Central America: Corn chips, Ceviche & Cave-diving in Cenotes

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"Experience, Travel - these are as education in themselves" Euripides

From the miasmic gloom of London town where nearly everyone wears black or grey, looks a deathly shade of pale, misery etched on the faces as they face the return to work (if they haven’t been made redundant) after the Christmas break to the myriad of colour that is the Yucatan Peninsula - Part Two of my 2011/12 travelling adventure has officially begun.

SE Asia, you will not be forgotten but now it is time to look to the next 3 months – travelling and volunteering right through Central America with the most wonderful Sandy Maletschek. From Cancun to Panama City – through Mexico, Guatemala, Belize, Honduras, (possibly El Salvador) Nicaragua, Costa Rica and finally Panama itself – back to the UK to celebrate both our birthdays at the end of April.

Having “done” South America extensively ( 10 months there in total in the past 3 years) and being familiar with much of North America with trips to Canada in 2007 and 3 months in the USA in 1999 driving coast to coast, the only part left to tick off the world visitation list on this side of the globe is the isthmus of land connecting North with South and here I am ready to handle it: the tequila, the frijoles, the mescal, the tortillas, the pueblos, the tacos, the volcanoes, the jungle, the beaches, the Mayan ruins….. with an undiminished zest. My greatest fear at the moment (apart from never meeting a partner to have children with) is the day I get bored with this travelling business…. I don’t really know what I would do with myself but let’s not go down that route at the moment. No point stressing out about the future when the present is so enticing and challenging.

Now, I don’t wish to rub it in (having already alluded to the reality of cold grim London where the price of a pint of beer is a night’s accommodation here) but I am currently sitting in my bikini on a beach where the sand is alabaster white and so soft, it literally caresses your feet as you stroll along the shoreline. The waters of the Caribbean Sea spread out before me, glistening multiple hues of blue. I have never seen such turquoise water before….the closest comparison I can make would be the waters off the coast of Zanzibar or the South Pacific around the motu of the Cook islands. Apparently the beach I am on, is voted the 5^th most beautiful beach in the world. I’m not contesting it….

It’s early – only 930am and there are few people out and about. Kite surfers skim the frothy waves catching the gentle winds and the occasional jogger runs past. This is not the deserted haven of little Koh Chang – parts of the Yucatan Peninsula are well on their way to Benidorm like status but I wouldn’t trade my current position. Welcome to Meh-hee- co….. as is pronounced in these parts. Say Mex- ico and the squat, moustachioed, hombres look at you with a dismissive smile…. Another “gringo” who can’t speak Spanish properly.

The flight here on Delta Airlines was deeply unpleasant. Welcome to an airline with aircraft from the 1980’s and air hostesses that looked from that era as well. Even with the upgrade to the emergency exit seats the 22 hour door to door journey was not something I’d like to repeat on a regular basis. Paranoid US security meant regular bag and body checks both leaving Gatwick, arriving in and departing Atlanta. Yet ironically we found a way to leave the airport for fresh air in the layover…. I do love logical consistency. If we wanted to disappear into the States as ‘illegals’ it would have been as easy as walking out the front door. Go figure…..

Imagine a flight where you sit down in your confined little space to discover no in-flight entertainment system. Horror of horrors! I spent about 5 minutes looking for my TV – checking my seat, the gaps down the side of the armrests only to discover that the small 21inch screen on the ceiling of the cabin was in fact the only source of viewing with “I Don’t Know How She Does it” as the film on offer. If you ask me,” I Don’t Know How Delta do it”…… even for the £553 we paid for the flight I had higher expectations – this is the 21^st century for god’s sake and we don’t even get to choose our own film???!. Three cheers for netbooks and one’s own source of movies!

Arriving in Cancun to a dark warm night we took a bus into downtown and found our hostel to discover that the room I had booked and put a deposit on was not available. Grrrr. Exhausted, dehydrated and jetlagged…we were not amused, but the owner found us an alternative a few blocks away which was adequate. Waking the following day to bright sunshine and the chatter of Spanish on the streets we got talking to a lovely couple (him Mexican - Mauricio, her Hungarian - Kitty) and spent the day with them – eating tacos on the street topped with cactus (nopales) and an afternoon on the stretch of beach in the Cancun Hotel Zone.

Welcome to my worst nightmare….. a 25km stretch of peninsula with back to back 5* hotels each built more extravagantly than the previous one. It was the Costa del Sol meets Las Vegas and really quite frightful on so many levels. Apart from the architectural monstrosities, the opulence, the sheer disregard for the natural habitat…the place was soulless. All inclusive hell-holes where the rich guzzle down in excess. Mauricio & Kitty live in the Chiapas region in Southern Mexico doing a lot of eco-sustainability work and they told us that the development along this stretch of coast has caused so many problems for the ecosystem here: from destroying all the mangrove trees that hold the earth together, to the pumping of waste into the water-table, these “shrines to the perfect vacation” are killing the land they reap from. Recently in hurricane season, 60%!o(MISSING)f the beach sand was blown away due to the uprooting of the mangroves and the hotel developers have had to import sand from elsewhere to replace that which was lost. I wonder if the gross, corpulent Americans who come on Spring Break to these temples of consumerism and overindulgence realise they are sitting on fake sand. Bah! I really detest places like Cancun…… away from the Hotel Zone lies a poor city with the highest suicide rate in the country. Where poverty and illiteracy is the norm. Where the locals traipse on the public buses into the Hotel Zone to clean toilets, to sweep sand from the pool-sides, to water the planted manicured grass….

We couldn’t wait to get out of the place. With promises to meet up with Mauricio & Kitty in their hometown of San Cristobal de la Casas in a couple of weeks to help volunteer on one of their eco-projects, we caught a collectivo (shared minivan) via Playa de Carmen to Tulum some 2 hours further down the coast. Here we seemed to have stopped time. One week has passed and we have done very little…. Staying in a hostel called The Weary Traveller (http://tulum.wearytravelerhostel.com/) we have had our own room with ensuite and balcony, free transportation to the beach, free breakfasts - all for $25 a night for both of us. The beach (as described above) was simply too much of a draw to do anything other than collapse on a lounger in the sun for 3 consecutive days. In fact, we both have felt quite exhausted from the flight and the adjustment to the hot climate and it has taken until now to start to feel up for the challenge of the weight of a backpack and the lure of adventure. That said, we made it to the Mayan ruins of Tulum (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tulum ) – crumbled temples perched atop the cliff overlooking the cobalt ocean. Neither of us was overwhelmed by the site – I hate to say this but after the Pyramids of Egypt, Peru’s Macchu Piccu or Cambodia’s Angkor Wat, it’s going to take a lot to give me that archaeological wow factor. Is that a terrible thing to admit??? If so, I do humbly apologise…..

The highlight so far (apart from revelling in the relaxed simplicity of beach-life in Tulum) was a day’s cave diving in two of the region’s most famous cenote – Dos Ojos and Calavera. Cenotes are natural sinkholes in the earth resulting from the collapse of the limestone bedrock that exposes groundwater beneath. Sometimes used by the Maya for sacrificial offerings they are now a tourist draw of the region – bringing thousands of snorkellers and divers to explore their hidden depths. It’s been over a year since I last was sub-aqua (off the coast of Easter Island) but it is like riding a bike and I feel so at home under the surface. I find diving a humbling experience. You are a visitor to this other world that is so much more powerful than you. You have to respect that and it puts you back in your place – as a mere insignificant speck of a human being. Cave-diving is something else (anyone seen the James Cameron movie Sanctum? (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0881320/ ) Bad film but captures cave-diving brilliantly and I was quite nervous as to what to expect. The Brazilian guy who I was buddying with had made out the previous evening how much he was looking forward to the experience and there was a fair bit of macho-posturing going on so you can imagine my horror when he first put his wetsuit on back to front and I then discovered he had only done 5 dives, some 3 years ago. Cave-diving is not for novices. Its frickin dangerous… you are descending into a dark place where you can get lost, get stuck, and all manner of problems can arise and you can’t get out quickly as in the ocean. Ok, one should never surface quickly in the sea but god forbid, there was a problem you could (and go straight to a decompression chamber). In cave diving, you are contained within the womb of the earth. The water surrounds you with no surface to break – no air to reach. As a result, all manner of extra safety precautions are in place (only 4 divers to a Dive Leader, extra air supplies etc etc) so it’s risky but with respect and care, it’s an incredible experience. If something does go awry (as with normal diving) the trick is to keep calm and not panic. Having kitted up and walked to the entry point at the cenote Dos Ojos, the Brazilian did exactly the opposite. In his fear of the unknown he forgot every diving rule in the book. With no experience behind him, he panicked and couldn’t even descend properly. It was painful to watch. I have had bad experiences diving before where I freaked…. The one I remember the most was on the border of Egypt and Saudi Arabia where we swam out at 30metres depth off the reef and into the blue abyss where the seabed suddenly descended at 45degrees into the depths. Known as the Saudi Drop-Off , the sight of the floor of the ocean vanishing into the darkness and the loss of all sense of space, distance and grounding made me panic …I started breathing rapidly which effects your buoyancy and with nothing to judge your depth you can get into trouble very quickly. Thankfully, my buddy saw immediately I was in distress and we headed back to the security of the seabed.

But I digress…. Back to Dos Ojos…(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dos_Ojos ) So the Brazilian wasn’t coping well at all – and this was still at surface level so Tomi the Dive Master made him return to the land …he simply wasn’t experienced enough to cope with the dive. Great news for me as it meant it was just me and Tomi, who with over 1000 dives under his wetsuit knew what he was doing…. And so we descended into the hole. Away from the light pool and into the dark , cavernous interior of the Earth’s guts. It was mind-blowing. Vast stalactites and stalagmites soared from ceiling and ground. Air bubbles trapped on the roof of the rock hung like globules of mercury. With the light from torches we went deeper into the cenote exploring tunnels and caverns. It was a visceral experience – little evident life in the form of fish etc but a sense of exploration, of venturing into the unknown.

The second dive was at the cenote called Calavera (http://www.todotulum.com/tulum-calavera.html) – a small gape in the ground where we had to jump down 3 metres into the green water. Descending to a depth of 18m I experienced the halocline – a blurry interface where fresh and saltwater mix and the temperature of the water changes by degrees as you swim through it. Ethereal and ominous this dive was totally different from Dos Ojos where the colours were blue. Here an emerald glow from the surface extended some 5 metres down and then darkness engulfed you. Sticking close to Tomi we switched both torches off and were plunged into an apocalyptic blackness where you couldn’t even see your hand in front of your face. It was enthralling and yet frightening at the same time. Apart from some equalisation problems and a misty mask which I kept having to clear, the whole experience was amazing. My air consumption was superb and with a total of 112 minutes under water for both dives, Tomi was impressed with my diving abilities (I was taught well…nothing like training in a gravel pit in Leicestershire to make you into a good diver!). He kept saying I was a “super-cool” buddy and of course that made me wag my fins in pleasure! Always nice to receive complimentsJ. So I have lost my cave-diving virginity and I am looking forward to plenty more diving opportunities on this trip. Sadly, Sandy never finished her certification in Thailand but is happy to snorkel so I am sure we will “get down with da fish” on many other occasions.

So there you go folks…. Adios for now from the Yucatan Peninsula. Tomorrow we shall drag our sun-browned bodies from this paradise and head inland to Merida. Im off for a swim in the sea now and then in search of some cerviche mixto for lunch. Shrimp, octopus, fish…all marinated in a lime/lemon juice and eaten with fresh guacamole and corn tortilla chips.

Let this Central American odyssey commence!

H x

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