We got up and went for breakfast at the usual place on the corner of 61 and 62. The huevos (eggs) Mexicanos weren’t up to their usual standards, but the coffee was good. From here we went to the off-license! (liquor store). We purchased a big 940ml. bottle of “Superior” beer each and then settled on the balcony of Diego’s (the German) room in some old wooden chairs for a morning shant (drinking session) and a good chat.
Diego suggested that we went to Progreso for the afternoon, so we moved our bags into his room and set off for the Bus Station on Calle 62. Progreso is a port city in the Mexican state of Yucatán, located on the Gulf of Mexico in the north-west of the state some 30 minutes north of state capital Mérida by highway.
Progreso is a centre for both the fishing industry and the container industry. All containers arrive in Progreso and are distributed to Yucatán, Campeche and Quintana Roo. Progreso was founded in 1872, to create a seaport closer to Mérida than the older port of Sisal, Yucatán. During the months of July and August the beaches fill with thousands of mostly local tourists, as it is traditional in these months for residents of Mérida to leave the city and spend the summer in the cooler seaside environment.
The 40-minute bus journey cost 2,100 Mexican Pesos for a return ticket. At Progreso we found a golden beach with a long concrete pier that juts out into the Gulf of Mexico, enabling ships to dock despite the shallow bay. A line of palm trees followed the beach into the distance, passed several redundant hotels and derelict bars.
A pleasant wind was blowing, and the sun was setting as we turned inland and walked back to the Bus Terminal. The town looked as if it had seen much better days, but a few wooden shacks were open for business selling household goods.
The other buildings were the standard single-story block houses with barred windows. The silly bitch was still following us, but luckily, she was more enamoured with Diego and asked him to kidnap her. He sat on a bench and gave her yet another fag (cigarette) as Declan and I fled to the Bus Station and jumped on a bus to Mérida.
A thin crescent moon and a single star were in the sky. On the journey back we realised that we could be stranded in Chetumal for Christmas if the Guatemalan Consulate was closed for Yuletide. We decided to sell our bus tickets and stay in Mérida over Christmas.
We then spent a merry hour at the main Bus Station with a jolly Mexican man who had three tickets for the same bus to sell. Sadly, Chetumal didn’t seem to be a very popular destination, but we eventually sold our two for 20,000 Mexican Pesos to a mother and child.
Back at the hotel we got a new room, number 5, and went out on the town with Diego, who had got a later bus back to Mérida. Imagine our surprise when we found that the liquor stores shut at 21:30 hrs! We scoured the town for a bar which would sell beer without food at reasonable prices.
At 22:30 hrs. we found one and sat for an hour drinking “Negra Modelo” cerveza at a very modest 1,000 Mexican Pesos per bottle. A lively Mexican in Bermuda shorts yelled greetings as he delivered some stuff from a taxi. We sat under a mural of Indian ruins until the owner hinted strongly that he wanted to shut up shop.
We retired to Diego’s room to share a big bottle of “Corona” cerveza and listen to Mexican pop music on his transistor radio. The “Super Radio” jingle drew out the super to soooop-air rahhh-dio with much rolling of the “R”s.
We didn’t turn in until the small hours, when our new room had been well fumigated with a mosquito coil. We evicted a cockroach and crashed into oblivion.
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