It’s closing in on my last week in paradise and I’m grasping at ways to hold these times close and be present.  Surrounded by tourism as much of Yucatan is, sometimes I forget to simply close out the rest of the world and see where I’m standing.

It’s easy to get caught up in “what should I do next” and “what will I be sorry I didn’t do when I look back.” As in the rest of life, it can be a challenge to be fully present and filter out the background chatter. And on a tour, there’s plenty of chatter. Last week I went on a snorkeling tour to Cozumel, supposedly the best-of-the-best in the Costa Maya.   As tours go, it was more relaxed than some, but still constrained. Sadly, there are so many tours and so much boat activity there, the reefs are dying and it was disappointing.  What is even worse is the fact that this area’s economy depends on such activities and that very activity, badly handled is killing the reefs.    But there’s the sense of “I’m HERE! I need to do it all.” So I’m still glad I went and know what’s there, but it was a reminder that you don’t have to be IN the water, to be bowled over by what there is to see.

Here, there is so much natural beauty about the sea it’s just mind boggling.  I usually don’t take my camera, because then I’m always taking a step back to try to get the perfect shop.  But then I realize, I don’t have any pictures. So a few days ago I took a walk with my camera to capture my morning walk and here it is.

I’m on the north end of the beach, the tail-end of the tourist district and it’s pretty tranquil. That’s a left turn when I get the sand and it’s a world apart from what I see if I turn right where there are wall-to-wall hotels, bodies, beech chairs and music.  My end is more populated by the locals fishing, couples walking hand-in-hand and sand-covered toddlers squealing with delight.   Dogs cavorting in the surf are having at least as much fun as their owners and one followed me last night with a ball in his mouth looking for a “throw.”   The only structures for a while are a few Palapas like the one at right built for a little shade.

About a mile down is a small lagoon fed by cold water coming from the underground rivers.  You can see a bit of it at left.  The water stays deliciously cold until it merges with the sea. A few nights ago, I heard drumming and the call of a horn made from a conch shell.  There, gathered at the lagoon were about 50 locals participating in a ritual cleansing ceremony complete with feathers and smoke… and the Virgin Mary.  I was expecting a Budha, but it’s a Catholic country after all.

I waited ’till today to venture to Akumal,  Mayan for “Place of the Turtles,’ since the beaches and the water there boil with humanity even on off-season weekends.  It does live up to its name.  My  turtle researcher friends first told me about it since they have been there often to count and tag the local green turtles that like the grassy patches there. It’s a turtle sanctuary.

Before it got too stiflingly hot, I walked the two miles to catch the local version of what Ugandans would call a Matatu, but thank goodness the similarity ends there!  These are nice, new Toyota vans that  hold about 12 – 16 people and are the middle alternative between buses and Taxis that charge a round trip fee because they are regulated by district and can’t pick up a return fare.   Because of that, they’ll will wait up to a few hours for you if you choose, but that fare is about $55US.  The collectivo on the other hand charges about $3US, is air-conditioned and one leaves every 30 minutes!  For the budget minded-and that would be me-the collectivo is perfect.

The collectivo  drops its riders on the highway at the mouth of a pedestrian bridge that empties onto cobble-stone walkway into the town. You know you’re getting close to the beach when the hawking of tours begins.  Luckily the dive shops rent gear, lockers and showers without requiring a guide or a tour.  What they do require is life jackets, so I paid my $15US, donned my life jacket and gear, stashed my loot and footed it to the water a little apprehensive about actually finding turtles, considering some of my previous water adventures.

This time the reports were true: by the time you’re up to your chest in water you’re in turtle territory. Find a dark grassy spot or a gaggle of snorkelers and you can be pretty well guaranteed turtles.  The water’s a little murky because of the surge,  but I followed about 8 turtles around, mostly solitary, but some in pairs or a group.   There were a few real granddaddies out there – probably 2.5 to 3-feet long.   They forage on grass and periodically come up for a gulp of air and go about their business.  They really are beautiful and prehistoric looking and since it’s shallow, they’re very close.  Another plus were the sting-rays gliding along the bottom and a few schools of fish.   A real treat to be this close to these guys.

 

 

 

A total of 10 boats just with our tour company were headed out.  I lost count of how many others I saw loading up.  That’s 10 boats, each with 10 people… do the math. That was the second reality check announcing that this would not be the Zen experience I had envisioned.  As we were the last of the boats to leave, it looked like the great Exodus as the boats spread across the horizon trailing deep wakes as we sped to open sea. The first task was to find where the sharks are feeding and in that respect it’s a little like lion or elephant spotting on a Ugandan  safari.  An hour later (we were lucky) we arrived at a site with other boats who had found an unsuspecting loner.   Location depends on where the plankton is found and that depends on currents and water temperature. The waters of the Atlantic and Caribbean come together to make for ideal conditions just north of Isla de Mujeres so that’s where we found them.  Sometimes the hunt goes on for hours before a pod is found.  In this picture, all those little spots in the background are food – plankton. I didn’t have an underwater camera and frankly, had I had a one, the dive was so fast paced that I don’t think I would have had the presence of mind to take pictures.  Government regulations require that you enter the water with a guide and no more than two people at a time can be with that guide.  The guide was helpful in part because it all happens so fast that if you don’t have someone helping direct your focus and movement the first few times, the shark will be gone before you realize what happened.  The guides are also there to be sure divers respect the creatures, don’t get too close, don’t touch, etc.  Along with other rules like “no sunscreen” etc. to keep from introducing chemicals into the water they take in – these regs are to protect both fish and people. If you happen to be smacked by the tail of a 22 ton fish – well it’s a caress you’ll likely not forget. Anyway, all that humanity in the water clamoring to look at the same few creatures – has to stress the animals.  It also takes some of the pleasure out of the experience; but again, that fact fades into the noise when you consider what an extraordinary gift it is to be able to be in the water with primordial creatures.  Just amazing.

 

 

My first time in the water we were deposited   right at the mouth of the shark and the size of it is just mesmerizing making it almost impossible to get yourself moving to keep up with it.  Regardless of the fact that these are essentially  eaters of plankton and small fish, instinct takes over in the water and it literally takes your breath away to be near the open mouth of one of these fellas.  Note the relative size of the divers and the mouth.  While they move pretty slowly (about 2.4 miles an hour), it’s a hustle to keep up with them.  Moving that speed on land is nothing, but in the water it takes some energy and if you want to swim along side, you’ve got to really got to put on the steam.  They are so beautiful and  showed absolutely no aggressiveness toward snorkelers.

 

Dives are managed in such a way as to give everyone on the boat a few times in the water.  While a few divers are in the water, others are waiting in the boat, recovering from their time below or sitting on the gunnels all gear up waiting to slide in for the next peek when others are climbing back into the boat. While you’re just waiting, said boat is rocking and wallowing in that gyroscopic way that maximizes nausea.  As I mentioned, it wasn’t the calm be-in-the-moment almost spiritual experience I’d hoped for – but I managed get through the miasma of nausea. I’ve lived on a boat – why didn’t I remember this part!?  Must be a little like childbirth…  Oh yes – we were on a sailboat – not so prone to wallowing!

 

Why the rush to get people in and out, on and off?  The government regulates time in the area per boat – 3 hours – and they are clocked by call in times.  Combined with the rules dictating the ratio of divers/guide,  tour companies want to make money and keep costs low enough that folks will pay. Consequently, they fill up the boat instead of taking fewer people and charging more.  So there it is.  It reminds me of how fortunate we were all those years ago to experience the islands with just the kids and not a whole horde of other people – i.e. tourists.   Now – I’m one of those tourists – but still lucky to have the chance no matter what. 

 

Wasn’t sure I would pull off a second dive as the boat motion was so intense while we were waiting, circling to pick up divers and find the next whale that my Sea-bands and two Dramamine couldn’t keep up.  Misery…   except when in the water “your turn.”   Determined to get the most out of this experience, I pulled it together and jumped back in.  That time in I found myself in a school  of sharks – and hundreds of smaller fish all feeding on plankton – everything and everyone going in different directions.   At one point I was directly over a shark and there were probably six other snorkelers within 6-inches to two feet of me all going in different directions with flippers kicking into other divers, dislodging face masks, etc.  Once again pretty chaotic, but balanced against the chance of a lifetime to be in the water with the largest known species of fish on the planet…  priceless.  

 

 

An extra perk of the trip was the presence of a couple of giant Manta Rays on the surface of the water – also enjoying a plankton feast.  The fin span was about 15 feet!

 

Just when I thought I’d reached the point of no return with seasickness,  we mercifully started heading back. Even the young ones on the boat were exhausted by the time we left. but by the time we reached Isla, where we were deposited for a little reef-snorkeling, we were back to normal.  Sadly, the reef was not terribly interesting – over diving having taken it’s toll and all but killing the reef. With the exception of some stunning purple sea fans and a hand-full of fish,  it would have been a huge disappointment had it been the only snorkeling venue.   I’m SO glad I didn’t spend money doing that while on Isla!  The Bahamas and Caymans still win the prize for the absolute best conditions, easiest access and largest variety of spectacular fish to date.  Really glad our family had the opportunity to experience that when decades ago.  It’s getting harder to find healthy reef systems and those earlier dives will always be my benchmark.

 

So that’s the story on Whale Sharks.  Don’t know how I will top that before I go home.  May try to manifest a dive with sea turtles in the Tulum/Akumal area.  Now that time to leave is approaching, I am filled with a mixture of excitement over  going to Oregon and angst over getting the last bit of whatever from Mexico!  Here’s to whatever!

 

To be continued…

 

First things first – get some food in here. I borrowed an umbrella and walked to the market, came back and reveled in a place of peace and tranquility.  I loved my time in the hostels and Bacalar,  meeting so many really wonderful people – some of whom I will remain in touch with in the future.  But sometimes, being anonymous – especially after two-plus years being in the fish bowl of Uganda is also fantastic.

It really is wonderful – one block from the quite end of the beach, good kitchen, lots of fans, pool. I walk the beach twice a day – early morning and dusk – more when it’s overcast. A few nights ago I came upon the scene of about 20 men trying to hold a big twin-screw fishing rig in place and get it into position to get onto a trailer. It looked a little like some of those You-Tube fiascoes you see.    The cockpit was full of water and it was low tide so the slope was not making it easy to get anything done.  Seems they had underestimated the reef – probably having cleared it at high tide when the left in the morning and not calculating for  low tide ole in the fiberglass hull.  Ouch!    This operation had been going on a while before I got there and I stayed an hour to watch.  As it got dark, they had just barely gotten the bow a nudged onto the trailer. 

 

Next morning, the boat was still there but this time they’d removed the trailer and drag it out over  8″diameter metal rollers on the sand (think of moving stones to build the pyramids) but lacking slaves.  And someone had to stand guard over the boat all night to be sure the two monster  outboard motors were still attached in the morning. A crane truck waiting to hoist it onto a waiting trailer.  Not including the damage to the boat, it must have cost a bundle to just get it out of the water and onto the trailer.  It took me back 35 years living on a sailboat – a different creature – but a boat none-the-less. The definition of a boat as “a large hole in the water into which one throws money” came to mind… Sometimes it’s good not to have a boat…

 

Anyway –  I’ve been walking the beach and the town – a lot!  The picture (left) is the walk north is quiet and away from the hard-body tourist area.  I love scoping out new places and since the only major place to shop and get meat is a couple of miles away, I get a lot of opportunity to do that.  Playa does live up to it reputation of being a tourist town, but it’s possible to bypass some of it.  Avenida Cinco is the heart of shopping and the tour hawkers really have their banter tuned, but it’s been good humored and fun, until you’ve had enough! Then you just find a different route to go places.  One oddity I noticed was the use of silver duct tape to hold road tiles in place  Not everywhere but often enough to hint that it’s not an accident. Doesn’t seem to be working, they’re still moving. Ya gotta love duct tape…

 

There’s a huge expat community and some of the merchants seem to think I live here.  I think it’s because I’m wearing clothes….  I mean enough to cover the vital areas.  And I’m not holding a drink in my hands… dead giveaway.   Lots of dogs on leaches here – locals.  Well cared for pooches these. Such a contrast to Uganda.

 

If all this sounds too tame,  don’t worry – I have not lost my taste for some adventure. Tomorrow I’m going swimming with the Whale Sharks!   More on that if I don’t get scooped up in one of those gigantic mouths designed for plankton, but big enough for a person – whole!

 

That’s about it.  More when there’s anything worth reporting.  Looking forward to heading to Oregon, but am to get everything possible out of these last couple of weeks.   Might head back down to the Tulum area – there be Sea Turtles there!

 

 

The breakfast seeker was down from New York (Jersey Actually, but has a B&B at the edge of Manhatten) and another who had just walked away from a tennis coach job in Playa and was off for cooler climbs. As the conversation meandered along, the man from Jersey began talking about raising his twin, eleven year old ADD/ODD grandsons!  I don’t know many men who would do that as a single grand-parent and I was really taken by his commitment, humility, grace and sense of humor while also running a few businesses.  As we talked about ADD, I shared some information from the consulting I used to do and before long he invited me to share a trip to see some Mayan ruins I hadn’t seen, and surely would not ever see without going with someone who has a car. 

Instinct told me this was a good guy and I kept telling myself this as I went into Uganda mode and grabbed a sun hat, camera, TP, bug spray, water and a loaf of bread, some ham and mayonnaise to build sandwiches on the way.  My steady diet of murder mysteries prompted me to get Alex – the hostal owner – to plug his phone number into my phone and promise to send out the search party if I didn’t come back by bed-time.  This precaution was reinforced by remembering what a new friend – a former librarian – told me about the Halloween parties the librarians would throw.  Each person  came dressed as their favorite Dewey Decimal Number.  My friend came dressed as herself, representing 364.1523, because serial killers looked like normal folks…   

Since I’ve lived to tell the tale, you can assume he was not of the criminal type. Turns out he was in fact a really nice man and a great travel companion. So engrossed in conversation were we that we managed to miss the (badly marked) dirt road several times. Asking directions from some locals who must have wondered about these Gringos, we managed to bracket a lot of  “that-way” hand signals and finally located the small gravel road heading into the j-u-n-g-l-e. 

As we headed  down the road, we nosed into an offshoot that turned out to be the trail to a small, private landing strip.  Realizing our mistake, we backed up and evidently that seemed a little suspicious to the fierce looking occupants of a huge military vehicle, that looked like a tank. Bulging with guys armed with assault rifles literally hanging off the floorboards and bumpers, the tank pulled to the side as we pulled back onto the road. All these big, scary looking men in full camo and decked out for Armageddon jumped off the vehicle and blocked the road with guns at the ready, motioning for us to stop.   Simultaneously we said, “This can’t be good…” but considering the lack of alternatives, stop we did.  Neither of us had brought passports and the combined pulse rate in the car escalated as fear fogged the windows. 

Once stopped with the window obligingly rolled down six enforcer-types clumped our way and were looking way to serious.  Oh man – how did I spend all that time in Africa, only to come to Mexico and find trouble? Seems I’d read too many reports of tourists being hauled in at gunpoint, drug deals gone wrong, etc. because these guys just wanted to know where we were going, pointed us down the road and wished us a good day.  It was still unnerving and took a while to get back to normal breathing.  Seems that a while back, there had been a huge drug-drop at this little landing strip and our brief investigation of the road tweaked their radar. There is still some military presence in the area and they are watching….  I guess we didn’t look like drug smugglers – although we’d have been the perfect disguise: mild older pair posing as tourists…   I would have loved a picture, but thought I might be pushing my luck to ask them to pose and say “Queso!”

Propelled forward by the adrenaline rush we proceeded on our way and found the ruins, by which time it had begun to rain – again.  Nevertheless, we climbed out and spent the next couple of hours climbing ruins, trudging around in a sprinkle, providing lunch for the mosquitoes and being generally entertained by a local guide.  

Left is a close-up of a bed carved for the King. You can see the beginnings of Martha Stewart DNA in the use of under-bed storage. It was the main bedroom in an area about 1500 square feet.

 Just in case you needed to visit the Underworld, here’s the door on the right.   Under the huge platform housing the bedroom and known as The Acropolis, there existed an entire other  structure and this creepy little door is part of that earlier city. Apparently this was common practice among the Mayans – to build one city or structures on top of the previous ones.

Among other vegetation in the area, there were Elephant Ear’s big enough to use as a dress, Kapok trees, Bromiliads (?) like the one below and huge trees rooted on top of the ruins, showing how much excavation had to be done to reclaim the ruins from the jungle.

Along the way we’d passed a place named Explorean, a gorgeous all inclusive resort tucked back into the jungle.  On the way back, I was treated to a fine lunch in the gorgeous dining room overlooking the pool and the jungle. We met some great folks here from Key West and learned a group from Texas was there doing a conservation study – tagging Jaguars in the area.

Jaguars? Military?  Where am I?   Ah!  Mexico. I love Mexico.

We fared well in all respects.  Since the Jaguars are a little further in and we manage not to antagonize them or the men with many guns, we had a great time, a fun excursion and a good lunch. Another lovely friendship was born.

It’ll be hard to leave new friends found in Bacalar.  Alex and Veronica, the owners of the hostel are fabulous and make me want to open a hostel down here somewhere.  Sorta…..  It’s a lot of work of course, but could still be fun.

Can’t wait to see what Playa holds in store!

I was relieved to escorted to a big room with a balcony, AC, a deep TUB.  I’m thinking, “boy this is going to be great!”   It was already dusk when I set out to find dinner, but had no idea where to go and the desk clerk was singularly disinterested in helping even when I used my best Spanish.  So I ended up grabbing a yogurt from the little kiosk next door, just as the sky opened up and a heavy rain drenched the city.

Perfect night for taking a long hot bath – right up until I discovered that there was no way to get the shower off and the tub faucet on. So I decided to let the shower fill the tub, left the room and looked up to see to see a river of water cascading out of the bathroom because the shower wasn’t adjusted properly and would require a ladder to reach it.  So much for the bath idea…

Next day, bright and early I went down for breakfast of weak coffee and five different kinds of bread.  Does anyone know how to boil an egg?  OK – I’m being tacky. This is a hotel for chrissake – not a hostel and even hostels usually have a pretty decent breakfast!  The edge of hunger having been softened, I left with map of sorts in hand and went off to explore and find a decent cup of coffee.  My mood improved dramatically when my search was rewarded with frothy cup of cappuccino and a piece of something like apple pie with fresh apples.

Campeche lived up to what I’d been told: it is a classic representation of a old walled Spanish city, which began as a Mayan town and  became a completely walled entity because of it’s constant bombardment by pirates.   The Spanish built an eight sided wall  around the entire  town, which is now just a small part of a pretty decent sized city.  Not much of the wall remains, but the bastions and portals are still pretty much in tact and a lot of restoration is going on.  One of the bastions has been reclaimed as the town’s Botanical Garden and it offered a beautiful place to sit on a hot day.

It is quiet town and within this historic district not much is going on.  Many of the streets are entirely devoid of people or cars and one wonders how it survives.  But it’s pretty with its rows of colonial houses which share walls and are all meticulously kept and freshly painted.  It was amazingly clean – not a speck of litter anywhere, but has a very serious character about it.  In every town I’ve visited in Mexico, people are friendly, say “Hola! Buenas dias!” to passersby or at least respond when spoken to.  No so here.  Very few smiling faces and this was later mentioned by Veronica, one of the hostel owners here in Bacalar.  I don’t know what created such a personality of a town, but this one has it’s own perculiar energy which was not particularly welcoming.

Interesting interface with the Gulf of Mexico though.  There have been so many hurricanes that have hit Campeche that there is no more beach.  It is entirely sea wall, but has a beautifully developed hike and bike trail running the length of the historical area.  There are even stopping points with gym-type equipment to do a workout!   Unlike most beaches I’ve been to the waves run parallel to the beach, and don’t break against the seal wall.  No doubt the geographic configuration of the land, but it’s just a little weird.

There is a stunning Cathedral there and one street closed to to traffic and devoted to extraordinary sculptures. One of the lovely things abut every town I’ve visited is the accessibility of art and it’s inclusion everywhere in public areas. There were a few old colonial homes turned museum that I was able to visit.  Glad I got to see what all the fuss was about, but not particularly captivated by the feel of the place.  Merida held more interest, but nothing so far has compared to Guadalajara.  I will not make it (this trip) to some of the more interior places that I hear people rave about: like San Christobal, San Luis Potasi, Palenque or San Miguel.  But the alur of the Yucatan Peninsula is definitely Mayan Ruins and beaches.

So, time to go back to Bacalar.  The trip back was an hour longer for some reason I never figured out and was made even more interminable by the kicking of my seat by a small child (old enough to know better) sitting behind me with his only slightly older brother.  The mother and the grandmother wisely sat on the other side of the isle. The kicking started before we were even out of the gate and my Spanish dictionary was tucked safely inside my back pack in the baggage compartment when I desperately needed a word for “kick.”  Waiting a while, not wanting to be the ugly American being hateful to a small child, I turned around kneeling in my seat and reached my hand down to try and still his kicking feet and uttered, “Por favor, no.”  Well that earned me a look from the mother – who did nothing to intervene, nor did it impress the kid enough to change his behavior.  Obviously I was too nice… Won’t happen again.

The kicking continued – and having raised two boys with a lot of energy I realized this kid was just bored, but still…  if he was already bored and we hadn’t even gotten on the road, it was going to be a loooong ride.  After three more attempts at being reasonable, I got the mother’s attention and using the only Spanish I could muster for the occasion: pointed at the still swinging feet and said: “Por favor, esto es una problema.”    Would like to have known how to say  “Dammit, stop kicking my seat or I will eviscerate you!”  But that might have created an international incident and I’m not sure my travel dictionary has the word “eviscerate.”  Must learn the word for “kill.”

So!  Back in Bacalar, the tourists have all gone home, the rainy season is creeping in a little early and I like it.   It’s lovely to be back in this sweet little town.  Every morning I walk my three miles and see the same people building a house on the lagoon, setting up to offer tours or just tending to their chickens, riding their bikes or scooters to work.  On the right is the beginning of my route with some of what I see along the way below: gorgeous Bougainvillea, Flame Trees and bits of jungle.

Coral Bouganvillea

The Mayans are very sweet, friendly – always
have a greeting and I love seeing them with their families in the Plaza at night.  The kids are happy and there’s so much family presence.  Have met a few expats living down here, but am not sure I’m ready for that – still need to be more contributive (not sure that’s a word…) than that usually allows. Though this community seems different and more integrated into the regular town and its population than most expat communities.  Houses are tucked in along the way and spread out throughout the area as opposed to being clustered together and a neighborhood unto themselves.

A private path to the lagoon

My free month in a condo a block off the beach in Playa del Carmen is nine days away and I’m soooo excited!  Can’t remember if I mentioned that a woman I met in Merida has gifted me the use of her condo for the entire month of June, my paying only utilities.  She lives in D.C. and the condo has no one scheduled for the month.  I feel like I hit the jackpot and am eternally grateful!

Next post: Playa del Carmen!

Oh yes – can’t forget this… Another reason tourists flood to Yucatan – and believe me it HAS been discovered – has to do with the Cenotes that pepper the area.  These are huge sink holes that have filled with water and are (often) connected via an underground river that can be transited through the cave system, giving rise to a lot of Cave Diving tourism.  I may not be describing it exactly right, but they are pretty amazing and a little creepy.  One near here is called Cenote Azule and is about 90 feet deep. As you can see, it’s enormous.  There are others that are part of the lagoon and I plan to explore those soon. 

 

At the moment I have a giant lizard clinging to my screen.  At night there are barking geckos and a tiny night bird that chirps outside my window.   On Saturdays,  I shop for fish and shrimp in the local market and much to my surprise some of the spices I considered basic for Mexican food are not to be found down here!  Yucatan food is different from central Mexico and that’s different from northern (which is most like what we get in Texas).  So ground cumin is not available, but every kind of pepper is in abundance and I’ve discovered some new fruits.  The pork is amazing and served with the marinated red onions and lime.  Fortunately, it’s a healthy walk to the source and usually only available early morning. Otherwise I could see becoming as round as the source of said pork.

Lovely people run this hostel and I’m forming some strong friendships – another reason to stay put for a while, although tomorrow I’m getting the bus to Campeche for a couple of days. On the Gulf side of the peninsula and a six-hour bus ride non-stop,  I’ve heard it’s like a visit to Spain – the old town being completely walled with only 2 – 3 entrances.  Lots of history there.  

Hasta luego!

In my usual pre-travel sleeplessness, I awoke at 4:40 AM remembering I needed to find my Sea-Bands (magical wrist bands that work on an acupressure point) to keep from tossing-my-cookies from motion sickness.  Knowing I’d put them in a safe place, the challenge was to find the hiding place again! After unpacking every piece of clothing, books, cosmetics etc. – knowing I put them in a safe place because they are my travel lifeline – I couldn’t find the damn things.  Hoping they would manifest before getting on the ferry, I went to breakfast and discovered I’d  put them in the hidden pocket of my purse purchased for that very reason – the pocket was SO secrete even I forgot about it! Always being on the move, packing, unpacking, planning for the next contingency has a downside, but never fails to bring on a lesson or a gift: non-attachment, kindness to self, recognition that I have an inner personal-assistant (PA) who has usually taken care of something when I wasn’t looking. I don’t know why she puts up with me.  This is why I need to stop moving around – the inner bitch (IB) and the personal assistant are getting a little testy and they need to go to separate rooms. Headed to Tulum next and had a hard time finding a place to stay.  This doesn’t bode well for being a calm place… or for the IB and the PA to have some down time.

Tulum resident

Hostel Sheck, my anticipated new home away from home,  was another matter entirely and except for the obvious downside of marketing should have been  named Hostel Shock.  When I’d booked a private room with a shared bath, I had no idea I’d be sharing one toilet and three curtain-less showers with 15 other people.  The receptionist must have registered the look of horror on my face, because the manager showed up within moments and volunteered to give me my deposit back and help me find another place.  That is seldom done here – yet another stroke of luck.  Luggage in tow, I checked into a place aptly called The Weary Traveler and didn’t give the extra cost any thought because it offered AC and a  p-o-o-l. Never mind no hot water and barely a drip of a shower.

 

Almost instantly met a group of young people involved in turtle conservation and they invited me along on a trip to the ruins the next morning! This was worth the trip to Tulum, which otherwise is basically a town that grew up around tourism and has none of the charm of most of the cities I’ve visited.  It doesn’t help that that it was 90+ degrees with 90% humidity, but the wind at the ruins and the spectacular views created a good distraction.  The setting was truly breathtaking. The wind really whipped up the surf so I opted out of snorkeling later and regret not going.   The next day was an exercise in frustration, waiting to leave, missing another snorkel opportunity – my own fault.

 

My love affair with blue water is almost directly proportional to my ability to walk along a beach with the surf tickling my toes, whether or not I actually get in the water. Thus far that has only happened once here – on Isla Mujeres. This experience is certainly different than it was being on a boat when I/we could just throw on some snorkel gear and slither of the side.  Here one has to plan and pay for trips, get transport, intuit the system and endure heat that I didn’t seem to care about when I was twenty-something, thirty-something and surrounded by water.  I still want to be near water, but it has to be a cooler coast. The roots of  siesta are abundantly clear.

Spent the next day waiting for my turtle-friends (Courtney, Adam and Sam) to finish up with a meeting so I can go with them to find Bacalar.  Since we delayed until almost 5 PM, it got too late for me to strike out on my own and have any hope of finding the hostel in the dark.  We finally arrived at about 10 pm and I was thrilled to find my room waiting and the shared bathroom (only one other woman) clean, with a hot shower and great water pressure.  Courtney cooked rice and veggies for the volunteers they collected in Tulum and invited me to join them. I hungrily accepted.  Tomorrow we’ll see what Bacalar looks like in the daylight and check out the possibility of renting an apartment.

The place I’m staying is called Patas de Perro (legs of the dog), colloquial for someone who is always on the move.  We were greeted by two resident Perros and there are dog-prints painted on the walls, leading the way to the rooms.  I think I’ll like it here…

 

 

The friend who offered him a place to work and stay was only in it for the money he thought he could extract from me – to help him start a business.  When that did not manifest, he used Peter as a work horse.  Peter left, but left his one metal trunk with all of his belongings there and lost them all when that same “friend” went crazy and burned down his village…  Peter reverted to his old  stir-the-pot behavior and ultimately refused to stay with the friends who offered him a bed.  He preferred instead to sleep in random places, getting sick in the process. Even as all of his belongings were being replaced and school interviews were  imminent, his sullenness, failure to show up to meetings and erratic behavior resulted in his being dropped from the program I thought would mentor him through this year.  Through the consistent help of the one remaining local mentor things came together at the absolute last minute.  A good friend in the States funded this term and it is now up to Peter to make the best use of this opportunity and do it will less drama, because we are all wearing thin.  So, those of you who are interested – stay tuned. Second term is just around the corner, Peter is in a good school that he likes.  The one month term break is nearly upon us and that – once again -poses the challenge of where he will live.    Well – one challenge at a time.  This connection serves as a continued reminder of the privileges most of us enjoy.  The events I mentioned here are not unusual and constitute the daily fabric of life for millions of people.

On that note and one of gratitude, I will close because a final walk around the town and a seafood dinner beckon!  

Hasta luego.  Next stop Tulum!

They educated me on the differences between Mayans and Aztecs and informed me that the Temples of the Sun and Moon in Mexico City actually preceded the Aztecs, who discovered the pyramids after the culture that built them had vanished.  The wall to the right is part of the Anthropological Museum which is built around some of the exhibits.  Started in the late years of Freida Kahlo and Diego Rivera (late 1940s – early 50s) as a result of their encouraging the Mexican government to protect the ruins for future generations, it didn’t take its present form until the 70’s. Mind boggling in its size, presentation and complexity, we saw about a third of it in the half-day we were there.

One treasure I discovered while there was the ball court where warriors attempted to get a ball, signifying the sun on it’s way back into the sky after spending the night in the underworld, through a stone hoop 20 feet above ground using the hip or elbow.  For ceremonial games, the winners had the honor of being sacrificed.  The losers sometimes shared the honor. Anyone sending the ball through the hoop in the wrong direction (bad for the sun) was decapitated to fertilize the earth and make the sun happy.  Puts a different spin on losing the Super Bowl doesn’t it – and gives new meaning to the saying, “You can’t win for losin’.”

The “snake” I never saw…

In addition to Mexico City, another unexpected gift was the accidental scheduling of my arrival in Yucatan to coincide with the Spring Solstice – the single most important time of the year for Mayan-lore aficionados. Supposedly the sun aligns with Chichen Itza in such a way that – at a specific time of the day, a shadow creeps down the side creating the illusion of a serpent slithering down the step. This phenomenon brings Mayan enthusiasts from all over the world to the Yucatan filling every hotel, hostel and campground on the peninsula.  Having bought my plane ticket before knowing that or finding a place to stay, I lucked out and found the last budget room in Merida.

Traveling is loosing a bit of its luster.  I spent all day searching for a hostel anywhere on the peninsula that is NOT Merida.  Spring Break combined with the equinox is the perfect storm.  After finally shifting gears to go to Isla Mujeres where I found ONE hotel room that I would/could afford, I went downtown and caught the final festivities of Family Night.  The plaza was filled with dancers from the Folklorico dance schools and what a sight!  Here is a still-shot. I was unable to load the video, but play Cielito Lina in your head and you’ll have it.  There are hundreds of women dancing in full traditional, hand embroidered dresses, ribbons and flowers in their hair and fans flourishing.

All this exploring is fine.  Spanish is improving, but I still find myself at a peculiar place in terms of knowing what-I-want-to-do-when-I-grow-up. I AM sure I want to stay down here long enough to let new ideas percolate up through the miasma of a brain and life re-calibrated or should I say de-calibrated by two years in Africa.  Have really not stopped long enough to catch my breath and look forward to finding a little place to hunker down for a few months and just let the energy of the sea and the Mayan world wash over me for a while – meditate, write, walk, explore, think and determine how to capture the best elements of my former life and the core elements of me and put them into play in a way that has not yet made itself known.  I’m not nearly as Narcissistic as that sounds, but am hoping that the universe or God will speak to me in terms I can translate – please not Spanish or Acholi.  I suspect that I will have to stand still for a bit for me to be able to hear and thus far have not found a place that beckons.  Tomorrow – I’ll buy the bus ticket to Isla Mujeres and get closer to blue water!  It’s a nice problem to have I suppose, but worrisome nevertheless.

More from your questing friend when I get to blue water!

In the historic district huge plazas provide a venue for every imaginable vendor selling every imaginable product.  Indigenous people are selling exquisite embroidered garments, woven bags, macrame and beaded jewellery and whimsical carved and beaded masks and animals. There are rock bands, saxophone players, bubble blowers, gizmo throwers, etc. etc. ad infinitum. I saw a man painted and dressed to look like a soldier statue, another spray-painted in gold mimed a mechanical man complete with ratchet sounds and yet another was painted silver – totally stationary holding a six-shooter, hopefully not loaded.  The best of the weekend was an Ecuadorian musical group dressed in native costume and playing traditional flute.  They were spectacular. This is the usual weekend entertainment and my entertainment is simply taking it all in.  Families are out in force, as are tourists, most of whom are Mexican, not American, Canadian or expat and that feels good.

On Tuesdays the historic Teatro Degollada opens its doors and offers free concerts for the public.  It’s enough just to go sit in this gorgeous place that harkens back to the age of crystal chandeliers, murals and gold leaf.  The music is a bonus.  Last Tuesday it was classical guitar; this week – Opera.  Museums are also free on Tuesdays, making art and culture accessible to all.  Statuary – whimsical and otherwise is everywhere, as are cathedrals, chiming bells and splashing fountains.  El Expiatorio, the cathedral near my hostel boasts a procession of automated saints that float along a  second floor balcony every hour as the bells tolls. 

A few weekends ago Guadalajara celebrated its 450th anniversary and the metropolis was on holiday.  Squealing, uniformed school children were bussed in in droves for free breakfast in Mariachi Plaza,  while adults were there for the Mariachi music, dancers, parades, free carriage rides and rock bands.  It was a great end to the week that began with my epiphany of NOT wanting to teach English, thereby terminating ITTO classes and starting Spanish classes.    Since then I’ve started said classes fittingly taught all in Spanish with English allowed only if we throw ourselves on the floor prostrate in frustration.  By the end of four hours my brain is steaming, but bit by bit I am becoming more conversant.  There are three of us in the class, although the specific members change weekly as people come and go. 
Every Wednesday there is an outing of some sort.  The first one took us on a tour of the historic district with a class that is learning English.  The first hour we helped the English class with their English and the second hour we switched to Spanish.  This picture was the result.  It seems the man predicted in my future has turned to bronze: still broad shouldered, still waiting, but has retained a sense of humor…   Look closely.

Last week I braved one of the big jewellery marts in the jewellery district that covers acres and acres of down-town (think of your biggest American mall and triple it.) I visited one three-story building with a footprint the size of several football fields. Two of the floors were just jewellery making supplies: beads, gems, fasteners, do-dads and gizmos.   It was absolutely packed.  These folks love their jewellery, not to mention Quicinera celebrations.  No expense is spared.  One full district is devoted to Quicinera dresses and finery. The dress on the right is considered modest.

And then there is TEQUILA!  You guys know me and I am not a drinker.  Half a glass of wine and I’m almost asleep or have a migraine.  Still, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to go on a tequila tour and opted for the only distillery in Guadalajara. I chose not to go on the Bacchanalian version outside the city – a train tour with 200 hundred other people, most of whom will be tossing their cookies on the way back, because it’s an all you can drink junket. It was fascinating – didn’t know the entire plant sans spiky leaves is harvested, then steamed for eight hours to start the process.  Had three shots  of 100% Agave (no sugar added) in the tasting process and no headache. I have found my drink…  On an empty stomach I was glad I was still mobile to enough to find my way to the bus stop for the thirty minute ride and 30 minute walk back to the hostel.  

That’s the news. The hostel is filled with kitchen sounds, the new group of ITTO students having now discovered the work load and cooking dinner rather than going out to party. Now Day 2, the glow of the first day has faded.  I am SO glad not to be doing that – but going down to fix some dinner and get the gossip.

That’s all folks! Field trip tomorrow and now beginning to make plans to go to Mexico City after the course is over.  I have a lovely offer to be shown around to see the Aztec ruins and museum, so can’t pass that up and it puts me closer to a ticket to Merida in the Yucatan, the heart of the Mayan Ruins.

Adios amigos.