Anthropology: Urban Vestiges, Part 3 -- Abandoned

When I was a kid, I was fascinated by ruins and abandoned houses. I still am. So, since moving to Yucatán, where uninhabited haciendas litter the countryside and empty mansions still dot the Mérida inner-city landscape, I am in a kind of heaven.

A friend of mine sells real estate. As a dabbler in the business myself, sometimes I tag along to take pictures for her, just to have an excuse to nose around old houses and maybe find an interesting opportunity. One day I went with her to look at a house that the owners were putting on the market. The prior owner had died years ago and left the home to relatives, two of whom met us on the street in front of the high, decorated facade of the colonial-style structure.

Many keys were produced, but none seemed to work in the lock. All the keys were tried a second time, and this time one was found to rotate slightly. A small can of oil was located, and with liberal application of lubricant and gentle force, ultimately the lock was made to open. Then the door, apparently swollen by humidity and its hinges stiff with corrosion, would not budge. Finally after some kicks and heavy shouldering, the door scraped open. A large pyramid of unopened mail from banks and utility companies had accumulated beneath the letter slot. This yellowed, wrinkled heap, which with dampness had congealed into a pulpy mass and stuck to the floor, had been partly to blame for our problem with the door. Along with this, the reek of rodents, humid, stale air and enough hanging cobwebs to furnish several Halloween Haunted Houses were evidence that no one had been inside for a long time, perhaps years. One of the owners would not pass over the threshold. He didn't say why. He peered inside while standing safely back on the sidewalk, and then returned to wait in his air-conditioned car.

The interior was much the same as in many of these forlorn old Mérida homes. There was a story here of a life, in this case of a man who had passed away years ago, leaving roomfuls of furniture, files and hoarded treasures to heirs who didn't really care to deal with the mess and did not want to live in an old, crumbling house in centro.

Another old home near mine also was uninhabited for many years. It was easy to see through cracked, uncurtained windows that it remained fully furnished in the style of the 1930's, with crystal chandeliers, bric-a-brac, old paintings and family pictures still intact. A dusty baby grand piano was clearly visible through a missing pane in the padlocked and chained front door.

In some of these cases,  there are numerous heirs who can't agree, or there is no will, so houses remain locked up and in limbo for years, sometimes decades. An acquaintance of mine tried to buy a fabulous old home whose owners had died intestate in the 1920's. Their numerous children and many of their grandchildren were now also gone, leaving dozens of great grandchildren and other relatives to dispute the estate. The family feud over inheritance is so intense that no one lives in or cares for the property. Likely the dispute will continue until the house falls down or is confiscated by the government as a nuisance or for back taxes and bills. There is a beautiful old house on my block that's been in much the same situation since the owner died in 1951. The remaining original heirs, who would like to sell, are now in their 90's. I suspect none of them will ever see their money.

Occasionally, a house you might think abandoned, isn't. It turns out an ancient man or woman, or sometimes a younger family, to all appearances without funds to maintain the place, hangs on, often living in a couple of back rooms that are still in habitable condition. They may be owners, heirs, caretakers or squatters. Whatever the situation, it's interesting to see a fabulous casona still in use, but with chickens running in the gardens, laundry drying along the colonnades, and humble hammocks swinging beneath ornately stenciled, beamed ceilings.



I appreciate the restoration efforts that have brought many old Mérida homes back to life, but feel it will be a sad day when progress has eliminated the last of the abandoned and ruined old mansions. These old, un-beautified relics are romantic time capsules. They add a touch of color and mystery to the city.

These remnants also remind us of the glories and follies of the past in a way that restored and modernized examples do not. They help me keep in mind the temporary nature of everything on this planet, and particularly the fleeting qualities of wealth, status and power, which many of these crumbling edifices were constructed to symbolize.

If you enjoyed this post, you also might like Wanderings: Hacienda Dreams, Urban Vestiges Part 2 -- Stones, and Urban Vestiges, Part 1.

A Moment of Joy

It's Sunday. This morning, as I often do on Sundays, I went down to Mérida centro to enjoy a delicious traditional Yucatecan breakfast with a friend, followed by leisurely conversation in a cafe on the Plaza Grande.

On my way home I walked through the plaza, crowded with vendors, food stalls and hordes of tourists and families on a Sunday outing. Suddenly I became aware of loud, rhythmic drumming coming from the vicinity of the cathedral, located on the east side of the square.

A more staid event in front of the Cathedral, on a different day.

Curious, I walked over to see what the ruckus was about. The area in front of La Catedral de San Ildefonso, the oldest cathedral in the Americas, was jammed with families and youths carrying colorful balloons and cheering. A large, varnished wooden cross, supported by a handful of young men, rose in front of the main door of the building. Next to it a priest, sprinkling holy water, was blessing the crowd. There was lots of laughing and cheering amidst the smoke of incense.

The atmosphere was infused with a sense of fun, happiness and joy.

Having been raised in the much more somber atmosphere of Protestant churches up north, and never having seen anything like this before, I was curious and decided to hang around to see what would happen.

The blessing over, the drum corps began to beat a fierce rhythm and the cross was lowered onto the shoulders of a group of bearers. The happy roar increased. Amidst the noise of the drumming, laughter, chanting and the bobbing of hundreds of balloons, the cross was slowly borne into the church. I joined the throng.

This is an immense stone building full of echos. It magnifies sound and resonates like a monstrous speaker. The tattoo of the drums inside was deafening. Beneath blessed statues of the Saints, whistles blew. Passing in front of sacred, serene images of The Virgin, people cheered. Everyone was smiling. The church was full of young people and families all watching as the procession slowly worked up the aisle to the altar. The priest began to speak, but instead of calm, scripted responses or "amens" on the part of the congregation, they erupted in cheers and whistles. The priest smiled broadly at the noise. This began to sound more like the crowd at a hotly-contested football game than a group of faithful at the beginning of a church service:

"Viva Cristo Rey!" [Long live Christ the King!]

"Viva Cristo Rey!"

Despite the cacophony, the atmosphere somehow remained respectful and reverent.

Now, I am not Catholic and not the most devout Christian, but I can appreciate the enthusiasm demonstrated by this group. The overall feeling was one of intense joy and happiness. It was a very Mexican obsevance of faith, and quite different from a regular mass or the serious and quiet forms of worhsip I remember from my childhood days attending churches in the north.

The event seemed to exemplify for me some key aspects of Mexican culture, like the importance of family and children, the true heart of Mexican society. And in a country where several hundred years of oppressive and authoritarian government has not always been kind to the average person, emphasis on celebrating life and enjoying the moment whenever an opportunity presents itself. It was an interlude of intense joy. A moment purely Mexican.

People: "I Love You Too, Alberto"

I am at a bit of a loss. I have been gone quite a bit this year in order to help out my aging parents. For the second time in a matter of months I returned to Mérida to discover that a friend had passed away while I was absent, that the funeral was over, public mourning finished, and that the rest of the world had begun to adjust to the void, leaving me to catch up on my own.

* * *

I saw an enchanting painting, a colorful and mysterious portrait of a woman, hanging on the wall of a house in Mérida a few years ago. I asked my host where it came from, and learned that the artist lived not far from me, and although in his eighties was still busy working. Not long afterward, I met the man at a social gathering. His whispy hair was windblown, his precariously-perched glasses held together with adhesive tape, and his clothes spotted here and there with paint. The artist handed me his card. The black on white card pictured an artist's palette and brush and said simply, Alberto Castillo Ku, Pintor.

A few weeks later I called the phone number on the card and Alberto Castillo invited me over to his house in San Sebastian. As we got acquainted that afternoon we touched upon many subjects. We looked at paintings and photos and slowly wandered through his ancient, eccentric house and extensive garden. He cooked, and while eating the lunch we shared a couple of large bottles of beer. Over the next several years, visits like this one to Alberto's house became a regular and unforgettable part of my life.

Alberto Castillo was born in Mérida in 1920, and even as a child he liked to draw. When Alberto was about ten years old, his father bought the old colonial house in San Sebastian where Alberto lived off and on for the rest of his life. As a young man he was passionate about art, and against the advice of his father, decided to go to Mexico City to find work and study. There one day he wandered by a studio where Diego Rivera, probably the best-known and loved Mexican artist, was teaching. Alberto started talking with Diego, and was invited to sit in on the class. This began an exciting time in Alberto's life. He was a young man from an isolated provincial capital, suddenly immersed in cosmopolitan Mexico City of the 1940's. Communists, Nazis, spies, artists -- a fabulous mix of interesting figures -- were part of the scene there. Alberto lived near Diego and Frida Khalo, with whom he began to socialize. Included in this social set were the Mexican artist Miguel Covarrubias and his wife Rosa, the American writer Alma Reed, who was once the lover of executed Yucatecan socialist Felipe Carillo Puerto, and many other figures in Mexican and international art, intellectual life and politics of the era.

After many years in Mexico City, Alberto married and was living in Acapulco, where he had a studio and small restaurant. Acapulco then was a trendy hot spot, with foreign tourism just taking off in the area. Movie stars, the rich and the famous all made appearances in Acapulco, and Alberto's place was right in the thick of things. Then suddenly, after giving birth to their two sons, Alberto's wife became ill and quickly died.

At this point in the story there are gaps in my knowledge, partially because I never asked a lot of questions when Alberto began telling stories, and perhaps because my memory for the details a few years later is not all that good. After leaving Acapulco, Alberto made a living mostly from art and his culinary skills, working in Mexico, many years in the United States where he made many lifelong friends and became fluent in English, and finally returning to Mérida to live with and help his aging parents. For many years Alberto ran a restaurant out of the Mérida family home. And always, always, until unable to during the last few years of his life, he painted.

All of the images in this blog post are from paintings sold to me by Alberto Castillo. Most are works completed in the later years of his career, when his skills, due to arthritis and deteriorating vision, were past their peak. I have seen a number of examples of work from the height of his abilities that would have made his old teacher Diego proud. The sense of light and energy, the sensuality, presence and fine techinque in some of these works are witness to the mastery Alberto achieved in his art, thanks to talent, passion, hard work, and to teachers like Diego. Although most of my "Castillos" were painted in the later years of his career, I have a couple examples of earlier work. Below is a detail of a 1970's painting of a woman from Chiapas "in the style of Diego," as Alberto put it, which hints at the life he could project and attention to detail that he was capable of in his prime.

Alberto painted original religious and Mexican subjects and to pay the bills in later years also made copies of paintings for churches and individuals. Yucatecan daily life and Chiapas were favorite subjects of paintings. Above, a late painting of Chiapanecan musicians that hangs in my living room. At right, a portrait of a young man from Chiapas. Above, near the top of this post, a Chiapanecan woman on her wedding day.

His Catholic faith was important to Alberto, and it was a significant influence in his art. This portrait of Jesus and the Sacred Heart is one that he painted for his mother and which hung in her room for many years.

Alberto's studio was located in a roofed patio area at the back of the house. It was a hodge-podge of paintings, sketches and sculptures, memorabilia, tools, bundles of canvas and wood for stretchers, works in progress, paint tubes and containers of other liquids, brushes, and many years' accumulation of bric-brac and found objects that one day might be useful in a project. The area was bright and airy, which made it a good place for working. And like the rest of the house, the studio leaked like a sieve in the rain.

I recall an afternoon in the dining room. We were seated at the table, which was always set with a complete service for eight, plates on metal chargers, cloth napkins, wine glasses and other service items, along with a collection of

unrelated objects that over time had accumulated here. The afternoon was darkening as a storm approached, so our meal was illuminated by the chandelier, which had been manufactured from an artificial Christmas tree, complete with decorations and lights, hanging upside down over the table. Alberto opened a bottle of beer and toasted the meal amidst rolling thunder. Just as we started to eat, the heavens opened and in a moment rain began to pour through cracks in the roof. One cascade began to fall right in the middle of Alberto's bald head. Alberto grabbed a baseball cap that just happened to be hanging on the back of the next chair and put it on. Then he looked at me for a second or two and laughed. "C'est la vie," he commented. We continued eating without further talk about the weather. After finishing, we walked through the house gathering the various buckets and pans, strategically situated under the worst leaks, and emptying the accumulated water in the garden.

I regret not having photos of the house. During the period I was spending a lot of time with Alberto, I was not doing much photography. I always said to myself that I ought to photograph his house, but preferred to enjoy his company in the moment rather than try to make images. The cluttered house and garden were a

museum of more than a century of family life and his interests that included art by his father, son and many friends, photos, antiques, stained glass, valuable religious art and artifacts, various collections, and furniture manufactured by Alberto himself. There were dining rooms whose roofs had gone years ago, but which were still furnished with tables and chairs from the long-closed restaurant. In one corner of the grounds lay a huge mound of wine bottles, the accumulation of decades in the restaurant business and enjoying fine drink. In the back grew a large ceiba tree, which is the sacred tree of the Maya people, with a bench underneath. Once Alberto told me that there was a baby buried in that spot, apparently the dead infant child of a young relative or family friend who stayed with the Castillo Ku family when she got "in trouble," many, many years ago.

There are more stories I could tell about Alberto Castillo. We went out drinking at his favorite bar, the expat hangout Pancho's in downtown Mérida. We took the bus and rode on errands in the city. We went out to dinner. I bought large paintings and before I had a car carried them across a good piece of Mérida centro to my house in the heat of the afternoon, prompting interesting conversations along the way. One painting, the large oil of Saint Michael with which Alberto poses in the photo of his studio above, was once lost when a hurricane-tossed tree landed on and collapsed the roof of Alberto's house. The storm then sent his possessions flying all over the neighborhood. The painting was later returned to Alberto by a friend who had found it. It now hangs in my front room.

Alberto loved fruit and knew a lot about plants, which he was always giving to me. Roots from plants growing on an outer wall of the house broke through the wall and hung down inside the bathroom. Alberto didn't cut them. Instead he painted a woman's lips and eyes on the wall and incorporated the roots as the hair in a new piece of living art, which happened to be right over the toilet. Every so often when I used the bathroom I noticed how the woman's hair had grown.

There was the story of the son whom Alberto had never met, the product of a love affair with an American woman years ago. His obvious pride in his grandson in France, also an artist, who had come to visit. Stories of friends who'd passed on, of whom there are many when a person reaches his late eighties. Through it all, Alberto's attitude seemed to be to enjoy life as much as possible. He was always saying with a smile, "such is life," as if to shrug off the problems and sadness that we all deal with at times. His other favorite saying, whenever someone thanked him, was, "don't say thanks, say more."

One of the last times I was with Alberto he suddenly looked at me, gave me a bear hug, and told me, "I love you." I could only reply, "I love you too, Alberto." About that time Alberto stopped painting and was having more pronounced health problems. He was no longer taking care of the house and was less able to handle his own personal care. I offered to help in the house but he mostly refused. Not long after this, one of his sons, who for some time had been trying to convince Alberto to move in with him over in Puerto Morelos, moved Alberto to a nursing home where his needs could better be taken care of.

Earlier this year a 30-year-old bonsai flamboyant tree that Alberto had given me suddenly dropped its leaves and dried up. I felt guilty because I had been gone a lot and feared that my lack of attention had been the cause of the loss. Then, when I heard belatedly of Alberto's passing, I thought again of that tiny, gnarled old tree that Alberto had started from a seed and taken care of for 25 years before he gave it to me, and I thought, "C'est la vie. More, Alberto, more."

Living Here: Heat

I just returned from my third round trip between Yucatán and Alaska in about seven months. I used to really notice the temperature transitions on these kinds of trips, but anymore the big changes don't bother me.

There was a time when I could not stand heat. I remember traveling from Alaska to warm climes and feeling as if I was going to die when the thermometer got above 85 degrees Fahrenheit (29C). When we moved to Miami and lived there for several years during my youth the air conditioning at home was always set at 68 degrees (20C). There were seasons when we hated going outside. When you opened the door, it felt as if someone walloped you in the face with a steaming hot, wet towel. We ran to the car, turned the AC on high, and battled over who got to sit by the air outlets.

Of the many reasons I moved to Yucatán, one was not that I wanted to live in extreme heat, but rather that I did not want to live so much in cold. There are milder climates nearer my ideal in other parts of Mexico, but I love Yucatán and so have learned to live with the weather. It's a good bit hotter here most of the time than in Miami. I have lived here for years without air conditioning and it's fine this way.

One thing I know now is that we felt uncomfortable in Miami because we kept the house so cool we never acclimated. If we had managed to get accustomed to a warmer inside temperature, the transitions to outdoors would not have seemed so extreme. We would have achieved better results dealing with the heat had we decided to live more with it.

Living with the heat is the answer to the problem. In Mérida I know people who love the heat, and I have come to believe that attitude can go a long way toward making heat bearable. A Yucatecan friend of mine embraces the heat and comments to me that he loves the feel of perspiration on his skin. Appreciating the energy that makes life on earth possible and finding ways to stop fighting it makes a lot of sense to me philosophically and environmentally. Deciding that the heat is not going to be a big problem, and then taking steps to minimize its impact goes a long way to making life in the tropics comfortable and pleasant.

Airflow and shade are very important. Living spaces with cross ventilation are more comfortable in hot weather, and high ceilings give heat and humidity a place to go above head level. One of the reasons the old colonial houses in Mérida are so popular with foreigners moving here is that they employ these types of design features to keep inhabitants cool. Fans are a huge help. I installed large-bladed ceiling fans in every room of my house and make liberal use of them, supplemented by floor fans in bedrooms. Once you live in a place for a while, you learn when to open and close which windows and doors in order to take advantage of breezes, keep sun out and the cool in. My routine of opening and closing parts of the house depending upon the time of day and weather keeps the house comfortable much of the time.

Clothing is important, as well, and besides using natural, breathable fabrics and loose garments I have only one rule: wear as little as possible. This is most easily done in the privacy of one's home and at the beach.

I can take a lot more heat when I am not working under pressure, or can pace myself and do things on my own schedule. Scheduling activities around the weather is probably the oldest way of dealing with heat. The siesta is maybe the best known of these strategies. I regularly take a siesta, planning work and energetic activities for early in the day and late in the evening, and reserve the heat of the afternoon for quiet activity or resting. Throughout much of Mexico, businesses and offices close or reduce staff in the afternoons so most employees can take a long, two-to-three hour break for lunch and a rest during the heat of the day. They then reopen late in the afternoon and keep their doors open into the evening. Evening meals are sometimes eaten as late as 9:00 or 10:00PM, when a lot of the day's heat has dissipated. In old urban neighborhoods, chairs are put out on the patio or sidewalk, doors and windows are thrown open, and families enjoy the night breeze and socialize with neighbors. As Mexico modernizes these practices are seen less, but they are still common, especially in the warmer parts of the country.

Generally I prefer to be hot in the outdoors rather than in an enclosed area, so I have open-air living spaces, and I use them. Trees rather than a roof provide shade, and shrubs and plants in place of cement surfaces keep temperatures down. A swimming pool, outdoor tub, sprinkler or shower -- anything that allows you to cover your body in cooling water from time to time -- provides instant relief in the heat. I take a quick dip or lounge in my backyard pool three or four times a day in hot weather. After the sun has gone down, rooftops provide access to breezes. Many homes in this area have rooftop terraces for evening relaxing and entertaining. While enjoying the cool of my rooftop I have a 360-degree view the city, stars, storm fronts and lightning passing in the distance, and observe owls and bats hunting in the night.

I started out living here without air conditioning because it didn't fit my budget. In renovating my house I was faced with a choice. I had enough money left to put air conditioning in the house or build the pool. I chose to have a pool and to worry about the AC later. I wired and plumbed the place for AC units, but after five years still have not put them in. Now I suspect I never will. Not using AC saves a lot of money and energy and lowers my impact on the environment. I have come to the conclusion that I don't need it. It's simpler this way and I live comfortably, so why bother?

Living Here: Between Generations

Tuesday night dance in Parque Santiago

I just got back to Mèrida after five and a half weeks in Washington and Alaska with my parents. I was there to help them out while my Mom underwent therapy in Seattle. She's doing fine. We're all back home now, they in Alaska and I in Mexico.

It was an interesting time for several reasons, in part because I have not lived with my parents since my teens except for some between-job transitions and summers off from school in my early twenties, and shorter visits and vacations since then. I have not lived with my mother and father as intensively as I just did, week after week, 24 - 7, since I entered kindergarten, because after that time school, jobs and social activities usually kept me away from home for parts of each day.

When you are in your fifties and have been living on your own for thirty-some years, you've changed a lot, and so have your parents. During this recent period together Mom, Dad and I got along fine, but there were days when it seemed we might fall back into the old patterns of my adolescence, the time when most of us begin chipping little chinks of independence out of the structure that parents impose upon their children to help them organize their lives, teach responsibility and to keep them safe. One difference I notice now is that although retired many years my folks still like to plan their day and keep to a schedule for going out, being home, meals and other daily activities, while I live in Mexico and do not wear a watch, no longer have to be at a job, make few appointments, and live my life according to my own rhythm.

As I ruminated about these things, I began to consider some of the differences I notice between family dynamics in the U. S. and in Mexico. The culture in Mexico is more conservative, religious and family-oriented, and this is a complex topic way beyond the scope of a blog post. However if you live in Mexico as a foreigner, it's hard not to notice that children still tend to stay closer to their parents than do offspring in the United States. In Mexico, grown children often live with their parents even after marrying and having families, or live close by and spend lots of time together. Very often elderly parents live with their children.

One thing I notice here is the normalness of adolescents and young adults going out and being affectionate with their parents in public. It is not unusual at all to see adolescent girls holding hands with their mothers while shopping at a mall, or middle-aged fathers and their teenage or young-adult sons walking down the street with arms across each others' shoulders. This is something that we don't see much in the States.

And this respect by young adults for the older generations often is not limited to parents and grandparents. It seems that while friendships among the younger generations in the north tend to be with people close to their own age, here it is more common for young people to have genuine and respectful friendships across a wider range of age groups.

I witnessed an interesting example of Yucatecan inter-generational respect a couple of years ago as I walked one evening in Mèrida centro. On weekends many of the streets around the central square, the zocalo, are closed to traffic so that people can stroll and enjoy the evening. Restaurants put their tables outside, often in the streets, and music fills the air. On these days, families, groups of young people, and couples walk, eat, socialize, and dance in the streets or parks.

On this evening I was walking past a group of people dancing when I noticed an elderly couple moving with a panache that attracted attention. What first caught my eye was their charisma. They both smiled happily, twirling and stepping energetically with the music, and they danced well. They locked gazes as they moved. This attractiveness was in spite of the fact that their smiles revealed missing teeth, and their clothes, although well cared for were visibly worn. He was grey and thin with a prominent paunch; she was a big woman with jet-black hair curled in a manner that suggested to me that she styled it herself by putting it in rollers. She stepped gingerly due to her weight but twirled gracefully under her partner's extended arm. These looked to me like people who had worked hard all their long lives and who struggled with finances at their advanced age. Whatever the trials and tribulations of their lives, there still existed a spark between these two individuals that had persisted through it all. But who knows? Maybe they were on a first date. They sure acted like it. But that's not important in this story.

This couple did not appear well-to-do, but one of the nice things about many evenings in Mèrida is that the spectacle and music are free. Even people without the money to eat and drink in the restaurants can buy a taco or panucho at one of the food stands and enjoy the scene along the streets or in the parks. This elderly couple was making an occasion of the evening and having a great time.

As I watched, a group of eight or ten teenagers, fashion-conscious and obviously well-heeled, approached, laughing loudly and talking on cell phones. When they neared the elderly couple they slowed, lowered their voices, and then stopped to watch. Frankly, a group of teens in the United States might have taken this opportunity to point and snicker, but most likely would have passed right by, the old people dancing to old-fashioned music completely beneath notice. These folks were old enough to be the great-grandparents of the young people, they had big bellies, and they were shabby and definitely not stylish or sexy in terms that most youth would appreciate. But the kids watched and began to smile. Then they started to clap their hands in rhythm with the music as they watched the elders dance.

When the old couple realized what was happening, they smiled more broadly, and began to pour on the juice. The audience responded, and the dancing became even more energetic. The kids clapped louder, and continued doing so until the end of the song. At this point everyone in the crowd that had gathered began to applaud and cheer. The couple giggled and bowed. The teens began to chant, "OTRA! OTRA! OTRA!" -- "another, another, another" -- as the next song began, and the couple complied. The kids stayed until the end of the next number, applauded again politely, and then amidst smiles and calls of "buenas noches," went on their way.

I cannot imagine a scene such as this taking place on a public street in the United States. Something about the U. S. and its youth-, fashion- and sex-obsessed culture makes it improbable. I am glad that occurrences like this are still possible somewhere. And I am glad that particular somewhere is where I live.

Anthropology: Urban Vestiges, Part 2 -- Stones

There are places in Mèrida, Yucatàn, where once an elaborate archway welcomed people, and now there is a wall. Where once an important structure stood, now there is open space. I wrote in March about some of the unheralded bits and pieces of history that can be found in this city, evidence that tells stories about how

things were, and how places and spaces have changed over time. Sometimes the parts of the structure still exist, but in new arrangements. It is an interesting puzzle that I love to contemplate.

Many of the buildings in Mèrida Centro were constructed by the Spanish. Starting in the 1500's when they occupied the Mayan city of Th'o (sometimes spelled T-hò) on the site, they began demolishing the Mayan buildings in order to use the stone for constructing their new city. A large number of these early colonial structures still exist, although after hundreds of years of use, remodeling and reconstruction, many have been dramatically altered.

The style of this balcony window on a downtown Mèrida building (above) is one popular in Mèrida from the late 1800's into the early 1900's. During this period, when the city was rolling in money from the hennequen trade, many new structures were built and many older ones, like this building, were modernized to keep up with architectural tastes. The piece of an earlier Spanish colonial arch visible to the right of the window, possibly 400 or more years old, was uncovered when the facade was restored a few years ago. It strongly resembles the doorway on an unaltered colonial-era facade a few blocks away (above right). The "disappeared" colonial second-story window of what

originally was a home may have protected the honor of señoritas of the household from the gazes of rough men on the street, and their sensitive skin from the burning rays of the hot sun, while providing light and air to the home's interior. Now looking down on a congested, noisy street, this appears to be space that is unused, or perhaps devoted to storage, above what now are small storefronts on the street level.

When the Spanish arrived here, they discovered a sizeable city with a pyramid at its center. That pyramid was situated on space that is now Mèrida's Plaza Grande, or central square, also known as the zocalo. The Spanish conquerors dismantled the pyramid, stone by stone, quarrying its materials to build many of the structures that now surround the zocalo, including the Catedral de San Ildefonso, the oldest cathedral in the Americas, which still dominates the scene.

I am told that it is possible to see original Mayan carving on some of the stones in the cathedral. Although I have walked around in and outside the cathedral in search of them, I have yet to find these stones. I'll have to ask someone who knows more about the building where to see them.

Another interesting feature of the cathedral is the presence of slits in the facade, which would allow defenders to shoot down on the approaches to the front doors. From time to time, from the conquest up until the late 1800's when The Caste War, La Guerra de las Castas, finally fizzled out, violence erupted in Yucatàn between the indigenous people, who mostly lived in the countryside, and the descendants of the conquistadores, who mainly lived in a few larger towns, the most important of which was the capital city of Mérida. In case of serious conflict, one of the defence tactics was for the population of take refuge in some of the stronger central buildings, including the cathedral. Many of these structures in the center of the city are connected by a series of tunnels. Some of these were re-discovered only in the past few years.

More Mayan stones, which quite possibly also came from the pyramid, can be seen here, partially exposed in the facade in another original 1500's building, just across from the Cathedral and the zocalo, which otherwise has been greatly changed over the centuries.

It's fascinating for me to think that most of the original pyramid of Th'o actually still exists in Mèrida. It's like an enormous jigsaw puzzle whose pieces have been scattered and mixed up for close to 500 years. The pyramid's footprint is evident in the form of the zocalo. It's a bit late and entirely impractical to think about putting the pieces back together, but it's interesting and comforting in a way to know that although we don't generally recognize it, the great pyramid of Th'o is still with us. In fact, when we walk in the vicinity Mèrida's zocalo, it practically surrounds us.

Living Here: Economy

When I began last year thinking about ideas for this blog I started a list, and near the top of that list I scribbled, Economy. This is the title of the first chapter of the American philosopher Henry David Thoreau's Walden, or Life in the Woods. It was in Economy that he wrote what have become probably his most famous words, "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation." The note was a reminder to myself that several of the chapters of this work, which I read for the first time in high school and have re-read several times as an adult, would make good models for entries in this blog. Thoreau wrote about why and how he lived alone in the woods for two years; a lot of this blog is about the why and how of living in Mèrida, Yucatan.

I was reminded of this topic again when I started reading, maybe two months ago, a blog called Hammock Musings from Mèrida, by a guy here who goes by the name of Hammockman Paul. He quotes Thoreau, and I enjoy his blog because it is thoughtful and in many ways Paul and I have similar interests and goals. So with apologies to HDT and to Paul, who has written about the economics of living here, inspired by Thoreau's detailed accounting of the economics of living by Walden Pond I am going to do the same thing.

I decided to do this because lots of friends up north seem to think that I must have become rich or have some kind of whopping retirement to be living here the way I do and at my age. And, a few are curious about the practicalities of living here. These are the ones who talk about coming down here to "check it out," with the idea of living here seasonally or permanently some day. The fact is that I live on less money than just about anyone I know up north. It's all a matter of setting priorities, simplifying and dedicating your resources to the most important and meaningful things, and not worrying about the rest. And, this can be a very economical place to live. So, for those who are curious, here is what my monthly expenses look like (converted to US dollars).

Home

First, I paid cash for my house and all improvements, so I do not have monthly rent or house payments to worry about. Although prices have risen, it is still possible here to buy a good house for about what you might pay for a nicer new car. House maintenance, things like paint, roof maintenance, electricians, plumbers and small parts and repairs (I do as much as possible myself): $100. Bank trust for the house and miscelleneous: $50. Property tax: $8. Garbage removal, curbside pickup three times per week: $2.50 per month. Electricity (I do not have AC, but run lots of ceiling fans, pool and well pumps, computer and a large refrigerator): $45. Natural gas (stove and water heater): $15. City water: $5. Telephone, which includes the local connection with 200 calls, unlimited long distance calling within Mexico, WIFI connection and rental of all associated hardware, and a low rate on international calls: $55. Cell phone (I have a plan that is pay-as-you-go, no calls, no charges): $25. House cleaner (sweeping, mopping, dusting of whole house, kitchen and bathrooms twice per week) and cleaning products: $80. Pool chemicals (I do the labor myself): $15. I stopped watching television years ago and don't have one, so I have no monthly cable bills. Home total: $400.50.

Auto

I paid cash for my used car so I have no car payments. I live in an area where you can walk to just about everything and don't drive much except for the occasional "big shop" at Costco or one of the malls, and for things like visiting plant nursuries, the beach and out-of-town trips, so monthly gas costs around $50, occasionally more if I take a long trip. Insurance: $50. Routine maintenance like tires, oil changes and small repairs: $50. Auto total: $150.

Personal

Soap, shampoo, toothpaste, clothing, shoes, and all personal and grooming items: $50. It is possible to buy good quality clothing here very economically. I get good polo shirts that last several years for about $7 each, but quality, longer-lasting jeans and shoes are a better deal in the States, so I buy there when visiting. I don't have a job to costume for, so jeans, polo shirts and running shoes or sandals are my uniform. I don't need much else. Health insurance and doctors are another great deal in Mexico. I have good private-carrier health insurance with a $250 deductible for about $100 per month. The facilities here in Mèrida are top notch, with many specialists trained in the US, and normally a doctor visit costs $45 (if one is really on a budget, it is also possible to go to a Farmacia Similar and see a general practitioner for $2). I find service to be more personalized here than up north. Personal total: $150.

Food and Fun

I don't spend a lot of money on things like alcohol, fancy restaurants or nightclubs because these things just don't interest me much. Value for the money they rate way down on the scale. However I eat out once or twice per day, and I also like to drink a coffee or iced mocha in an air-conditioned cafe in hot weather, or an open sidewalk cafe when possible. A couple of beers out with friends is an occasional pleasure. Small restaurants are one of the best deals in Mexico, with great, home-cooked food available for $2 - $3 per person. It's often cheaper for me to eat out than shop and cook at home. Cafes and eating out $250. Food, beverages, bottled purified water, movies, other going out and miscellaneous purchases $100.

I often shop at the local markets, where yesterday a friend found these mangoes for five pesos per kilogram, or about eighteen cents per pound. Coffee is another bargain here. Mexican coffee is among the best in the world, and I am picky about my coffee. I buy rich, fresh whole bean roasted coffee, prima lavado from the mountains of Veracruz for about $5.50 per pound. There are numerous regular cultural events that are free or low-cost. First-run movies at the theater three blocks down the street cost about $2. Food and Fun total: $350.

Total for all of the above: $ 1050.50. My monthly household budget is about $1050. Art, books, recorded music, gifts, furnishings, the occasional other luxury, computers, other technology (which is minimal) and travel are not included in that amount.

Travel

This one is not included in the above budget because it is variable and I do not consider it part of the cost of living here. It is my largest annual cost along with food. I travel to Alaska two or three times per year to see family and friends. I also travel quite a bit within Mexico; it's quite economical because high-quality long-distance buses and reasonably-priced hotels are the norm. I rarely pay more than about $35 per night for hotels and often pay less. A week-long trip I took last fall to Oaxaca, including round-trip airfare from Mèrida, three restaurant meals per day, concert tickets, taxis, buses and six nights in hotels set me back about $600.

In Economy, Thoreau wrote: "Most of the luxuries, and many of the so-called comforts of life, are not only not indispensable, but positive hindrances to the elevation of mankind." I continue to work at simplifying my life because I have found that by not having to work excessively to acquire and maintain unnecessary luxuries, and by simplifying my comforts, I have been able to afford an abundance of the priceless, the greatest luxury of all: time.