Mexico Road Trip: Gringos and Coronas
Si, Senora, he said nodding his head.
But your Spanish is very good, she replied.
I had a boss that told me I had to improve my Spanish if I wanted to work in his restaurant, he said, so I had to improve my Spanish. I was lucky he told me to do it or otherwise I might not have a job…and I like being a waiter.
Well, your Spanish is very good…are you from Valladolid?
No, senora, I come from a rancho about 70 kilometers from here. I first went to Cancun and didn’t like it…it’s too much pressure and too hectic. I never got used to the traffic and tourists…I’ve noticed a lot of people moving her from Cancun…they like it here. They say it’s much more tranquil…you should move here too…there is plenty of land around here and the people are nicer here…like me, he laughs.
I like it here and my husband does too…we were here some years back, she continued, he says it reminds of him of the smaller cities in Spain. We took a walk in the Zocalo last night and he kept saying Valladolid is a city in Spain.
The waiter laughed and politely excused himself. I’m sure there have to be rude Maya somewhere but I haven’t met one yet…the waiter returned bringing us our coffee.
I would like to see a cenote, she said, maybe one that isn’t full of tourists. The Cenote Zaci is nice but my husband has this thing about not wanting to be around Germans and Americans, she said with a smile.
Perdone, senora, is he not American? he asked very politely.
He keeps telling people he’s from a town called Zacamixtle, she said with a chuckle, they must think he works a little too hard.
I don’t know why she has to interrupt folks that are trying to do their job. She must think it is part of their job to be asked a barrage of questions…all I want in the early morning is my coffee.
Perdone, senora, I know a very nice cenote – where are you going?
Cancun.
We Maya call it Can Cun – two words, he said laughing.
I shake my head. Now we’re going to have an early morning history and cultural lesson…
There is a nice cenote out of Chelmax…I have been there once. It is on a side road going to Can Cun.
Don’t even ask, I say standing up, I will get our atlas from the car.
I return and they are still talking. Soon the other customers will get start getting angry and he will lose his job. I put the atlas down and she picks it up. He soon returns.
I would like to learn English but the words confuse me, he says putting down my longaniza and eggs. I started to say something but she kicks me.
We get more and more Americans now and soon I am sure we will start getting some from Zacamixtle, he laughs. She thinks it’s funny too. I think our waiter is playing a serious game with his tip…
We finish our meal and I notice she leaves an extra ten pesos for the tip. Not only did he learn Spanish but also how to sucker turistas.
I don’t say anything but she circles a town on the map and we return to the car.
Onward, James, she says. The early morning sarcasm of our waiter must be contagious. The day is gorgeous and the sky a dark blue. The white Yucatan clouds are forming their customary patterns – it must be because the Yucatan is so flat – the highest points have to be the Indian pyramids. Everything is green and I think life must not be too bad in the outlying suburbs of Valladolid.
A half hour later she sees the cut off to Belmax.
You have to be kidding, I laugh, the road was paved but filled with potholes. After five minutes it turned to dirt which was a relief. Fifteen minutes later at a fork in the road she asks me to stop and a campesino points to the left. Another five minutes we arrive at a sign that says Cenote…half of it is broken off so she calls it the Cenote No Name. Somehow I have a feeling the day is one that will be filled with overwhelming cynical humor…little did I know. She sees a young boy and asks him if he can take us to the cenote. He answers in Spanish and I am thankful for the Mexican public school system.
Do you speak Maya and English? she asks.
Maya yes but only a few words of English, he laughs, mis Gringos don’t come too often here and I don’t have a good chance…when I get bigger I will go to Cancun.
We park the car off to the side of the road and take a path down through some thick underbrush. At least the Germans haven’t been here yet, I think. We come upon a hole in the ground, maybe 10 meters across. I’m wondering how we are going to go down and the boy points to some rocks that taper down to a path. I stand there for a minute looking at the scene. The brush around is not very special…at least to the untrained eye. But I can look down into the cavernous hole and see beautiful dark blue water surrounded by stalactites and stalagmites. Once again I’m reminded the entire Yucatan peninsula is one big cenote.
We climb down the rocks and onto the path. It is like we are in some sort of cathedral with the sun shining through stained glass. I can see the path leads down to a sort of beach and the boy says he has to go back. He laughs and said don’t drown as there have been tourists in this area of cenotes that have drowned. The Maya aren’t so stupid…I ask him how deep it is and he replies 20 meters…I ask him if there is current at the bottom and he says yes, but not much. Yeah, right. If all of Yucatan is a cenote than all of Yucatan is sitting on top of an underground river. The boy is gone and the only sound we hear is the water dripping down from the top…slow, steady drips. I see some footprints in the mud but other than that, there are no signs of human life. The locals must not come down here very often…my guess is they must be very sensible folks.
We take off our shoes and put our feet in the water; it’s cool but not cold. Small, black fish come to near our feet and we can see them clearly – the water is very clear. Even though it is clear, I cannot see the bottom in the middle. Nor can I detect any signs of currents…but the fish are an obvious clue that the water is running somewhere. Angelica says its time for a swim and I take off my hat…it’s wet with sweat. I guess if we are both going to be swept away we may as well be swept away together. I keep wondering where all the Germans are…
We strip to our underwear and carefully walk out from the shore. Natural terraces or ledges let us gradually get into deeper water. I can see several more terraces below me but the water is over my head…I’m a decent swimmer but Angelica is not so we stay where we are. I dip my head underwater and wonder how many ancient Maya have done the same before me…this is a real sacred immersion!
We look up at the top and cannot believe how beautiful it is…the bright sunlight filters through the green outside trees giving it a dazzling stained glass look – the sun’s rays coming straight down into the azure water. We look around the walls and see all sorts of stalactites and stalagmites and large limestone formations…it’s as though someone filled Carlsbad Caverns with water and we are taking a bath. In fifty years there will be a hotel outside and Germans will bring their buckets of Coronas and go skinny dipping…the Coronas will be part of a package tour. But for now, we are the only ones in this amazing spot.
We splash and float in the water and the fish nibble at our legs and arms…maybe they are licking the salt off us or maybe feeding on some kind of small bugs we bring from civilization. The only sound is our breathing and the steady dripping of the water that has obviously been doing the same for tens of thousands of years to form this wonder of nature.
We stay in the water for several hours and finally get out on the beach area and dry off…the water has cleaned us better than any soap and hot water shower could do. Finally and reluctantly we put on our clothes and start the walk back up, stopping every ten feet to glance back and admire the view. It has to be one of the most beautiful natural sites I have ever seen and I have seen many…
We stop at the entrance and look down into the hole.
Guess I shouldn’t talk so much to the staff, she said sarcastically.
We’ll let it go this time, I said smiling at her. Sometimes I have to admit she is more than all right…
Jack D. Deal
