This last weekend, we escaped the city of Merida and drove one hour south to stay at the Flycatcher B&B in Santa Elena. We might as well have traveled in a time machine. The Flycatcher, owned by an American-Mayan couple, Kristine and Santiago, is a lovely collection of rooms and casitas that are clean and have all the modern amenities. But stepping outside the door of our little casita moderna was like going to another place in another time.
The town of Santa Elena is mostly on the northeast side of the road that leads to the Mayan archaeological zone of Uxmal. The Flycatcher is on the other side of the road, mercifully distant from early morning crowds of crowing roosters and late weekend night fiestas in the center of town. After a quiet morning watching birds and a grueling day ruin-hopping, we took a nap and then ventured across the road to explore the town itself.
The town is laid out on a grid that mostly expands from the foot of a hill, which is topped by a very large church, freshly painted when we were there in a rich colonial red. The church can be seen miles outside of town… it dwarfs the buildings around it. A series of concrete landings leads up to the church from the main square, and at the top, huge stone pave the courtyard in front of the church that were placed here hundreds of years ago.
Inside, the church was welcoming in its informality. Churches, in this part of Mexico anyway, are the center of social life and are used for everything from classes to storage. On this lazy weekend afternoon, the church held paint cans, drop cloths, ladders and scaffolding. There were also two separate groups of teenagers, sitting on the old beaten pews, chattering and laughing. At a comfortable distance from both groups, a small man sat, accompanied by a sack filled with…what? clothes? corn? The man had dark, bare, dirty feet. His clothes and his face looked lived in, wrinkled and both had seen better days. The man sat, and his feet dangled like a child’s. He didn’t appear to be praying; he didn’t watch the children, or our cameras. He just stared. And rested.
Above him soared a tall and empty arched ceiling, and on the walls, a few painted altars from decades gone by. There were some saints, tilted and a bit neglected, resting in their wooden boxes, waiting to be taken out and carried around town during the yearly fiesta. Fake flowers cheerily brightened the faded scene.
After looking around, we walked out the side door and went into the tiny state-run museum, which has a few exhibits about henequen cultivation and the mummies that were found on the grounds of the church. There’s even a sample burial site, hidden in full view beneath a thick pane of glass on the floor. Kids were resting in there, too. Talking and laughing. They probably knew someone at the door… we had to pay 30 pesos.
Outside the sun was setting and we watched it for awhile from the top of the stairs in front of the church. As we headed home, a few stray dogs ran out from the overgrown lot next to the church and started playing together on the lawn. They didn’t look hungry or mangy or scary… just a few town dogs, enjoying the last hour of sunlight on the cool green grass.
Below the church, the town square was coming to life, as Mayan pueblos do all over the peninsula when the sun goes down. Ice cream vendors were calling out, a group of schoolgirls practiced a dance to music while their teacher clapped and instructed, and they giggled at the gringos passing by. The panadería (bakery) was closing down and their messenger was loading up his bicycle to begin his selling rounds around the village.
As we walked out of town and crossed the road, the lights were coming on in every little home. Families were spilling out into the streets with their dogs, bicycles, motorcycles, music, televisions and food. We’ve always thought there was something magical about this time of day, and nowhere more so than in a small Yucatecan village like this one.
Photos by James and Ellen Fields
