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.

Day 5 - New Years Day

This shall be a short and easy entry. Today was a day of rest, as it should be after a night like last night. I woke up at 9, treated myself huge helpings of coffee and orange juice. Kim, Trish and I camped out on the beach for hours, casually exchanging stories, and reading our books of choice. Eventually we mustered up the energy to walk the 30 feet to have lunch and cervasas. I had wonderfully cooked salmon and scallops, though I'm fairly sure neither of which are local to the area. Meandering over to the lobby-side pool, we read and took a long siesta.

The sun seemed tired, too, and glad to be able to retire quickly behind the clouds. Tomorrow we are off to explore the island by car, for which I'm very excited, as I need to say more of this place than just what has been groomed for me to see. I want to see something real.

New Year's Eve - Day 4

New Year's Eve

We woke up to another beautiful morning. Breakfast was fast, for we had plans to go parasailing. A few quick bites and we ran down to the dock. Being early, Kim, Kim's sister Trish, and I had the boat to ourselves. Two very quiet and equally nice gentleman escorted us a few hundred yards out into the sea. I swear that not more than 20 words were spoken by these men, and Kim and I were strapped to a huge parachute. I have to say, that for the risk involved, the casual manner in which our guides handled it calmed my nerves instantly. They made it seem like we were going for a walk in the park, and just like that Kim and I were ten feet, thirty, sixty, a hundred feet in the air.


The only sound that high up was the sound of wind rustling around our ears. I kept looking up at the parachute nervously, but it held. Cozumel is a beautiful island, and I was very glad I was able to see it from the air as I did not get much of a glimpse from the plane. The coast line is dotted with resorts and hotels, but not a half a mile in the entire island is nothing but green. It looked like row and rows of broccoli. Beautiful. Smartly, we left Kim's camera on the boat -duh- however Trish brought her thinking cap and brought hers, so this picture is courtesy of Trish Shepherd. The water is staggeringly clear, from two hundred feet up we were spotting fish. Kim and I really didn't say much, as not much needed to be said. For just a few moments I thought I might know what it was like to be a bird. But I remembered that birds probably don't know what its like to be a bird, and the moment passed.

Back on shore, with the rental car idea out the window, we had no plans and killed hours nursing cocktails. Feeling restless, the three of us had seen a monstrously big inflatable rock climbing thingy, a good 15 feet high. I am childishly drawn to anything I can climb on. I was able to scale it only a couple times before the fun police on a kayak informed me that I was naive to assume anything was free, and we retreated.


All now was in place for New Year's Eve. The resort really put on a show for us. Bamboo shoots 20 feet long held paper lamps and long strips of tapestry. A dance floor was placed in the middle, and everyone was given handmade ceramic shot glasses for the bountiful tequila. The evening began slowly, with everyone waiting for somebody to do something, anything. Finally the ice on the dance floor was broken by a few brave souls and the night from there is a blur of tequila shots, dancing, and unbuttoned inhibitions. Sweaty, full of tequila, and hiccuping loud enough to wake the entire island, I dragged Kim into the ocean for a late night dip before retiring to sleep off the celebration. I could not have picked a better way to spend the christening of this new year.

Snorkeling

Snorkeling

What a beautiful art. So simple and natural, I try to imagine ancient persons with just a chute of bamboo and a free afternoon. We were escorted off the pier by Juan, a red speedo wearing stocky Mexican with the lung capacity of a blue whale, the boat driver who was more whale like and less lung capacity, and Juan's spry son who was quick to offer Corona's and who's English was not quite proficient enough to engage in conversation. Off we went at the usual pace of barely moving, south down the coast of Cozumel.
The girls and I rode on the roof where another young couple was already posted up.

I love boats. I've been on them since long before I can remember, and rumor has it that when my mother was two weeks overdue, grandpa's solution was to take her out on the boat. It worked. I was born that night. I imagine my infant self getting jealous of all the water based fun people were having. Now, lying on my stomach, facing aft, pitching slightly from the nudge of other boats, warm air fluffing my shorts up like parachutes, I remembered what I miss about water. It is the heartbeat of this earth. Most times gentle and soothing, occasionally harsh and angry. Today it was my best friend.

This boat was 25 feet long, well used but not tarnished. Glass windows provided a view of the ocean floor that could not have been more than fifteen feet down. Another 15 people accompanied the five of us, and we began our journey under an overcast sky. After 45 minutes the show began. A large uproar began below when Juan started shouting something about money flying off the boat. Everyone aboard began questioning each other about where their cash was, who's money it could have been. Later we realized that, like most other things in Tourist Mexico, nothing is as it seems. The 'lost money' was just a show, a few dollars tied to a weight. Mary spotted the scam, but Juan was not a trickster, he was a showman. And instead of feeling slighted, we felt entertained.

Soon we pulled up to an alcove of breathtaking water tinted an unnatural aquamarine, even the overcast sky easily pierced the ocean floor. Here we were given basic snorkel instruction, which took about eight seconds, and off into the water we went. The first time I put my face underwater and tried to breathe my whole body seized up. Mmy lungs refused to believe in the technology of a plastic tube. Back up, take the snorkel out, look around, breathe, try again. Splash, nothing, can't breathe, back up. Repeat a couple more times and then finally my lungs allowed me one, long, slow breath. Again, and now I could see. Juan, ever the entertainer, swam down and grabbed a starfish bigger than my head. Here we stayed for just a few minutes and soon we were off to the reef.

The second time around came much easier. The fish blood in me came out instantly. Watching Juan dive at depths of 30 feet, grabbing live conch shells and bringing them to the surface, showing utmost respect by gently placing them back on the ocean floor, I was inspired. With my head bubbling above the water, I began peppering him with questions, which he answered enthusiastically in his excited spanglish.

"Hey Amigo! How do I go under?"

"You must take two deep breaths"

-ooooshhh-
-ooooshhh-

"You must plug your nose, and blow hard into your nose, and make your ears pop"

"Ok, gracias."

-ooooshhh-
-ooooshhh-

Plugged my nose, dove, and two feet down my head felt like it was a balloon about to pop. Back on the surface I chased Juan down.

"Hey Amigo! It hurts my head when I go deep"

"You must blow very hard, keep blowing when you go deep."

"Ok, gracias Amigo."

-ooooshhh-
-ooooshhh-

With a splash the whole world was silent, just the gentle drone of the boat 50 yards away. My head still ached but my ears did pop as Juan had predicted. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Schools of fish swam past at no more than arms length. A metropolis of coral stretched out like a sprawling city. Fish of all sizes, shapes, colors, and temperaments swam around us in all directions. It felt as if I had stumbled into a bar filled with all of my old and forgotten friends. It felt like home.

Juan continued to dazzle, diving down 20 feet, blowing large water rings and swimming through them. At one point he dove 25 feet down, disappeared under the reef, and traversed a cave at the ocean floor 40 feet across, appearing on the other side without looking hurried. I continued to challenge myself, using Juan as motivation I dove down deep and deeper with each attempt, staying down longer, getting within inches of electric blue Juvenile Damselfish, coral that looked like a brain, ugly duckling sea bass. I needed fifty eyes, and ten sets of lungs. It was too much, I kept staring down, bobbing up and down like a log, trying to let my eyes be a sponge.

Soon Juan suckered me into having some fun with him. He began showing how to blow smoke rings in the water, and try as I might I could only muster measly bubble explosions. Dragging us around excitedly, every few minutes he would pop his head out and shout "OK EVEREEEBODEEE, VAMANOS! I see a turtle!" At one point he was trying to pry a crab the size of my torso off a rock, but the crab prevailed and Juan let him be. Good and tired, fully satisfied, we climbed back on the boat and Juan handed out tequila shots and Corona's to all who were willing. With Bob Marley blasting over the boombox, a Corona in my hand, and a life changing experience under my belt, I was all smiles.

We got back to the pier just in time for an explosion of a sunset, and with that our day was complete. Dinner and drinks, late night ribbing, Wednesday was in the books.

Today was a good day.

Sinking in.

I am now embedded in the vacation experience. Hot tubs, 75 degree weather, and open bars seem normal. Everyone in the group keeps talking about doing a great many things, and only a small number them are happening. This is not a complaint, just an observation. There is no need to do anything at all, just a want. We want to travel to the Mayan ruins on this island or across the way in Cancun. We want to go snorkeling. We want to move around more than aggressive sloths. No need though.



The only thing I've found I need to do is relax. Remember that the agenda is no agenda, that time does not exist. Here and there a rude person or a change in expectations will ruffle my feathers, and in those moments I remember that I'm 2,000 miles from any obligation. Proximity to stress associates responsibility, and with this distance I'm free.

Everything is open here in Mexico. No doors to the lobby, its wide open. No glass in the windows. Air moves freely throughout, and its wonderful. Today seems a little hotter than yesterday, despite warning from Carlos, our cart driver, that last nights full moon circle would bring cold.

Maybe cold here is 74 instead of 78. I wouldn't be surprised. Anyway I refuse to chug along for too many minutes in front of this screen, so I'm off to jump into the ocean.

I've just been informed that at 1:45 we will be taking a private boat on a snorkeling tour of the island. I couldn't be more excited. The universe that exists below the surface of the ocean remains a complete unknown... for now.

Color

Day 2

It's 4:00 PM, and the clouds are big and dark, but thus far unthreatening. Happy jazz is playing through speakers scattered like land-mines. The sea acts as a metronome, ensuring no one moves too quickly. The pool is less a pool and more a walkway, gently pressing against every door on the bottom floor. I 'walked' its entirety today with a vodka tonic in one hand and my beautiful Kim in the other.

There is no view here, just a canvas. A moving canvas of green, blue, orange, and white. Green trees and shrubs thriving in places an ant would get claustrophobic. A blue here exists that I can't describe, overlapping from sky to ocean to pool back to sky. Its a wonderful blue, making treaties with green and grey. Orange. Orange is everywhere: accented on walls, peering through sculpted translucent lights, but most importantly it finds a way to creep into the clouds. There is no orange like an orange sky, it seems to exist in another universe, where things are not things but feelings and thoughts. And of course white. White pants, white walls, white umbrellas, the luxury color that demands constant attention to keep from being tarnished.

I'm obsessed with the feeling that washes over me from an impending sunset, camera armed and ready. All at once I truly believe that this is my last chance, if I don't get this shot, this color, that I will never see it again. The moment will exist only once. This must be the feeling hunters have as their prey meets them eye to eye. Short breaths, electric air. Its not so much an art, more an addiction. -Click-

Hangover and first impressions

Uh oh.

My mind has been washed with alcohol. I vaguely remember a great many things, and quite plainly don't remember a great many more. Dinner was.. dinner. The food was good, not impressive, and so were the drinks. But something has donned on me. It isn't about the food, or the drinks, or how nice the beds are, how many pillows we get. To be honest, they could put some tepees up and serve warm Corona's and the effect would be the same. All the palm trees and plastic tables and snake-like pool are first impressions. First impressions wash away instantly under the solvent of alcohol and all that is left is an emotion. How do I FEEL about the wyndam resort in Cozumel? I feel like I'm 6 years old, I just walked into Toys 'R Us, and I can play with anything in the store while I'm here. I can ride the electric car, play with lincoln logs, legos, and all the like. As soon as we leave the fun is over, no bringing anything back. But while I'm here? .. I'm going to make the biggest, baddest lincoln log, lego, electric car castle you've ever seen.

Last night I couldn't stand it anymore, and ran down to the beach to put my hands in. The water here is the same temperature of a bath tub left to sit. It matches the air perfectly, luke warm, wet, and sticky. Just like the sand, not the soft powdery perfect on your toes sand we all imagine is superfluous in Mexico, but gritty sand. As if the island has been working against the tides to maintain its existence and the sand took the brunt of the load. It hurts in a wonderful way, reminding the sole of your feet that with every step, the soul of this island is what we're here for.

Today I'll try some true enrichment, and maybe I can keep sober enough to have the history sink in. Should I talk to people about this island's past, or find a good book? Right now that's my only concern. That and the beckoning of a sea kayak at my disposal.