Good night sweet prince..

In the fall of 1956 Wake Forest College moved to Winston Salem, North Carolina after more than one hundred years in Wake Forest, a small town just outside Raleigh. The businesses in Winston-Salem and the families that owned them built a brand new campus from ground up and bestowed a heavy endowment on the college.

The library was a nine story structure that housed books and research materials. However, the top two floors were designated to be the college theatre. It was an empty space until a brash young theatre major from the University of Nebraska named James H. "Bill" Walton was hired to create a theatre. Along with a group of enthusiastic students eager to have theatre on the campus a very workable proscenium theatre was built and then an arena stage was added. When I arrived in the fall of 1961 I was immediately impressed with this man who I thought was much older than his twenty eight years. Mr. Walton was bald, wore thick glasses and chain smoked Camels but in the orientation program he conveyed that this was more than a theatre. I was feeling somewhat lost and alone and this guy made me want to come back. Soon he was recruiting volunteers for a "little project" that would greatly enhance the theatre.A drive in movie theatre in town was replacing it's seats--yes they had several rows of seats outdoors presumably for those who did not want to sit in their cars for a double feature. I had no idea that people went to drive ins to actually watch a movie, but I was in college now and learning new things.

We all gathered at the theatre on a Saturday morning and piled into a stake body truck and took off for the drive in. We had to load the seats in rows on to the truck. They were bolted together seat by seat and trying to handle this snake of steel and wood was impossible but the professor yelled at us constantly and somehow we piled all these seats on the truck and then piled ourselves on it as well.

The seats did not fit on the elevators so the next job was to somehow get the damn things up to the ninth level. Sometime in the afternoon we finally got all of them up and a dozen would be actors, designers and directors lay sprawled on the stage moaning from exhaustion. But the job was not done. Mr. Walton wanted them placed and bolted down before we left. The trouble was none of the rows were exactly the same so we had to keep shifting them to make them fit. We lifted whole rows as Mr. Walton tried to eyeball where they would fit. It was like a giant game of checkers with a mad man as the master. Finally he was satisfied and we all left wondering when the fun and excitement of theatre would begin.

The first production in the "new" theatre was "Hamlet". Mr. Walton was directing but he had invited a friend from summer stock to coach us on Shakespeare and to play the role of Gertrude, Hamlet's mother.Her name was Gina Petrushka and she had a very impressive career including working with Bertold Brecht in her native Germany. I was fortunate to play Rosencranz in an excellent cast that was headed by John Rosenthal, a fine actor. The entire cast had acting experience. The set, lighting and costumes were excellent. Mr. Walton had been directing and teaching for years in college and in summer stock companies. His standards were high and he demanded a great deal from all of us. The production was very well received on campus and in the community of Winston-Salem and we began to sell out. Late into the run the most unforgettable evening I have ever spent in the theatre occurred.

It was the last scene in the play, the "death scene" and everything was going well. Suddenly from up stage center a college security guard appeared looking like some Southern sheriff from central casting. A cop hat was pushed back on his mostly bald head. His belly protruded over his gun belt. When the stage lights hit his eyes he glared around but seemed totally oblivious to the actors and the audience. He then casually strolled down the center , stepped off the foot high stage and disappeared up the aisle. No one in the cast most of whom were "dieing" on stage could believe it. Actors are taught that no matter what never break character. Props fail to be placed, whole pages of script can be dropped by a fellow actor but you press on. You stay "in character", do your best and try to never let the audience know that anything is wrong. But this was too much even for the highly experienced Ms. Petrushka. She started to laugh and kept turning away from the audience trying to cover her laughter but it just set the rest of us off. We were all laughing hard and trying to keep going with this the climactic scene in the play. And finally we did. The action of all the stabbings finally stopped our laughter and we got back to the drama.

And then he came back!

Having finished his business he strolled casually up the aisle stepped on the stage, crossed up center and disappeared. Again the actors broke out in laughter that they continued to try and hide. As a slain Hamlet lay in Laertes' arms the actor seemed to be crying almost uncontrollably only we knew it was laughter as he uttered "Good night, sweet prince....but..."thoughts of angels sing thee to thy rest" was completely drowned out by the continual chant "WE WANT PANTIES, WE WANT PANTIES." The first pantie raid in more than four years was being held at the women's dorms. We later learned that the president of the college was in the audience also for the first time in four years.

We did not take a curtain call but ran backstage and laughed and laughed. Gina Petruska said "Forty years in the theatre and this is the funniest thing that has ever happened to me."

It's been fifty years now for me and still nothing compares.

I remain good friends with Bill Walton, that brash young professor and am grateful for all that he taught me about theatre(and life) over the years. I am not sure he ever believed what happened on that memorable night of "Hamlet".

"I dont think I know you..."

I was originally going to Guadalajara, but two attempts to secure affordable housing failed. I had been reading about San Miguel de Allende. My golf buddy Berkley Kerns told me how his grandfather had insisted he spend a summer there. Berkley loved it.
Almost all of my friends in Merida warned me that San Miguel was too expensive and the gringos were cliquish and unfriendly. I found a listing on Craigslist that was affordable but the owner already had a reservation Fortunately, it fell through. I had a place to live starting December 1. I had already booked a flight to Guadalajara. I wish now I had gone by bus because as I have previously written bus travel in Mexico is wonderful. The modern, clean, comfortable Volvo 9700 coaches are a delight. And you get to see the beautiful country.

"The Kindness of Strangers" was the title of a previous blog and the experience continues. Cab fare from the airport in Guadalajara was almost as much as the air fare from Merida so I opted to take the bus. I asked the dispatcher how to do it and he said a transfer was necessary. This very nice man said he would show me and indeed he did. Even with the heavy bag {and his help) I managed. The trip took about forty five minutes and I did not get to see any of Guadalajara's historic section, but I made it dragging the bag through three blocks of construction near the terminal. I had planned to read during the journey to San Miguel but the countryside, the mountains everywhere were just too overwhelming and I spent five hours loving a very different Mexico. The flatness of the Yucatan had been replaced by the splendor of the Sierra Nevada mountains. We were steadily climbing and as the lovely sun finally set we arrived in San Miguel de Allende. My new address baffled the first cab driver but I convinced a more experienced one to take me. As we climbed through the cobblestone streets they became narrower and narrower. At one point I thought there was no way he could get his cab through what appeared to be a walk way not a street. Finally we arrived at the address and the view of the town below with it's twinkling lights and the clear sky above truly took my breath away. I knocked on the big black gates and was greeted by this welcoming Texas voice that proved to be that of the owner the ever amazing Betsy Streng(more about this remarkable lady later). Homemade soup and red wine awaited me in the "efficiency" and I prepared to settle in for the night. The apartment was small but immediately comfortable with maybe the nicest bed I have ever slept in. And the temperature in San Miguel was in the mid forties--about fifty degrees lower than Merida: wonderful!

And so I began to settle in to what has now become my home. There is a serendipity to San Miguel that is absolutely beguiling. The first day I was there I set off down the steep hill of Calle Santa Domingo in search of the Jardin. It is a lovely park across from the cathedral or Parochia and the true center of the town. People come to the Jardin to sit and relax or read, watch the continuous stream of people passing by,get a shoeshine, eat a quick meal from the many vendors who line the streets, listen to the mariachis at night or the the many concerts that are staged there and to dance. Dancing in a public park is a great Mexican tradition and it lives in San Miguel--more, much more about dancing later.

I sat on one of the benches and just watched the endless parade of people passng by:
some clearly on there way to some destination and others just casually strolling. Tourists, visitors from a nearby town, back packers and wanderers from all over the world find their way to the Jardin. And you will see extraordinarily beautiful Mexican women some who turn your head and some that take your breath away. Into this rainbow of people a stranger, clearly a gringo like me, tilted his head and said,"I don't think I know you. I'm Rick Iverson." He sat and we talked for an hour before going to his apartment for a beer and more talk. Rick, a former Navy pilot, flew commercially for twenty nine years: twenty with Pan Am and nine with Air New Zealand. There are very few places in the world that Rick does not know well. Ten years ago he chose San Miguel de Allende as his home. He is not a writer or an artist or an an actor or a musician like so many who make there home here. He just loves the place: the weather, the beautiful sixteenth century architecture, the breathtaking views because we are in foot of the Sierra Nevada mountains, the restaurants and the fascinating group of people who come from all over the world and often stay. Rick has become a good friend and a guide to this city he knows so well.

Washington DC is a truly international city but unless you are fortunate enough to somehow become a part of the international community it is truly difficult to experience it beyond the wonderful array of restaurants that it is so fortunate to have. San Miguel is about the size of Alexandria but the experience is completely different. The Jardin just seems to be a natural magnet for everone. Add to that the Bibliotecha--the library that is also a center for activity from a wonderful selection of books, the publication of the Attencion, the bilingual newspaper published weekly. It has a cafe, a constantly busy theater, film showings, lectures, house and garden tours, concerts, Spanish and English classes and a lovely patio where one can sit and read or chat with friends. People from all over the world come here and are drawn to these two wonderful places in San Miguel. The Mexican people are truly warm, friendly and outgoing. As large as the ex-Pat and international community is this remains a thoroughly Mexican city that has fortunately extended itself to the world and made all of us welcome. I am grateful to a a part of it.
More later..

A selection of some of my digital images of San Miguel de Allende are below.

 
 
 
 

 

 

 
 
 
 

 

 

 

 

It's too darn hot...leaving Merida

For someone who has always loved warm weather and hated the cold and damp winters of Virginia I just didn't think that hot weather could motivate me to to leave Merida, but there is little relief. The high temperatures combined with even higher humidity make it unbearable at times. People seek whatever refuge is available.One woman who has lived there for twenty four years said that before the malls were built people would go to the airport and just sit and read or watch the travelers parade by. My apartment although otherwise very comfortable was not air conditioned and I found that even with a couple of fans going I was always in my own little pool of sweat.

Like much of Mexico most buildings are not air conditioned. The newer built and newly renovated ones have air conditioning, but even the public buildings tend to rely on stone construction, favorable breezes and overhead fans to keep cool. I found myself going to a mall every afternoon and securing a place on a comfortable sofa where I would read and listen to my ipod. Oddly sundown did not really alleviate the discomfort. I remember leaving El Cumbanchero one morning about 2:30 and thinking what a lovely night. My stroll up the Paseo de Montejo to my apartment was a leisurely twenty minutes. By the time I arrived I was soaking wet--no it had not started to rain.

More than just the heat I just did not feel connected in Merida. I had made some friends but I could not find a sense of community. However, I will never forget some of the remarkable people that I met in Merida.

Dr. Manuel Sarkisyang was born in Iran educated at the University of Chicago and taught at the University of Heidelberg for forty five years. We would have long discussions about the world and he brought an amazing perspective to his observations. At the age of eighty six he has the perspective of a historian and a philosopher who has traveled widely and been able to view the world and understand it's complexities without the limits of nationalism or a narrow political focus. He is always able to understand the other point of view. He admired America most for it's sense of fairness, but I wonder how he would view the current United States with it's ever growing gap in incomes and its steady march toward eliminating the middle class. We did talk of the fact that the ratio between the highest paid employee and the lowest paid had gone from 45 to 1 in 1970 to now 1071 to 1.(When my family sold the bus company in 1972 my father was earning four times the lowest paid employee.) Dr. Sarkisyang warned that such disparity could only lead to some form of revolution. He also believed that America's efforts in Afghanistan were doomed because it is a country that does not understand democracy and does not wish to embrace it. The good doctor owns more than 30,000 books. Have you read them all?" I once asked. " No but I have referenced every one of them for my own books." He had published nine books.

Ricardo Ancona is nineteen years old and owns and operates the Cairo Cafe. It is indeed a cafe serving all the coffee drinks, sandwiches and pastries but it is also a video store with an amazingly eclectic collection of films. Upstairs there is a charming nineteen seat theatre where six nights a week a free film is shown. Often there is a theme to a week's worth of showings: a director, film noir, a relevant actor. Ricardo has an incredible knowledge of film most of which he has obtained through the internet. We would have long discussions about film and delighted in introducing one another to a film we loved. I expect that soon he will join the ranks of Mexico's emerging film makers. He will bring to his work a solid

education acquired from his passion for the art of film making. Like Martin Scorcese, Clint Eastwood and Steven Speilberg Ricardo's films will be innovative yet ultimately pay homage to great films of the past.

Working with Ricardo is a beautiful young woman named Paulina. I call her Paulie in honor of the great character on "The Sopranos". Her knowledge of film is almost as great as Ricardo's. At nineteen she wants to become an animator but I have a feeling that her films will be much more. Funny, bright, inquisitive and possessing the true artist's eye and talent she is destined to produce some remarkable work.

Peggy and Joe Willlams are from Colorado and after extensive research chose Merida as their retirement home. They are among the wonderful group of volunteers who work at the English Library. We would often see each other there and they were always eager to share their knowledge of Merida and Mexico. We seemed to bump into each other on the the street, at the mall, even on a bus. Just two of the nicest most down to earth people I have ever met. One afternoon in the library Peggy asked me what I was doing for Thanksgiving/ I laughed, "Nothing.I live in Mexico now." They invited me to their lovely home for a wonderful traditional Thanksgiving dinner and I will never forget it...the kindness of strangers...now friends.

Diana.
I was in the Mega store one day. It is a store clearly modeled after WalMart and Target with everything from groceries to clothes and appliances. I started talking with this beautiful woman who had a charming European accent. We exchanged emails and promised to get together for coffee. She wanted "to catch up on what was going on in the States." Three weeks went by and finally we met at the Cafe de Chocolate. We talked for three hours--about everything. She is from Holland, learned English in London, Spanish in Spain and has spent her career in disaster relief as a development officer. She had lived all over the world with the exception of Africa. These were two and three year assignments always in places that had been devastated by some tragedy. Her last posting had been in Myanmar and she was taking a five month vacation in Merida.
Diana became my best friend while I was in Merida. We got together for coffee, lunch or just to sit and drink beer and talk. Mostly I learned from this remarkable person.
She introduced me to a truly international perspective. Her experiences all over the world gave her a unique understanding of the human condition. She is not restrained by some narrow nationalism or political agenda. And like my friend Doug Allen she has observed first hand real human misery. And yet her optimism and great sense of humor is boundless. We talked of relationships: my wives, her past partners and the continual foibles of the human condition. We laughed about it because no matter where people come from there is a constant thread to the human comedy. Everyone wants to be happy but few know how to achieve it.

And so often otherwise peaceful lives are interrupted by tragedies beyond their control. It is in the aftermath of these tragedies that Diana and her colleagues step in and try to restore some peace. She has never owned a house or a car and can carry most of her belongings in her backpack, but who could contribute more to this crazy world?

Diana does not like to stay up late. Her brother Roel visited from Holland and after they had spent a few days sightseeing she introduced him to me with instructions to take him out on the town. We went to El Cumbanchero and had a great time. His English is good enough that we had no trouble talking. He even won the nightly dance contest!

On Saturday night I had planned to go to a concert but it was cancelled. I strolled over to another concert only to find it was for young kids. I made my way back to the main square and of course it being Merida I was now wet from perspiration. I sat on a bench and spread my arms hoping to dry off. Soon I was approached by this very nice looking man who introduced himself as Jesus. As I stuck out my hand he said "Are you gay?" 'No I am not", I replied. He apologized profusely as we were both leaving in opposite directions. Some Saturday night! But soon as I was walking down Calle 58 here came Diana and Roel. We went for a beer at a beautiful outdoor bar that has as it's ceiling the looming towers of the cathedral. They both laughed hard at my tale. Roel wanted to go back to El Cubanchero of course. Diana set off to bed . A table of about six lovely and vivacious Mexican ladies started dancing with us and we had a great time. At 2:30 am we parted. Roel was flying back that day.
Wonderful guy.

Diana is now off in the world once again doing great work. I miss her.

DOUGLAS KENT ALLEN

My dear friend Doug Allen died at Alexandria Hospital after a five month tortuous struggle with a tropical disease he contracted in Haiti in October. He was there working for Save the Children doing humanitarian work. It was what he did during most of the last twenty years.

Doug was born in Peru. His father Harry was the head of a Canadian mining company there. His mother Dorothy--Dot-- was one of the loveliest women I have ever known. He was soon shipped off to boarding school in New England and almost immediately as part of an exchange program he found himself at Gordonstone in Scotland. One of of his schoolmates was Prince Charles. Thus began world travel that would eventually bring Doug to more than 144 countries mostly in service to others. He graduated from and received an MBA from Rollins College in Winter Park Florida. He served on the debate team and partied like there was no tomorrow. He constantly regaled me with stories from Rollins. He truly loved the school.

He was working in a bank in Toronto and living with a girlfriend. He returned to Rollins for the wedding of a friend and immediately fell head over heels in love with Joan. He called the bank and told them he had been delayed on family business. He just hung around Rollins and waited for her to get out of class. Eventually he went back, broke up with the girlfriend, resigned from the bank and married Joan. Yes, my friend was a romantic as well.

I met Doug at a time of great transition for both of us. A shared sense of humor and an interest in many of the same things formed a quick friendship. Doug 's careers in banking and business had been unrewarding and he decided he wanted to work at a non profit. At the time I was Chairman of the Board of the Alexandria Chapter of the Red Cross. A job came up as head of public relations and development. He was vastly over qualified for the job and Darlene Johnson, the manager, did not want to hire him. I gave him a glowing reference, even though I did not know him well, and after her first two choices turned down the job, Doug was hired. He made us both look good. He loved the job and he loved Alexandria. Strolling around Old Town, going to lunch, banking at Burke and Herbert, coming over to Lee Street for pasta were all delights for him. And like the lifelong student he was he learned all he could about the Red Cross.

He soon got to know colleagues in other branches and particularly at the national headquarters in Washington. One of them remembered that Doug spoke fluent Spanish. The day after Hurricane Andrew struck South Florida Doug was sent to Miami where he would spend the next eight weeks in disaster relief. Soon after his return he went to the District of Columbia chapter and not long after that to the American Red Cross as head of disaster relief for Latin America. He was an immediate success. His fluency in Spanish and Portugese combined with his great knowledge of the region and its various cultures endeared him to the Red Cross leaders of all the countries he served. He was hired away by the Campaign for the America's.

Much of Doug's sense of humor was irreverent. It was formed and nurtured in prep schools and boys can be brutal. Doug was one of the best and he could find humor in just about any situation.

Although he took his work very seriously, he could always make a joke particularly if the bureaucratic nonsense called for it. His new boss did not share his sense of humor. It was a difficult year. Soon his former bosses urged him to "come home to the Red Cross." He returned as the head of International Disaster Relief, a job he embraced with even more passion. His boss

"Jones" as he always referred to him could not have been more different from Doug and yet these two men formed a unique professional bond that was the very essence of the kind of working relationship that most people would envy. And they were true Red Crossers in the very best sense. It was unfortunate that they and the other dedicated people they worked with had

to suffer from the parade of pompous, totally incompetent and ineffectual presidents that the Board of Directors chose during those years. I was hoping that Doug would someday write a book about it. Alas..

There is one story about Doug Allen, the man and the humanitarian, that I love. Doug was in Nicaragua immediately after the earthquakes and ensuing mud slides. Mrs. Dole, then the president of the Red Cross flew down to take maximum advantage of the situation. Mrs. Dole was visiting a destroyed village. She surrounded herself with an army of public relations people. A very small boy ran up and hugged her during the visit. One of the PR twits insisted that the boy go with them to a press conference at a luxury hotel and ordered Doug to bring the boy. Doug tried to explain that the stark contrast between the hotel and mud soaked tent the boy was living in could cause great emotional harm. The PR twit insisted. "No' said Doug. "Then I will take him myself." "Don't touch that boy" ordered Doug. "Or what?" said the twit. Overweight, out of shape, much older than this man, Doug stared at him through the thick glasses he had worn since childhood, "Or I'll kill you." As the twit started to pee in his pants he slipped in the mud and fell on his ass.

Doug loved golf and Belle Haven. We never got to play as much golf together as we had hoped but we spent countless hours watching the pros on television laughing, telling stories and being great friends. He loved movies, books (he was the best read person I have ever known),Jack Lemon, theatre, big bands, the Algonquin, the Seldom Scene, Morton's, sweaters, custom made clothes, the Morrison House, Bistrot Lafayette, Cafe Delat, Bee, Andrea's beauty and her singing, Michelle, Sandy , Pat, his sister and Robert his brother and me.

And I loved him too.

Merida...music, music ,music

Apparently I have confused some folks whom I regularly email and are not exactly sure where I live because of this blog. I started the blog as a journal of my travels and I confess it lags far behind me. If you want to read it in chronological order scroll down the page to the first entry in November and the others follow. I am going to attempt to be much more timely in the future, but first I want to record my impressions of Merida. Just for the record I now live in San Miguel de Allende.

After the ugliness of San Jose the cab ride from the bus station in Merida was startling. It is so beautiful and as you drive along the Paseo de Montejo(named for the founder of the city) you realize you are in a truly remarkable place. I really don't have the words to describe it and maybe that's why I am a photographer. You can see my many photographs of Merida and its people on my website . My room at the Suites del Sol turned out to be three blocks from the main building. By the time I arrived I was soaking wet and that turned out to be a portend of things to come. The room was simple but adequate with a microwave, coffee maker, ac and cable tv. I would live there while I searched for an apartment.

I am still not certain of all of the history of this city and my attempts to learn it through books at the English Library were frustrating at best. I certainly will not paraphrase the information so readily available on Wikapedia. The city dates back to 1542. It is the capital of the state of Yucatan. The people are fiercely proud of their Yucatan heritage and there remains to this day a great sense of independence and fierce pride in being Yucatecan. The Mayan civilization was and still is a vital part of the Yucatan. Until about 70 years ago one could not get to Mexico City over land. From the beach town of Progreso, thirty miles away, you traveled by boat to Vera Cruz and then by land to the capital. The Yucatan has seceded from Mexico seven times. In many ways it has had a stronger alliance with Cuba and Europe than with the rest of Mexico.

At the tun of the 20th century more millionaires lived in Merida than any other city in the world. Today Merida is dominated by seven billionaire families who control much of the business in this city of close to one million residents. I am not exactly sure how this manifests itself but I am told they own all of the auto dealerships, the major department stores and many, many other businesses. This is a thoroughly modern city with three upscale shopping malls, Wal-Mart in its various enterprises(they have four stores here under different names), Costco, Home Depot, Sam's, and many fine restaurants. The city is incredibly clean and beautiful. It manages to seemlessly blend colonial and contemporary architecture. It continually re uses and re defines its buildings.The Wal-Mart store is housed in a beautiful contemporary building that once was an office. There is an album on my website called "Abstractions from Merida". These are photographs of building walls that have been repainted again and again, aged by sun and salt water and yet survived and today look like multi colored abstact paintings. I love them.

It is also the home of more than twenty lovely, elegant small hotels.If you are looking for a long romantic weekend away Merida is perfect. Almost all of these little gems are independently owned and operated some by ex pats from the US. All have exquisite little courtyards and outdoor dining. They offer every available service and some have the best restaurants in town. There is also a Hyatt, an Inter Continental and a Holiday Inn. The city regularly hosts meetings and conventions, but the heart and soul of it's tourist business is in the fine small hotels. It is from Merida that you can bus or car to the many attractions in the Yucatan like the ruins at Chichen Itza to Uzhmal and the many colonial villages and beaches that are so close.

For me and my love of the arts Merida is an extraordinary city. At least six nights a week there is a free concert or film showing. On Thursday night there is always a concert in the Santa Lucia park featuring Mexican folkloric dance, story tellers, poets, great romantic singers and Trova bands. Trova is a very romantic music indigenous to the Yucatan which is comprised of at least three guitars, bass, percussion and wonderful harmony. The same park hosts a "big band" dance on Sunday afternoon. The music is called "tropica antigua" and is very much reminicent of Prez Prado, Xavier Cugat and the big bands. What is wonderful is to see the 80 year olds dancing all afternoon in 95 degree weather with very, very high humidity. Dances are held each Tuesday and Friday nights at other parks in the city. These parks-- seven in all --are built around a magnificent church.

On Saturday night a portion of the Paseo de Montejo is closed for what is called "Noche Mexicana." There are vendors selling arts and crafts, artists who will paint your portrait, food, food , food and and a a free concert that sometimes lasts four hours. Almost all of the singers are wonderful with rich full and very romantic voices. Some perform with live music but many are accompanied by pre-recorded lush, full orchestration. How they do this I am not sure--practice I guess .One of my favorite groups was a family of marimba players from nine year old grandson to grandfather. Seven incredible musicians who were often called back for three encores. And my favorite group Los Jugares which are as exciting a group playing their music as the original Seldom Scene. Want to hear them? YouTube of course.

The main cathedral and the main square are the center of constant activity from strolling bands, street performers and a never ending cycle of artists and craftsmen selling and displaying their work. Lovers kissing on benches, students using the wireless internet, a half dozen shoe shine chairs, minor protest speeches, and on Sunday booths are set up for even more arts and crafts and vendors making some of the best tacos in the world. The folkloric dancers are on the street accompanied by a large orchestra. Adjacent streets are closed for bikers and runners. The McKay Contemporary Art Museum which is wonderful is free on Sundays. The ever present horse drawn carriages are available for tours of the city. It is called simply "Domingo en Merida" Sunday in Merida.

And the rest of the week! There are five theatres in downtown or Centro. They are constantly busy and although some of the events do charge admission the vast majority are free. There is a free concert at the Olympio every Tueday, Wednesday and Thursday. I have heard trova, jazz, mariachi, pop, chamber and electronic in this beautiful little auditorium. There is a small film theatre in the basement that shows classic films once a week.

At a nearby theatre there was a summer long jazz festival. On Wednesday night a showing of a film that had jazz as a central theme: Woody Allen's "Sweet and Lowdown", Clint Eastwood remarkable "Bird" with Forest Whitaker, "Round Midnight" with Dexter Gordon and a lovely little French film called "Swing". If you have not seen these films they are all available and all worth the rental.They were followed on Saturday night with a concert the most memorable of which was by the Cuban Musician David Caruso who plays just about every instrument and is accompanied by some great players.

In other theatres in Merida I heard a stirring classical concert for piano and solid body guitar--amazing! After the concert the guitarist got down on his knees and proposed to the pianist. She accepted and thus a very romantic ending to a great concert. In these auditoriums I also saw contemporary Mexican popular artists who were often accompanied by full orchestras, backup singers and light, sound and special effects to rival the finest Vegas shows--all for free. And can these folks sing ---wow! One very memorable evening was a concert of all Cuban music that I will never forget. Cuban music is so infectious --the three percussionists--sometimes more --make this music so joyous, so danceable, so exciting. As I have mentioned in emails Ruben Gonzalez from "The Buena Vista Social Club" his son and grandson have a club on the Paseo de Montejo with not only great music, great food, dancing and a dance show by a couple of dandy Cuban dancers all of whom I photographed and are on the website. Maybe the best, most enjoyable club I have ever been to---and I have been to a few!

Merida has its own symphony orchestra that performs from October to June every year.
I realized that the design of the hall was such that the sound was much better in the upper balconies then on the floor. Besides to me the most exciting visual aspects of a symphony are the percussionists--sometimes as many as nine-whose musicality and incredible dexterity are so much fun to watch. As a result my tickets were $3.50. I met two members of the orchestra in the Mega grocery store. A french horn player from England and his harpist girlfriend from New York. In subsequent visits I met more of the international members of this fine orchestra. Their interpretations particularly of "An American in Paris", "Cuban Overture" and the dances from "West Side Story" were highlights of my stay in this wonderful city.

Much of what I have just written sounds like a sightseeing guide, but I have always been a sightseer because I think that's the way you get the most out of every place you visit. I also met some truly amazing people in Merida. In my next blog I will introduce them to you.