The Color of Mexico

Agave in the fields of a sisal plantation in the Yucatan (photo taken through my new polarized sunglasses)

"Must be surreal surrounded by all those colors all the time," wrote my friend Jorie today in an email from the States.  She was commenting on some photos we had taken during our summer in the Yucatan. It never really occurred to me, beyond the gorgeous blue mornings, the terracotta and mustard buildings, the huge clouds--see-through yet so very white--and all the red, white and green trappings of nationalism, just how right she is, just how much color there is in Mexican daily life.  Here there is almost no black--not in dress, not in storefronts, not in fabrics.

Building and star on Tenerias in San Miguel de Allende

Our friend's baby napping at the water park (the fork is so that no one steps on him)

The boys with local weavers in Zinacatun, Chiapas

Graffiti in San Cristobal de las Casas, Chiapas

Beans in the market in San Cristobal

Typical shop on the andador (pedestrian wallkway), San Cristobal

Fruit stand in San Cristobal

Harvesting sisal at a plantation outside of Merida, Yucatan

"Tahiti" in the town of Bacalar, Quintana Roo

Roadside chicken in Bacalar

The pastel houses of Campeche

A church in the Yucatan

Everyone's favorite view in San Miguel, looking north on Aldama

Beaded bracelets at the artisans market, San Miguel

Cinco de Mayo Parade in Puebla

Random saint in Puebla

Castillos (fireworks towers) in the jardin in San Miguel

The View From Parque Juarez

Last November we moved from Parque Juarez, where we rented for eight months, to a beautiful home which we bought, once we decided we couldn't leave San Miguel as soon as  we had originally planned.  The city takes its hold on you almost immediately.  You feel that you have been here forever, and also that you just arrived.  So now, from our new house in La Aldea, I say adios to our life on the park.  In memoriam: "The rooftop terrace on our house on Diezmo Viejo in San Miguel de Allende looks out over Parque Juarez. Basketball leagues, Saturday morning zumba, bike riders, dog walkers, balloon vendors, ice cream men, tienda keepers, Tai Chi instructors, kids, high school bands, grandparents, lovers, and skateboarders all use the park as their backyard.  At dusk when the blackbirds come out and the garzas flock to the trees in the chorro above us, it feels like the happiest place in the world."  Only our physical address has changed.  The city is still this incredibly happy place.

Zumba on a Saturday morning in the park.

The boys with the police horse in front of our house on Diezmo Viejo.

The boys swimming with friends in the park.  A no-no, it turns out.

A Day in Tulum, Before Heading Towards Belize

The view from the ramparts at Tulum down to the beach.

July 5: Left Casa Cenote, and with a little help from Sam's mom and an old bank card, managed to buy  our way out of the beach and head further south for the rest of the week.  First we took a quick side trip to Tulum, kind of digging the flexibility of nowhere to go, with no plans at all.  For me, the site was much more interesting than Chichen Itza, but that's just because of its spectacular setting.  Hard to beat 1,000-year-old ruins cheek by jowl with incredibly clear water and the chance to walk down from the ramparts for a swim.

Fourth of July, Mexican Style

July 4: Hit the road immediately following our unpleasant encounter with the owners of the beach condo, with no destination, but south.  We had been told a hurricane was coming and heading north--we had already been besieged somewhat by Alex, a week earlier--so outrun this one and head south was our plan.  The sense of relief that we were leaving this unpleasant situation behind us was incredibly liberating.  The boys had a DVD player in the back seat, we had air-con in the front seat, and, most exhilarating, a stash of pesos that we found in the glove compartment.  We knew we could survive at least through dinner.

So we pulled in for one night at Casa Cenote, a beachfront inn owned by an American named Gary who hosts a Texas-style BBQ every Sunday.  Figured there'd have to be something good on tap for Independence Day.  The place was a bit run down but had free kayaks, a cenote across the street and didn't ask for any money up front: we could put our heads down for a night until we found a source for some cash.  And there was snorkel equipment.  And cold beer.  And BBQ.  There wasn't much more we needed.

 The view from our bedroom at Casa Cenote. Not a bad second stop after horrendous Puerto Adventuras.

Mason heads out to the cenote across the street.

The Flamingos of Rio Lagartos

July 2: Decided to take a day trip from Valladolid to the sleepy little town of Rio Lagartos, on the Gulf, exactly an hour north.  Thought it might be a bust after our rather odd drive along the rest of this same coast, west of here.  But it turned out to be a real highlight of the trip.  Sam has never been on safari, nor seen a pack of one animal, represented by the thousands, so he was particularly thrilled with our adventure.

The boat trip took us past a salt factory that still exports tons of salt around the world every year, as well as mud baths, where the kids got off the boat and slathered themselves.  This was a traditional natural remedy for Mayans to fight mosquitoes and the heat.

Some of the flamingos we encountered.

Next stop: A deserted island.

And finally, one last cenote at the town swimming hole.

Chichen Itza: Ho Hum

June 30: Left Izamal behind and went an hour farther east to Valladolid via Chichen Itza.  First impression was that the site was grand, but way too commercialized with vendors all over the grounds hawking Mayan calendars, tie-dyed t-shirts, stone jaguars, and ugly jewelry.  With so much detracting from the view, it's hard to fathom the history of the ruins and what went into their making.  Fortunately, we saw several other sites during our five weeks in the Yucatan that were stunning and made up for this one.

An old hacienda we spotted while driving to the ruins.

Chac, the rain god.

Izamal, the Yellow City of the Yucatan

If anyone is out there reading this, now comes the boring stuff.  I need to chronicle this trip for my family, so we remember how we spent our time in Mexico.

June 26: Drove to Mexico City and caught a flight to Merida.  Rented a car and headed one hour east to this beautiful little town of Izamal, supposedly the only place a pope ever touched down (in 1983).  In his honor the town was painted egg-yolk yellow (at least the Mexican shade of egg yolks.  The eggs are so vivid down here.  And are never refrigerated.  Peanut butter?  Goes in the fridge.  Eggs? Right on the counter for days, next to the stove.  

We spent four nights here at the Macan Che B&B, where the dining palapa was so hot and still that Sam turned into Sweaty.  Never seen him perspire so much in my life.  We were warned about the heat in the Yucatan in the heart of summer, but what can you do when you've got kids and they've got school and all you've got are those hot seven weeks.  The inn had a cool little rock-bottom pool amidst an acre of very lush gardens so the boys spent most of their time there.  Unless we were frog-marching them around the town to see the convent (see below), climb the pyramid, and watch Mexico play in the World Cup from a tiny hot restaurant called ?

We did get some great guayabera shirts from neighboring Kimbali, and drove along the Gulf Coast an hour north to towns like Telchac Puerto and Santa Catarina, which were oddly deserted and looked completely abandoned.  When we stopped to swim on a driftwood-strewn beach, there was not a soul in town until a couple came down to the shore to see what we were doing.  We asked where all the people were and they told us, "Only ten families live here."  And the tourists?  "The season begins in July."  This was June 29.  Boats were still stranded on shore.  Beachfront snacks shops were shuttered up.  The town had a long way to go to get ready for anyone in two days' time.  The only thing open was the Servefrio (the cold beer stand) so we bought a few cans and some Gatorade and Doritos for the boys.  And went in search of our first cenote.

Trials and Tribulations

A great view, while it lasted....

Not four hours after my last, lonely post from July 3, as we wrapped up week one in the Yucatan and prepared to spend a carefree, first-time-ever week at the beach with the kids, we were robbed of most of our earthly possessions, including the computer from which I had planned to document our summer.  Yup, we arrived at a condo on the Riviera Maya, in a place called Puerto Adventuras, which we would never have visited again, even if we hadn't been robbed.  We are not beachy resort people it turns out and this place was so not Mexican it left us feeling gross.  We unpacked everything (save a portable DVD player which was our saving grace, for one day, until we left it in the hot car and it self-destructed), plopped it all down in our new lodgings, headed out for a swim in the clear water before us, and voila, in the short time we spent frolicking in the small surf, someone entered through our sliding glass tours, pocketed all of our cash, credit cards, drivers' license, bank cards, cameras, iPods, watch, laptop, and anything else that might be considered useful to us during our seven-week vacation.  Boring story so I'll just include the email we sent out to our families informing them of our desperate situation.  Then, it's onward to the rest of the vacation, which, surprisingly had a marvelous silver lining and was all quite dandy in the end.

While we were swimming, an evil spirit was pawing through my underwear drawer.

The freshwater lagoon at Bacalar.  Is this really Mexico?

We had a little setback in our trip but I am amazed at how quickly we bounced back.  Our first hour at the beach, on the riviera Maya, last Saturday, we were completely robbed in our condo.  Went out to take a swim as soon as we arrived, walked back in and found everything we owned, save our clothes and books, etc. GONE.  What a total bummer.  computer, ipods, camera, all our money, bankcards, credit cards, Sam's wedding rolex, wallet, drivers license, stolen. To top it off, the owners accused us of staging the robbery, even after we spent two fruitless hours at the police station, leaving our kids in the condo alone! (I knew there was a reason we don't like the beach!)  He threatened to kick us out and bring the police to us to evict us.  The wife was a piece of work too.  I nearly ripped the guy's head off.  He ended up apologizing and giving us back our money for the week so we left  immediately and hit the road like vagabonds.  Bo was such a dear.  At the point where we were throwing everything into our bags the morning after the robbery (we got exactly one night there out of what was supposed to be a week of sun and fun at the beach, with anger and disgust, Bo says, "This has made us closer as a family. " Then he adds, "Well, looks like it's sun, fun and run!"  I thought they'd all fall apart since we were dragging them away from what was really the most gorgeous beach and lovely sand but they decided they didn't like the owners either and were fine with going.  Also, we told them they could watch a movie in the car (we'd left the DVD player in the car, fortunately) with the air conditioning on and they were happy as clams!

But it's turned out great. Found a neat place for one night on the beach and are now near Belize on the most gorgeous freshwater lagoon called Bacalar.  Staying in a huge cabin by the water at a place, Rancho Encantado.  It looks like Tahiti but is totally freshwater.  Sam's off at the lavanderia right now washing some clothes.  The boys each have their own computer in this internet cafe so they couldn't be more satisfied."

Week One in the Yucatan

You can travel for miles on a two-lane white road through acres of scrub jungle, low-growing palm and banana trees, and green pirule trees with flowers on fire, the color of ripe oranges and burning embers.  You will see men and boys ride on the shoulder with bikes weighted down by neatly stacked bundles of logs, uniformly about two feet long with both ends carved to a rounded point.  You will see a nation of homeless dogs, some bloated and attacked by angry flocks of vultures, and bulls the size of a small cabin. What you won't see is a single cactus, or any standing water. Here in the Yucatan, mysterious home of the Maya and a culture of extremely friendly locals in spite of their history with foreigners, there are no lakes, no rivers, no lagoons.  There is water on all sides of the Peninsula, the Gulf of Mexico to the west and north, the Caribbean to the east, and beneath this lush, moist, wild landscape, flowing silently to these sources, is the subterranean system of caves, rivers and sinkholes called cenotes.

In our first week of a 5-week journey through the Yucatan and Chiapas, the Hillers family unwittingly embarked on a week-long cenote tour of the Yucatan, satisfying the kids lust for swimming and the parents desire to get out of the sun.

Mas ... tarde.

Early Morning in San Miguel

The village rooster was up early this morning.  4:33am and he's crowing out a few bars, somewhere west of here, from a courtyard or neighbor's roof.  A minute later he stops, probably startled by a feral cat creeping along the garden walls between houses, eying him with greed.  But his voice was enough to wake me, and make me wonder, what's he doing up at this hour?  What I am I doing up?  Then the grackle took over, that sleek blackbird with the evil yellow eyes and the 10-inch-long tail feather, whose posse lives in our yard during the day, drinking from the fountain, or standing warily on the pool stairs, bending their beaks into the water.  The mourning doves are not up yet.  They never start before six, sane, asleep and as regular as the San Antonio church bells. It must be 4:45am.  The bells, which ring every 15 minutes, have just clanked out three sets.  When we moved to this house last November, three to four blocks from the church, I was too aware of their rhythm, listening for twelve strokes at midnight, and catching the quarter hours frequently.  Now it could be a full day before I notice them, their toll such an ordinary noise.

I listen for a sound of life besides the birds.  San Miguel, so lively during the day, its streets filled with children walking to school, grandmothers carrying their baskets of warm tortillas covered by a tea towel, motorcycles roaring up 20 de enero, the gas companies trolling for business with their Good Humor ice cream music, the Atayde circus truck with its loudspeaker and cargo of llamas, bears, and miniature horses, is now utterly silent.  Not a single person out late, coming home early.  The knife sharpener, who rides his bike playing a flute to announce his business, is still asleep. The guys on the trash truck, who bang a crowbar against a steel plate, telling you to bring out your cans, are still asleep.  The husband-and-wife flower vendors who ring my bell with an armload of crazy-colored roses, are still asleep.  Pedro the Cheese Man isn't coming by with yogurt and feta.  And Regina, the little girl who lives next door with Dora, hasn't asked if the boys can play.

The church rings 5am, and finally, if I strain, I can hear one car, somewhere out on the libramiento, the ring road around my beautiful San Miguel, scraping its bottom along a stone, certainly throwing off a spark into the morning, that's still so dark and so quiet.