Day 6 - A Journey Around the Island

Yesterday we woke up early, slammed some breakfast and hopped in the rental car for an excursion around the island. Our car was a tiny little Dodge Something-or-other, but it was sufficient. The day was again gorgeous. Occasional clouds played with the sun's rays all day, casting shadows and streams of light all around. We drove south, and instantly we became apparent of the island's size after having traversed half the island in under twenty minutes. Our first stop was a makeshift reggae bar, alone by a mile in each direction. Local ladies had tables of crafts and shells, necklaces by the hundreds. Inside the bar were hundreds of t-shirts of all sorts, crass, crude, funny, inspiring. Tourists in Jeep's buzzed around us in swarms, everyone looking for whatever anybody else had found that might be worth looking at. The beach was staggering. Long strips of white, littered with harsh rocks and pounded by an unrelenting coast. The waves were much larger here, though still not surpassing more than a couple feet in break.

A few miles farther down the road we stopped again to put our feet in the soft sand, and warmed our skin under the sun. Trish hunted for shells and we all silently tried to ingest the sights and sounds of a beach no one knew when we would see again. Young faced, camo-clad soldiers with brand new machine guns passed back and forth in oversized trucks, drinking cokes.

Our next stop was again a beach bar, this one had no theme, seeming to know that people don't drink beers because Bob Marley said they should. We enjoyed terrifically spicy pico de gallo on fresh fried chips, and washed them back with slightly cold Dos Equis and lime. Our only major target was the San Gervasio ruins in the center of the island, and after our cervesas headed that way.

The island just past the beach is a jungle so thick light does not pass through, and after rounding the southern most tip of the island, this same jungle guarded our view of the easterly side. We pulled into the entrance of the ruins where an older gentleman helped us park and explained prices to us. $6.50 a head got us in the door, and after bartering, we paid a handsome price for mosquito spray and ventured off.

I am very glad I had brought my camera, because words can't really describe the sights. They are not overpowering structures, most of them smaller than a two-story house. However, their significance was clearly apparent. Pathways over a thousand years old guided us between presumed temples to presumed houses. Beaten down over the ages by rain and wind, it is hard to picture anything man has made in the last century that could withstand the pressures of nature so steadfastly. We stopped and read that historians have deduced that at one time, this city was the heart of the island. Acting as both a spiritual and political center, roads going north-south and east-west were extremely active trade lines from coast to coast. Mayan women treated this spot as a spiritual pilgrimage of fertility, and it is thought that all Mayan women were expected to make the journey to the island at least once. Crossing back and forth between the structures, I tried as hard as my imagination would allow to picture that time. I tried to see the brimming city, with adults and children scampering about. Straining, I attempted to picture the millions of footsteps the same path I was walking had endured. It was a truly beautiful place, with butterflies, more beautiful than any artist could have conjured, dancing about. My brain felt like a soggy sponge. It was time to go.

Back in the car we headed north again back towards downtown, where we ate at the equivalent of a Mexican Denny's, and treated ourselves to the harassment of a hundred shop keepers. I picked up a Mexican soccer jersey for a friend, along with a few trinkets, and back we went to the hotel where I was physically and mentally drained more than I have been this entire week. At first I could not place why.. and then it came all at once.

It is the conundrum of luxury, the duplicity of our existence. We profess to love all man and yet we casually overlook the homeless man digging through the trash on our way to groomed sand and white beach chairs. I cannot and will not ever see indulgence for its face value. I know that are a great many people kept purposefully out of sight who's existence is based on our end trails, and who without we would have none of what we know. These are the heroes of the world, and nobody, not even they, know it. I sat on a scrubbed tile balcony, looking through a glass railing with polished stainless steel fixtures, and I felt horrible. I didn't deserve this any more than the man digging through the trash, yet here I was. I ached. And so I did the only thing I could do, I turned on the TV and tried as hard as I could to wash away the feelings. Trish and Kim found me unresponsive on their journey to a hot tub, and I sat alone, self-ostracizd, self-loathing. Sad. And I slept.

I woke later feeling better, my only solace being that I had indeed discovered the cause of my despair. But that was not enough. I needed a plan, an action. An agenda. I remembered why I fell in love with photography in the first place. To communicate what I saw, to bring my eyes to others. So I will. I hope that this blog will show that I am capable of telling a story. And as much as I enjoy snorkeling and pool-side rum, my true passion still lies with the forgotten man who strives everyday not for happiness but for existence. I do not profess that those who live in luxury are immoral, or that everyone who lives in a state that is not luxurious is looking to have their story told. But for those that are, or those who could benefit, I would love to help their cause. Because their cause is my cause.

Good night.