Mexican Pubs – Not So Much like Irish ones

Day 12: Merida, Mexico

Like most capitals, Merida is a pretty sleepy city that tends to shut down early so I emailed a Mexican friend to find out if there was any nightlife. 

He suggested going to the Mayan Pub, which he liked and said it was filled with locals on backpacker prices.

So at 7pm I gathered a few people from the hostel only to find a deserted pub with staff huddled in one spot content not to serve any customers.

Rather than take the hint and leave, we drank a couple of heavily diluted tequila sunrises but then decided it would be better to go to the 7-11 to get beer and play cards.

But after a few hours the beer was gone, the cards were tired and so were the people playing them. But a pasty Brit (yes Michael you are making it into the blog) and I decided that there must be somewhere to go.

It was no easy feat, even after asking a mariachi player in broken, semi-sober Spanish where the bars were, we were wandering deserted streets so the most logical action was to head back to the Mayan Pub.

It seems that Mexicans don’t go out until late as the pub was packed and some emo looking band was blaring bad ska music. That night I learned the word for pitcher (although I’ve forgotten it again somehow) and we ordered a couple.

We noticed a guy who looked like the French inspector in the DaVinci Code, the same guy who plays the inspector’s sidekick in the Pink Panther, in fact I think this actor’s only roles are playing French policeman.

We may not have been discreet enough because the guy came over to introduce himself and allowed me to take a few photos to explain who he looked like.

After a few odd stories from him about having steel arms because he’d been hit by trucks twice, he moved on and we promised to come back the next night to continue the conversation (we didn’t).

At last call I had the brilliant idea of ordering a third pitcher and that’s where the details get fuzzy.

Eventually the bartenders poured our pints into plastic cups and ushered us out the door, even though I don’t think you can drink on the street.

But as we were leaving we were invited to a party – score. It was 20 minutes outside of town, maybe not a score. 

The partiers were a bit too interested in me, and not enough in Michael.

With that we decided to take out plastic cups of beer and head back to the hostel.

Travel Tip: Don’t order a third pitcher if you plan to visit a archeological museum the next morning as you won’t care to read anything and will resent the people with you who are actually interested and want to read every single word in the museum. Every. Single. Word.