I would love to come down. Get a little motorcycle. Back in the late-80s I hitchhiked around the Yucatan. Mostly between Cancun and Tulum. The Mayans were always friendly, although on Sundays they always wanted me to drive. Too drunk on cheap Agua Caliente to stay on the road.
I have a novel I want to write about a series of bank robberies by a gang on Easter morning in Cancun. They escape on an airplane, whose engine falters and the plane crashes into a remote cenote in the "tu'ux tu" or the middle of nowhere. I'm sure that was where your property was, when you first moved there. The loot from the robbery goes to the bottom of the cave. Robbers, Mayan mystics, an archaeologist seeking the cure for baldness, and a religious sect seeking to convert the Mayans, who think they are ETs, because they don't sweat like most gringos. I have it complete in my head.
It's a gray day here.
I'm going nowhere for Thanksgiving, yet I have much to be thankful for.
I'm here from Monday to Wednesday and then free post-Xmas when I will move from 387 Myrtle to the NYU professor dorms while I await city elderly housing.
Off to Montauk on the 8:18 on Friday morning.
Oh Merida.
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