From Strangers to Friends in Mexico at Christmas

The holiday spirit ignites new friendships

Merida. Photo Matt Hanns-Schroeter on Unsplash

As expats in waiting, every vacation centered around a southern get-away. Our first trip to Merida, colonial city and capital of Yucatán, happened at Christmas time. In Mexico the holiday season goes on forever, starting with Feast of Guadalupe December 12 and sailing through to Dia de los Reyes January 6. For celebrations, Mexico thrives on pageantry, fireworks, parades, non-stop music, food, noise and lots of color.

In Merida we discovered the Trinidad, a bohemian hotel that looked straight out of Barcelona. Bright mosaic tiles covered the floors and gaudy paintings and mirrors decorated the walls. It was a comfortable landing spot to kick off our Yucatán adventures.

On Christmas Eve we woke early and walked to the bus station to catch a bus to Chichen Itza. Crowds thronged the depot that day due to the holiday, Noche Buena. We were enroute to Piste, the pueblo that serves as base for travelers going to the famous pyramids.

We spent the entire day taking in Chichen Itza, but that’s another story. After touring the site we walked to Piste to catch the Merida bus and return to our hotel. Back in Merida, the bus depot, now late in the day, was packed to overflow with people traveling to their pueblos. We shuffled along the narrow city streets, walking single file against the crowds. Once in the tourist zone we saw people carrying small bolsas, undoubtedly gifts, and on passing an open apartment door or window, I peaked inside.

Unlike an American Christmas, there was no decorated tree nor pile of presents. Instead we saw family gatherings, dinner tables laden with platters of food, and a happy display of camaraderie apparent by the sound of laughter and conversations we heard in passing.

That was when I began to understand the wide divide in our cultures. Since then NAFTA brought Costco and other big box stores to Mexico along with fake Christmas trees in November and blow-up Santas. But in those early days it was different. Christmas Eve, or Noche Buena, was a holiday from the heart, not the pocketbook. It wasn’t about gifts and giving. It was about family.

So naive was I that I thought we’d find a restaurant for a lovely Christmas Eve dinner. Nope. Businesses were closed. Every single person in that vast and marvelous city was certainly sitting across a table from loved ones, enjoying food and conversation. We passed shuttered stores and restaurants for blocks before finding one lone tienda still open as we neared the Trinidad.

We picked up a six-pack of cerveza, antojitos and chips. That was our Christmas Eve fare. Little did we realize the pickings would be slimmer still Christmas Day.

Next stop, Progreso

The next morning, somehow buses were running and after gratefully accepting coffee and a pastry from the clerk at the hotel, we decided to travel to Progreso, a port town on the Gulf Coast, 40 kilometers north. But Progreso, small at the time, was locked down even tighter than Merida. After checking out the water—not the translucent blue we were accustomed to on the eastern coast but the darker, cloudy waters of the Gulf—we walked around town hoping to find something open.

A few blocks from the beach we stumbled onto an unshuttered seafood restaurant, windows open wide, empty except for a sweet-looking older man. Standing at attention behind the bar, I pegged him to be the owner dropping in to do a quick cleanup. But when I asked if he was “Abierto,” he couldn’t say no to holiday strangers.

“Feliz Navidad. Cerveza?”

He waved us in, bowed at the waist and pointed to a table. We nodded and took a seat. He came around the bar with two Pacificos, and from a well-worn menu pointed to a picture of shrimp cocktail. Assuming that was our cue, we nodded again. “Por dos,” I managed.

Our Christmas dinner consisted of a good many cold Pacificos and delicious cocktails de cameron served in a giant fishbowl with a side of saltine crackers, undoubtedly the best, freshest shrimp I’d ever had. By our third Pacifico, the owner had joined us at our painted wooden table, now cluttered with beer bottles.

We three were a lonely hearts club, sharing a holiday. How many more beers we drank that day, I couldn’t tell you. But in time, our fractured Spanish was no longer an issue and we laughed and shared stories through sign language and the occasional common phrase.

What could have been an unmemorable Christmas became one we’ll never forget, with a reminder on how the world works. At holiday time, everyone becomes your friend and someone to share a drink with, no matter where you are or where you’re from.

Another lesson along the same lines came from George Whitman, owner of Shakespeare & Company in Paris. Though George is gone, the motto prominently displayed over the bookstore’s front door lives on, “Be not inhospitable to strangers lest they be angels in disguise.” And let us not forget to return the favor.

In the New Year, may your travels be rewarding and memorable. Feliz Ano Nuevo!

Calesas in Merida. Photo Paul Zappella