I Love It When a Plan Comes Together

John’s sister Robin and brother-in-law Curt came to Merida this week for a visit, and we hit the road running on Saturday morning. Being from Minnesota, we figured they might want a little beach action on the mostly deserted stretch of the beach around the Progreso-Chelem area, about a 30 minute drive from Merida. We were right. It was a lovely day, which included chips, fresh salsa and guacamole on the beach, as well as a deliciously light meal of shrimp and lobster carpaccio, lobster ravioli and seafood linguine at a quaint beachside Italian restaurant. It was a relaxing afternoon, cut a bit short due to the fact that we wanted to get back to Merida to take advantage of Carnaval.

Carnaval is a huge weeklong celebration in myriad cities throughout Latin America. Most people probably think of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, when the word “carnaval” is mentioned, but it is celebrated to a lesser degree all throughout Latin America. What you probably didn’t know is that Merida’s Carnaval celebration is the 12th largest in all the Americas. We went to an afternoon parade last year with CeCe and had a blast, so of course wanted to go to the nighttime version with Robin and Curt.

Our babysitter arrived at 7:15 p.m., and we met Robin and Curt at their place by 7:30. As the parade is so large and snakes around such a huge part of the historic center of the city, driving (and parking) weren’t really options so we decided to walk to the restaurant I wanted to try. The only problem? The restaurant happened to be located on the other side of the parade barricades from where we were.

We started walking, and soon were turned back by policia and parade route barricades. So we walked in the opposite direction. And again we were turned back. We shuttled back and forth down side streets in flip flops, only to be turned back time and time again. We discussed the street-crossing issue with the police manning every barricade, and they all came up with the same problem-solving measure: why not just find a restaurant on this side of the barrier?

Oh no, that would have been too easy. Plus, we (I) really wanted to try this restaurant, which had come highly recommended by friends.

So on we walked until one of the side streets streets finally had a thoroughfare, available for crossing up until the floats came into view. In all fairness, we only walked about 40 minutes total. But in flips flops it felt like an eternity.

On the parade route, masses were crowding up against the barricades on the street, the crowd was growing and momentum gaining. Glitter rained down from second story colonial balconies. Thousands of people, men, women, teenagers, toddlers and babies waited. The air was electric and the mood happy. We pushed ourselves through the open gate with streams of others, crossed the street, and made it to the correct side. The restaurant was literally within eyesight ... about 25 yards away. We dejectedly realized, though, that we couldn’t walk down the road, nor could we get into the restaurant from the street. The streets were ALL barricaded by temporary fences, so people didn’t spill into the route of the parade from the sidewalks. The sidewalks themselves were stacked with chairs, table and bleachers as well. Short of a miracle, there was no way we were getting to the restaurant.

As we were about to settle on option number two, we were approached (in a crowd of thousands) by a European man who tapped me on the shoulder and said, “ I am the owner of Piedras de Agua and have one table for four left on the parade route. Do you want it?”

I was flabbergasted. It was the very same restaurant we had been trying to reach for the past hour. I quickly said yes and he simply unlocked the barricade, walked us down the 25 yards, unlocked the barricade in front of his restaurant, and promptly sat us in one of the best tables in the house -- literally inches away form the parade floats, dancers and general mayhem.

We watched from our ringside table as 90-plus minutes of cray-papered, bedazzled floats wheeled past, music thumped from speakers and Corona girls (and boys!) shook their money makers. There was a Star Wars float, a parade of Elvis’s in big lapeled leisure suits, bell bottoms, sequins and sideburns, and a dance line of older ladies (in their 70s and 80s) in bikinis tops and hot pants. Plus so much more. It was one of the finest parades I’ve ever witnessed, and one of the best spent 90 minutes of my lifetime.

Afterwards, we were whisked into a quiet courtyard to enjoy a late, delicious (and very inexpensive) dinner, complete with stars in the sky above us, Merida’s beautifully lit cathedral peeking over the manicured shrubbery, and glitter from the parade still in our hair and on our shoulders.

One of the best things about Mexico is just how some things work out, completely unplanned, perfectly. As some newly acquainted friends of ours here say, “there is magic here, you just have to let it happen.”

Winna Winna Chicken Dinna

During our numerous trips to Mexico, John and I have always been able to find a bit of delicious solace in something quite simple: grilled chicken.

We discovered its delicacy 13 or so years ago, when we were coming up through Mexico after a year on the road in Latin America. There’d always be a simple grill set up by the bus stations, selling grilled chicken, cut up, in bags with tortillas, hot sauce and limes -- a very cheap and deliciously satisfying meal. Since we’ve been living here in Merida, we’ve found the exact same chicken meals throughout the city as well. Always cheap. Always delicious.

Let me further explain “delicious.” The chicken meat is tender, smoky, and moist, and the skin has just the perfect amount of char. The flavor permeates every bit of the meat, seeping from the surface all the way down to the bone. And the flavor itself is something we’ve always pondered, as it is unique to the country of Mexico and to every grilled chicken we’ve ever had here. We’ve wondered for years where the mild yet defining flavor comes from: “Is it a marinade? A rub? A blend of spices thrown on after grilling? What is the secret recipe and how can we replicate it at home? Maybe it has something to do with how chickens are raised here. Or maybe the spices used are only available in Mexico?”

Seriously, people, the flavor is THAT complex.

But I’m very happy to report that since arriving in Merida, we’ve finally cracked our 13-year question. Here was our process. First, we bought a barbecue grill and bag of charcoal -- or “carbon” as it is known here. (The grill cost $7 at the market, and is made from half of a small metal barrel and welded simply and somewhat unevenly to four crude metal legs made of re-bar).

Then, we readied our grill. John piled a bunch of carbon in the grill basin and, after copious amounts of matches and fanning (carbon is more difficult to start than our charcoal), eventually he was rewarded with a smoldering pile of coals.

Then we simply salted, peppered and lime spritzed our bone-in chicken breasts (that we got at Costco, a slice of heaven right here in Merida, by the way) and in about 25 minutes, we had our own version of the ever-delicious grilled Mexican chicken. We created the very same delicious flavor that we’ve always wondered about.

The answer, like the grilled chicken itself, is alarmingly simple: It’s the charcoal!

So the BIG question is: what is the difference between carbon (in Mexico) and the charcoal briquettes we use? Here’s what we found online, which is kind of interesting.

The mesquite tree is harvested for carbon (charcoal) in Mexico. Mexican carbon is made by putting mesquite into a pit, lighting it on fire, and then covering it in soil or earth. The wood continues to burn and turns into carbon -- literally, lumps of burned wood.

American charcoal briquettes are made by compressing sawdust and other wood by-products, with a binder, usually starch, as well as other additives. Briquettes may also include brown coal (a heat source), mineral carbon (a heat source), borax, sodium nitrate (an ignition aid), limestone (an ash-whitening agent), raw sawdust (an ignition aid), and other additives like paraffin and petroleum solvents to aid in ignition as well.

The lo-o-o-ng drive down

Hola everyone. We have now just gotten settled here in Merida, after a (very) long road trip down. We figured that we went nearly 2,000 miles in Mexico, down through Texas, to Monterrey, then on to San Luis Potosi, to San Miguel de Allende, to Puebla, to Campeche, and finally to Merida. As many of you know, we drove down with our Black Labrador Fidel and two-year-old daughter Carolina. Before setting out, we had been pretty excited at the thought of a prolonged road trip through Mexico, but by the time we got to Merida, we were really happy to be out of the car. We've come up with a few highlights, low lights, and general observations about a road trip in Mexico, in case any of you ever find yourself behind the wheel of a car for an extended driving trip south of the border.

Cops in Mexico

They are not all as crooked as you might think. But they certainly are not all boy scouts, either. Our batting average was even Steven: 50-50. We were pulled over twice during our road trip -- both within the first 24 hours on the road, right before we got to Monterrey, and as we were trying to leave Monterrey about 17 hours later. (It was a difficult first day, to say the least.)

The first officer said we were speeding; technically, he was right. (We were speeding, but we weren't going as fast as the other cars on the road.) The difference was that our car had a bike and a Yakima box on top, and MN plates. He knew we were easy money. He went through all the motions ... checked the passports, checked our driver's permit, made some small talk about the drive ... and then hit us with the speeding charge. We told him "we'd be happy to pay our fine now rather than wait for a court date," which is the acceptable way of initiating a bribe. He started the bidding at 1,200 pesos -- about $85. We countered at 200 pesos -- about $13. He looked at his partner, they nodded, grabbed our 200-peso note, ran off to the squad car and peeled out.

The next day in Monterrey, we had a bear of a time getting out of the city. Our hotel was in the middle of the city, and at nearly 4 million people, the city is very difficult to navigate. Of course we got lost following the signs out of the city (I think we followed them too literally ... more on that later), and took an (illegal) left turn to try and get turned in the right direction. The next thing we knew, there were sirens sounding and light flashing behind us. We couldn't believe it.

Officer #2 came up to our window and asked for all the same info: passports, driver permit info, but skipped the small talk. All he wanted to discuss was our illegal left turn, and seemed genuinely concerned for our safety, explaining that there are so many accidents in Monterrey, most of them caused by people from other cities (or countries). He then explained to us exactly what we had done wrong, even using a paper and pencil to diagram the nuances of Mexican stoplights. He then suggested we be very careful, as the majority of Mexican policemen are crooked and will, at best, ask for a bribe and, at worst, haul you in. He then asked if we wanted to return to the scene of the crime and watch a few rounds of the stoplight, just to make sure we understood traffic lights. We nodded and agreed up till his final request ... we just couldn’t go back to the scene of our crime if we wanted to make it to our destination, San Luis Potosi, before dark. We pointed to CeCe in her car seat and explained our circumstances.  It was, after all, nap time for CeCe, and we had miles to get under our belts.

He agreed; he hadn’t realized we were traveling with an infant. He then did the unfathomable: he offered us a police escort out of town. He told us to follow his flashing lights; he'd bring us to the freeway entrance. We were psyched. A police escort. We’d FOR SURE get to the correct highway.  And we did, quickly and without incident. Before we got on the highway, we pulled over and he came up to our car to wish us the best, and to warn us to be careful on the roads. He shook both of our hands, we thanked him profusely, and we were off. No bribe, not even a payment for our police escort out of town ... just one of the best guys in uniform we'd ever met.

Traffic and Roads

When driving in Mexico, you typically have a few options as far as roads are concerned. First, there are the local roads that go town to town, connecting all of the tiny dots of Mexican towns to one another. Mostly these roads are paved and in “fine” condition, but they comprise an insane amount of speed bumps. We quickly learned that speed bumps are the ONLY way to get Mexican drivers to slow down -- otherwise they go as fast as they possibly can. (In the case of a 1960 VW Beetle, that's 50 mph. In the case of a 2009 Porsche, that's 150 mph.) So, if you don't want to stop on average once every 200 meters, you have to pay to drive the swanky toll roads that link all of Mexico's larger cities.

On our trip, we did the majority of our driving on toll roads. They are great quality roads, and most of them are divided highways. What we didn't realize is how much we would spend on them. For example, the toll road to Cancun from Merida costs $320 pesos, or about $23 for a 200-mile road. Another toll road outside of Ciudad de Carmen on the coast costs about $15 for about 30 miles, but it allowed passage over two enormously long bridges over an ocean inlet -- one was five kilometers long, the other was four. The only nice thing about the steep price is that it keeps the majority of local, slow-moving traffic (say, a horse-drawn carriage or a 1940s beater whose top speed is 35 mph) off the road.

The majority of people who take the toll roads are cross-country truckers and Mexicans with money. Both of these groups of people, we realized quickly, like to drive fast. Really fast. And pass on blind, uphill curves. And ride your bumper within inches, literally inches. But the scariest thing for us were the semi trucks. You see, the majority of trucks in Mexico are double and triple semis. You always end up getting stuck behind them as they can't go very fast up the mountainous roads. But it’s when they get up to normal highway speeds that they are the most dangerous.  At any speed over 45 mph, their multiple trailers sway back and forth in opposite directions -- taking up almost both lanes of the two-lane divided highways. Having to drive behind them for any amount of time makes you get religion quick. I probably wondered a thousand times during our road trip what would happen if one of the trailers were to break free and come careening towards us. It's pretty obvious what would've happened; I just kept hoping that John would be able to miss it, somehow.

Traveling with a toddler

A couple of insights here when you go on a really long trip:

1. Get the built-in DVD player. As maddening as listening to Dora songs are, your alternative is a screaming baby for hours. All of a sudden, "Turn the Wheel, Isa" isn't such an annoying song.

2. Junk food, especially when eaten instead of lunch, can actually appease a toddler.

3. Drive over nap times. Like, duh.

4. Threats work, and they don't even have to be legit.  For instance, you can say "If you don't stop crying, you will not be able to go swimming when we get to the hotel" even if a) you don't know where you will be staying, and b) if that nameless, faceless hotel even HAS a pool.

5. Don’t underestimate the power of “yes.” As in “yes” you can have that cookie; “yes” you can listen to your CD; “yes” I’ll read you a book; and “yes” I’ll do just about anything to avoid a screaming baby.

Signage in Mexico

1. The signage in Mexico is fairly nonexistent. Especially, say, if you are in the middle of a city of four million, with hundreds of cars honking and roaring past you, and the street you are on suddenly breaks into six offshoots in different directions. In that case, my friend, you are completely on your own. None of those offshoots will have signage. And god help you if you are on that road in the dark. Better just to pull over on the shoulder and sleep there for the night.

2. If a sign in the aforementioned huge city (or any city for that matter) says to go "straight" you might actually need to navigate multiple turns, some hard turns, as part of that "straight" route.

3. Many times, distance signs are wrong. For example, you'll see a kilometer distance sign, and drive for 15, 20, even 30 minutes. You’ll come up upon another kilometer distance marker, but strangely, it says there are MORE kilometers to your destination than the previous sign. By the way, this phenomenon might bring you to tears after a 7-hour day in the car.

4. Painted lane markers mean nothing. Two theories behind their existence: they are merely a way to use up extra paint in Mexico, or to provide jobs to people who need work. And if you were wondering, painted shoulder lines don't mean anything either.

5. Signs tend to fade out in Mexico ... and they never are replaced. Especially the signs that fade out at the juncture of three major highways in the middle of a very busy city.

6. If there is a "No Bicycle" sign on the highway you will see a bicycle once every couple of minutes.

Our conclusion after doing this road trip?

Fly. Do not take a 2,000-mile road trip in Mexico with a two-year-old and a dog.