text: EST: 3m read Corn Ice Cream Valladolid is an ancient Mexican city destroyed by the Spanish and rebuilt with the direction of the church on the backs of the natives. According to my tour guide, it is famous for its corn flavored ice cream. This is something about that and my short time there. I took a trip on a tour bus with some friends and other people who were part of the same tour. We had just left the humbling ancient ruins of Chichen Itza built by the Mayan people, and now we were on the final stretch of the tour heading towards the city of Valladolid. The main attraction of the city was the church and old Spanish architecture but, most importantly, the corn flavored ice cream. Once we arrived, I joined the group and made our way to the church, which was only a short distance away. The church was surrounded by a small courtyard located near the center of the city. Just outside of the church was a lovely park with ornate decorations, a fountain in the center, and various vendors at all exits. The church was beautiful on the outside. Built from ancient stones from the destroyed Mayan pyramid that was the center of their city long ago, at least that's what our tour guide said. The age was apparent. The rain over the centuries had made the stones appear porous. The church only had two entrances, and only one was heavily used. As we approached, we could hear crying. I watched a group walk by a mother with a baby who struggled and cried in its mother's arms. We soon walked by them too without a second glance, just like the group I watched. The cries added more weight to the humidity of the region. Unlike others, I did look at the withered flower of a woman and child now being treated as a normal or expected fixture of the background of the lives of the groups of tourists that visit the popular church. I imagine she might have hoped to receive more sympathy from the foreigners there. The child squirmed in her arms, like a puppy being restrained from food. She had no voice, I could hear, her eyes were louder. Her eyes were powerful on the groups. Like a shepherd's dog, her eyes would corral the tourists into the doorway free from her gaze. Until the only open door was filled, the group of tourists would then be forced like sheep in the only other entrance passing by the mother and her pleading gaze in a hurry. They avoided eye contact as much as possible. Our group entered the church through one of the old solid wooden doors that had been propped open to allow for passage on either side. I stayed with the group, but they didn’t stay long. There weren’t that many things to take pictures of. Only the beautiful deep Irish green altar was worthy of a photo to the crowd. I sat back and watched them pray at the altar with their phones and cameras changing their locations every now and then to see the altar more clearly, I assume. We left through the other door back out into the darkening yellow of the setting of the Mexican sun. I listened for the child crying, but I heard nothing. Our group walked by her. She didn’t have her cup in her hand now, it was next to her on the floor, still empty. She sat dejected with her head down or whispering soothing things to her child. The groups separated into pairs or smaller groups of friends. My own made our way to the nearby park and watched a couple of natives in their traditional clothing. They set up tip containers and began to play music and dance. A crowd gathered to listen & take pictures. I soon left them and made my way into a small plaza with outdoor seating to find the ice cream shop. I soon found the shop next to a Chinese food inspired cuisine store. I asked for the corn flavor, and I handed the attendant five dollars, and she did not return the correct change to me, but I made no fuss. I just gave her a knowing look, and I could see the discomfort, but I had no urge to challenge her for it. Leaving the small mall, I waited near it and watched people go by towards the park, stores, and other activities. The ice cream did taste like corn and it was good but I wouldn’t buy a second one. As I waited, I made my way back to the tour bus, where I would wait for my friends. I passed by disheveled people on the sidewalk steps. Their eyes gazed on all the passersby. They asked for change. I watched one old man who I couldn't easily avoid. I prepared to greet him and politely say no, but he did not ask me or look at me. As if from experience, he knew who to ask. He knew not to waste his breath on single men who never gave change and never will. My friends and the various smaller groups soon returned to the bus. Three hours on a bus and another three hours walking in the sun along with an hour of skimming the daily life of a city based on tourism had exhausted everyone. The conversation was light and pleasant. Our tour guide offered rum & cokes and cold beer. I drank a cup of beer before I settled in and stared at the rich Yucatan landscape pocketed with the poverty and construction projects half completed. I dozed off for the remainder of the drive back to the resort. Thank you for reading.