Paradise Lost; Paradise Found

Take a couple of episodes of Gilligan’s Island, a Jimmy Buffet 8-track album and sea water, grind it all up in a blender, serve it in a dirty glass ringed with salt or detergent - or something you REALLY don’t want to know anything about - and take yourself a big ol’ sip. The resulting head-trip might approach the first stop on our final leg north up the Costa Maya. Let’s just call it the Leaky Tiki Slightly Freaky Jungle Hotel where every day is a sun-blasted blur and every night a bug fiesta with you as the main course.

Leaky Tiki staff hard at work

Instead of the Gilligan’s Island crew, we had Bob 1 and Bob 2. Bob 1, a true Buffet-style character right out of Margaretville, was the “skipper” of the Leaky Tiki while Bob 2 was a former guest who somehow shipwrecked himself at the hotel and ended up working for Bob 1 (yeah, we didn’t quite get that either, but there you go). And then, rounding out the cast of characters was a congenial, if odd, gringo staff, and a lone Mexican whose principle occupation appeared to be rescuing the place from complete collapse on a daily basis.  Psst, could somebody please send an SOS to the Professor on the coconut phone?

SS Tits Up (Leaky Tiki kayak)

We arrived at the Leaky Tiki with high hopes that the long deferred desire to lie beneath swaying palms between soaks in the warm ocean would finally be realized. We told ourselves that we would, as the brochure promised, be able to kayak and snorkel at the nearby reef, sip pina coladas and consume large quantities of Guacamole chips and dip. Paradise, right? Naah, not quite.

Off the bat we were informed that there were masks, well maybe one mask, no snorkels, but possibly a swim fin, somewhere. Furthermore, getting to the reef was a tad problematic: one of the kayaks had no hatch covers to speak of and the other, a sit-on-top, had a puncture that had been repaired by, swear to God, a wine cork. Breakfast, lunch and dinner were served mess hall style and if you didn’t like what was on the menu (way, way overpriced and in US dollars no less) well too bad for you. Have a beer (for three bucks American) or bacon, bacon, bacon. For some reason, there was a lot of bacon. Just to stir in a soupcon of crisis mode to the whole affair, the generator that powered all of the electrics would, now and then, give out a fart-like noise and shudder to a stop, halting all things electric e.g. fans, refrigeration and contact with the outside world, until one of the Bobs got around to fixing it.  HEEELLLLPPPP.

Eric rests, somewhat uncomfortably in our Leaky Tiki cabana

Leaky Tiki lifeguard

But wait, back up a second. The Leaky Tiki did have great hammocks and if your notion of a true getaway was to wrap yourself in one and sway to the breeze while reading a summer novel and do absolutely nothing else, this would have been the place for you. In fact, most of the guests seemed perfectly happy with the whole arrangement, and spent a good deal of the daylight hours sprawled like pollos rostizado under a fiery sun. At night there were alcohol-fueled chess matches and lively bar conversations until the wee hours. To each his own.

But, for us, after a couple of days of swimming and beach walking and reading and swimming and beach walking and so on and so on…we voted ourselves off the island. We simply needed more to do and time was a-wastin’. We managed to arrange a taxi rescue and bid adios to the Leaky Tiki. We were back on the trail of our lost paradise.

Salsa lessons! A happy dance on Tulum's gringo beach

Next stop, Tulum, which, at first, did not seem to hold the key to our fantasy either, owing to the flocks of gringo tourists that swarmed the (once again) overpriced and trendy beach hotels and restaurants. Eric definitely hit a low point after a late lunch in a throbbing trance-dance beach bar that seemed a million miles away from the primitive, jungle Yucatan of the past few weeks.

Fortunately, we had booked ourselves into a Tulum Pueblo hotel, the Posada Luna Del Sur and, thanks to that, our luck began to change. First of all, the hotel was family-run by Tom Evans, an expat, and his many Mexican relatives. The place was spotlessly clean – not that we are overly picky about that, but it helps the morale quite a bit not to have to share meals and beds with buggy critters. Tom was the “dream” hotel proprietor. He knew every great place to eat, every worthwhile sight, tour or activity within taxi distance of Tulum. He solved problems, made tour and taxi arrangements, visited with every single guest, and altogether insisted upon taking complete care of us. It felt much more like visiting a friend than staying at a hotel. The best was yet to come!

Artemio to the rescue!

Eric & friends at Artemio's favorite Chamico's beach

Eric at Artemio's favorite cenote

Tom, through his connections with the taxi drivers in town hooked us up with Artemio, a local cab driver with whom we immediately bonded. Good-natured, energetic, curious, adventurous Artemio was a 48-year old ex-military man who took up cab driving after retiring from the service. He was as eager to learn English as we were to expand our Spanish so many of the cab drives were more like roving classrooms. We were comfortable enough together to poke fun at our language mistakes, crack jokes, and learn some of the details of each other’s lives. Artemio took us to his favorite cenote where we all swam together in wonderful clear blue water and then to his favorite beach, which was one of the best swimming beaches of the entire trip. This was more like it!

Lynn's 69th birthday!

The days wound down quickly and we began to cast about for the last few adventures we could squeeze in before the inevitable return to stateside life.  Through Tom, Lynn had booked us a trip with a Yucatan Outdoors kayak company working out of the Sian Ka’an Biosphere just below Tulum. The trip had been set up to coincide with her birthday on the 24th. Alas, the night before, Eric went down hard with a vicious case of tourista. Rather than postpone, Lynn was persuaded to do the tour alone. 

Guide, Emiliano, taking a photo of Lynn in the Mangroves

It turned out to be a dream trip, complete with mangrove island snorkeling while rosette spoonbills swirled overhead, excellent and knowledgeable guides, loving German Shepherd companions, dinner under a brilliant canopy of stars and even a special birthday surprise – a nearby crocodile that decided to have a swim at the exact same time as Lynn! But the festivities did not end there. Lynn returned to the hotel to find, thanks to Tom and his staff, the king-sized bed done up as a birthday banquet with chocolates, rose petals, champagne, oh and some big guy curled up in fetal position doing his best to be festive and continent.

Birthday gifts from Tom & the Posada family

Eric and Chac watch Lynn swim

"Please throw the coconut for me"

Eric recovered quickly and more sunny days passed, including a return trip to Lynn’s birthday beach to retrieve a lost bathing suit (don’t ask) and to revisit the guides, Raul and Emiliano, owner Antonio, and their wonderful doggies, Lobo, Chac. and Leon and, afterwards, swimming and sunning under a tiny palapa on their beach.

Close encounter with a sea turtle

Tulum ruin from our fishing lancha

At last, sadly, we were down to one final vacation day. At the suggestion of Luis, another taxi driver and member of Tom’s extended family circle, we booked a “turtle tour” - a snorkeling excursion to see the sea turtles out at the reef near the old Tulum ruins. As it happened, it was a windy, wavy, day punctuated by rain squalls. But, as we were determined to make an all-out effort to peg the fun meter one last time, we climbed into the small lancha and roared off with our own personal captain and guide. The water trip included a seaward visit to the Tulum site, which was nothing short of amazing, especially as we tried to take pictures from a violently rocking boat. We watched huge waves crash into the cliffs below the temples and tried to follow the guide’s (shouted) explanation, in Spanish, of the genesis and architecture of the Mayan city. 

That experience alone was worth the price of the tour (12 bucks apiece), but we were just getting started. Ignoring the rain and bracing for the alarming plunges and leaps of the little craft, we made it to the reef area, donned our gear and leapt over the side of the boat. We huddled with our guide, checked gear and ducked below the surface into a bustling aquarium world of fish, manta rays, and several species of gorgeous sea turtles.

The turtles made their appearances in a sudden fashion, clustered in small groups, seemingly curious about these new visitors with funny-looking faces. They were not shy. At one point, Eric, while studying a retreating manta ray, felt a soft touch on his belly that slid up to his chest. A turtle was directly below him, just passing by and saying “hello” with a casual flipper. Eric laughed with delight and tried to tell Lynn all about it while underwater with snorkel in mouth, which more or less sounded like “awk, awk, waka, awk, wak” but it didn’t matter, she understood exactly.

Then, just like that, it was over. All gone. In the morning, there were heavy goodbyes and hugs for Tom, Artemio, and everyone at the Luna Del Sur whom we had come to know in such a short time.  Then “boom” bus, motel, airplane. At this moment, we are somewhere over the Rockies. Lynn is lolling back and forth trying to sleep and Eric is tapping out these last few words of thanks to all of you who have journeyed with us, offering encouragement and wonderful comments. No better way to end this than to say “Muchas gracias, companeros.”

Flying home

                                                            -The End-

Rooftops in the Jungle

Alone at Calakmul, the Mayan mega-city

Soaking wet heat, unforgiving sun, potholed roads. We remind ourselves mantra-like that we are on vacation. Looking up (never, ever looking down) we cling to the side of another massive pyramid. Each one seems to be higher, hotter, and scarier than the last one. We inch our way up steps that had to have been built for giants. Even Eric must climb on all fours, like a supplicant, up through the tree-lined levels, to the top where we find ourselves eye level with birds and monkeys as we take in a (literally) breathtaking panorama of lowland jungle. Here and there, small mountains break up the flat forest and we realize once again that these are not mountains at all but even more pyramids that have yet to be exposed. It hits us all at once: we are on top of  ancient skyscrapers looking down on a cities that once held thousands upon thousands of people.

Lynn in the serpent's mouth at Chicanna Rio Bec temple - can you see the face & teeth?

By now, at the southernmost tip of our exploration of the Yucatan Peninsula, we have seen twelve temples, twelve Mayan cities, at least twelve centuries of history. We can barely keep it all straight. Architectural styles from Peten to Rio Bec to Chene to Puuc crowd our memories. We are on a fast track history train. We say one place is stunning and another pushes it to the side. Each discovery is a piece of a story that is a whole civilization.  It is not a matter of “seeing one, seeing them all” – far from it. It is more a matter of “seeing all in the one”.  This is the Mayan world. We can feel it, touch it, and begin, though just barely, to comprehend it.

Find the wild turkey

Along the way, we’ve encountered fascinating people living in the jungle as though it were a city neighborhood, complete with wild pigs, snakes, lizards, monkeys and thousands of birds. 

Often, our urban eyes don’t allow us to see all that is there. 

Javelina crossing near Calakmul

When that happens, someone typically lends us another set of eyes. A basura (garbage) man’s wife waits for her husband outside the entrance to a ruin, and when monkeys appear, she points them out and shows Lynn how to spot them swinging from the treetops. The jungle has enfolded us in an environment that is both alien and awe-inspiring.

Looking toward Belize from our Chetumal hotel window

When we left Campeche for Chetumal, we knew we would soon be slipping off the grid of relatively easy bus connections, Internet access, and multitudes of nearby attractions. Although Chetumal itself is a relatively modern and comfortable city, it is at the bottom of a tiny strip of coastal communities that cater to tourists. A side trip to Laguna Bacalar, the lake of seven colors, was a cool respite before we returned to the jungle.

Hotel Laguna Bacalar welcomed serious alcohol consumers 

Our best tourist smiles were easy to access at Bacalar

Eric swims in the lake of seven colors

 But a few kilometers to the west, the roads turn to dirt, Spanish becomes a second language to Mayan, and massive cities are often buried right under your feet. Reluctantly, we accepted the idea that we would have to rent a car, or horses, if we were going to see anything at all. The distances from one archeological zone to another are too extensive for reasonable cab rides and way, way too far to walk to. Because the available cars were too small for Eric to drive, Lynn became the jungle chauffeur and quickly adapted to dodging potholes and an assortment of wild animals as we wound our way to the Mayan sites we wanted to see.

Quiet refuge cabana at Rio Bec Dreams

Luckily for us, we found an excellent jungle hotel, Rio Bec Dreams from which to plan our temple-climbing excursions. The owners, Rick and Diane, had even created a book that gave chapter and verse on what ruins to see and how to safely access them, including a detailed self-tour of the granddaddy ruin, Calakmul. Even better, they had a dipping pool for cooling off after excursions and a fantastic dining area complete with candlelit table and fully stocked bar. They were very thoughtful hosts, even providing a special Valentine’s Day dinner that included roses for the ladies. So, in a day, it was possible to go from gritty, dust-covered, overheated jungle misery to the lap of luxury.

Millions of bats emerge from Calakmul cave

They were so knowledgeable about the area around Calakmul. For example, they steered us to a bat cave that disgorged thousands upon thousands of bats right at sundown. The bats are harmless to humans but, even so, it is a singular experience to have hundreds of them flying within inches of your head as they swirl out of a foreboding cave and dart about devouring insects. Some of the other close by ruins, such as Balamku and Chicanna were little jewels of Mayan architectural design. The statuary at Balamku and the elaborate building entrances at Chicanna would have been worth the trip - even without the stunning colossus of Calakmul with its jaw-dropping jungle panoramas lying 60 kilometers to the east over very, very rough roads.

Eric alone and in awe at Calakmul

One of the special virtues of visiting jungle ruins so far off the beaten path is that it is not unusual to have the place to ourselves.  On the day we visited Calakmul, for example, we saw only a few tourists distributed throughout the ancient city. It adds such an element of gravitas to study these incredible structures top to bottom with only the natural sounds of the jungle in the background. Even the more visited ruin, up the road at Coba, was relatively unpopulated before the tour buses showed up later in the day. Coba, in particular, was massive (6,500 buildings at last count with about 5% of them uncovered). The best way to see all of it, we found, was to rent a rickshaw affair, pedaled by a sturdy Mayan fellow who somehow managed to provide a guided tour between gasps for air (imagine lugging Eric around on the handlebars of your bike). We felt so guilty at times that we offered to get out and walk, but he would have none of it. Thanks to his efforts, we were able to see all of Coba without succumbing to the heat.

Eric discovers strawberry and Nutella marquesitas

The days spent at Rio Bec Dreams flew away and, before we knew it, we were back in Chetumal with its vibrant city life. We spent another couple of days walking along the crocodile-infested Rio Hondo, which separates Mexico from Belize and sampling the joyous nightlife that included marquesitas (a uniquely Mexican treat) and diversions of music and impromptu street fair rides. Finally, we turned our attention to the last leg of our trip up the so-called Mayan Riviera. Stay tuned…

Paseo and fun every night in Chetumal

Pirates of the Caribbean

Onward! We left Izamal aboard yet another bus, though this time one of the ADO comfy buses with blessed air conditioning, and settled in for the voyage to the coastal city of Campeche. We weren’t entirely sure what to expect from this historic city other than it was warm, sunny, full of colorful old buildings, and once had a lot of trouble with pirates.

The trip seemed short, aided by a few dubbed American movies. It was interesting to hear Liam Neeson, for example, do his rage bit in Spanish with a touch of brogue in the background. Oddly, Antonio Banderas’s voice was dubbed too. Probably speaks lousy Spanish. Quien sabe? Another Mexican mystery.

Our hosts, the irrepressible Lali and patient Manuel

Helado in the hood

We arrived at our Airbnb via taxi and met our hosts Manuel and Lali who conducted us to a great little garden apartment behind their very modern home. They spoke no English and we tried our best to acquaint them, Lali especially, with our very basic language skills. Manuel took notice and spoke slowly and minimally. Lali, as her son Ernesto warned us, did not have a pause button. She employed what might be called the “cannon blast” approach to conversation. Her strategy was to pepper us with a 500-word monologue. Then, based on our replies, she would take a deep breath and start over again, somewhere near the “gaps” in our understanding. As it turned out, after about five or six such repetitions, we could pretty much piece together what she was trying to tell us. Fortunately, she was as charming and patient as she was undeterred – an elegant and completely lovable person who treated us like family.

Another visit to our favorite seafood restaurant 

We had shown up without having had a meal so we struck out to find a restaurant down by the sea wall. It was only 7:30 pm so, being used to the Merida mealtime routine, we figured we would have an early dinner. Little did we know that Campeche rolls up its sidewalks by 8:00 pm or so. We turned out to be the last couple in the restaurant, so we had the chance to talk at length to our mesero who was a very friendly fellow who also turned out to be a new recruit for the local police department. We liked him so much that we came back to the restaurant a few days later, where we continued our chat between his table waiting duties. We were both touched that he waved goodbye to us a few nights later as we took a final beachfront stroll before heading to points south.

Fisherman returning at the end of the day

Based on what Lali told us, we quickly got the lay of Campeche. It is a big place, made wealthy in modern times as a result of the oil business. It boasts a beautiful, walled historic center, designated a World Heritage site, and a traditional central mercado ringed by a city that has a very modern feel to it. The Malecon, a long walkway that runs along the sea, could have been lifted out of a San Diego brochure – except for the fishermen and their abandoned, pelican-covered ghost fleet of fishing boats anchored just offshore 

City wall separates the new from old city

Eric as Henry the Mulatto

The heart and soul of Campeche is the fortified historic center. Even though Campeche is named for its Mayan founders, its prominence in history relates more to the era of Spanish Conquest, circa early 1500s and the not always successful struggles to keep the city’s treasury (and its citizens) out of the hands of murderous pirates. These troubles went on for more than three centuries (shows how well walls work, by the way, but that’s another story). Because Campeche was situated at the end of a Spanish trade route, many famous pirates and privateers e.g. Henry Morgan, Jean Lafitte, Francis Drake, Henry the Mulatto, took their shot at the “Big ChaChing”. In one notorious attack in 1685, for example, nearly one third of the population was slaughtered by one such pirate attack. The city tended to take the attacks poorly and over the years devised all sorts of deterrents, including hanging, beheading, immolating and, literally, peeling the hide off of the brigands they managed to apprehend.

Traditional Campeche dress modified for added discomfort by the Spanish

Fine metalsmithing on a pirate gun

All this we learned at several excellent museums in the historic section, during our “hot day” excursions. The restored walls of the fort house some particularly fascinating displays of weapons and clothing and day-to-day life activities in the old city. At the Baluarte San Francisco museum you enter the hold of a ship that is a replica of a typical Spanish trade ship. The doors are closed and suddenly you are bounding along on a ride across the Atlantic from the coast of Spain to Campeche. The walls of the space are moving pictures of different phases of the voyage, complete with all the sound and fury. You pitch about and are slammed around and feeling seasick in a very realistic way. The climax of the voyage is a pirate attack with the sound of cannon balls striking the deck and the shouts of sailors barking commands as they returned fire. When it’s over, it takes a minute to get your bearings and your land legs under you again.

We finished a day of museum hopping by taking a tram tour of the historic section. Like the Wah Wah bus in Merida, the recorrida of the city was a fantastic way to see centuries of development under the Spaniards in about an hour. The guide spoke excellent English, so we felt like we were in a moving classroom – but with no final exam to study for.  We were especially intrigued by the black Jesus, beautifully hewn out of mahogany that occupied the altar in a small chapel just inside the old fort walls. On several occasions, the oldest crucifix in Mexico had served as a refuge for the townsfolk seeking protection from marauding sea dogs.  

A romantic dinner complete with power outage

After all that, we were pretty hungry so we sought out the restaurant recommended by Lord Harrumph (the Antigua) and found a great table on the balcony that let us watch the early evening goings on in the center of town. Our timing was perfect. Just as our meal was brought to the table, the rain gods struck. The square was curtained by gouts of water backlit by lightning. At one point, the restaurant lost power. The meseros brought out candles and pulled the tables back from the edge of the balcony. We sat, sipping our margaritas, and watched the street turn into a fast flowing river within minutes. In the windows of the Catedral de Nuestra Senora de la Purisima Concepcion just across the square from us, there were candles and a few emergency lights framing the structure in a soft glow, giving it a sorrowful yet grand aspect. Muy romantico!

Sculpture showing path of the sun blends art and astronomy

Other days, other city sights and museums, including one of the best Mayan museums we’ve ever been to, the Museo de la Arquitectura Maya. Other great museums, the Museo de la Ciudad and the Museo and Galeria de Arte Popular dealt with more recent periods, including various styles of clothing and artifacts from daily life throughout the city’s history - so there was plenty to do on the days that were just too hot to handle.

Fishermen & families clean fish and celebrate at Freedom Shores

Eventually, Lali seemed to take notice of our reluctance to be outside in the middle of the day. She decided that what we needed was a quick trip out of the city and down the coast to cool Isla Aguada. They were going that way to a baptism in Ciudad del Carmen, so they piled us in the car and took us to a truly unique resort that had been built by a disabled American vet and his Mexican wife, Thelma. The place, Freedom Shores, is in the small fishing village of Isla Aguadas and is totally accessible. Lali arranged a room for us there and then turned us loose for an overnight stay. It was a joy to watch people of all abilities dining alfresco, swimming, and collecting memories of Mexico. Eric was especially happy with the room as it had a huge walk-in shower and handicap accessible furnishing designed to accommodate wheelchairs. Because these were a tad larger, wider, and higher, Eric said he finally understood what it was like to be a normal-sized person.

Lali and proud young Mexican officer

Rather than having us catch a bus back to Campeche, Lali and Manuel insisted upon picking us up and driving us back to the city the following day. Lali is truly a people person so, on the return trip, she managed through charm and guile to get us a personal tour of a naval training base that is also a fully restored hacienda. The young officer who was detailed to us was clearly very proud, and deservedly so, of the careful work that had been done to return the hacienda/naval training base to its full glory. He was equally proud of the fact that he had trained with American officers in an exchange program. His unit had served in Syria alongside our own troops. We wondered if he was one of those “bad hombres” that seem to be so upsetting to some. Anyway…

Marine training entrance says "welcome to hell" in Mayan

The time flew away in Campeche and before we knew it, we were saying goodbye to Lali over a home-cooked chicken mole lunch. She let us know that she could not abide us taking a long bus ride without proper nourishment.