Pink Flamingos

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It seems that every place we stay has a memorable sight or sound of the night in the rooms we stay in. In Chihuahua it was the star lined ceiling, Creel, the barking dogs and the roosters crying morning, in Los Mochis, an air-conditioner whose volume has been known to cause earthquakes in more susceptible areas of the world, Guadalajara, the storms and morning traffic through 12 feet tall windows. In Tulum it was the sounds of the jungle, in Chichen Itsa, the same, and lastly in Merida it was the frantic clock noise coming from the fan in the room and the air-conditioner that sounded like the sea--it had the ability to be both soothing and anxiety causing, a strange combination.

I wrote that paragraph days ago in Merida. Since then we have had the sounds of a night bus with squeaky brakes that had to stop around about 5 million times (no exaggeration I promise) to navigate the potholes on the Highway; a street facing window in San Cristobal de las Casas with a creaky wooden staircase running across it that was frequented for 23 hours of the day; and another night bus (I am too old for this) that was going through the mountains and someones water bottle was playing xylophone with the chair legs throughout the bus.

I feel funny writing from where I am not--a sense of displacement--and so this blog is only to tell you what the night says, and that we saw pink flamingos (and they are so fabulously pink!!!). I will publish and get back to where I am and start again

Ciao for exactly 14 seconds--and the time it takes to write the next one.
oxooxooox

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