Hell’s Half Acre

The days seem to run together into a huge blur. Every day I think of something to post but it usually escapes my brain before I get a chance to put it to puter.

If you want to be completely accepted into Yucatan society; from middle class families to Mayan laborers, I have your solution. Bring a big-ass white Ford E350 15 passenger van down and drive the highways and byways. All the collectivos here in Quintana Roo (and from what we experienced of Yucatan (state) today) use this vehicle. (a colectivo is like a taxi for a group of people) I always feel so bad when we’re coming back from somewhere, at the end of the day, and group after group after individual after individual try to flag us down and look at us with disgust as we pass. I need to get a sign to indicate we’re a private vehicle but no-one would probably believe it.

I recently filled up at a Pemex and while driving in, all the station attendants were waving me over to the gas pumps. Did they not hear the mighty diesel roar? After waiting at the diesel pump, two finally decided to saunter over and shaking their heads, motioned that the GAS pumps were over where they HAD been, and asked me (BOTH of them) TWICE if I was sure that I wanted diesel. I’m sure that they’re convinced that I really DIDN’T know correctly, and it actually was a gas van.

Today, in a tiny town outside Chichen Itza, a toothless old man (do you really need to specify “old” when describing a toothless man? Does it not logically follow? Just wondering…) mumbled to me over and over as I tried to get ice at a roadside abarrote. I went into the store to inquire as to the availability of ice; back to the car to get the bag (sans wallet), back to the store to pay (no money), back to the van to find money, back to the store to purchase ice. The entire way, the old man followed me, mumbling. At first I thought he was drunk, then I though he was interested in where we were from, and then finally, when took the time to talk to him, I realized he wanted a ride. He asked if we could take him to Piste. We were headed the wrong way, but I don’t think he believed me. Right after I left, you guessed it, our twin van approached the man and took him away. The entire time we were in Palenque, tourists would wave us down frantically, hoping for a ride. You’ll be loved and appreciated in the Yucatan in a Ford van.