking through the desolate streets of a party city at 7am is a kind of peace I enjoy. Peace among chaos. Like a ferris wheel, with every turn of night from one extreme to the other, crowded, roaring streets to silent, still pavements.

I didn't have a plan booked on where to go next. I had originally thought to myself I would decide whilst in Cancun but my brain had become far too drained for any simple task. So, I hopped a bus to Chichen Itza and figured I would see where my luck would take me. Leaving Cancun at 8am, I arrived at the site for around 1pm. After a few rounds of the car park asking any bus driver who could speak English, where they were headed and when, I discovered my options were rather limited, but one place had come to mind which was Merida, the capital of the Yucatan peninsula. 5:30pm. The last bus to Merida. That gave me just over 4 hours to discover Chichen Itza. History of lost civilizations has long been a topic that has enticed me on many adventures. Most recently, the Mughal Empire of India. The Mayan civilization was no different. I spent the next 4 hours admiring every carved stone, reading every inscription with every ounce of concentration I had. The crowds of amassing tourists became an almost intolerable addition however that is to be understood in such a historic site. A wonder of the world. Still it will always be with imploding irony that everyone should dislike tourists.

As 5:30pm came around and I found the last bus to Merida, or in fact anywhere at that point. I climbed aboard and found a comfortable spot to rest my head for the next 4 hours. The sun slowly descended, the rain poured down constantly. It began to dawn on me that I had nowhere yet to stay in Merida and I would be arriving at night, in the pouring rain with all my possessions hauled upon my aching shoulders. Each town we passed through contained beautiful town halls, each brightly coloured and bearing their own crest with pride. As we neared Merida, my memory was tearing apart the maps I had seen of Merida remembering where hostels or bnb's were located.

The bus pulled in, the rain poured down, and I headed towards the centre of Merida, remembering a single hostel near the town hall. Long dark streets, barely lit, filled with water as old American cars galloped through the huge puddles, showering everyone within reach. Almost blindly guessing where the town centre was, with a dead mobile phone and the distinct memory of road names and a map, I asked the few people still on the streets for directions and finally came within reach. The hostel was right where I remembered it to be, stepping through the doors, I breathed a sigh of relief, not expecting what was to come next. After waiting for 15 minutes, I was told the respectful owners of the hostel do not take walk in bookings. I was kicked out, but not before I was informed of another hostel further down the road, their friends it just so happened to be.

I headed into the rain once again, nearing 11pm, walking down the dark damp streets of Merida. The buildings bore no resemblance to the place I was searching for. I began to become lost once more, straying too far away from the centre of Merida, into a shady looking part of town. I turned around and headed back towards the glowing lights of the centre. As I turned onto the square, I stood in the rain. Just looking and studying each and every light I could see, looking for a clue. This wasn't a tourist town. I began to think my luck had run out when suddenly, low and behold, I spotted it. An ice cream store. Still open. I shuffled over and as I approached, the blaring bright neon red sign of a bed and breakfast blinded my eyes. Ice cream had led me to sanctuary. I would stop by the ice cream parlour every day for the next 5 days I spent in Merida, as a way of saying thanks, but for now, I climbed the stairs, was welcomed with open arms, voices of 'Mi casa es su casa,' rang out and I floated down the hallway, past the tropical birds and overgrowing plants, into a darkened room stricken by a powercut and collapsed onto the bed. If I remember rightly I awoke still dressed as from the night before.

Merida became a highlight of my entire North American adventure. I went on to meet several good friends there, drank till 2am in bars where speaking English would get you a black eye for your troubles and discovered beautiful ruins in Uxmal. I left Merida feeling revitalised after my troublesome time in Cancun, with new found hope for my next destinations, Tulum, Playa del Carmen, and the island of Cozumel. Needless to say, Merida was not beaten. Tourist traps are a deadly thing to get caught in, but if you can wriggle your way out, whether you know where you're going or simply catch a bus to nowhere, you might just survive, and have fun along the way.