Merida itself is much larger and better built than we had expected. Many of the houses, especially on the outskirts, are elliptical in section, and have walls of small stones closely set in mud plaster. In the center of the town the houses are covered with painted plaster and are in the usual Latin-American style. Great numbers of quaint little coaches, with a single horse, were waiting at the station. As we walked up to the center of the town, we found but few places open, practically nothing but barber-shops and drug-stores. Of both of these, however, there were a surprising number.
Having been directed to the Hotel Concordia, we were disappointed when the old lady in charge stated that she had no rooms, and directed us across the way to the Hotel de Mexico. As we had arranged for the delivery of our stuff, we did not care to look elsewhere, and therefore inspected the rooms in this hotel. To reach them, we went through a barber-shop into a narrow patio, and, mounting some rickety stairs, found our quarters, which were filthy, vile-smelling, hot and uncared for. Yet for these choice quarters, with two beds in each of two rooms, leaving no space practically between, we were expected to pay four dollars. Upon remonstrating with the proprietor at the price demanded, he cooly said, “Oh, yes, everything here costs high; but there is money to pay it with.” This really stated the fact. Conditions in Merida are the most abnormal of any place which I have visited. Owing to the war in the Philippines, and interference with the trade in hemp, the fiber of the hennequin is in great demand, and money is plentiful. At good restaurants each plate costs thirty cents, instead of ten or twelve, as in the City of Mexico itself. No coach will cross the street for less than fifty cents; for a cooling drink, such as in the capital city would cost