So I totally forget to tell the best part of the trip to Chichenitza — the blessing of the statue.

I really wanted a Mayan fertility statue. And no, I don’t want it to work for us. Jesus, can you imagine.

But I think the statue is cool and occasionally I like to have a culturally authentic souvenir instead of a t-shirt with a stupid saying on it (ahem, Biker). So I procured Ixchel. There’s a lot of history here, obviously, but I won’t bore you with it cause Biker says the history I provide in these blogs is, well, boring.  But if you want to know more, knock yourself out.

So I bought this thing and the salesman, all serious, goes, “now you need to have it blessed for your home and take away the energy of anyone else who has picked this up in the shop and touched it.” I’m like, um, OK. So he leads us over to a special table, sits us down, puts the precious statue in a blue tupperware bowl, and this is what happens:

 

Notice my irritation when he slaps me on the head with a wet branch time and again. Oh, and Biker and I are pretty sure all the mumbling he did for three straight minutes amounted to, “stupid tourists, why I gotta do this all day, you don’t appreciate my culture, I hope you leave a good tip.”

Again, you’re welcome. And don’t even think about touching my statue or I have to, like, call in a Mayan god and rub the statue with salt for three days or something crazy like that.  They gave me instructions. I’m serious.