Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Y.W...A Golf Cart, A Goddess, and a Mexican who soaked me for $25


*ferry to La Isla*

We left our hotel bright and early the following morning and made our way by city bus (which is a tiny van) to the ferry terminal in Cancun City. This was really the first opportunity we'd had to take notice of the city in which we were vacationing. Ryan had the 'oceanview' side of the bus, which afforded lovely vistas of the hotel zone. I had the other side of the bus. It's almost ridiculous to see such wealth and beauty and then literally, ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STREET, to have also such abject poverty as to be truly horrifying.
The houses of the people of Cancun city are often not even that, but are rather small, sometimes cinderblock, structures, often with tarps for rooftops. One such place was surrounded by razor wire fencing through which had been cut a hole for entry
and exit. Young children of around five or six surrounded a large cookpot in the 'yard' and an older girl hauled two heavy buckets of water? into the house. The children did not have shoes and several dogs laid about the yard area, emaciated and forgotten. I wondered if the children had not been forgotten as well. And where did these children spend last night when the rain and wind and lightening were so severe?
Presumably in the tiny domicile, the interior of which was utterly dark as they certainly had no electricity. The city itself is still rebuilding in many pa
rts after the severe hurricane five years ago. It is not uncommon to see their once beautiful courtyards, littered with debris, piled with garbage, the remains of lovely fountains lying in piles at the center. People walk around them, with no inclination or ability to restore what was destroyed. I photographed them for my own sake, so that I would remember what I'd seen. These were the people of Cancun. Not the polite doorman or the sweet hostess at our hotel- but these tiny children, dancing around an outdoor firepit.
Our bus finally left the congested side streets and came to a stop in front of a large parking garage. We ambled through and bought our tickets at the counter near the marina. But what we'd seen left a pall over the sunny morning, not a distaste as is sometimes typical of tourists, but a weight, a responsibility. We smiled at one anot
her, trying to boost our own spirits. Ryan put his arm around me as we stood in line on the docks.
Within moments we were boarding and finding our seats on the top deck. The wind was howling and made the trip extremely choppy, which was great
as we needed a little levity at the moment. See, the ferry hosts daily entertainers who make their living by collecting tips from those who ride the ferry's back and forth. Apparently tourists will pay a lot to see a guy sing Mexican music on board a ferry. We paid a lot to see said guy flying around the ferry. Every time that mammoth boat hit a wave or dropped down into one, that poor guy would go careening off his rickety stool to take a header into the pile of life boats. We put a couple bucks into his hat as it went around and felt like we'd gotten a deal on entertainment for the day.
The boat docked a few minutes later at a bustling marina packed with sailboats, tourists, vendors and children, a buzzing hub of activity.

Our friend on the Philly to Cancun flight gave us one GREAT tip that I will now share with you- if you visit the Island of Isla Mujeres, where the primary mode of transportation is a golf cart, don't rent one the minute you get off the boat. Travel the tiny, crowded street by foot first. Explore the city and talk to people. It's too easy to miss the real flavor of La Isla if you're speeding by at 20 mph. And then, when you've sauntered the cobblestone streets and bought a few things from the adorable little merchants in their lean-to's, ask around about a golf cart- preferably after you've paid and the merchant thinks he's gotten a deal on the American sucker.
He will then direct you to one of the rental companies in the heart of downtown where you will pay considerably less than you would at the ferry terminal.
Here's a few shots of La Isla:


We eventually found a rental company and got our golf cart- we meandered the streets for awhile and then pulled out the map. Melissa's survival in the wild tip #62- GET A MAP and know how to read it.
We applied what we'd learned in Cabo and decided that we weren't going to see anything if we didn't get off the beaten path and out of town. So we headed South. La Isla is a tiny Island. You can make it from one end to the other in about twenty minutes on a golf cart- so we cruised around, marveling at the beautiful mansions and run down shacks that shared space along the highway. We came eventually to a sign that read, "La Tortugas" with an arrow, and we turned off the main road and wandered through the side streets, avoided the GIANT iguana's that skittered across the road every so often, and eventually turned into a gravel drive.
This out of the way stop turned out to be amazing! A small, government owned turtle rescue and breeding program that hatches and releases a number of different species of sea turtles back into the waters of the Caribbean every year. We all remember the turtle experience from Cabo right? And how the camera malfunctioned and I didn't get the picture with the cool turtle egg???
Well, we made up for it:




I won't bore you by showing you dozens of pictures of Ryan and I with the baby turtles- but they were really amazing, trust me.
We left the turtle farm reluctantly after about an hour and a half and headed south again. We drove in silence, relaxed, enjoying the wind and the view of sea. We were coming to the southern tip of the island by this time and the tiny strip of land was coming together so that we had a view of the sea on three sides. There were very few other vehicles and it was easy to feel like you were in some deserted place...except for the enormous lighthouse, bazaar and busy restaurant that occupied the last 500' of Isla Mujeres. That sort of threw a weird light over the natural scenery. But, being unable to resist a good foreign bazaar- we stopped. Also throwing a weird light over the atmosphere were the two M16 toting guards who were wandering the booths. You just don't see things like that in the states. We were eyeballing them, which of course, made them eyeball us. I pasted on an uncomfortable smile and waggled my fingers at them. They responded like FBI agents and turned their backs on us and walked away. Better than the alternative, which was that they'd man handle us and toss us in some disgusting island jail where no one would hear from us again. Though I loved the island, I wouldn't want to occupy a cell in a prison there. It's this phobia I have of confinement...and bad food...and men who haven't had a conjugal visit in several decades. Weird, I know. But as you get to know me you'll discover I have several strange quirks like that.
We wandered through the booths, kept a wary but interested eye on the iguana's that are the Caribbean's version of parking lot starlings- and eventually came upon a small shack where an old man and his wife sat in the heat. We greeted them in our broken Spanish and the old man stood to show us his wares: hand carved, multi toned, gorgeous Mayan masks created in the images of the old Mayan gods and goddesses. My imagination created a beautiful image of him sitting in a tiny, run down house somewhere here on the island, laboring with his chisel, the sun and years of poverty leaving his face creased and his expression faded...
"How much for this mask?" I asked, pointing to one of the largest on the old rickety table.
"forty dollar." He said, and didn't meet my eyes
Hmmm...suspicion creeps into the picture at this point.
"Forty? really?"
"Yes. Forty. This mask is of Heebeejeebee. (I can't remember the gods real name, obviously) It is very good carving."
"Yes, it's a good carving. But I don't want to pay forty dollars." I smile politely and begin to walk away.
"Wait, wait. See? It's a good carving. And very big!" He then regales me with tales of Heebeejeebee as if somehow this will make the mask a better deal.
"That's wonderful!" I say with enthusiasm. "But I'm still not paying forty dollars. Thank you though." Again I start to walk away, a ploy obviously to inspire him to lower his price, which he did.
"How much you want to pay?" He calls to me.
I turn back and stop, as if surprised by the idea.
"Twenty dollars." I offer with a grin. At this point I think I'm going to get a deal on this one of a kind item from a tiny island in the Caribbean....
He looks appalled. "No!" And takes the mask from the table as if I'm no longer allowed to buy it. Then reconsiders, "Thirty dollars."
"uh -uh." I shake my head. "No. Twenty."
He looks me over with a keen eye, no longer clouded with 'age'.
"Twenty-five. No lower." He says. Well, I did talk him down from forty, I think, and I agree. Ryan forks over the cash and the man wraps the mask and places it carefully in a sack. We thank the couple and move away a bit before we hear him call out, "You got a good price, Lady. Those go for a lot more over at the Cancun Airport!"
The expression on my face probably made the fifteen bucks he lost on that deal totally worthwhile. I have to admit, I got hosed. That old man totally conned me out of twenty five bucks and while I tried to be irritated, I considered the fun we were having, the experience of it all, and decided I'd gotten a good deal. The mask now proudly hangs on my living room wall as a reminder of that day.
This end of the island, as I said, boasted the bazaar, a lighthouse and a restaurant. All of this was built around a gorgeous sculpture garden created in honor of the islands goddess.
Unfortunately, since we'd given the con artist our last twenty, we were SOL for lunch at the restaurant. We tour the lighthouse, the garden and take a few snapshots- then head back to our golf cart for the trip back to the marina.

We head back down the coastal highway, a narrow two lane road at the edge of the sea. I'm enjoying the view of turquoise waters when I catch a glimpse of something laying in the grass beside the road. Weird shape. Weird color. Hmmm.
"Could you turn around?" I ask Hubby.
"Now?"
"Yeah. I saw something in the grass. Could you turn around?"
"Ok..." It's obvious he thinks I'm on opiats. But we turned back. I scanned the roadside, hoping to catch a glimpse of it again, then finally see it. I jump out and dash over.
"What are you doing!?" But his concern for my sanity is quickly silenced when I stood up holding the five pound conch shell. He looks at it and at me and smiles.
"You saw that as we drove by??"
"Yeah! And I think I saw more down on the beach."
Abandoning our golf cart and all sense of reason, we climb down the short embankment and out onto the shell-strewn beach where we do in fact find several of the massive shells. I stuff my tote with three of them, the large one and two smaller ones that I think will make good gifts for our mothers. We wandered there for awhile, the waves crashing against our feet, gathering shells, and finally climbed back up the hill to take our smiling souls back across the bay towards home.
We rode the ferry back at sunset and found a bus to take us back to the hotel where we ate for the first time that day. (we refused to PAY for food when we could eat free at the hotel). The temperature was well into the 90's but the humidity was dropping as Ike moved farther west into the Gulf. This was a red letter day. We've discovered that we don't take vacations to sit by the pool and drink margarita's...though I did have a few of those while we were there. We've got to be moving and exploring and getting our hands into the local culture and wildlife.
There are many many more trips on the horizon for us...but there's still more to tell about Cancun. And about a beautiful lagoon called Xel Ha (shell ha) where we spent a lazy afternoon swimming with a school of yellow-fin tuna that were bigger than we were.
Please stay tuned for more adventures on Yucatan Wednesdays...but sometimes Mondays or Tuesday's!





Wednesday, January 14, 2009

childish comments by actual children

From Summer:

The family is at the dinner table discussing the high and low points of each of our days, a nice tradition copied from the life of my sister in law, which we like to call 'Wow's and Pow's'.

Megan- "Ok, so my wow would be eating spaghetti for dinner...And my pow would be that I fell at recess today...on the asphalt.

Summer chews her food thoughtfully, then slants a look at her sister...

"It was who's fault???"

Monday, January 12, 2009

Yucatan Wednesday's...A Day With Ike

Yucatan Wednesday's...A day with Ike.



Ok- I skipped a week. Yucatan Wednesday's is turning into 'Yucatan whenever I get around to it.' But it makes it more interesting if you have to wait for it, I'm sure.

We ended the last post with the hubby and I falling asleep (with worried expressions) to the howling tropical winds and rain beginning to lash at the windows, of which there were many. At first this seemed like a great thing- the view from any room in the apartment was incredible...but when viewed in light of shattered, flying shards of glass, suddenly that beautiful room turned into a cavernous chamber of DEATH.
Alright, it's possible I'm being melodramatic. It was pretty darn windy and the rain had just started up. The edge, we assume, of what would be the rain band heading our way.
When we woke up the next morning, the remnants of blue skies that spanned the horizon the day before were long gone. All that was left were those thunderheads I mentioned, and they were booming and rolling along to the north of us.
Allow me to remind us all that we live in a very windy, very rainy part of the country. We have grown accustomed to gusts of wind that pick up our lawn furniture and Express Mail it over to the neighbors house. Wind and rain don't get much notice as far as we're concerned.
But this, this was not wind and rain. This was monstrous and left us wondering how Cuba could survive if we were only getting a 'rain band'. The palms along the hotel's property leaned sideways, their branches breaking off and blowing down the debris-littered beach. The rain had started the night before and grown stronger while we slept so that in the morning, the patio's and outdoor dining areas were mildly flooded and hotel employee's were quickly and discreetly sweeping water away.
Our hostess asked us if we were enjoying the little 'shower' and assured us the worst was passed and it would be sun and smiles from now on. We had a quick breakfast and headed back to our room, the door to which faced an open air breezeway. The brief 'shower' which was inexplicably disobeying said hostess and continuing to be not-so-brief, was dumping water into the hallways and to our surprise, pushing large quantities of it under all the hotel room doors and into everyone's apartments. Hmmm...
We slosh through the room to the bathroom and grab armfulls of soft, fluffy white towels. We're homeowners after all. And owners of a 70 year old home to boot. We know how to respond in a flood situation. Did I tell you about the pipe that broke last winter?? Oh well, you can imagine, given the context. Anyway- we do the only thing that can be done and pile up towels around the door until the flow is redirected back down the corridor and away from our room.
A look is exchanged. This is what it says;
"Happy Second Honeymoon?"
"Don't get smart with me."
"Don't be mad. Didn't you see that fine example of teamwork? We stopped a flood with our bare hands!"
"I need my chocolate bar. I'm going upstairs."

I know it seems like a lot to be said with a look, but we have very expressive faces, honest.
I head up to the bedroom to change clothes and within moments I am yelling for Ryan to bring up more towels. He sprints up the stairs and we begin the process of piling more towels around the upstairs windows through which the rainwater was pouring. We pull back the curtains and I'm telling you, I'm an Oregonian, and I've never seen anything like that.
Being the kind of person who appreciates a good, unusual experience, and also feeling the need to accept what was happening to me on my 'lovely' vacation'- I marched straight downstairs, threw open the sliding glass doors and walked out onto the balcony and right into a warm shower.
"Honey! What are you doing?!" He has to yell at me to be heard over the wind.
"If I have to be stuck here in a hurricane, I'm at least going to enjoy it!"
I am aware that I've married a kind and tolerant man, so when I heard the sliding door slam behind me, I knew he'd come out rather than go back in.
We stood there for a few minutes, just watching this monster of a storm roll through. Ryan did not enjoy the experience the way I did, perhaps, but it's a good illustration of our marriage. I enjoy the choppy waters and he stands there with me until I'm done enjoying them and am ready to be realistic and sensible. He then dries my hair, makes me cocoa and hands me my book.
We spent the rest of Wednesday either holed up in our room or in the lobby bar, buried in our novels or chatting with drinks in hand. It was a little like being on a cruise. Decent entertainment, nice atmosphere- but still stuck in a hotel with nothing but water outside.
By four o'clock we were bored senseless.
"Ok, I can't go on like this."
Ryan quirks an eyebrow at me. He's probably worried that I'll want to go stand in the rain again.
"We should sign up for a tour at the entertainment desk." I suggest.
He glances outside at the sheets of water still coming down and patiently back at me. "Ok."
"For tomorrow, I mean."
"Oh, Ok. Where to?"
"La Isla. We should go to La Isla. There's a turle farm there, I think."
The very fact that he's agreed and not reminded me that we are here to see how frugal we can be while traveling is a testament to the fact that he was as bored as I was. We make arrangements, figure out where to go and what tickets to buy and soon we're looking forward to a ferry ride over to the Island of Women. Ryan is pretty excited about this trip until I explain that it was so called because explorers discovered multiple ancient statues there, all depicting women in various stages or poses of worship. They surmise that it was either wholly occupied by women of the ancient tribes, perhaps the priestess and her followers- or that it was an island devoted to the worship of the female goddess.
An island devoted to the worship of women...yeah, I could get behind that. Absolutely. I am more content to settle in with a book and a beer knowing that tomorrow will hold adventure and exploration. I am not the type who enjoys sitting around by the pool doing nothing, as we discovered in Cabo. I just can't do it. I want to see things, meet people, get a feel for the local color, etc. Those are the things that stick in my memory.
We spend the rest of the day watching the rain and then dining by the tall windows that looked out over the churning ocean. We have high hopes for tomorrow. I eat my mashed potatoes and Ryan casually mentions that he thinks that I've lost weight. Given the fact that I came here to eat and enjoy myself and instead am literally STARVING, I'm not too flattered by this.
We head to bed later, feeling a bit like we've lost a day. But I am forced to remind myself that a day is what you make of it. I was forced by nature to spend a whole afternoon lounging with my husband, catching up on some reading in a gorgeous and well appointed lounge where drinks flowed and conversation was upbeat, pleasant and peppered with accents from around the world. I stood in the pounding rain of a hurricane and stopped a small flood with my bare hands.
And tomorrow we will take the ferry to the island...
When the lightning begins in the sky to the east, illuminating La Isla briefly with each flash, I choose to see it as a beautiful experience rather than a portent of weather issues to come. Our room lights up like daylight about every fifteen seconds and we laugh and go to the balcony to watch in wonder at this unbelievable display. We feel like children, afraid and delighted. A storm that looks like the hand of God pushes to the North. We turn and go inside. The storm will pass and this time, Cancun is untouched. Tomorrow will soon be here, and we're sure the sun will rise on a bright, clear tropical morning. Knock on wood.


Please stay tuned for next weeks episode of Yucatan Wednesday's,
'A golf cart, a goddess and a Mexican who soaked me for twenty-five bucks'