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.

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.

Anthropology: Urban Vestiges

I really enjoy looking at architecture and the bits and pieces of cities that inform us about the past. It is easy to overlook sometimes that although evidence of the past may change form or context, it is still with us. Matter and space do not disappear; it's the arrangement that evolves.

I recall peering out a seventh-floor window of the Mendenhall Apartments in downtown Juneau, Alaska, where I lived, on and off, for many years. One day in the 90's I noticed, high on a building nearby, on a side now hidden from street level by more recent construction, a peeling, antique-style black painted sign for the San Francisco Bakery. The bakery was still there under another name when I was young, but the San Francisco logo was probably out of use before I was born. From the style of the lettering I guessed the sign was likely from the pre-World War One era. I did a little checking. The business opened in 1914. Bingo! What I noticed was possibly an original sign, long ignored and unnoticed, that continued nevertheless publicizing an enterprise, now closed for decades, that was selling bread when my grandparents were children. Although the ovens are now next door and the old bakery space is a dining room, the bakery tradition is continued in the same place after almost 100 years, now operated by the Silverbow Inn.

I also remember a multi-colored, billboard-sized 1937 Chevrolet ad painted on the side of an old brick building along Alaskan Way in downtown Seattle, which was visible from my earliest memory until the wall was altered or demolished maybe 15 years ago. I miss that sign. It was a little piece of history, forgotten and unappreciated, that spoke to me from the past. It is these kinds of experiences that have fed my interest in the detective work of discovering details about the past from the vestiges that survive, often unappreciated or uninterpreted, today.

Mèrida, where I have lived for the past few years abounds in these kinds of clues. And since it is a very old place, having been a thriving Mayan city before the arrival of the Spanish in the 1500's, the vestiges of the past are varied and fascinating. I started thinking about all this some time ago when I began passing over the above advertising message, fired on tiles set in the sidewalk. It's placed like a welcome mat in front of the doorway to an abandoned building a few blocks down the street from my house.

The corner building, whose unadorned architecture and location indicate that it's quite possibly a true colonial-era structure, apparently once was a pharmacy that sold, "Roberina, 5 centavos, cures headache, toothache, rheumatism, colds." I wonder if Roberina was a patent medicine, or perhaps as a friend suggested, something made in Mèrida of local herbs. That is very possible. There is a vast treasury of traditional medicines used by the Yucatecan people, even today.

On my way to take the pictures above, I passed by this plaque on a building that stands at the corner of Calle 57 and Calle 70, not far from home and almost at Parque Santiago.

These plaques are to be found at intersections all over the historical center of Mèrida. In days when only clergy and the wealthier classes were literate, the rest of the people needed a way to navigate and find things around the city. Many of the important intersections were named after landmarks, objects or animals, and if necessary signs or sculptures picturing the identifying names were installed at the crossings. I live nearest the corner of "Los Cuatro Vientos," The Four Winds. Also nearby is the corner of "Dos Soldados," Two Soldiers. The Robelina ad and abandoned pharmacy is at "El Cardenal," The Cardinal. That plaque is visible in the photo of the building (above).

El Coliseo, The Colisseum, was the original bull ring of Mèrida, situated at this intersection which still bears its name. I figured out where the structure was located after seeing this sign. I noticed that, in a neighborhood that consists of very old buildings, there are two blocks, near this intersection, of much more modern architecture. When El Coliseo was torn down and replaced by a new structure in a different location several decades ago, houses and businesses were built in its place. So, although the original structure no longer stands (what a shame), its shadow remains still, for those who are willing to see it. A large and beautiful painting of El Coliseo, by the Yucatecan painter Mario Trejo Castro, hangs in the cafe La Flor de Santiago, on Calle 70 just around the corner from the plaque and a stone's throw from the site of the old bull ring. La Flor is a venerable establishment dating from the 1920's. I suspect in the old days that many of the conversations echoing off the cafe's walls were uttered by customers stopping in for refreshment either before or after going to a corrida at El Coliseo.

There are many more, often more ancient vestiges apparent to a person walking observantly around this city, and I plan to write more about them. However, this week I am going to end with evidence of a modern

corporation that did business in Mèrida, and was practically a household word in the United States through the middle of the last century. The above logo, incorporated into metalwork above the unused side door of a well-known downtown building, now a hotel, provides a clue. What was the name of the business, and what did they sell? To the person who first posts the correct answer below in the comments section of this blog, a free lunch for two at El Principe Tutul Xiu, one of the finer Yucatecan-food restaurants in Mèrida. Or, if the winner prefers and provides the transportation, I'll buy at the original location of this same restaurant which serves delicious poc chuc and other fine traditional dishes in the pueblo of Manì, Yucatàn, a place also rich in fascinating clues to the past.