If Palenque was hot then Merida is satan's crotch, wearing tight y-fronts in a hot kitchen in summer.
Normally a breeze is something welcome but in Merida the breeze was actually hot. I'm not talking warm summer breeze (like all those pop songs go), I'm actually talking about someone holding a hair-dryer in your face hot. To cool off it was time to take a tour of some of the local centotes, which are basically ex-caves which due to a bit of tectonic disco dancing have come close to the surface and are filled with rainwater.
The guide took myself and an English girl out into the middle of nowhere and down a dusty lane. We got out and just when I thought we were going to be murdered he pointed to a hole in the ground and told us to climb in.
Ever the obedient one, I climbed down first and lo and behold there was this magnificently blue pool, illuminated only by a tiny hole in the roof of the cave. But it caused significant light to make it look otherworldly. We donned our masks and snorkels and jumped in for a fabulous swim in outer space.
Back to Merida for Saturday night, as Merida is famous for its all-weekend fiesta. The town square (Zocalo), was festooned in bunting and there were riots of colour everywhere. A rake of local musicians showed up with their guitar cases, in fact at one point I was sure I had gotten myself into a Mafia convention. The party was massive and I ended up dancing through the night with some Sri Lankans, an Australian and a gang of people from Tabasco. Hot stuff.
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