Whoa Mexico
It sounds so simple I just got to go
The sun's so hot I forgot to go home
I guess I'll have to go now - James Taylor
Of course I've been there many times. Cancun, Acapulco, Taxco, Cozumel. But this winter's been brutally cold, indoors and out, with no comfort in either. So I took meself south of the border way with a travel worthy friend. The resort hosted mostly Europeans (thankfully!) who were friendly and, hailing from colder climes like Poland and Germany, so damn grateful for the hot Mexican sun. And while I did indulge in a day trip or two. How could I pass up the ancient Mayan pyramids in
Chichen Itza during the Spring Equinox when a serpent is supposed to slither down the 91 steps where (history tells us) blood used to flow from the virgin sacrifices?
I do admit feeling a twinge of
Bourdainian cynicism at one of the daytrip sponsored lunches. I'm sure the boys and girls of that Mayan village dress in colorfully embroidered Guayabaras and blouses. And come on! I'm sure they sometimes dance with half filled bottles of Corona on their heads. And so what if we ate in a buffet-style restaurant that sold Coke Lite. And so what if the chicken dish was too lustily dowsed in crema? The heat from the deep red chili sauce warranted a little milding down, right? Right?
My travel-worthy companion, Damarys had a penchant for water. I don't just mean lounging around in salty aquamarine beaches with a margarita decorating your hand. Snorkling! Diving! Kayaking! I figured snorkling was the safest bet as I could remain on the hobiecat AND indulge in my napping pasttime while the rest of the ocean hungry gang dumped overboard. The crew consisted of 3 men. El Capitan, a non verbal man with skin the color of polished Brazilian cherry. Joel, a Mayan descendant who served as our tour guide for 5 hours and spoke English peppered with jokes appreciated by jocks, Americans and misogynists. Last and most importantly came Cesar the dive/snorkle master, a stern man with hair cropped as short as a marines.
For 2 decades I've tried to snorkle. First in Cancun, then in Jamaica, and Miami. Italian snorkling ended almost as badly as the relationship I took to Italy. The most successful snorkling I did in Bahamas was at Atlantis in the 360 underwater aquarium, watching fish from INside the tank. You see I have this thing about water. Love to drink it, cold and refreshing. Love the hues of it as it sweeps against beaches and rocks. Azure, turquoise, muddy green, black blue. Love to frolic on the shore, ride sweels on a bogie board amid pounding waves. Those waves have taught me a lesson or two - all of them terrifying. There was the time I was playing in the water and a dead body washed shore by my feet. Another time my brother and I got dragged out hundreds of feet by a rip tide. We'd both have been goners if not for a passing surfer who yelled, "Hey there's a really bad rip out here. Need help?"
The thing about snorkling, about the ocean, about anything so majestic and powerful is that you can't fight it. Once you concede and admit, mighty ocean thou art more fearsome than a pride of lions loosed at a 6 Flags theme park. That's when respect surfaces and fear begins to recede. You see I had never done this. I had boasted to anyone who would listen, yeah that water's mighty wet. Or wailed about my past lives in which I had tragically drowned - either accidently or intentionally as a witch. What is it about the pursecution of witches? Those poor gals bought it either burned at the stake in raging flames or drowned in water. Couldn't they just be banished to the forest and live in isolation with nature which is probably what they really wanted?
When I tried snorkling this time around, just like in the past I floundered and flailed like, well...like me. The rest of the gang had moved toward the reef with Cesar. It didn't help that this was the second largest reef on the planet next to the Great Barrier. Nor did it help that after viewing my gasping and inefficient swimming motions (oddly resembling Don Knotts impersonating a Ninja) Cesar beckoned his 2nd mate to drag me through the water with a bright red life saver. The only other person incapable of navigating the reef was an older woman, quite heavy and admittedly "not such a good swimmer." So Betty and I got the snorkling loser treatment.
The second site we visited was much calmer. Joel informed us we had free time to do as we please. Some prefered to sun onboard, others like my travel-worthy companion dove immediately into the water only to be surrounded by hosts of striped blue and yellow damsons nibbling at her arms and fingers. The water was languid and the hobiecat bouyantly drifted over coral and schools of fish. I felt hot under the sun and thought a dip would do me good so in I splashed, flippers, goggles and breathing tube. Since I didn't have anywhere to go I paddled in circles around the boat, safe in the security of my flourescent orange lifevest.
In moments of fear and confusion, stillness is the only guide. For only after you stop whining and blubbering like a little girl who's broken her Jonas Brothers CD can you hear the answer. In this case the answer was to listen to the whooshing sound of my breathing. Not the waves sloshing over me or the occasional shriek of a diver. So I listened, breath in... breath out. Simple and so not threatening. Matter of fact, it was relaxing and rather idyllic. For as soon as I stopped struggling I began to see what was around me. Fish - Damsons, Pampanos, Butterfly fish and velvety black Tangs. One Damson flitted by at eye level. Such a darling! so I gently rubbed his side with a finger. He turned around and bared his teeth at me. So un-Nemo-like! I drifted over a huge earthen pot, intentionally dropped into the water to serve as a home for the sealife. I glided over coral with lavender arms and bright yellow buds at the flimsy tips. Nobody bothered me, nor I them. I was snorkling!
Say what you will about past lives. About phobias and deeply embedded fears. After this recent trip to Mexico I believe that nothing can't be overcome with a little respect, courage and silence.
