Adventure Divas

We awake early again, anxious to get on the road and out to the cenotes (sinkholes) of Cuzamá quickly. We know to allow for more time today as twists and turns on the highway, as well as the inevitable getting lost that will occur, can increase the time of the journey. So after a few cuernos (Mexican croissants), fruit and juice, we pile into the Volkswagen, our various maps and guidebooks in hand, and speed southeast.

It definitely takes us some work to maneuver the car along narrow paved roads leading from one pueblo to the next. It's often not totally clear the best way to keep to the highway in order to head directly to Cuzamá, rather than sort of zig zagging through small villages. But get there, we do! The route is bordered by these short stone walls (pictured above), some newly painted white. It reminds Mom of Ireland. We speculate whether or not those stone walls indicate the presence, or the former presence, of haciendas in the area.

The idea for today's journey is courtesy Victoria, my fellow fellow. It was in her Top Three to do while in Mérida. Secretly, I'm a bit nervous that Mom won't enjoy this trip. She's always game to try new things. But I also know she's not a huge fan of fancying around in her swimsuit, or scaling down rocky cave walls. I'm not sure in what state these cenotes will be--and I forgot to ask Victoria if they are mom-friendly. It's kind of a selfish endeavor since I know, even if scaling is required, I want to do it. It was just so fun at Ek Balam in January!

When we spot the first sign for cenotes, I pull the car into a rocky drive, leading up to a small home with palapa roof. We disembark from the car, and a fairly pregnant young woman meets mom and me. I say we're looking for cenotes--and the woman, soft-spoken, leads us about 10 feet away to a small one right there on the property. What we're looking at here is what I can only guess is Mom's worst nightmare of what there cenotes will be like. A small, jagged opening, drops away into a dark and dank cave about 15-20 meters below. And the ladder, of the ladder, looks like it's homemade, fashioned together out of old railroad ties and coat hangers. My stomach drops. I don't even know if I can do this. One look at Mom's face, and I know she can't, that's for sure. I ask again, "So where do we get the cart that takes us to the others?" She motions me further down the road to a hacienda. We thank her and leave, hoping that there's something more promising along the way.

Turns out, that wasn't the group of cenotes we were looking for. That was just someone's private home, which happens to sit atop a cenote. For 10 pesos, apparently, the pregnant gal will let you shimmy down the ladder and take a gander. The "tour" we're looking for is a bit more organized.

When we pull into the gravel parking lot, a young guy with a notebook, motions for us to pull into a spot. There's a small group of local men, most donning straw/palma cowboy hats, each with his own flatbed cart, and small horse. For 200 pesos one of these fellows will hitch his horse onto the cart, settle the cart onto narrow rails, and take you some 7 kilometers onto the land of the hacienda Chukanan to visit three consecutive cenotes. The young guy warns us to take water or soda (motioning towards a store next to the parking lot) because the ride takes about 2 hours. There's some sort of argument amongst some of the drivers before we take off. Later we learn from Victoria and her friend Charlie that not too long ago there was no organized group offering tours to the cenote. It used to be that you'd have to know someone, or get a recommendation. Then go knock on that local's door and ask him to take you out to the sinkholes. He's charge you whatever the market could bare that day. But then came along a group of young guys who said to the community, "We're going to form a group. We're all going to convene here to take tours in. We're all going to charge this much. Period." And if one farmer didn't agree, they would bully him into it. I'm guessing this morning's argument may have something to do with that structure...

But we don't know that, at this point. All we know is that we're sitting in the back of a platform cart, heading through a narrow tunnel of trees, further into the forest. We're excited. We arrive at the first cenote. There's a shockingly nice bathroom in which to change into suits and wash hands. And unlike the cenote we happened onto first--this one has a reasonable an sturdy wood staircase that descends into a cavern. About a third of the roof of this cavern is open and exposed to sun, tree limbs reaching down to take a drink from the crystal blue waters below. And the water is deep. There's one platform you can jump off of, and another one that snakes down to the water's edge so you can lower yourself in the water. It's so crystal clear--I can see the bottom--so I think it's not safe to jump. Another couple has arrived with their personal tour guide from Mérida He tells me it's almost 40 meters deep in the center. So I can jump with no problem. And while the wife of the couple quietly whimpers as she touches the water's surface with her toe, I cannonball in. I mean, c'mon, let's do this!

It's amazing! The water is fresh, but not freezing. It's actually warmed than the pool back at our hotel. And my god, we're swimming inside this huge cavern. Mom worms her way in slowly--and is immediately sold on this cenote thing. We swim to the other end of the pool, to the dark end of the cave, touching it's wall--like we'll win some prize for braving it. I try several times to dive down, pulling with arms and legs, trying to find the bottom. There's no way. Eventually a larger group arrives, so Mom and I decide to depart for cenote #2. There our guide is, lounging in the cart, his horse off to the side taking some shade. He hoists the cart back onto the rails and we're off.

This is actually cenote #2. But it's just meant to give
you an idea of how more people = less fun

It's another 15 minute ride to the next cenote. These rails were once used to transport henequen from far reaches of the hacienda, out to where it would be processed and then transported again across the country. It's a bumpy ride. We've got a few cushions protecting our bums from bruising--but you definitely have to hold onto your things--or off they will tumble.

The second cenote called Chasinic'che in maya (tree with small ants) is up and off to the right from the rail track. There's a much smaller opening here--where you have to kind of duck your head down as you descend the stairway. Mom learns this the hard way. The other couple has already departed when we arrive--so we have this one all to ourselves for at least 30 minutes. This cave doesn't seem as deep as the last--but the roof is taller. Roots are dangling from one of the openings, trying desperately to sip from the sweet water.

I've been told that the closer you get to the coast, some of the cenotes have salt water in them. Mom thinks she can float better here--so maybe there is a bit of salt. Though, I can't tell. It's sweet to the tasty--and not stingy to the eyes. It's perfect! I jump several times off the high platform. Mom does some laps. I'm including this series of photos I really like where mom swims to spot where the sun had peeked through a tiny crack in the ceiling, and focused it's energy on a tiny surface of the water.

Doesn't it look like she's being anointed by the sun? Maybe she came out of there with super powers? She's not telling.

I try to snap this short of both of us. See my Mom in the background?

We eventually head to the third cenote. There's more people on the route now that it's later in the morning. We've really taken our time at the first two; we're lucky our horse guide hasn't rushed us. The third one I've been warned by the young guys is "not recommended." In fact, our guide queries, "You want to go to the third?" Me: "Yes." Him: "Really?" Me: "yes." We find out why. This cenote has the tiniest opening of all, about 3 feet wide, a ladder descends into the underground opening. We can't even get a glimpse of what the cavern looks like from the opening. Mom says she's not sure. I scurry down the ladder in front of an Italian pair. It's dark down below. But once my eyes adjust--I can see this may be the prettiest cenote of all. There are small openings in the ceiling, allowing driplets of light to sneak in and play off of the clear azure water. I scamper back up the ladder. Mom seemed to have a bit of hesitance in her voice--but wasn't totally adverse to descending. Perhaps she needs some prompting. I tell her of the beauty--but she looks again at the opening--the possibility of falling--and there's no net here--keeps her at the top. So I descend again and plunge into the cool water.

I see some guys scaling one of the side walls so they can jump from a greater height. I decide--I need to do that. I swim over to the side and start bear clawing my way up. But I can't figure out how they got up and around this massive rock face. One guy yells to me that I have to go up to the right into a dark cave that will wind around and let me out further up where they are tip toeing along the edge up above. I get up to the narrow cave--and it's pitch black. There's no light. So I have to feel around the wet rock for toe and hand holds. Honestly, at this point, if I could have, I would have climbed back down. I'm scared. I'm alone in this cave. I can't see shit. And while there are edges of rock to grab onto, they are wet--and I'm uncertain, without the additional help of vision, if they can support my weight as I try to lift myself up onto the next rock shelf. But there is no safe way down. My curiosity and adrenaline got me into this--so I'm hoping I can get myself out. I eventually scramble up, knees muddied and scraped by the cave walls, onto the small ledge about 20 feet from the water's surface. I can't jump from where I am--there's rocks right under me. I need to scale along this narrow lip so I have a clear leap into the deep part of the cenote. How? Yea, I don't know. At this point I'm audibly squealing from fear. My feet are shaking, which is no help. The guys sort of shout to me where there are a few hand holds I can use. But they're already down below in the water, swimming off to the platform--so there's no moral support there. I take a few deep breaths and then bear hug this stalactite to my right, as I inch my feet over. I move my hands to the next hold, and then shuffle my feet some more. I'm so relieved to make it to the spot that there's not hesitance in jumping or not--I just want to get back in the water and off this cliff edge. I emerge from the water with a smile on my face. I did it!

Meanwhile Mom is going through a harrowing climb of her own. Unbeknownst to me, mom had started a conversation with a nice older Mexican couple up top. The husband kept trying to chide his wife into climbing down to check out this natural wonder. He sort of looped mom into the persuasion. So when the wife at last did descend, mom looked at her and said to herself, "Well, if this woman can do it, I can do it!" And down she camp, wooden step by wooden step. I high five her as I climb out of the pool. How cool is my mom?!? Look what superstars we both are!

We do a few laps around, enjoying the cool water. There's a small stack of boulders in the very center of the water, so that you can almost stand on tip toes right in the middle of the pool--get a little breather.

When our hands finally get pruney, we put on our shoes, make our way up the ladder and signal to our guide that we're ready to go. It's a bumpy, but pleasant ride back. We stop at the bathrooms again to change into dry things. Our car, steamy and hot inside, is awaiting our arrival. What fun! I think mom would agree this was one of the best moments of our whole trip. A true adventure.

Mom suggests that we make our way over to the village of Izamal for lunch. It's may be the oldest city in the Yúcatan, and its history is very attached to religious events. The most recent being a visit in 1993 by Pope John Paul II. The entire city center is painted in the same gold-yellow hew, rimmed in eggshell white. A local tells us this is to reflect the colors of corn and rice. Izamal sits right atop an old Mayan pyramid--like many of the Catholic churches in Mexico. It was a domination strategy.

We pull in to Kinich restaurant before visiting the church; our growling stomachs, outvote our curiosity. It's a beautiful and quite large restaurant, sitting underneath the pyramid of Kinich-Kakmó, a palapa roof shading customers from the sweltering sun. Mom orders the poc chuc at last, a famous Yucatecan dish of chicken or pork marinated marinated in sour orange juice and served with a tomato sauce and pickled onions. I get the lime soup, another Yucatecan specialty of tortillas strips and shredded chicken swimming in a lime juice broth. They say it's good for you if you aren't feeling well--and honestly, I wasn't at this point. Recently recovering from a small bought with stomach villains (as I will call them), and also very tired out from all the swimming. I follow the soup up with salbutes, very similar to the panuchos, except without black beans baked into the tortilla dough. This place makes their tortillas by hand. Just off of mom's right shoulder I have a view of the small hut where a woman is mashing corn masa into individual balls, and then pressing them into flat discs, laying them on the comal to cook.

We drive over to the main Convent and traipse around it's large interior. A little midget (no kidding) stops me as I enter the cathedral and starts giving me an unsolicited tour. We're too polite to excuse ourselves. So he intermittently takes each of us by the hand and pulls us around the church grounds, explaining in broken English about the Franciscan origins of this giant place. He wants to explain to us about a prayer wall they have. People come and pin pictures and letters about loved ones that are injured or ailing to this wall. And in the explanation is says, "They have broken legs," he touches my leg. "They have broken arms," he touches my arm. "They have, sometimes even, a broken heart," he touches my boob. Uh oh. Did that just happen?

We eventually depart. Mom generously tips him for the tour, and you know, the groping of her daughter. I snap a few pictures. Then we pile in, pull out the maps, and circle our way around town plaza to head back north to Mérida.

We're tired. But have a moment to take a nap and laze around a bit when we return to the hotel. Then we shower and dress, heading down to the garden of our hotel to await my friend Victoria and her pal, Charlie. When they arrive, we all head over to Piedra de Agua, a new boutique hotel in Mérida only a short block from the Plaza Grande. It's got a beautiful courtyard out back, a pool with hammocks, a waterfall, and a whitewashed, modern-style bar that has a view of the tippy top of the Cathedral, which is lit up at this hour. Charlie and Victoria are full of news about the area. We recount or cenote adventure, the places we've been eating. We stay so long chatting, that Mom and I miss the regional dance group across the way at Yúcatan University. I think Mom hits her wall--'cause she stands up and announces she's heading back to the hotel. It's midnight, after all. I stay on a bit longer with V and Charlie. We head over to a bar called Maya pub where there's a younger crowd, few tourists, and live jazz. But once Charlie starts breaking down the events of 9/11, my mind starts to wander. The two escort me back to Maison LaFitte, where I retire. What a day. Head hits pillow; I'm out.