Traveling down the Yucatan peninsula eventually those hills that look so much like the desert hills of southern California, give way to half flooded fields and sporadic palm tree. The fields are home to cows, not the domesticated hamburger cow like you find in America, but real cow with great big horns and prehistoric hump on their back grazing lazy like in those lush grasses.
That in turn shortly will change to jungle, seemingly impenetrable greenness all tangled up, and the clouds change to mammoth cloud continents floating overhead and you sense that you are about to run out of land.
And so I arrived in paradise, but paradise was dark. Late night walk to the ocean with fellow backpackers, mumbling yakking babble, cant nobody really understand what anybodies is saying all these miles away from where ever it is that was home. But I stand, we all stand face attention to the sea and I can hear it crash and smell it and feel the salt kissing my face.
After a couple nights in the hostel I took my stuff, my olive drab Korean navy duffle and my back, and my ruck sack on my front and waddled back down to the shore to rent a cabana for a few nights.
Now when I think cabana I think Los Angels beaches... but this was just a stick shack thatch roof, and I was never happier. Inside had cement floor with sand spilled across that had blown through my stick wall. A little plastic table with rusted metal legs, busted up plastic chair that I would sit in and write, a double bed with mosquito net. The lady who took my money gave me a key that went to the pad lock for the chain that rapped through my door, a roll of toilet paper, and two candles. Yep, no light bulbs either.
There was a dive school close by so I went over to it thinking I like to snorkel. It was run by an old Italian man that spoke a mix of englishspanishitailanfrench, so everybody understood a little of something he was saying. He put me on a boat captained by a younger Mexican and his maybe 12 year old son. The two of them worked seamlessly together happy and tan and I wished every father and son could work and live together so simple and happy like.
But as soon as I got on the boat I felt the sickness creep in, and when we got to the reef, I jumped in with mask and fins and trying to enjoy myself had to come up and puke right there in the water. Ha oh well. Swim some more and take in salt water and watch the little fishies go about their fishy business, watch the coral sway and up again to puke.
It wasn't long before I had to just sit on the boat and watch the horizon. 'You ok man?' the shirtless captain would ask. 'Estoy un poco enfermo'- 'oh, no bueno' and he went back to swimming with his son.
At night they'd run a generator for the kitchen and office, and it hummed quite loudly. Id just sit at my table writing whatever is was that I was thinkin, drink some el cheapo tequila, feel kinda funny like, decide I was gonna invent a new type of candle holder out of my beer can, or water bottle, play with the ants, play with the wax, listen to my ipod and sing songs to the sea. Get in under my mosquito net that felt so safe like halo over me and lay waiting for the sound of the generator giving out, oh glorious sound of motor having done its work and knowing now it can rest and sleep too, it fades quick like and gone. Then only the sound of the sea to clear my thoughts.
Each morning Id rise before dawn and walk out to the beach in my undies and linen shirt and sit right there watchin the sun rise. Id ask the sea in whisper 'what is the meaning of the void' and it just roared back at me wave crash like. This morning as I sat a coconut fell right beside me. I shoulda tried to eat it, but not wanting to look like a stupid gringo trying to bust it open, I just left it.
I haven’t had a conversation with anyone in three days and the solitude has given me lots of time to just sit and stare at stuff, or write, or sleep, or drink pinnacoladas. It’s been tough.
It was sad for me today to leave my little hut but I knew it was time. I said goodbye to everything and touched it as I did so. The bed, the mosquito net, the walls, the little table and chair that I sat at to write, the sand on the floor. I’ve always done that since I was a kid, I don’t know why.
A little ant tried to climb in my backpack for the trip. I told him no lill ant, you have to stay here. I think maybe he was sad to see me go to. Who would he stay up with late night and play with the wax? Who would blow on him softly and make him run every which way?
I walked to the top of the hill over looking the sea and before it went back down again to the dirt road I said good bye to it too and it roared back at me.
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