In which Sid and Doris take the town walk, possibly 500 metres and do not wade home on a dark and stormy night.
The town tourist office puts on a walk lasting one and a half hours in Spanish and English, according to the Lonely Planet Guide to Mexico. Sid and Doris arrive punctually (of course) and so have a few minutes to admire the square. We have mentioned that everywhere we have been in Mexico has been scrupulously Covid-careful, and towns are able to make up their own rules too as appropriate.
In Campeche there was the rule not to serve alcohol without appropriate food, and in Merida the rule is that no more than two people may sit on a park bench. Cunningly enforced by some strategically placed pot plants.
Returning to the tour rendezvous point at the town hall, a dozen or so people, each with a suspiciously rectangular package concealed in their bags, have gathered.
Victor tells us Merida is built on five pyramids. The town square is a little higher than its surroundings. The rest of it and the other four Maya mounds provided handy building stone for the arcaded offices, conquerors’ palaces and the cathedral of St Peter and St Paul, patron saints of vandalism. Victor takes us around the square and that’s the tour. The cathedral has a long siesta so with no sisal museum that’s it for your earnest seekers after knowledge.
Sid would like a sewn leather belt to replace the current edition which is now 60% leather and 40% sweat. A visit to the city market hall finds many gaily embroidered shirts and slippers. There are tools and hardware. This is a locals’ show. The belts are sad, cheaply riveted things. Doris looks for a ‘phone bag but nothing quite suits. If only we had wanted gaily embroidered velvet slippers. 
We also spot a shop selling fantasy gaming models which seems to have a somewhat broader definition of fantasy than is traditional in the Anglo-Saxon world.
The walk home is broken up with ice cream and a visit to a coffee nerds’ cafe. Sid and Doris declare that it would be a shame to waste the comforts of the Secret Palace so idle away the afternoon with books, magazines, splashing about in the pool and lying in the warm shade. Then a little diary writing.
The afternoon storm is late, coming in at about 6.30, but coming in so fierce that the stairs from our first floor bedroom down to the pool and sitting area are a marble waterfall.
The rain is persisting so we have a taxi take us to Plaza Santa Lucia for the array of tourist restaurants, wanting a change from Yucatan specials.
We chose the French Fusion Bistro and an excellent salmon salad. The experience was then somewhat and later utterly marred on two counts. One: when the bill comes we have been charged £7.60p for a bottle of sparkling water. A nasty little trap and very, very untypical of the whole of the rest of our Mexican experience; who asks the price when asking for a bottle of water? Two: later that night we both have more runs than Mo Farah. [Is this TMI? – D.] Sid’s carefully considered Trip Adviser review will be coming to a screen near Merida quite soon.
Walking around the square we saw a couple of very wet horse drawn tourist caleches, which usually take a fixed tour route. Doris asked if they would go off piste and do a taxi trip by showing the caballero the route on her phone and looking damply winsome.
An extremely reasonable price was agreed (oddly, the same price as the bottle of fizzy water), Sid helped the caballero tip the rain off the carriage’s makeshift roof and the horse carefully picked its four-legged way through the deep dark nastiness. Top thinking, Doris. Home, and dry.