One day last week I was marching down the Paseo Montejo and some (Mexican) dude said, in English, “Hey, baby, where you from?” I replied, somewhat flippantly, “Vivo en Merida” adding “asscracker” in my head.

Then I realized that it’s starting to become true. We really are living in Merida. We can spend a mundane weekend here and experience neither homesickness nor the rush of ancient ruins. It was quiet, typical, relaxing, and completely fun. Monday has arrived as the first real rainy day we’ve seen.

To recap:

Friday we finally met Ellen and Jim, the Working Gringos of Yucatan Living. They are awesome people and were kind enough to show us around their office in Centro and their new home currently being built from the ground up. They took us to Wayan’e, their old and our new favorite taco stand, ordered one of each kind of filling from eggs to cactus to tripe, and encouraged our use of copious amounts of hot sauce. I am not talented enough to faithfully describe this experience. You’ll just have to trust me. Better yet, come and visit already!

Saturday, alone again, we wandered the streets of Centro. I made some tuna pasta salad which was gross because, as we are for some reason slow to learn and stubborn to accept: TUNA FISH IS GROSS IN MEXICO. It’s our little American bias and it can’t be helped and won’t change anytime in the near future unless we both undergo elective palate transplant surgery. Which is unlikely.

Sunday we had to vacate the apartment because the cleaning crew was coming. Four hours later this place was sparkling. While we waited we had a pretty nice little Sunday. Breakfast buffet at El Gran Cafe, where we encountered some crass American teenagers, but otherwise enjoyed our strong coffee, conchinita pibil, beans, papaya, chilaquiles, and the distinct feeling that we were getting the hang of things here. Desayuno anyway.

We walked to Centro while Merida el Domingo was in full swing, complete with families riding bicycles on streets closed to cars, old couples dancing, a trova band playing, giant ice cream cones being eaten, and protestors in the zocalo employing the signage of dissent. We bought tickets to the ballet and strolled back uptown, where we settled in a new restaurant with a great outdoor bar and seating area, in a perfect spot for people watching on the Paseo.

Back home at the Suites del Sol we watched a Mexican hidden camera show, in which a woman who resembles Selma Hayak plays pranks on people mostly in the supermarket. It is funniest when an incensed pregnant women smacks a tray of hot dog and cheese bites in the host’s face. Not to worry, our comedy appreciation is not degenerating. We followed that up with a few episodes of The State, the mid 90’s sketch comedy show which gave us the catch phrases, “You’re Dad and I’m Doug, and I’m outta heeere” and “I’m gonna dip my balls in it”.

We live in Merida, growing comfortable, capable, and reluctant to leave.

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