There were more people outside, on the street, drinking and smoking, than dancing, but a couple was having the time of their life. She was maybe five-foot tall, 170 pounds. Her heels were too high, her black leggings to tight and her red shirt barely covered her breasts.
When you are in Yucatán, you have to stop at Chichén Itzá, the most famous Mayan archeological site.
Sometimes, you have to take a chance and you may get lucky. We weren’t in Puerto Aventuras, but Progreso was a nice surprise.
We rested a bit and spotted the last pyramid, from afar, a high structure peeking out. “I wish we could climb it,” Feng sighed. “Let’s go!” I replied. “We can take turns.”
We are now in Mérida, a city we’ve stopped in twice (in 2001 and 2003) and of which, strangely, we have no memory of.
Mark’s new game is chasing pigeons with the same fierce determination as if he was hunting for food. Unfortunately, the pigeons fly and my son doesn’t.
