During our May trip, it hit 55, which I still found delightful. But kids were wearing mittens and scarves that morning, and looked miserable. There were headlines in the paper alluding to health risks.
I’ll admit, I would be pretty bummed if Mérida hit the 50s too often, but it still would be better than up here, where this huge storm has approached before the leaves have had a chance to drop. This means lots of stress on branches, resulting in falling limbs and power outage. So I find myself chanting to myself:
Get. Me. Out. Of. Here.
Fly. Me. To. Mérida.