January 22, 2025
“It’s like Amazon.com…only alive”
Colleen Dobbs
We were crossing the street heading south across the now familiar Plaza Grande. It was still morning and the place was not too crowded on a Wednesday morning. Then a man called out to us.
He was a short middle aged Mayan man wearing a smart open collared guaybarera shirt, torn yet fashionable blue jeans and rather flamboyant red shoes. He clearly took the time to plan his ensemble. His hair was lightly oiled and he sported a silver chain. His english was fairly good and we first suspected he was another Tout (A person trying to sell you something) which are fairly common here. We were wrong.
He was friendly, wanted to say hello, and expressed concern for us because we were not dressed warmly enough for the cold front that was gripping the city.
It was 75 degrees.
We tried to tell him at our home the high today was only 7 degrees so we find this weather very comfortable. He did not believe us. We chatted for a few minutes and he told us how to get to our current destination, one of the city’s many markets.
Before we parted he looked at my height a moment and said, “My friend, you are like 1 and 1/2 Mayans!”
I chuckled at the comment and we continued on to the market. We have traveled to many markets in our travels. The excursions are often wonderful slices of local life and a chance to become more immersed in the local culture.
Some markets we have seen have been disappointments, They are filled with sad stands of Chinese knock off merchandise that speak nothing about the country. But others are vibrant, full of life , and filled with a wild collection of diverse products and local food stands. We hoped for the latter.
A few blocks south of the Plaza we found it. This area was clearly the shopping district for local citizens. It was not “a single market” but a series of overlapping markets both with stand alone stores and rabbit warren like mazes of stalls filled with every possible item. It went on for blocks and the sheer scale of it was staggering.
The thing we noticed about it was how different it was from American malls. Travel to any mall back home of a workday morning and you will find that they are often empty of people. It is the weekends or holidays where they fill. So many of us order our goods on line anymore and stay away from stores unless going for staples like groceries.
Here, the aisles were filled with people. Some shopping , some eating, some talking, but everyone busy and, as Colleen observed, alive. This was community.
And the choices they had! In amongst the crowded passageways was just about every conceivable item. Kitchen knives, produce, pots and pans, tropical birds, all kinds of clothing options, electronics, watches, hammocks, numerous food stalls, meat, fish, poultry, knitting supples, slot machines, tickets to wrestle matches, hardware tools, appliances, spices, lingerie, barbers, beauty shops, make up, linens, and much more.
When we took a break on a bench, a lady wearing a white scrub top was strolling through the people with a sphygmomanometer offering to take your blood pressure. I have no idea what medical training, if any she had, but I accepted and was pleased to be 122/80. It only cost me a few pesos to know my hypertension was under control.
Some stalls were straight forward. Others were more amusing. I particularly enjoyed the stall who had a recorded salesman speaking in loud male baritone Spanish with a cadence you would find with a Soccer game announcer.
“Si mis amigos!! ¡sí, sí, sí! ¡Aquí están las ofertas! ¡Dos por uno en las braguitas más bonitas que puedas encontrar! ¡Detente ahora!”
(Yes my Friends!! yes, yes, yes! Here are the deals! Two for one on the prettiest panties you can find! Stop now!)
Inside the stall were hundreds of hangers of individual women’s underwear bumping each other in the light breeze and a single middle age Mayan man wearing a flat cap reminiscent of “Peaky Blinders” just staring blankly out at the crowd. He was the only attendant and the picture could not be more incongruent.
There was entertainment as well. Music buskers are everywhere in Madeira. Some are quite good, others not so much. Two deserved notice.
There was a restaurant across the street with music blaring out. It was the sound of a talented baritone singer singing a Mexican ballad. He was quite good but you soon noticed he was moving among the diners working the tables like a jazz club of old. He had a hand held microphone and a portable amplifier that played digital orchestral accompaniment.
And he was wearing a sombrero! He sounded like a latin Englebert Humperdink.
But the best one was deep in the market.
We made our way to the butcher shop area. It was not for the faint of heart. Here meat is not sold in prepackaged shiny plastic wraps. The animal is butchered in front of you and cuts are hung on meat hooks in full gory display.
There is no judgement here. Americans are often shielded from knowing where their food comes from. It is packaged in a appealing way so you do not have to see the process. Here there is no hiding from your dinner.
In this narrow hallway, directly across from the stalls with hanging sides of beef and offal an enterprising busker had set up a electronic keyboard and microphone to serenade the customers and perhaps the doomed animals.
It was like a scene from the improvisation show “Who’s Line is it Anyway?” You can just write the bit yourself -
And now Songs of the Butcher - featuring that classic love song “I Don’t Know How to Carve This”
As I negotiated my way through the cramped market, the comment of our friend with the red shoes came back to me. I noticed I was indeed head and shoulders above almost everyone. I felt like Shaq moving through Walmart. My unscientific assessment was Mayan men and women were generally short statured. No matter how crowded it was Colleen said she could find me easily.
So I thought, ‘My God, I am the tallest man in the Yucatan!” I felt absurdly proud, like some olympic athlete out to meet regular people.
But…
Colleen saw him first. As we were walking home there at the cross walk ahead of us was a tall very handsome fit young man dressed nattily walking confidently towards us. He had the beautiful skin of a Mayan native and hair like he just stepped out of a boy band rehearsal.
And he was clearly taller than me.
I was crestfallen. I guess I have to settle for only being the second tallest man in the Yucatan.
