At the farmers' market, the Ladinos sellers stop harassing us momentarily to admire and to touch my turquoise necklace. Suddenly I had something they wanted. The Mayans revere jade above gold, turquoise was a close second.
Are we returned to Mérida, our car was gone. Towed? Stolen?
Mérida without baggage. No luggage. Just the clothing on our backs and a few pesos in our pockets. A long story, several trips across the city, and several dollars poorer, we retrieve our rented car from the towing compound.
A Ladino family takes pity on us and gives us a ride from the compound to the fine office on the other side of Mérida, and back to the compound again. Their car too was towed.
They laugh as John jokes with them in Spanish about grudas, or grutas, meaning mordidas. We get charged six times local rate because we are gringos. They are in their late 40s, with a carful of children. Their fine is much less. They won't accept any money for driving us back and forth. We shake hands and smile. Odd way to meet the local populace. We're cruising around in a huge tanker American car with a bunch of Mayans.
In line again, we meet a man who had made the unfortunate mistake of being outside his house at 2 AM with his car and trailer, when the police pulled up. When they questioned him, he said he lived there, but they towed his car and trailer anyway, then beat him up and threw him in jail. The fine was high for him too. We all pulled out spare change to help him. Moral: don't park in the streets of Merida or you'll pay la mordida.
added 9/17
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