Serendipity

The weather here in the Yucatan has been of the variety that makes me empathize with the Wicked Witch of the West: "I'm melting" is of late nearly a statement of fact, leading me to spend much more time on the terrace than is my preference.

Today I had considered taking the bus to Merida for a last bit of solo wandering before the Ohio contingent starts arriving tomorrow, but when a 7:30 AM walk into the village induces sweating, pounding the pavements of a major city is probably not the smartest idea. So to Chicxulub's central Mercado I went to pick up some fruits and vegetables, only to find that none of the usual vendors had arrived from the country yet. My favorite little tienda (purveyors of 5-peso cinnamon rolls, among other evil things) had not received its verduras, either, and I was out of bell peppers, which will not do. Walking to the beach house and back was out of the question, so I wandered the back streets of the village for a while.

Then, on Calle 18--a tiny storefront with golden mangos, tomatoes, and green peppers! I quickly selected the things for which I had come, then noticed a cantaloupe and decided to ask for the word in Spanish. (It is melon, for anyone interested.) This question precipitated a language lesson from the young proprietor, the gray-haired neighborhood woman there to do her morning shopping, and the older man who had just arrived on a motor scooter and may have been an owner. A not-particularly-attractive gray-brown fruit was bursting open, so the young man separated the halves of the oozing object and handed one to me. The older gentleman excitedly informed me that "Eso es Yucatecan" and pointed to a tree across the street. Remembering warnings about the dangers of consuming street food and briefly wondering if the thing had been washed (though not worrying too much, since the pulp is consumed, not the skin, and the other half was being consumed by the person who gave it to me), I tasted my first sapote. Oh, my. This ugly, too-soft-to-ship fruit is incredibly sweet and creamy, or as my enthusiastic guide described it, "muy rico y dulce." Of course, I had to buy some, which necessitated more samples of more indigenous fruit varieties being placed in my hands. The shopper took it upon herself to teach me the names of everything on the tables, and I bought a couple of unfamiliar items on her recommendation. When I knew I had all I could carry (since the house was at least a twenty-minute walk away), the other shopper and I enjoyed a conversation (in my extremely limited Spanish) about the difficulty of finding a rental house in the village proper.

Free samples, fresh produce, and language lessons before 9:00 AM--not a bad way to start the day.