Caribbean Dreaming, Merida

Alas, here I loiter on down the traffic choked calle's of Merida, a Caribbean city lacking any distinguishable flair of the Caribbean, failing miserably on my quest to dig up a single piece of moderate standard, English translated literature other than pre-teen fantasy novels such as the 'Twilight' saga. Every bookstore seems to point me in opposing directions, and every bookstore which apparently keeps English stock seems to be "closed until further notice." But suddenly my search is rudely & unexpectedly interupted - as priorities ever persisit like a survival instinct...I need a toilet now! Round & round my pace quickens, circling the lively Zocalo, pleading for one of those appropriate WC or Baño signs which tend to stick out from grundgy alleyways, and nearly always indicate the exchange of a few lousy pesos (that you never seem to have when you need them the most) for the privilege. Times get desperate, Burger King on the corners gonna have to do. I'll even buy a flipping soft serve...

Body back at equilibrium, I head back to the hostel. A pretty sweet one at that - buffet breakfast, hammocks & a pool, just a bit of a mish from the centre of town. Flicking through the tattered collection of novels at the book exchange, I come across a small, bright red travel log by this British dude Geoff Dyer, called 'Yoga for people who can't be bothered to do it.' I'd like to say it appealed to me since admittedly, I once went to a yoga class trying to impress this chick I had a crush on, and could not have actually given the slightest hoot for what was going on, bar a childish notion towards something known as the downward-facing dog...But in reality - the rest of the books were simply shit.

I sat by the pool, popped the top off a corona with a butter knife (as I keep forgetting to buy myself a bottle opener or acquire the monstering manliness of this guy I met in Thailand who could crack them off between his posterior teeth), and delved into this world of words. By the second chapter it had me in hysterics, much to the weary bemusement of a large group of Danish girls. It was uncontrollable - like a time in high school when I'd pictured sticking chewing gum to the shiny, bald crown of my teachers head. If they had actually known what I'd lost it over I seriously doubt they'd still be sitting so close including me in their conversations.

This guy from the book had been travelling throughout Cambodia, and somewhere or other had ended up at this floating market busting for a piss. Looking around he was contemplating hanging one over the side of the boat, but as mothers dipped and scrubbed their laundry and new-borns in the filthy muck wouldn't this be like taking a piss on someones kitchen or bathroom floor?? He decides to hold out, until a huge, solid human crap floats past his boat in all its glory. How is it, he continues in bewildered amazment, that the body can manage to adapt to all kinds of crazy conditions - that despite the viral prevalence of dysentery, cholera & all kinds of innumerable waterborn diseases of such an environment, someone was able to produce an object such as that. I was envious. I havn't shit a brick for over a week. I wonder how long this period of adaptation takes?? Oh well...he got to piss in his river. I got to crap at Burger King.

Rewind a few days, I was still in San Cristobal. Actually I'd only just finished my last post when I hear a familiar voice shout out from off the street. Big Dawg had found me! It was a glorious moment, like a mother embracing her child after their first day of pre-school. It was made better by the fact he'd picked up two monkey girls on his adventures, and we spent the rest of the afternoon browsing lollie markets and playing pool with these two Argentinian guys. That evening we got super groovy at the Revoluçion bar, smashing massive tequila shots, nachos & dancing the the night away to this kick-ass local band. Big Dawg and I then recieved an agonising lesson in that we can't salsa for shit. The mexicans stole our mistresses, leaving us sinking cervezas all alone & sinking slowly into a deep, dark depression at our table...until the girls came screaming back of course, having had their way with those nasty mexican men. I'd have to say that was one of the best nights I think I've ever had.

Monkey girl & I kickin' it at Revoluçion

Big Dawg was soon on his way back to Tassie, and the girls had ditched me at Palenque to go study monkeys for 6 months or so - alone on the road once again, this time at some mental rave community hidden in the jungle. El Panchan can be found smack between the town of Palenque and the famous Mayan ruins of the same name, and if you like to party, this place is for you. I can't say I got too much sleep that night, and combine that with the worst of my stomach rumbles, I found the day exploring the ruins a little painful, despite it seeming of course very lovely indeed...I took off again, dreaming of the Caribbean. White sand and clear blue seas to sooth my soul. Hahaha...and I wound up in Merida?!! Silly, silly boy! No, it's actually ok for now...I just booked tickets to Havana, Cuba! Ooo baby, Mr. Castro I am coming for you...

Bye bye for now kids xx

Ruin at Palenque