Celestún, Mexico

I lied I had a few more pictures from Merida this is my favorite - the phone was not steady that evening and we were not close.

Sparkita follows the Apple maps blue line even without service.  I have no idea how this technology works and it manages to track us through the Mexican country side without service.  Last night it couldn't even get me back to my hotel with service.  All the same we make it to la playa de Celestún and check into our accommodations.  The room is basic but more importantly just steps from the beach.  A lot of sins can be absolved by a nearby beach.

We swim, shell hunt, eat at nice restaurants right on the beach and a one night stay, as initially planned, is not going to be enough.   Flexibility is becoming a theme and it is a theme I am more than O.K. with.

The beach has shells galore.  Several places you can literally reach down and grab a handful of shells.  Figuratively more shells than grains of sands, because, well, sand is really small.  If anyone knows Nicole, this can be a lifetime of shell hunting.  The water is warm, but in this particular place of coast line, there is too much chop to snorkel and not enough wave to ride.  Enjoyable but not ideal for much other than a long soak and a quick swim followed by a nice dinner by the beach.

This dinner is an experience right out of some T.V. sit com.  We are enjoying the best food here in Celestún, if not in the Yucatan and possibly all of Mexico.  The evening is ideal, the sun is setting over the gulf and mosquitos, gobs and gobs of mosquitos.

I am pretty use to being the guy who gets bit.  I understand the locals never seem to notice the existence of mosquitos - I chalk that up to a healthy diet full of vitamin B or whatever is in beans, a stable of almost every meal in Central America it seems.  However this is different.  The moscos were not selective.  It starts off with a few bites, then I notice my legs are jumping up and down.  I am assuming movement will help.  I am still thinking this isn't different from any other sunset meal on a beach, nothing above and beyond.  To the right: They notice my jitters and offer bug spray, which I accept and liberally apply.  To the left: They are swatting (one women even adopts my bouncing leg approach to our current problem) and I am pretty sure they are locals.  This is not just me being singled out, this is a problem.

Looking around it is obvious everyone is donating blood.  The staff are offering bug spray to everyone, and everyone is swatting, chasing, scratching and cursing.  The order of the moment is the bill.  It looked like a prank that Hawkeye and Hunnicutt, from M*A*S*H, would play on Maj. Burns for whatever reason du jour.  As if someone released thousands of blood thirsty mosquitos in the thatched roof mess hall during dinner hour just to watch the world burn and the entire Mobile Army Surgical Hospital itch in search of temporary relief but no one has enough hands and fingers.

Unfortunately, this is one of the best meals we have had in a while and we want to enjoy it.  We hang on as long as we can but we are scarfing down the food as quickly as possible despite ourselves - conflicted.  We finish up and ask for the bill with the last bites still in our mouths and on our ankles, legs, back, shoulders, arms, fingers, toes, hands, face….  We promptly bolt to our safe haven…, well after the purchase of a reasonably priced, delicious bottle of tequila, and proceed to scratch the remaining night away setting the next day's objective:  1.) Send a box of purchased fights home and mail some postcards.