Friday, January 30, 2009
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Guatemala
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
We left Belize on Thursday, the 15th and spent the day getting to Flores, Guatemala. I’ve been hearing only good things about Guatemala and despite some government agencies not recommending travel in the region; I decided if I’m this close I should go. Besides it’s been raining like crazy so the beaches in Belize are of no use... and the ruins of Tikal await. The trip to Guatemala is relatively hassle-free with only three changes of bus but we definitely paid too much in Belize City for a painfully cramped mini-bus to Flores. On the ride we meet Andy, from Boston, who epitomizes why some people do not like Americans. He boasts of how many countries and places he has “done” (I hate that expression) and continually repeats that this is his 14th trip to Guatemala. He also tells me that long distance relationships never work when I tell him about the amazing boyfriend I have in Saskatoon. He says the only way it will work is if we have an “open” relationship, which basically means we can both have sex with random people and that will keep us together. I told him we will be fine and thanks for the great advice.
Flores is a lovely island on Lago de Peten Itza and is joined to the larger (and seedier) town of Santa Elena by one long bridge. The night we arrive it is still raining but there is a procession through the winding, steep cobblestone streets of Flores for the patron saint of the village. We follow hundreds of devout worshippers and a statue of the saint around the town in the rain.
Bright and early the next morning we visit the towering pyramids of Tikal. First settled in 700 BC, Tikal is set deep in a tropical jungle. The first temple we climb is 196 steps to the top. I feel like I’m standing on top of the world up here; a strong wind blows, the ledge around the top is narrow and I wonder if I would survive such a fall. Time to get down...
The best part about Tikal, since we have opted for “the silent show” (sans over-pricedntour guide and therefore information) is the walk through the jungle to each site. The park is 500-sq-km so we’re in there all day, exploring the ruins and watching monkeys in the trees. As we wander down trails, ancient rocks covered in moss slowly come into vision and the front of a restored temple climbs into the sky. The jungle has consumed the other side of this temple and it simply looks like a large hill, covered in trees and vegetation. We climb a long ladder straight up to the summit of the massive building and discover an even narrower ledge. I’m less apprehensive about this one; if I was meant to tumble off one of these temples it would have happened by now.
On Saturday afternoon, after a long bus ride and a short boat trip from Rio Dulce and across Lago Izabal, we arrived at the Casa Perico, a wonderful hostel owned by two Swiss men. Set in the marsh of the lakeshore and accessible only by boat, this place is an oasis of wooden cabins connected by boardwalks over the water. Since it is still raining we make the most of it and warm up with a bottle or two of their finest red vino...
Sunday is spent on a breath-taking river journey down the river from Lago Izabal to the town of Livingston. We pass between 300 foot high cliffs, covered in jungle, with occasional white-washed rocks jutting out. Transportation, food and economical resources for the people who live along this waterway are completely dependent on the river.
Livingston is a town quite unlike any other place in Guatemala. Because of its location on the Caribbean coast and its isolation from any roads the friendly people here are Garifuna (or Black Carib) and similar to many in Belize, are descendants of Africans brought to the New World as slaves. I’ve heard tapado is the local specialty so I order a bowl for dinner. I am brought a huge bowl of coconut milk soup with fried plantains (bananas) and carrots in it. There are also four shrimp, a crab cut in half and I see a tail poking out of one side. It’s a whole fish... I dig in and get enjoyably messy.
After 13 hours and 6 different buses through the jungle, we are now in La Ceiba, Honduras. It’s a shady town; there were drunken bums outside of our hotel at 8pm last night. But we came here for only one reason: La Moskitia. Said to be the last untamed, untouched and unspoiled wilderness frontier in Central America, La Moskitia is beautiful, arduous and can be dangerous. Drug runners supposedly use it but only in rainy season. So the only thing to worry about is nature herself...
We’ve arranged a tour with an excellent company in La Ceiba called “La Moskitia Ecoaventuras” and beginning tomorrow at 5am we will catch a bus, then a 4x4 truck into the heart of the jungle where we will continue on our journey in a dug- out wooden canoe. No electricity or running water for 5 days, but we will get to stay with families in villages who live much the same as they did two centuries ago. I can’t wait...
We left Belize on Thursday, the 15th and spent the day getting to Flores, Guatemala. I’ve been hearing only good things about Guatemala and despite some government agencies not recommending travel in the region; I decided if I’m this close I should go. Besides it’s been raining like crazy so the beaches in Belize are of no use... and the ruins of Tikal await. The trip to Guatemala is relatively hassle-free with only three changes of bus but we definitely paid too much in Belize City for a painfully cramped mini-bus to Flores. On the ride we meet Andy, from Boston, who epitomizes why some people do not like Americans. He boasts of how many countries and places he has “done” (I hate that expression) and continually repeats that this is his 14th trip to Guatemala. He also tells me that long distance relationships never work when I tell him about the amazing boyfriend I have in Saskatoon. He says the only way it will work is if we have an “open” relationship, which basically means we can both have sex with random people and that will keep us together. I told him we will be fine and thanks for the great advice.
Flores is a lovely island on Lago de Peten Itza and is joined to the larger (and seedier) town of Santa Elena by one long bridge. The night we arrive it is still raining but there is a procession through the winding, steep cobblestone streets of Flores for the patron saint of the village. We follow hundreds of devout worshippers and a statue of the saint around the town in the rain.
Bright and early the next morning we visit the towering pyramids of Tikal. First settled in 700 BC, Tikal is set deep in a tropical jungle. The first temple we climb is 196 steps to the top. I feel like I’m standing on top of the world up here; a strong wind blows, the ledge around the top is narrow and I wonder if I would survive such a fall. Time to get down...
The best part about Tikal, since we have opted for “the silent show” (sans over-pricedntour guide and therefore information) is the walk through the jungle to each site. The park is 500-sq-km so we’re in there all day, exploring the ruins and watching monkeys in the trees. As we wander down trails, ancient rocks covered in moss slowly come into vision and the front of a restored temple climbs into the sky. The jungle has consumed the other side of this temple and it simply looks like a large hill, covered in trees and vegetation. We climb a long ladder straight up to the summit of the massive building and discover an even narrower ledge. I’m less apprehensive about this one; if I was meant to tumble off one of these temples it would have happened by now.
On Saturday afternoon, after a long bus ride and a short boat trip from Rio Dulce and across Lago Izabal, we arrived at the Casa Perico, a wonderful hostel owned by two Swiss men. Set in the marsh of the lakeshore and accessible only by boat, this place is an oasis of wooden cabins connected by boardwalks over the water. Since it is still raining we make the most of it and warm up with a bottle or two of their finest red vino...
Sunday is spent on a breath-taking river journey down the river from Lago Izabal to the town of Livingston. We pass between 300 foot high cliffs, covered in jungle, with occasional white-washed rocks jutting out. Transportation, food and economical resources for the people who live along this waterway are completely dependent on the river.
Livingston is a town quite unlike any other place in Guatemala. Because of its location on the Caribbean coast and its isolation from any roads the friendly people here are Garifuna (or Black Carib) and similar to many in Belize, are descendants of Africans brought to the New World as slaves. I’ve heard tapado is the local specialty so I order a bowl for dinner. I am brought a huge bowl of coconut milk soup with fried plantains (bananas) and carrots in it. There are also four shrimp, a crab cut in half and I see a tail poking out of one side. It’s a whole fish... I dig in and get enjoyably messy.
After 13 hours and 6 different buses through the jungle, we are now in La Ceiba, Honduras. It’s a shady town; there were drunken bums outside of our hotel at 8pm last night. But we came here for only one reason: La Moskitia. Said to be the last untamed, untouched and unspoiled wilderness frontier in Central America, La Moskitia is beautiful, arduous and can be dangerous. Drug runners supposedly use it but only in rainy season. So the only thing to worry about is nature herself...
We’ve arranged a tour with an excellent company in La Ceiba called “La Moskitia Ecoaventuras” and beginning tomorrow at 5am we will catch a bus, then a 4x4 truck into the heart of the jungle where we will continue on our journey in a dug- out wooden canoe. No electricity or running water for 5 days, but we will get to stay with families in villages who live much the same as they did two centuries ago. I can’t wait...
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
A Belizean River Journey
We've spent the last two days in a small town in Belize called Orange Walk. This town is the most random mesh of ethnicities, languages and cultures I have ever seen. Creoles, Chinese, Lebanese, Indian and Japanese immigrants, Anabaptist Mennonites and people of Mayan descent all inhabit this run-down but friendly place. Tim McGraw blares from a stereo in the park while young, Negro men stroll around dressed like they have been shopping in L.A. People smile at us and many ask how we are enjoying Belize.
Today we joined the Jungle River Boat Tour Company for a tour of the New River, its inhabitants and a stop at the famed archeaological site, Lamanai. The river takes us through lush jungle which encroaches over the banks. We stop often to view one of the many bird species that have made this river their playground. 27 species of fish are said to be found here and we see monkeys wildly performing for us in the treetops, along with a crocodile relaxing in the mud. We even witness 9 small fruit bats asleep inside a hollowed out tree limb. Our tour guide, Wilfriedo, tells us they are a natural wonder. These tiny bats are the only creatures capable of pollinating the cactus from which tequila is made.
We pass a conservative Mennonite community called Shipyard and Wilfriedo explains these people live without electricity and motorized vehicles. They are skilled farmers, carpenters and mechanics. The Mennonites, with their history of migration, first came to Belize in 1958. 30 camps now exist, each with its' own school which teaches two subjects: math and Low German. There is absolutely no work or business done on Sundays for these people and Wilfriedo explains them to be internally Socialist and externally, efficiently Capitalist.
Then we round a bend in the river and a strong odour of moldy cabbage hits the nostrils. The air even feels steamy, like something is boiling. Wilfriedo explains the smell is coming from the Belize Sugar Industries and a factory now comes into view. Black smoke is being pumped out of a huge, silver barn. Two great bins stand close to the river, while two huge and rusted barges appear to be holding up the shore. We learn these barges are used to transport Belize's greatest export, the country's "white-gold", to the ocean, along this 3000 year old Mayan trading route.
The river got its name from the English, who, along with the Spanish, came to colonize Belize and export tropical woods starting in the 1600s. The river links the highlands of Guatemala and El Salvador to the Caribbean and Yucatan and was the most important route providing trade for thousands of ancient Mayan civilizations. Once the Europeans began using the river, the Mayans called it "The River of Strange Peoples." Wilfriedo asks us if the Mayan name hints at a historic destiny for the river, because so many foreigners still travel on this river, in search of the wonders of Lamanai.
As we reach Lamanai, a temple jutting above the jungle canopy becomes visible from the boat. Wilfriedo explains that he will now begin to "interpret the language of the stone" for us. Wilfriedo holds degrees both in archealogy and journalism and has worked for the Human Rights Comission in Costa Rica and El Salvador. In the early 1980s when political unrest caused great upheavals and social chaos in these countries, he worked to broker a peace treaty (which happened in 1983). He later explains to me how dangerous his work was at that time; he saw a man gunned down in front of his own family and Wilfriedo had a machine gun pointed at his head. This is a brave and compassionate man and one that is more than capable of explaining to us the mysteries Lamanai holds.
Of the 718 known buildings in the Lamanai city complex, only 5 are open to the public. Funding was partly provided by the Canadian government to help the excavation and archealogical research project in the 1980s. Some of the most precious finds from Lamanai are now on display at the Royal Ontario Museum. Wilfriedo explained that it would take 800 years of continuous work, along with $60 billion to completely excavate all of Lamanai.
The first temple we visit, The Temple of the Jaguar, is in the Royal Complex and has stone carvings to represent the cat's face. The jaguar is a sacred animal to the Maya and represents fertility. A large courtyard lies in front of the temple, where the jungle is fighting to take over the buildings once again. I become aware of an awful howling noise and Wilfriedo informs us that knowing the difference between the roar of the jaguar and the black howler monkey can mean the difference between life and death in the jungle. He assures us however, that the howl we are hearing is indeed a monkey.
We go next to the High Temple, one of the tallest known structures in Meso-America. It towers 112 feet above the ground and I clamber up steep steps to reach the top. It is easy to envision what a Mayan ruler must have felt. The jungle spreads out as far as the eye can see and it is an incredible sight; the likes of which I have never seen. Far below the top of the temple, I can see monkeys swinging from tree to tree. Michelle and I marvel at the sheer vastness of the jungle and of the strength of this 3000 year old temple.
As we approach The Temple of the Mask, a large and beautifully carved face of stone becomes visible on its side. Wilfriedo explains that whoever carved the royally comissioned portrait had to be greatly talented, as there is no room for error on the 10 foot tall stone. The portrait was found almost by accident, as it was completely covered by a staircase. Maya did not tear down buildings they didn't want, they merely built on top of them so the end product resembles the layers of an onion. The political statement of the royal portrait we are seeing became irrelevant when a new ruler acceded to the throne and it was effectively covered.
Despite an unsustainable recession in 900 AD and continuing to 1200 AD, the Mayans did not abandon Lamanai. In fact, this city prospered while most others fell to ruin. Its fearable location along the important trading route likely helped this city to survive and prosper, while others failed.
Today we joined the Jungle River Boat Tour Company for a tour of the New River, its inhabitants and a stop at the famed archeaological site, Lamanai. The river takes us through lush jungle which encroaches over the banks. We stop often to view one of the many bird species that have made this river their playground. 27 species of fish are said to be found here and we see monkeys wildly performing for us in the treetops, along with a crocodile relaxing in the mud. We even witness 9 small fruit bats asleep inside a hollowed out tree limb. Our tour guide, Wilfriedo, tells us they are a natural wonder. These tiny bats are the only creatures capable of pollinating the cactus from which tequila is made.
We pass a conservative Mennonite community called Shipyard and Wilfriedo explains these people live without electricity and motorized vehicles. They are skilled farmers, carpenters and mechanics. The Mennonites, with their history of migration, first came to Belize in 1958. 30 camps now exist, each with its' own school which teaches two subjects: math and Low German. There is absolutely no work or business done on Sundays for these people and Wilfriedo explains them to be internally Socialist and externally, efficiently Capitalist.
Then we round a bend in the river and a strong odour of moldy cabbage hits the nostrils. The air even feels steamy, like something is boiling. Wilfriedo explains the smell is coming from the Belize Sugar Industries and a factory now comes into view. Black smoke is being pumped out of a huge, silver barn. Two great bins stand close to the river, while two huge and rusted barges appear to be holding up the shore. We learn these barges are used to transport Belize's greatest export, the country's "white-gold", to the ocean, along this 3000 year old Mayan trading route.
The river got its name from the English, who, along with the Spanish, came to colonize Belize and export tropical woods starting in the 1600s. The river links the highlands of Guatemala and El Salvador to the Caribbean and Yucatan and was the most important route providing trade for thousands of ancient Mayan civilizations. Once the Europeans began using the river, the Mayans called it "The River of Strange Peoples." Wilfriedo asks us if the Mayan name hints at a historic destiny for the river, because so many foreigners still travel on this river, in search of the wonders of Lamanai.
As we reach Lamanai, a temple jutting above the jungle canopy becomes visible from the boat. Wilfriedo explains that he will now begin to "interpret the language of the stone" for us. Wilfriedo holds degrees both in archealogy and journalism and has worked for the Human Rights Comission in Costa Rica and El Salvador. In the early 1980s when political unrest caused great upheavals and social chaos in these countries, he worked to broker a peace treaty (which happened in 1983). He later explains to me how dangerous his work was at that time; he saw a man gunned down in front of his own family and Wilfriedo had a machine gun pointed at his head. This is a brave and compassionate man and one that is more than capable of explaining to us the mysteries Lamanai holds.
Of the 718 known buildings in the Lamanai city complex, only 5 are open to the public. Funding was partly provided by the Canadian government to help the excavation and archealogical research project in the 1980s. Some of the most precious finds from Lamanai are now on display at the Royal Ontario Museum. Wilfriedo explained that it would take 800 years of continuous work, along with $60 billion to completely excavate all of Lamanai.
The first temple we visit, The Temple of the Jaguar, is in the Royal Complex and has stone carvings to represent the cat's face. The jaguar is a sacred animal to the Maya and represents fertility. A large courtyard lies in front of the temple, where the jungle is fighting to take over the buildings once again. I become aware of an awful howling noise and Wilfriedo informs us that knowing the difference between the roar of the jaguar and the black howler monkey can mean the difference between life and death in the jungle. He assures us however, that the howl we are hearing is indeed a monkey.
We go next to the High Temple, one of the tallest known structures in Meso-America. It towers 112 feet above the ground and I clamber up steep steps to reach the top. It is easy to envision what a Mayan ruler must have felt. The jungle spreads out as far as the eye can see and it is an incredible sight; the likes of which I have never seen. Far below the top of the temple, I can see monkeys swinging from tree to tree. Michelle and I marvel at the sheer vastness of the jungle and of the strength of this 3000 year old temple.
As we approach The Temple of the Mask, a large and beautifully carved face of stone becomes visible on its side. Wilfriedo explains that whoever carved the royally comissioned portrait had to be greatly talented, as there is no room for error on the 10 foot tall stone. The portrait was found almost by accident, as it was completely covered by a staircase. Maya did not tear down buildings they didn't want, they merely built on top of them so the end product resembles the layers of an onion. The political statement of the royal portrait we are seeing became irrelevant when a new ruler acceded to the throne and it was effectively covered.
Despite an unsustainable recession in 900 AD and continuing to 1200 AD, the Mayans did not abandon Lamanai. In fact, this city prospered while most others fell to ruin. Its fearable location along the important trading route likely helped this city to survive and prosper, while others failed.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Hostel Life
So I have yet to get used to this hostel lifestyle. Before, when I travelled in Asia, I never stayed in hostels much, always sharing rooms with friends or fellow students. Today in our room at the Weary Traveller Hostel in Tulum, Mexico I got out of the shower to find my four fellow male roommates hanging out in the room. I hadn't even met them yet, let alone a first meeting when I'm wrapped in a sarong.
And sleeping with strangers is a bit unnerving. I'm not concerned for my safety; everyone is in the same situation and must be respectful of fellow dorm mates. It's just that sleeping is an intimate activity and to share it with a room of strangers and their nighttime noises is just strange.
But I like this hostel and the people here. Dinner is a communal event; for $4 you get a burger and unlimited salad bar but you cook the burger yourself on a big grill with everyone else. Then we all sit at long tables and talk about where we come from, where we've been and where we are all going.
And sleeping with strangers is a bit unnerving. I'm not concerned for my safety; everyone is in the same situation and must be respectful of fellow dorm mates. It's just that sleeping is an intimate activity and to share it with a room of strangers and their nighttime noises is just strange.
But I like this hostel and the people here. Dinner is a communal event; for $4 you get a burger and unlimited salad bar but you cook the burger yourself on a big grill with everyone else. Then we all sit at long tables and talk about where we come from, where we've been and where we are all going.
Chichen Itza
Yesterday Michelle and I decided it was time for some culture: we did not come here just to party (although you generally won't hear us complaining if an excuse to party arises). One three hour bus ride later and we were at the gates of one of the most masterfully constructed temple sites in Mesoamerica. The Mayan cult of Kukulcan revolves around serpents and sacrifice and the temple site, complete with a wall of carvings of decapitated heads, reveals their beliefs at every turn.
Mayan architects and thousands of people working for favor from the Gods constructed the temples. Built approximately 1000 years ago the main attraction is El Castillo (The Castle). It represents the Mayan calender, with the number of stairs and levels making up the 365 days of the Gregorian year and the Mayan's female calendar of nine months. Famous for the moving serpent, it appears if you slowly walk towards the corners of the temple. In March and September, the equinox illuminates the serpent, now eerily visible on both the side of the temple and the temple's front wall.
The area that captured my imagination is the huge ball court. The Mayan "ball game" was only played during special events for the culture, such as equinoxes or a significant birth. The teams are made up of seven men, the captain being the spot of highest honor. The captain is the only one allowed to score, giving him the chance at becoming a semi-God. The game was played in a huge flat courtyard with fifty foot high 90 degree stone walls on two sides. The acoustics in this court are incredible. Clap once and it booms out around you. The court was constructed with these acoustics in mind so the rulers sitting in elaborate houses at each end could communicate. Spectators stood on top of each wall for games that could last for days at a time. The game is over when a captain can manipulate a ten pound rubber ball, using his hips or a racket, through a small hoop at the top of the wall. Impossibly high, there is a ledge players would jump on top of while they kept the ball bouncing and away from the opposing team. The captain only needs to score once, then he is crowned champion.
And his reward for winning this ardous ball game? He is given the honor of a beheading, performed by the losing team's captain. His skull is then placed on a stake on a wall behind the ball court and once nature has plucked the skull clean it is returned to his family, who are then able to relish that they are related to a semi-God who has sacrificed his life for a higher cause. The wall upon which the skulls would sit is there today and it is coverd with carvings of the dead captains skulls.
I was incredulous hearing the history of the Mayans, a people who would readily sacrifice their life if they thought the Gods were unhappy with them. Our tour guide Carlos explained to me that I must think like a Mayan to understand. There is no hell for the Mayans: people are born through the sun and must return through the ground to rise up to the Gods and sacrifice is one way to speed up this process while bringing prosperity to the people they leave on earth.
Mayan architects and thousands of people working for favor from the Gods constructed the temples. Built approximately 1000 years ago the main attraction is El Castillo (The Castle). It represents the Mayan calender, with the number of stairs and levels making up the 365 days of the Gregorian year and the Mayan's female calendar of nine months. Famous for the moving serpent, it appears if you slowly walk towards the corners of the temple. In March and September, the equinox illuminates the serpent, now eerily visible on both the side of the temple and the temple's front wall.
The area that captured my imagination is the huge ball court. The Mayan "ball game" was only played during special events for the culture, such as equinoxes or a significant birth. The teams are made up of seven men, the captain being the spot of highest honor. The captain is the only one allowed to score, giving him the chance at becoming a semi-God. The game was played in a huge flat courtyard with fifty foot high 90 degree stone walls on two sides. The acoustics in this court are incredible. Clap once and it booms out around you. The court was constructed with these acoustics in mind so the rulers sitting in elaborate houses at each end could communicate. Spectators stood on top of each wall for games that could last for days at a time. The game is over when a captain can manipulate a ten pound rubber ball, using his hips or a racket, through a small hoop at the top of the wall. Impossibly high, there is a ledge players would jump on top of while they kept the ball bouncing and away from the opposing team. The captain only needs to score once, then he is crowned champion.
And his reward for winning this ardous ball game? He is given the honor of a beheading, performed by the losing team's captain. His skull is then placed on a stake on a wall behind the ball court and once nature has plucked the skull clean it is returned to his family, who are then able to relish that they are related to a semi-God who has sacrificed his life for a higher cause. The wall upon which the skulls would sit is there today and it is coverd with carvings of the dead captains skulls.
I was incredulous hearing the history of the Mayans, a people who would readily sacrifice their life if they thought the Gods were unhappy with them. Our tour guide Carlos explained to me that I must think like a Mayan to understand. There is no hell for the Mayans: people are born through the sun and must return through the ground to rise up to the Gods and sacrifice is one way to speed up this process while bringing prosperity to the people they leave on earth.
First Day Beach House Party
Thursday, January 8, 2009
We landed in Cancun at sunset and quickly caught a ferry for Isla Mujeres, or “The Island of Women.” It is only a half hour ferry ride from Cancun but it’s a completely different world, far removed from Cancun's vacation package glamour.
We are lucky enough to get a bed in a dorm room at the popular Poc-Na hostel on the north beach. Confronted with my options of top or lower bunk I move towards the lower but Michelle informs me that bed bugs are generally lazy creatures and won’t jump to the top. I contemplate my options as there’s a dangeroulsy close and wobbly ceiling fan. Reluctantly, I put my sheets on the small mattress occupying the rickety top bunk.
Later in the day we get rained out and an impromptu house party is organized. Three men who own the house invite us (along with about 30 others) to their little piece of paradise. And indeed it is a paradise. Perched on rocky cliffs overlooking the ocean, the crashing waves are a constant backdrop. We are amoung the first to arrive but people quickly pile into this small and completely bare house. Hammocks are strung up in the living room to serve as couches and people sit around in circles on the floor and congregate on the deck.
Everyone is welcoming and kisses are given on the cheek as a form of greeting; no handshakes here. The counters are overflowing with food and soon everyone pitches in to cut vegetables, butter bread and marinate the meat as the makings of a great barbeque begin. A table is piled three feet high with cuts of beef, chicken and pork and a nice guy with a ragged smile just keeps cooking it on a small grill. The meat is thrown on a community plate and cut into strips and we all dig in with our hands.
A band plays and the singer has brought her young daughter who dances with all of us. One man runs a stick up and down the teeth on an animal skull, while another sits in the background keeping time with a set of bongo drums. One of the party organizers, Roberto, is also the DJ for the Poc-Na’s beach bar and has set up his laptop to fill in when the band takes a break. We all dance, alternating between Latino rhythms and fast house beats.
Eventually we must all return to the Poc-Na because alot of these people work there. It’s only 8pm and I feel like it should be 3am. Back at the Poc-Na I quickly learn the beach bar is the center of this small island’s nightlife. People flood in from all over and we all sit and dance around a small bar, where drinks for Michelle and I are free because the bartender was at the house party earlier. Ah the advantages of being in the right place at the right time...
We landed in Cancun at sunset and quickly caught a ferry for Isla Mujeres, or “The Island of Women.” It is only a half hour ferry ride from Cancun but it’s a completely different world, far removed from Cancun's vacation package glamour.
We are lucky enough to get a bed in a dorm room at the popular Poc-Na hostel on the north beach. Confronted with my options of top or lower bunk I move towards the lower but Michelle informs me that bed bugs are generally lazy creatures and won’t jump to the top. I contemplate my options as there’s a dangeroulsy close and wobbly ceiling fan. Reluctantly, I put my sheets on the small mattress occupying the rickety top bunk.
Later in the day we get rained out and an impromptu house party is organized. Three men who own the house invite us (along with about 30 others) to their little piece of paradise. And indeed it is a paradise. Perched on rocky cliffs overlooking the ocean, the crashing waves are a constant backdrop. We are amoung the first to arrive but people quickly pile into this small and completely bare house. Hammocks are strung up in the living room to serve as couches and people sit around in circles on the floor and congregate on the deck.
Everyone is welcoming and kisses are given on the cheek as a form of greeting; no handshakes here. The counters are overflowing with food and soon everyone pitches in to cut vegetables, butter bread and marinate the meat as the makings of a great barbeque begin. A table is piled three feet high with cuts of beef, chicken and pork and a nice guy with a ragged smile just keeps cooking it on a small grill. The meat is thrown on a community plate and cut into strips and we all dig in with our hands.
A band plays and the singer has brought her young daughter who dances with all of us. One man runs a stick up and down the teeth on an animal skull, while another sits in the background keeping time with a set of bongo drums. One of the party organizers, Roberto, is also the DJ for the Poc-Na’s beach bar and has set up his laptop to fill in when the band takes a break. We all dance, alternating between Latino rhythms and fast house beats.
Eventually we must all return to the Poc-Na because alot of these people work there. It’s only 8pm and I feel like it should be 3am. Back at the Poc-Na I quickly learn the beach bar is the center of this small island’s nightlife. People flood in from all over and we all sit and dance around a small bar, where drinks for Michelle and I are free because the bartender was at the house party earlier. Ah the advantages of being in the right place at the right time...
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