Pyramids, Hammocks & Cenotes

After I check out on Sunday am from the Conference, my room mate and I took a taxi who we hired for the whole day, to visit the ruins of Chichen Itza.  It was hot, hot, hot, and a 2.5 hr. drive from the resort.  Luis was cool, a 24 year old whose english was not great but who was looking for a way to make more money, so was spending his whole Sunday for 100 bucks to be our driver and hammock carrier, and general cool guy.  He played great reggaeton in the cab, but after the 8th time of the same 6 songs on the playlist, it got a little old.  Oh well.

Chichen was amazing.  It reminded me of Mel Gibson's movie Apocolypto.  The pyramid was stunning and at spring equinox, this place is a mass of people.  I imagined the decapitated heads of the slaves rolling down the stairs after being sacrificed at the alter on the top. It looked just like the movie set.  These ruins are larger than all the others, with the playing field way bigger than what was normal at the time.   Instead of paying for what was initially a 60 us dollar private tour in spanish only, it turned into 40, but that was still too much.  The last thing I needed in this heat was to be translating a Mayan civilization lesson into english for my non spanish speaking traveling companion.  I had a great idea to go in and latch onto a group who already had a leader/tour guide.  Surely the guy use a few extra bucks on the side.  Luis set to work, and found us one; $20 bucks, a deal.  The tour guide had horrible english, and I wish I had gone on the spanish one.  Oh well.

I'll have to read a book now, because I only learned enough to peak my interest but not answer any pressing questions.  What I did get out of it, was that the Mayans were an amazing civilization.  Check out this link for some cool info:  http://www.world-mysteries.com/chichen_index.htm.   People here still speak the language.  It sounds difficult, like every native language I've heard. Lots of soft s sounds.   I have heard people exclaim in wonder  "wow, it sounds nothing like spanish."  I laugh.  Of course not.  Does Huron sound anything like French?  Do people forget that all indigenous people were conquered and many slaughtered by the dominating European country of the time.  The Mayan culture in the Yucatan is proud and the old ways/spirituality are ever present, despite all the cathedrals.  Many vendors lined the walkways and women selling their own embroidered huipils, and shirts and hammocks.  One woman with a table full of beautiful embroidered cloth products and her young daughter at her side, had a compelling energy. I felt the connection,  I really wanted to buy something from her, but I have NO ROOM in my already too heavy pack.  But we got to chatting and I don't know, I just started translating to Norm my tour companion about how the hammocks were made, etc, and my soft-sell wiley self convinced him he should buy two hammocks, a long one and a chair one for his deck.  Done deal.  The woman looked at me with those eyes all women project and understand: thank you girlfriend.

So after Chichen, Luis took us to Pisté, a tiny pueblo on the route where we had pollo pibil, a sort of hand shredded chicken with a tomatoey hue.  This was a very small place, run by an older lady and her even older mother.  When I went to the bano, she handed me a few napkins.  That's normal.  There was a washing stand out front with soap and a tap.  I've never been sick eating at places like this.  So far.   It was very very hot outside and we were in the shade on the sidewalk at a little plastic table, with traffic going by the main road.  While eating I picked Luis's brain all about the Yucatan food and took notes.  Three chicken plates, three beers at least and 2 cokes, cost us a total of $20.

We continued on, stopping at a very amazing Cenote whose name i think is: Cenote Zaci, near Valladolid.  It was also like something out of a movie.  We entered this place and to the left over a garden wall, could see the deep blue pool, way way down, like 100 yards.  Vegetation, birds, big long roots hanging down and flowers all over. . . it was stunning.  We had to go inside what was like a cave and go down a bunch of stairs to get to the bottom, where the ceynote was surrounded by stone walls and just open at the top.  Birds were hanging from the rock ceiling as well as a few stalactites.  I think it's all limestone, but I can't be sure.  Moss covered all kinds of things, and mustached, eyeless black fish caled "lub" swam in the water, which was so clear you could see everything, but so deep you couldn't see the bottom at 80 metres.  There were stone stairs inside the cave-like surroundings one could climb up to and jump from into the surprisingly refreshing clear water.  Of course, I jumped . . .  several times.  It was so far down that I had time to actually think while I was falling.  That's a first.  I tried to convince Luis to come in, and that underwear would be fine, but no, he stayed and guarded our bags and probably had a good time watching all the cute girls in swimsuits.  It was, unfortunately, full of people.  But still wonderful.  In the photos, the huge trees with fiery red/orange flowers are called Flamboyan - flaming.  They stick out like jewels from the other trees.  There are also big trees I have seen with long yellow chain like pendant blossoms.  And things smell very nice when the flowers catch on a breeze. I saw a cool hanging birds nest, like a long mesh shopping bag, bulbous at the bottom, with a beautiful orange bird feeding its young.

The different secondary road back to Cancun was long and hard, every 150 meters or less there are speed bumps called topes.  Not fun when you have to pee.  I didn't want to spend another 20 bucks and more on the toll roads, but now I think it would have been worth it.  It was most certainly the scenic route, although I only got to see some really cool villages from the road and don't have any idea what they really look like. Mostly very very poor looking places, and garbage all over the sides of the road.   Often when we slowed down at the speed bumps, a pile of little kids would run up to the taxi and swarm the car, proffering ziplock bags of grapes, mango or tamales.

I got dropped off at my hotel Las Margaritas, and started my 4 day stay in Cancun to see if I will like the city.

Between Two Worlds

So, I'm off the island.  I feel like I'm on some reality show or something.  I've been out of pop culture for so long, I can't even remember the name of that popular tv show. Oh, yeah, Survivor, that's it.

Javier saw me off at the pier and I said goodbye to all my buds the night before.  It was sad, actually.  I hate goodbyes, I really do.  I sure have been getting a lot of practise lately.

I get to this all inclusive resort and it seems so surreal.  I mean really, do people think this is Mexico?  It's some kind of fantasy island.  It's a luxurious zoo where they keep the tourist in surrounded by a big wall.   I felt like some spanish conquistador, when the natives were their slaves.  I could not bear it at first, but what helped was when I started talking to and getting to know the staff.  Of course, they were not slaves, they worked there and most loved their job . .  they all were sweet, seemingly happy go lucky and eager to please people.  Even when they're off-shift.  (No, I don't mean that -  you guys all have dirty minds!)   The golf cart drivers were my favourite.  A couple of them, Gaston and Jose Juan, who I got to know well during the week, waited every morning for me, one or the other, outside the room area, to give me a lift to the conference centre and gab for a few minutes.  They didn't seem to have too much to do when it was quiet.  The place is immense and my room seemed to be the absolute furthest away from where I had to be.  In low season, they employ 5000 staff.  It is being taken to another level and will be the biggest resort in the world, probably very soon, according to one staff member.  Crazy.

And I was off alcohol, so what a waste of an all-inclusive!  I made up for it in papaya and mango and huevos ranchereos.  Aracely, was the lovely young woman who worked in the breakfast room and by the end of the week, we exchanged info and were sad to part.  I guess I wasn't the usual tourist they were used to.  They were all proud of their own pueblos, and shared info about what kinds of things were there to see.  Seemingly many of the staff are from somewhere else besides Cancun.

So, the first day I'm there, there's nothing to do, since my room won't be ready till 3 and it's 11am.  I register for the conference. My bags are stored.  I've bonded with the luggage guys and know their stories, and all I have is a bathing suit in a plastic bag which I dug out before I headed to the main lobby.  I never did go swimming.  I walked around sort of lost for a while.  It's really not easy to navigate this place.  I found a L'Oreal salon, so that was a good thing to tuck away for the future pedicure and hair cut.  Then I found the gym and a sign that said Salsa Lessons at 12:00.  It was 12:15. hm.  I had to see what kind of person worked in a resort at a gym, giving salsa lessons to  (I'm sorry to my amerian friends here) the average fat, lazy, sunburned, vacationing american.  Yeah it's a stereotype and no, I don't have any american friends who fit that description, but oh my god, this resort was loaded with them.  Steretypes exist for a reason, you know.

I peeked in, hanging in the wings.  There were three typical looking housewives (please, no offense to my girlfriends who are stay at home moms) and one taller fit mexican who was leading them in the basic steps to build on a little routine.  They were having some real rhythm problems, and what was intriguing was that they all were from the states, but with latina backgrounds.  Wow, I realized: they had lost their connection with their own heritage and here they were taking salsa lessons at a resort.

Edgar, the teacher, practically forced me to join in, (it's his job of course) despite my pleas that I was happy to just watch.  He would not take no for an answer.  Here I was, the only guera in the group, and well, let's just say I didn't give it all away.  When the little routine was over, and the ladies left,  I asked Edgar, who had more time available if we could just dance salsa together for fun.  Of course.  That's what I wanted.  He was a pretty good dancer, and was kind of surprised by me.  I had been holding back!   We got to talking and soon he wanted me to teach him some bellydance moves.  Too funny.  He even had some music.  Then I find out from him, there is an opening for a dance teacher like me at resort, and that he was going to talk to his boss the next day.   I'm open to anything and especially a gig at resort where it's pretty light work for good money.

So before I even checked into my room, I had connected with a great person,  knew the luggage boys, had a lead on a job, and was contemplating staying in Cancun and would have help finding a place, etc. if I needed it.  That kind of thing really blows me away.  After a couple of days of contemplating and waiting for an interview, they decided to hire from within, and just get another fitness trainer, not a dance teacher.  Too bad.  But is was a fun idea while it lasted.

The conference was really interesting and although really expensive, I made some wonderful contacts, got to know brilliant business people and their companies,  expanded my realm of possibilities and learned a lot about investing, currencies, alternative health and more.  As it's bound to happen, a lot of the gang I was hanging out with all week, ended up at the disco  -  and when some of the ladies found out what I did, they wanted some lessons.  We turned out to be the hit of the disco, and shut it down.  The music was awesome. Why can't every night be like that?

Isla; Music, Dance & Magic

It's a quiet place here on the Island of Women, most of the time anyway. You may want to know why it's called that: One version is that when Francisco Hernandez de Cordoba landed on the island, he found several small statues of naked women believed to be representations of different goddesses, the most famous of which is Ixchel, Goddess of the moon, fertility, and all becoming. It is said that young virgins were sent to the island before marriage to ask for fertility and uncomplicated births.

Another versions states that Isla Mujeres was named such because when the first Spanish explorers came to the island in 1517, the men had all gone fishing and only women were present. because of this, the Spaniards only women occupied the island. I like the first version. And for island natives, the Goddess Ixchel (pronounced Eeshell) still protects and blesses her island.

It's pretty hot, so I lay low during the day and stay in the shade. I have only been to the beach thrice; twice to snorkel all afternoon and once to just lay in the shade and admire the blue blue blue of the water. It's nice to have friends; Katie and Catherine are amazing women who teach ESL here and Javier, the musician and general man-about-town (he knows EVERYbody) has been so helpful. After he finishes his gigs, I start my day. That's about 5:50-6pm. We usually go out on his scooter to the south of the island to get some air on us (thank Ixchel) and watch the sea during sunset . . . then he's off to to his other two gigs in the evening. Javier works hard. It's fun knowing a musician, because when the girls and I go listen to the band, it's like they're just playing for us. After a nap and shower, I'm ready to go out at 10pm, to have a bite and catch his band's last gig. By about midnight, it's over and I've seen everyone who I know who all come to Hidalgo street to eat and see entertainment. I make sure to catch my other friend Angel, who has a drumming troupe in which he performs acrobatics, and amazing poi spinning. They work for an hour or so every night making their living on tips. We've spoken about me dancing with them, but I don't want to mess with their gig, although I 'd LOVE to dance to those drums. Ironically, they're all going to Canada soon to tour and play.

Late at night, we often eat at BJ's taco stand, run by Mari Carmen, an amazing business woman, mother and kick ass person. She caters to the late crowd, and one night I went to say hi after being at the disco, and I ended up staying there all night 'til 8am. I didn't think those Micheladas she kept pouring me would affect me. After all, they're just mexican beer, lime juice and a salty salsa. But they just kept coming. Then there was the one, okay make that two shots of tequila with my favourite taxi driver Andres and his sidekick, the last ones remaining. I learned SO much spanish that night! ha. Tongue twisters were so much easier to do that night then ever before. Once in a while, after Javier's gig finishes we head out on the scooter to an out of the way taco stand across from the police station, that no gringo would ever know about, but where the food is good and where every local goes. The chocolate cake is riquisimo. I kind of like being the only gringa. It's then I KNOW I'm in real Mexico.

Yes, there's a disco on this little 7 mile long island. It's about a 10 x 10 platform in the sand, outside of this cool hostel on the beach. Sometimes its' really rocking, but mostly only after midnight 'til 3am. Reagaeton, Salsa, Cumbia, all kinds of music. There are logs to sit on (a bar of course) and hamocks tied to palm trees. Very Giligans Island, but ultra chido. People from all over the world come here to this island to visit.

One night, Javier took me to his neices 15th birthday party. In Mexico, the 15th birthday of a girl is a BIG deal. It's like having a wedding. A big fiesta with food, all the family, dancing, all honouring the girl. La quinciniera, it's called. She wears a beautiful gown, does a special dance near the end of the night which she has practised months for, and at the entrance to the place, is a humungous portrait of her in her finery. It was an honour to be able to see this; you have to be family to attend. I was thrilled. And yeah, I sort of stuck out. I'm getting used to it.

One glitch though: I met this cuban dance instructor at the disco one night who saw that I was having trouble remembering my steps when Angel was trying to spin me around to a salsa song. He gave me some tips, and I realized that this was a true teacher and that he knew a LOT. He told me he gave lessons and at what time, so the next day I went there. It was cool, and I ended up helping him teach others, translating for them and helping the man student, while he helped the woman student. I did get a little lesson, but I caught on quickly, since I already had studied and was just rusty. The couple were nice from New York and we all went out later to cool off at a sea side bar. I was so excited about the prospect of learning more from this man Jorge. He is famous in Cuba, bu left his country and lives on Isla to be near Cuba (his mom is there) and has plans to open a cultural centre, school on Isla. He said maybe we could work together in the meantime, me helping him with his students who are couples. Ok. I thought. Then two days later when I went for my private lessons, (which was great) he poured out his heart to me and said he thought I was the dancer of his dreams, would I marry him? We could work together, start the school, share ideas and creativity etc. etc. Oh boy. Maybe it's a Cuban thing. I was touched of course, and honoured that he thought I was a great dancer, but gee, um. . . marriage was a bit pre-mature. I guess this fellow had never heard of the soft sell. It was actually really really compelling and made me cry. Not only a fabulous dancer, but a true poet. I wish I could have recorded it all; it was a movie scene definitely. How sad that he was that foolish to pour out his heart and scare the hell out of me forever. I was as gracious as possible, and truly, I was honoured and didn't take this lightly at all, but inside I was thinking maybe he was a little crazy or at least immature and idealistic. So, I was honest with him; no I wasn't interested, I just wanted to learn more dance. He assured me we could work together and he would be nothing but professional. I thought ok, maybe it might work.

But then he started texting me 5 times a day, with poetry, words of desire, jealousy of other guy friends he would see me with, all about how much it hurt him, and on and on. OK, that's it, I thought, this is NOT going to change and unfortunately there goes my dance lesson plan. I was SO pissed off, but did not tell him anything. Firstly, it was hard to find the words ( I guess I should work on my angry words in Spanish, I don't have any practise) and secondly, I decided, what the hell's the point. The island is now starring to get a little tired so I figure my time is short anyway. One of the only things that would keep me here after a couple of weeks, is the dream of learning all the salsa and cuban dance I can. Not gonna happen.

So, I have a conference in Cancun to attend, and HAVE to leave for week, but instead of coming back to the Isla, I will continue on. Don't know where really. It's been a couple of weeks of meeting really nice people, making good friends, having siestas, fiestas and fending off mosquitos. And yes, the seafood was amazing. I have been so blessed to meet fabulous people, see incredible beauty and make magical connections. Pictures are of the blue Caribean, Angel fire spinning and one of both of us before the disco.

On Isla Mujeres

I'm back in Mexico and have made my way to Isla Mujeres, a tiny island off the coast of Cancun.  It is so damn hot that I haven't gone out in two days.  But today, I went to find a beach and also went to this weird zoo today.  It was awful, and pathetic, like most zoos, but worse.  However,  I got to see these spider monkeys, 3 females and 1 male. I love monkeys and was fascinated watching them.   Within a minute, one female came over to me and extended her hand through the chain link.  I touched it, held her hand.  It was really strange and thrilling.  Her palm was dark as well as her nails.  They looked just like a little lady's nails, all black.  The skin was soft but strong, and at the end of her palm it protruded like a heel of a foot.  We held hands for a while, then I was a little cautious that she might be aggressive, as a fellow had walked by and told me that one of them tried to grab him towards them.  I didn't think I had anything to worry about.  Not according to my gut.  We were alone and I gave them some apple which they nibbled at, throwing away the skin.  A few people came and did the oohing and ahing and taking pictures.  The monkeys mainly ignored them.  Each time the people left, and I was alone with them, they came up to the cage and extended their hand to me.  Two females, and the male once, but it was this one special female with whom I had this strange connection.  None of the monkeys did paid much attention to anyone else who was there.  I must have stayed for about 45 minutes.  There were about 8 people who came by. At one time, we played peekaboo, the little female and I.  Each time I thought I should go, I couldn't do it.  There was something more fascinating to observe.  Near the end of my time, she hung upside down facing me (their tails are like a 5th arm) and extended both her palms to me.  I held them for a long time, and she closed her eyes as I stroked the tops of her palms lightly  and also from underneath where they were furry.  It was really amazing and really special. Check out http://www.zooschool.ecsd.net/spider%20monkey.htm

I felt so bad that they were in this horrible fenced-in round cage, with cement floor, not even a damn tree to climb on, just metal cross- poles holding up the chain link  It should have been illegal.  I could feel her sadness.  It was all I could do to hold back tears.  

I tore myself away as she looked at me with her sweet eyes.

I love New Orleans

This is a cool place.  Did I already say that?  The last few days in this vibrant and crazy city have been fun.  Jonathan and Joe have been the consummate hosts; charming, gregarious and sweet all at once.  Sort of like New Orleans.  My sweet friend Donna and I felt like southern ladies. She's from Tenessee, so it didn't take her long to get back into the drawl.

The musical highlight for me was going to Snug Harbour, an incredibly cool jazz bar owned by Ellis Marsalis, the big daddy of jazz.  Seeing and hearing him and his group of musicians play one night was as close to musical Nirvanna as I've been.  As a musician and jazz lover, I was so excited to be present in this small intimate setting filled with the most incredible energy, musical genius and sure I'll say it; love.  The energy in that room was overwhelming.

Nothing else existed for me for an hour.  Jason Marsalis on the drums was brilliant; a fabulous snugness between the bass player and percussion.  They were swinging the whole time and were a stunning consistent framework for the trombone and sax to improvise over.  I don't have the names currently, but there was an awesome vibe player (I'll have to check the liner notes on the cd I got) who was unbelievable.  Of course, I don't even have words for the piano playing brilliance of Mr. Marsalis.  

It was all over too soon. 

One night, we went to listen to Cajun Zydeco from musician Buckwheat Zydeco.  I have to admit, I'm no aficionada, and it sounded a lot like the blues & rock n roll with a cajun sqeezebox, but it was fun to dance to. The event was held at a The Rock N Bowl - a bowling alley, and the main floor was packed with people while others took turns booking the lanes to bowl.  It was the best place to dance, since the floor was so full of people.  Yes, of course, we did go bowling; are you kidding? Those shoes are great to dance in.  It's fuzzy, but here is a picture of me bowling a strike.

  

The last day at the fairgrounds we saw Santana and the Neville Bros., and watched all the people which was just as fun as listening to the music.  I had to leave early because I wanted to get back to pack, and thought I would just grab a taxi back to the hotel and get a head start.

No go.  After I walked a kilometre, I found the line up to the taxi stand was a km long so I thought I would just keep on walking.  After 3 km, someone told me it would be at least another 8 k and that I should take the street car on Canal Street, 1/2 km up the road.  My feet actually got blisters from the most comfortable flip flops I own.  The streetcar was really cool; like being in the 1930's.  Leather strap/handles hung from the ceiling, the seats were made of wood, the windows opened wide and also had little shades on them you could pull down to keep the sun out.  It was excruciatingly slow, but at least I wasn't walking.  At Jackson Square, I walked another 1/2 km to finally reach the hotel.  (We were in a lovely new once since three days ago.)  Me feet still haven't recovered.  I ended up staying up all night anyway  packing and getting rid of half my shoes (that hurt) and lightening my load, which is STILL too heavy, even though I only have very few clothes, but lots of computer cords, ipod, camera, 3 books and the dreaded hairdryer that I might need one day to dry my underwear or something.  

I'm not a very good gypsy, but I suppose I'll get used to it.  New Orleans and California were a wonderful side journey where I learned a lot and met the most fabulous people.