Author: zora

Cancun, land of giants

After a couple of weeks in the interior of the Yucatan, where everyone comes up to my shoulder, Cancun was a bit of a shock. Enormous people everywhere, strolling hand in hand, necking on the beach, clambering on and off buses.

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Winding (and wearing) down

Although I don't leave for another five days, I'm getting to that point in the trip where everything starts accelerating--pretty much all my reservations are arranged for the remaining nights, and my list of things to do is very small and manageable.

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Ha.

Funny: a lobby full of clowns in a hotel I passed earlier today here in Merida--clowns at rest, chatting, smoking cigarettes, puffing up their orange Afros.

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Driving

I've almost cleared the 1000-kilometre mark, and about 300km of that I did today, driving UP and DOWN and all over the central and northern coast, so that after the eighth cute plaza with a little (or big) old church and pretty painted arcades, I was a little dazed.

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Fleeing

Just for the record, I'm in Mexico again. Neatly avoiding all post-election fallout. Dodging trauma by driving fast and not looking at headlines.

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You can’t take it with you

By contrast with DiFara's, a much more sociable meal occurred last week--and by "sociable," I mean there was lots of booze involved. Peter and I finally went to Spice Market.

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Pizza at the zoo

Oddest dining experience yesterday: DiFara's pizza, in the depths of Brooklyn (I don't even know what that neighborhood is called, but Avenue J is the stop on the Q). This place is one of those hallowed Chowhound "finds," where an aged specialist mystically prepares transcendant, genre-defining examples of a given food, and disciple diners look on in awe and reverence.

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