All roads pointed to Campeche.
Glass from the earrings I buy at the Santa Ana weekend market come from the beaches in Campeche state
“Vamos a Campeche” plays at Plaza Santiago during the Rememberanza as elegantly-dressed retired couples danced
The cobbler, Feliz, who fixes my camera strap works opposite to Bar Campeche
Everyone says there’s not much to do here, and they’re not wrong
That said, I’ve enjoyed my stay!
It’s a walled city within which there’s only 9 blocks by 5, and after sunset at the Malecon promenade, I stop by Parque Principal and a Campechano band plays nostalgic tunes. Up Calle 59 where I’m told is where it all happens, but because it’s low season it’s row after empty rows of tables on this pedestrianised street. Off-season Wednesday, I guess. Apart from 2x1 margaritas advertised curiously in the same sign as for valet parking, there’s nothing but Mexican fast food - chilaquiles, tacos, sandwiches, burgers.. the one place I was recommended for typical food was also empty, and it’s not a sit-down meal I’m after, so I wander on. I come across Citrina, Natalie’s newly-opened jewellery shop, where she makes me a beautiful necklace from handpicked glass beads and pearls. I pick colours of the Mexican flag, plus a mustard yellow (a cheerful shade to remind me of the colourful Yucatecan and Campechano houses) for good luck. As she threads the necklace, her husband Rodrigo tells me he spent a semester in Truro, Nova Scotia and plans to move back with their 9-month-old. He says there are no jobs here and the Mexican economy isn’t great. He calls his friend, Frederico who swings by to chat. Kiko is an online marketer and wants to start his own funeral services. In a proper story these characters would have further interaction and develop, but as it is, I had to head back to plan the coming days of travel and Kiko takes my number suggesting lunch the next day but it wasn’t to be.
I wake early for a walk with Enrique, and we check out Mayan archeological artifacts, views from the city walls, a very European colonial house with little Mexican details like a hammock, a little praying pew in the corner and a rectangle of testigo high up in the ceiling. Enrique tells me that men go shopping on Sundays as a tradition from when pirates roamed the town and going to market was to risky for women. He says although it’s a small town, many people move to Campeche because it’s regularly voted one of the safest states in Mexico. That like Yucatan (which they were part of for a long time), they have special bees who produces melipona that people use to treat eye diseases, and that Campeche too often stands a little apart in history lessons because the state was only admitted in 150 years ago.
Juan Luis stops me on the street and when he finds out I’m from Hong Kong and not Korea, tells me he’s a journalist and asks me about our political crisis. The mom-and-pop shop that sells me water tell asks me a million and one questions, genuinely interested and tells me we’re all friends here. They give me a packet of spicy wheat snacks and wish me safe travels. Apart from a dodgy airb&b and missing out on trying seafood, Campeche is a compact bundle of earnest.