OOPS
After a few hours sleep I awoke the next day, still in my swim suit, with a dull throb in my head. I thought that was bad enough, then I remembered what a paranoid dope I was the night before and I felt shame.
I peeled myself out of bed and took a quick shower. That helped.
Stepping outside my cabaña into the soft morning sun, I reminded myself where I was and that was all I needed to change my state of mind. Moving on - FOOD.
I walked two blocks down the street then turned right into the heart of town, by the center square. Just a block before the square I saw a small tented market place to my right. As a tourist, I thought that must be the place to get a proper breakfast, local style, dirt cheap. I was half right. I walked into the covered area within the fruit stands and found some people, locals most likely, sitting around with their instant coffee and ever-lit cigarettes, hunched over plastic plates of unrecognizable grub.
I pulled up a standard Wal-Mart plastic patio chair and sat at a collapsible card table covered with a plastic table cloth covered in some kind of fruit design. Two grandmotherly ladies wearing stained aprons smiled at me: one behind the griddle, the other walked to my table. I asked what locals normally eat, and then they looked each other and smiled again. "Que le gustas comer?", she asked me. "Juevos con queso y jamón, si puedes", I replied. "Claro!"
This time I thought better of it and asked for an herbal tea with my breakfast. I can't hang with the Sanka. Sorry, Mexico. I was told there was real coffee on the island, and once that egg and ham scramble was in my belly I would commit to finding it. The plastic cup in which my herbal tea (Manzanilla) was served had the photo of a small child on it, presumably one of their grandchildren, and the cup read, "Feliz Cumpleaños, Ivanov Lorely", marked by a circle with a pink 3 in the middle. The photo of "Ivanov" was complimented by a cartoon of what looked like the duplicitous Prince's horse from "Frozen".
Local flavor.
About five minutes later, the grandmotherly server came back with a colorful plate stacked high with a mountain of scrambled eggs, ham and cheese, and a healthy side of refried black beans. It smelled delicious. She came back again with a caddy of sauces and circular mitt filled with warm, fresh tortillas. Breakfast tacos...PERFECT!
As I dug into my plate I saw a familiar face...
El Spider-Hombre!
I'm starting to wonder if maybe Peter Parker had Latin Roots...
The food was just what I needed: fresh eggs and tortillas to quell the hangover. That was the part that worked out, but when I asked the grandmotherly server for "la cuenta", she told me it was 75MXN (close to $5 USD). I know, that doesn't sound like a bad deal, and it isn't when you think about breakfast in New York City, but in context (remember the torta in Cancun?) my breakfast cost me 3 times what I paid for breakfast in Cancun.
Splitting hairs. Who cares? I'm on AN ISLAND!
When I left the tent and walked back into the morning sun, it had become brighter and hotter than it was before breakfast. I walked towards the sound of the waves, down past the square in the center of town, and made zero efforts to suppress my broadening smile. The breeze was gentle and the sun had a grip on my skin that made me want to take off all my clothes and dance. As I walked down the street I watched the locals doing what they do: pressing tortillas, roasting meats, sweeping tile floors, sitting on plastic patio chairs and watching the tourists walk by. We watched each other...and we were all smiling.
I love Holbox.
I kept walking, intently, until my toes touched the water. The tide seems to never be rough on Holbox. Tiny waves tickled my feet, it felt cool and the sand felt warm. I felt excited about spending as much time as I could in that water.
Some blocks near the beach, and in fact just one block past The Hot Corner, I found a REAL COFFEE SHOP. And I won't boast the name, as the coffee was quite terrible, but at least someone took the time to BREW it. I was grateful.
Passing by The Hot Corner reminded me of my behavior the night before and I felt flush for a moment as the blood rushed to my head. I did not like that I was so lost and distrustful. "Today I will do better", I told myself. "Today I will stay open to what comes".
I walked back to Hacienda La Catrina to see about my kayak trip that Roberto had planned for me. How exciting! A kayak trip around the island! I heard there were alligators in the river on the other side of the island, where the kayak trips take you. Unfortunately, when I found Roberto standing in his kitchen making a REAL pot of coffee (the first one I had seen in days!), he admitted that he forgot to book the trip for me. Normally, I would have raged. Changing gears like that after about 16 hours of anticipation would never fly in my world. The frequency of anxiety and anticipation upon which I function is not versatile. BUT, perhaps the sun had intoxicated me, or the coffee-ish beverages I had been drinking were spiked with qualudes, or maybe I was just allowing the day to HAPPEN like I never do, but I was ok with the lapse. He was very apologetic, and I can easily see how people just tend to forget things here. I was quickly forgetting who I was 2 days ago.
Roberto offered to schedule the kayak trip for the next day but I told him not to bother. I wanted to go and figure it out myself. Why not? I was on the island with zero expectations...and I was OPEN.
I wandered over to find a bike rental for a few hours so I could bask in the sun and tool around this magical island at a faster pace. This place was 3 or 4 blocks from Hacienda La Catrina, closer to the beach, and they also hosted kayak trips! I scheduled my kayak trip for the next morning, which would be my last morning on Isla Holbox, but I was more than willing to delay my departure for a river tour and alligator adventure. The kayak trip was 800MXN (about $40 USD), and it would last about 2-3 hours. They could not give a definitive length as things just kind of, you know, happen on the island. I could run with that. They were kind enough to start the trip an hour early for me so that I would not miss the 2pm ferry. What lovely people!
Here I realized something beautiful and brilliant about the Holbox natives: they bring their children to work with them. It dawned on me at the tour and rental hut, the clerk (a precious young woman) had a precious little girl with an identical smile working beside her. It was a weekday, and I can't say if the child was meant to be in school, but she was perfectly at ease working beside her mother. The little girl helped with small tasks like filing receipts and updating the record book. She rearranged the rental bikes and used her mother's cell phone to call the kayak tour guide and ask if he could start an hour early tomorrow. She could not have been older than my own daughter, but the confidence with which this little girl completed adult tasks was stunning. It was obvious that she was raised to be a part of this society, not just to be coddled by it. GENIUS. We have forgotten how to do this as a society. We outgrow our humanity and because of that we are stuck in a strange and tragic era of our evolution that is defined by irrelevant, non-human things like the pursuit of "good credit", online socializing, sanitized environments and distrust of our own instincts.
I rented a cute and rusty bike with a basket and began pedaling about town. I saw children of varying ages everywhere. Some were playing in the streets, but most were doing their parts within the family businesses and helping out their elders. By doing so they were learning how to do what their elders do to maintain their society, and apply their young, creative minds to expand on those tasks and responsibilities to ultimately make society better. This is part of the foundation that makes Holbox special, and I'm certain we could find this in other parts of the world where people think more about each other and less about themselves. People...that should be our greatest investment in society. CHILDREN. The Future. Why the ex-pats aren't lining up at the dock back in Chiquila is beyond me. Oh wait, I know why...
I rode the streets until my path was forcibly duplicated, then I took to paths that lead away from town. I rode across the island and passed some homes in construction, seemingly lavish and seemingly in construction for a very long time. Again, things just happen here. You could sleep under the stars, I suppose.
The further I rode out, the less development there was, and all around the dirt path were short trees and sky. I went as far as I could go before the trees enveloped the path and then I turned around. It took some time to find a turn back onto the beach. I rode on the beach when possible, often stopping for a dip in that cool crystalline-green shore and allowing the tiny fish to nibble my hips and arms. Save for a stretch of maybe half a mile the beaches were completely abandoned and pristine. I stopped at every single stretch and took a dip. I must have done this close to a dozen times over the course of 4 hours, and I NEVER got bored of it. The process of deciding on a spot, dismounting, dropping the rusty ride in the sand and pulling my dress up over my head as I walked into the water became a ritual. Hours passed but it may as well have been days. I wish I could have done this for days. DAYS. My mind cleared, and my soul felt light as a Holbox breeze. My cheeks were sore from smiles and sun. What a perfect day. What a perfect place.
Eventually I reached the end of beaches and touched on the mouth of the river. There was a different smell, and different birds, and it became more quiet for the lack of waves at my side. It was shallow where I first stopped, and I began to traverse the waters to see what was deeper into that jungle...then I remembered the alligators. I turned around again and decided it was time for some lunch and a Bohemia Oscura or three.
Once I dropped off the bike I walked back into the center square to my little pizza bar with the gluten free pasta that I had no interest in eating, and there I saw the bartender fro The Hot Corner. He was, of course, riding a bike.
He saw me, and turned the other way. Well, that made me feel like North American Douchebag, so I hollered, "Hey! Come back! I owe you money!". He slowed and lazily circled in the square as I made my way over to him, still smiling. "You owe me more than that," he responded in his whimsical Mayan-laced accent. Those words hit me like a carnival strongman mallet, and my left eyebrow went up so high I think I heard a bell. What did he mean? Did I owe him some sort of "walk on the beach" default penalty on a contract I never signed? Did I owe him some physical treaty for all the good tequila??
Stop it. That wasn't it at all. I owed him an apology. It took me a second to process this, and once I did I threw my head back and released a laugh so hearty it knocked his feet off his bike pedals. He looked at me strangely, but I met his stare and said, "I am truly sorry for the way I ran off. It was rude and you were friendly. I'm still adjusting. Give me a break." He grinned, not entirely believing me, I could tell, but he said, "You can come by later and pay me. Any way you please." And with that, he rode off.
WELL THEN. Now we can say the cards are on the table. I'll send a check...
I decided instead on a liquid lunch of several Bohemia Oscuras before showering and grabbing an early dinner at Viva Zapata once again. At least I could drink and eat there without getting into much trouble. The Hot Corner should be renamed TROUBLE CORNER. I remembered that Isabel and Fred told me about a party on the beach later that night with French and Belgian ex-pats and tourists. Different trouble, at the very least.
After a few beers it was almost 7pm and the sky was dimming. It was clear as a revelation overhead, and I remembered - THE SUNSET!!
I quickly made my way back to the beach and found a jetty where I could perch and watch the sun without obstruction. There was nothing between me and the horizon but gulls, and together we passed the next 45 minutes or so watching each other. It began with a blue-tinted white sky melting towards the horizon line with reams of pink and orange and lavender. The sun remained humble at the center, like fiery eye, and we stared each other down. As the sun declined, the whites became grey, the orange became red and the lavender became a violet blue. The reflection on the water grew wider and wider as the fiery eye slowly dove into the sea. All around me the gulls seemed to bask in the evening's ceremony, diving into the sea for their late meal, and squawking at each other with intent. I watched until the very top rim of the sun could no longer be seen, and then I was drowned by a wave of sadness. I felt myself well with tears because I knew this was my last and only sunset on Holbox. No. It can't be. I MUST RETURN.
I wiped my tears, lifted my numb rump from the jetty rocks and meandered back to Hacienda La Catrina to wash and change for dinner. It was my last night and I wanted to put on a dress and maybe even some eyeliner. Its just you and me tonight, Holbox.
Dinner at Viva Zapata failed to disappoint, again. I got the fresh fish tacos, and I can't remember the type of fish but the waiter told me it was one of the species that runs hog-wild off-shore. Nothing special for them, but for me it tasted like the best fish taco that ever lived. The staff was so cheery and inviting, and that waiter with his experimental guitar sets was truly a mood-maker. I love this place. I love ALL these places. I FUCKING LOVE HOLBOX.
After dinner I made my way back to the beach, and at this point it was ceremony to touch the tiny, lapping waves with my toes. The crystalline green was a black mystery now: cool and infinite. I pulled up my dress and walked in up to my thighs. The moon reflected across the water like a path to the heavens. I stood, mesmerized and soaking wet, sending my love for this place into the brilliant moon-and-star-lit sky. I did not want to leave. I dreaded tomorrow.
Eventually I found my way to the French party and talked with people for a bit. There was a DJ and lots of laughter and I enjoyed myself for a bit...but I mostly just wanted to feel the island, and replay my previous night without the anxiety. I wanted to walk the streets again and look with unfiltered eyes at the night around me. I did just so. I walked past the loud local bar with the red light inside, and I walked past the dark construction area, and I wandered past The Hot Corner (which, of course, was bumping). I walked all the streets I had walked the night before but this time I met everyone's eyes and said, "Buenas noches", and they all smiled back and said the same. I knew most corners this night, but not all. Regardless, I turned them all. I walked every street and I looked at every face, and I kept trodding around until the arches of my feet were aching. Eventually, I found Hacienda La Catrina, and I didn't freak out or panic. Its a small island, and everyone here knows everyone else...and if they don't know you, they will help you out, because making a good place to live means you care about PEOPLE. And this day I learned to believe that. Goodnight, Holbox. I love you.
I peeled myself out of bed and took a quick shower. That helped.
Stepping outside my cabaña into the soft morning sun, I reminded myself where I was and that was all I needed to change my state of mind. Moving on - FOOD.
I walked two blocks down the street then turned right into the heart of town, by the center square. Just a block before the square I saw a small tented market place to my right. As a tourist, I thought that must be the place to get a proper breakfast, local style, dirt cheap. I was half right. I walked into the covered area within the fruit stands and found some people, locals most likely, sitting around with their instant coffee and ever-lit cigarettes, hunched over plastic plates of unrecognizable grub.
I pulled up a standard Wal-Mart plastic patio chair and sat at a collapsible card table covered with a plastic table cloth covered in some kind of fruit design. Two grandmotherly ladies wearing stained aprons smiled at me: one behind the griddle, the other walked to my table. I asked what locals normally eat, and then they looked each other and smiled again. "Que le gustas comer?", she asked me. "Juevos con queso y jamón, si puedes", I replied. "Claro!"
This time I thought better of it and asked for an herbal tea with my breakfast. I can't hang with the Sanka. Sorry, Mexico. I was told there was real coffee on the island, and once that egg and ham scramble was in my belly I would commit to finding it. The plastic cup in which my herbal tea (Manzanilla) was served had the photo of a small child on it, presumably one of their grandchildren, and the cup read, "Feliz Cumpleaños, Ivanov Lorely", marked by a circle with a pink 3 in the middle. The photo of "Ivanov" was complimented by a cartoon of what looked like the duplicitous Prince's horse from "Frozen".
Local flavor.
About five minutes later, the grandmotherly server came back with a colorful plate stacked high with a mountain of scrambled eggs, ham and cheese, and a healthy side of refried black beans. It smelled delicious. She came back again with a caddy of sauces and circular mitt filled with warm, fresh tortillas. Breakfast tacos...PERFECT!
As I dug into my plate I saw a familiar face...
El Spider-Hombre!
I'm starting to wonder if maybe Peter Parker had Latin Roots...
The food was just what I needed: fresh eggs and tortillas to quell the hangover. That was the part that worked out, but when I asked the grandmotherly server for "la cuenta", she told me it was 75MXN (close to $5 USD). I know, that doesn't sound like a bad deal, and it isn't when you think about breakfast in New York City, but in context (remember the torta in Cancun?) my breakfast cost me 3 times what I paid for breakfast in Cancun.
Splitting hairs. Who cares? I'm on AN ISLAND!
When I left the tent and walked back into the morning sun, it had become brighter and hotter than it was before breakfast. I walked towards the sound of the waves, down past the square in the center of town, and made zero efforts to suppress my broadening smile. The breeze was gentle and the sun had a grip on my skin that made me want to take off all my clothes and dance. As I walked down the street I watched the locals doing what they do: pressing tortillas, roasting meats, sweeping tile floors, sitting on plastic patio chairs and watching the tourists walk by. We watched each other...and we were all smiling.
I love Holbox.
I kept walking, intently, until my toes touched the water. The tide seems to never be rough on Holbox. Tiny waves tickled my feet, it felt cool and the sand felt warm. I felt excited about spending as much time as I could in that water.
Some blocks near the beach, and in fact just one block past The Hot Corner, I found a REAL COFFEE SHOP. And I won't boast the name, as the coffee was quite terrible, but at least someone took the time to BREW it. I was grateful.
Passing by The Hot Corner reminded me of my behavior the night before and I felt flush for a moment as the blood rushed to my head. I did not like that I was so lost and distrustful. "Today I will do better", I told myself. "Today I will stay open to what comes".
I walked back to Hacienda La Catrina to see about my kayak trip that Roberto had planned for me. How exciting! A kayak trip around the island! I heard there were alligators in the river on the other side of the island, where the kayak trips take you. Unfortunately, when I found Roberto standing in his kitchen making a REAL pot of coffee (the first one I had seen in days!), he admitted that he forgot to book the trip for me. Normally, I would have raged. Changing gears like that after about 16 hours of anticipation would never fly in my world. The frequency of anxiety and anticipation upon which I function is not versatile. BUT, perhaps the sun had intoxicated me, or the coffee-ish beverages I had been drinking were spiked with qualudes, or maybe I was just allowing the day to HAPPEN like I never do, but I was ok with the lapse. He was very apologetic, and I can easily see how people just tend to forget things here. I was quickly forgetting who I was 2 days ago.
Roberto offered to schedule the kayak trip for the next day but I told him not to bother. I wanted to go and figure it out myself. Why not? I was on the island with zero expectations...and I was OPEN.
I wandered over to find a bike rental for a few hours so I could bask in the sun and tool around this magical island at a faster pace. This place was 3 or 4 blocks from Hacienda La Catrina, closer to the beach, and they also hosted kayak trips! I scheduled my kayak trip for the next morning, which would be my last morning on Isla Holbox, but I was more than willing to delay my departure for a river tour and alligator adventure. The kayak trip was 800MXN (about $40 USD), and it would last about 2-3 hours. They could not give a definitive length as things just kind of, you know, happen on the island. I could run with that. They were kind enough to start the trip an hour early for me so that I would not miss the 2pm ferry. What lovely people!
Here I realized something beautiful and brilliant about the Holbox natives: they bring their children to work with them. It dawned on me at the tour and rental hut, the clerk (a precious young woman) had a precious little girl with an identical smile working beside her. It was a weekday, and I can't say if the child was meant to be in school, but she was perfectly at ease working beside her mother. The little girl helped with small tasks like filing receipts and updating the record book. She rearranged the rental bikes and used her mother's cell phone to call the kayak tour guide and ask if he could start an hour early tomorrow. She could not have been older than my own daughter, but the confidence with which this little girl completed adult tasks was stunning. It was obvious that she was raised to be a part of this society, not just to be coddled by it. GENIUS. We have forgotten how to do this as a society. We outgrow our humanity and because of that we are stuck in a strange and tragic era of our evolution that is defined by irrelevant, non-human things like the pursuit of "good credit", online socializing, sanitized environments and distrust of our own instincts.
RIDING THE PERIMETER
I rented a cute and rusty bike with a basket and began pedaling about town. I saw children of varying ages everywhere. Some were playing in the streets, but most were doing their parts within the family businesses and helping out their elders. By doing so they were learning how to do what their elders do to maintain their society, and apply their young, creative minds to expand on those tasks and responsibilities to ultimately make society better. This is part of the foundation that makes Holbox special, and I'm certain we could find this in other parts of the world where people think more about each other and less about themselves. People...that should be our greatest investment in society. CHILDREN. The Future. Why the ex-pats aren't lining up at the dock back in Chiquila is beyond me. Oh wait, I know why...
I rode the streets until my path was forcibly duplicated, then I took to paths that lead away from town. I rode across the island and passed some homes in construction, seemingly lavish and seemingly in construction for a very long time. Again, things just happen here. You could sleep under the stars, I suppose.
The further I rode out, the less development there was, and all around the dirt path were short trees and sky. I went as far as I could go before the trees enveloped the path and then I turned around. It took some time to find a turn back onto the beach. I rode on the beach when possible, often stopping for a dip in that cool crystalline-green shore and allowing the tiny fish to nibble my hips and arms. Save for a stretch of maybe half a mile the beaches were completely abandoned and pristine. I stopped at every single stretch and took a dip. I must have done this close to a dozen times over the course of 4 hours, and I NEVER got bored of it. The process of deciding on a spot, dismounting, dropping the rusty ride in the sand and pulling my dress up over my head as I walked into the water became a ritual. Hours passed but it may as well have been days. I wish I could have done this for days. DAYS. My mind cleared, and my soul felt light as a Holbox breeze. My cheeks were sore from smiles and sun. What a perfect day. What a perfect place.
Eventually I reached the end of beaches and touched on the mouth of the river. There was a different smell, and different birds, and it became more quiet for the lack of waves at my side. It was shallow where I first stopped, and I began to traverse the waters to see what was deeper into that jungle...then I remembered the alligators. I turned around again and decided it was time for some lunch and a Bohemia Oscura or three.
Once I dropped off the bike I walked back into the center square to my little pizza bar with the gluten free pasta that I had no interest in eating, and there I saw the bartender fro The Hot Corner. He was, of course, riding a bike.
He saw me, and turned the other way. Well, that made me feel like North American Douchebag, so I hollered, "Hey! Come back! I owe you money!". He slowed and lazily circled in the square as I made my way over to him, still smiling. "You owe me more than that," he responded in his whimsical Mayan-laced accent. Those words hit me like a carnival strongman mallet, and my left eyebrow went up so high I think I heard a bell. What did he mean? Did I owe him some sort of "walk on the beach" default penalty on a contract I never signed? Did I owe him some physical treaty for all the good tequila??
Stop it. That wasn't it at all. I owed him an apology. It took me a second to process this, and once I did I threw my head back and released a laugh so hearty it knocked his feet off his bike pedals. He looked at me strangely, but I met his stare and said, "I am truly sorry for the way I ran off. It was rude and you were friendly. I'm still adjusting. Give me a break." He grinned, not entirely believing me, I could tell, but he said, "You can come by later and pay me. Any way you please." And with that, he rode off.
WELL THEN. Now we can say the cards are on the table. I'll send a check...
I decided instead on a liquid lunch of several Bohemia Oscuras before showering and grabbing an early dinner at Viva Zapata once again. At least I could drink and eat there without getting into much trouble. The Hot Corner should be renamed TROUBLE CORNER. I remembered that Isabel and Fred told me about a party on the beach later that night with French and Belgian ex-pats and tourists. Different trouble, at the very least.
THE SUN SETS ON PARADISE
After a few beers it was almost 7pm and the sky was dimming. It was clear as a revelation overhead, and I remembered - THE SUNSET!!
I quickly made my way back to the beach and found a jetty where I could perch and watch the sun without obstruction. There was nothing between me and the horizon but gulls, and together we passed the next 45 minutes or so watching each other. It began with a blue-tinted white sky melting towards the horizon line with reams of pink and orange and lavender. The sun remained humble at the center, like fiery eye, and we stared each other down. As the sun declined, the whites became grey, the orange became red and the lavender became a violet blue. The reflection on the water grew wider and wider as the fiery eye slowly dove into the sea. All around me the gulls seemed to bask in the evening's ceremony, diving into the sea for their late meal, and squawking at each other with intent. I watched until the very top rim of the sun could no longer be seen, and then I was drowned by a wave of sadness. I felt myself well with tears because I knew this was my last and only sunset on Holbox. No. It can't be. I MUST RETURN.
I wiped my tears, lifted my numb rump from the jetty rocks and meandered back to Hacienda La Catrina to wash and change for dinner. It was my last night and I wanted to put on a dress and maybe even some eyeliner. Its just you and me tonight, Holbox.
Dinner at Viva Zapata failed to disappoint, again. I got the fresh fish tacos, and I can't remember the type of fish but the waiter told me it was one of the species that runs hog-wild off-shore. Nothing special for them, but for me it tasted like the best fish taco that ever lived. The staff was so cheery and inviting, and that waiter with his experimental guitar sets was truly a mood-maker. I love this place. I love ALL these places. I FUCKING LOVE HOLBOX.
After dinner I made my way back to the beach, and at this point it was ceremony to touch the tiny, lapping waves with my toes. The crystalline green was a black mystery now: cool and infinite. I pulled up my dress and walked in up to my thighs. The moon reflected across the water like a path to the heavens. I stood, mesmerized and soaking wet, sending my love for this place into the brilliant moon-and-star-lit sky. I did not want to leave. I dreaded tomorrow.
Eventually I found my way to the French party and talked with people for a bit. There was a DJ and lots of laughter and I enjoyed myself for a bit...but I mostly just wanted to feel the island, and replay my previous night without the anxiety. I wanted to walk the streets again and look with unfiltered eyes at the night around me. I did just so. I walked past the loud local bar with the red light inside, and I walked past the dark construction area, and I wandered past The Hot Corner (which, of course, was bumping). I walked all the streets I had walked the night before but this time I met everyone's eyes and said, "Buenas noches", and they all smiled back and said the same. I knew most corners this night, but not all. Regardless, I turned them all. I walked every street and I looked at every face, and I kept trodding around until the arches of my feet were aching. Eventually, I found Hacienda La Catrina, and I didn't freak out or panic. Its a small island, and everyone here knows everyone else...and if they don't know you, they will help you out, because making a good place to live means you care about PEOPLE. And this day I learned to believe that. Goodnight, Holbox. I love you.
