No Worries

Many historians consider Merida, Yucatan, Mexico to be one of the oldest continually occupied cities of the Americas. Now, we occupy a suite at the Hotel Caribe, which offers a stellar view of the Plaza Grande from our terraces. The air is as warm and passionate as the various couples occupying plaza benches indulging in PDA, while the vendors squat on street corners for a late night peso. We've just arrived, but we owe it to the city, and our stomachs, to find a kind restaurant.
The Catehdral's luminosity is a guideing light for merchants roaming with pulseras and various foods for sale. The horchata, is the horchata. Warmish rice cooled in sweet milk. The best any of us have had. Tasty pastor covered in cilantro, onions for a touch of class. Small Mayan merchants surround the table dressed head-to-toe in brilliant dressing, as they display bracelets and fabrics of equal luster. Filled with foods; who could deny them?
Dr. Pedro is familiar with the city and points out a cafe we should visit in the morning. He also encourages us to buy from the young ones, and given the highly beneficial exchange rate of U.S. Dollar to Mexican Peso (1 to 12ish), we're at our leisure. Various shops sell assortments of handmade bags, shirts, and jewelery. I may cry a little if I hear Adele's "Rolling in the Deep" again. It is everywhere. ---- Contstruction lasted through the night and continued long enough to harmonize with the birds singing, ringing. Morning light had just begun to enter the living room window at our suite in the Hotel Caribe as I sat on the side of the fold out couch. I trudge over to the window to view la Plaza Grande, the promise, inevitability of coffee driving my senses. Fresh air fills my lungs. The pedestrians walk to destinations unknown, while the sun begins to bake the pavement like fresh pan dulce. We are a motley group of travelers, but at the very least, if nothing else, we appreciate a good cup of joe. The cafe is only two shakes and hop away. We enter to find it completely devoid of patrons. 10 or so waiters seemed eager to greet us with an early morning welcome, and hand us menus in Spanish. Of course. We're in Mexico. Ordering isn't so difficult. The selection of coffee is extensive enough to where we all could find our fancy. The playful idiosyncrasy of language barriers reveals itself when Dan tried to order a cafe Maya. "Es tan temprano," said the cashier while laughing and pointing at his watch. Dan looks at me confusedly "Basically, he's saying it's too early for alcohol....Cafe Maya has a bit of hootch in it," I tell him. The three of us laugh in unison sharing an understanding that 8 a.m. is far to early; even for coffee flavored booze. Back at Caribe we discover that we've fallen victim to time zones by an hour. We had made haste to the cafe in order to be on time for the taxis which would take us to Tizimin, only to find out that we still had an hour to wait. No worries. The courtyard is alive with a group of elderly Spanish patrons. The top floor has a quaint pool, and adjacent small arches revealing the Cathedral and clear morning sky. Waiting is the easiest thing to do.