Reluctantly, we turned our attention to the Western Hemisphere. A beach vacation sounded nice. Especially one with a bit of exotic history as a chaser.
We’d been to Mexico several times before. First, in the ‘70s, a rapid weekend to Ensenada. Cheryl and I were just getting to know each other. She wanted to show off her territory and interests. Going south of the border, just a bit, would satisfy her anthropology major’s urge to see a more visceral slice of life, one of color and honest community. All I saw was graffiti and poverty. But we both enjoyed the beach, surf and sun.
So 8 years later, with a toddler in tow, we headed to Manzanillo, south of Puerto Vallarta, about half way between Mazatlán and Acapulco. This was our first taste of resort life. While I relished the middle class luxury, Cheryl felt something was missing. Beachside resort hotels, filled with people just like those we’d left in LA, struck her as something less than honest in foreign travel.
So a couple of years later, now with two kids in to, we aimed for Ixtapa, the purpose-built resort hard by the gritty town of Zihuatanejo. Ixtapa was the fruit of the Mexican’s government’s grand plan to turn its coastlines into a latin version of the French Riviera. The ruling PRI party would funnel billions of pesos into its chosen locales, and tourists would rain dollars onto the struggling pueblos. Cancun had been the first, Ixtapa the second.
This time, we both got a larger taste of what we wanted. I was more than satisfied by the three room suite, with marble floors and two bidets, all for less than a Ramada Inn in the US. And Cheryl could wander the dirt streets of Zihuatanejo, eat outside under a palapa, and photograph colorful church goers in the plaza.
Then, growing children and enlarging careers kept us traveling domestically. The west and its national parks was about all we could muster the time and energy for, until we got booted out of Tibet, and then Ladakh. Growing a bit desperate, we turned to our old standby, Mexíco. Ixtapa had worked well, let’s try its older cousin, Cancun! I began a frenzied exploration of the area, a process a lot more involved in the days before Google. I learned that Cancun was on the mainland, Cozumel and Isla Mujeres a few miles off the coast. We still had a HUGE deposit sitting with an adventure travel company from the failed Tibet and Ladakh adventures, so we used their prowess to set up a four part journey. Fly to Cancun. Revel in the luxury of Cozumel for a few days. Step down in style to Isla Mujeres. Ferry back to the mainland, and venture inland to the ruins at Chichen Itza.
I was fascinated when I read about the shadow effect on the central pyramid, which appears only at the spring and fall equinox. Since we would be there on September 22nd, I was excited by the prospect of watching the “snake slither down the steps.” The Mayan pyramids are a bit more complex than those along the Nile. While both have terraced, stair-step like sides, those in the Yucatán also have a more formal staircase leading up in the middle of each side. Somehow I got the impression that, were I atop the apex and looking down at noon, I would see a snake-shaped shadow meandering, actually moving back and forth down those steps.
But with the magic of YouTube time lapse videos, I now know that the “snake” is a static shadow, projected by the terraced side onto the balustrade of the central staircase. The shadow moves with stately, precise elegance over a several hour period until it appears as a seven humped sine wave, emulating a very slowly slithering snake. What this meant to the Mayans, I never did learn, but it seemed reason enough to visit the ruins.
So we signed up, yet again for a full service trip, ready to leave. On Sept. 9th, I called my father, to go over final plans for their arrival the next day, to supervise the kids while we FINALLY left the country.
“What about Gilbert?” my father asked.
“Huh?”
“I don’t know, they’re saying it’s heading straight for the Yucatán, maybe going right over Cozumel. It seems pretty big.” My father was retired, and had both cable TV and the time to watch it, both of which I lacked. Was he talking about a hurricane?
More quick research, and, yup it looked like the most “intense” [lowest pressure reading ever] hurricane ever recorded in the Atlantic/Caribbean basin. It was projected to smash directly through Cozumel the day after we arrived.
“Well,” I told Cheryl, “I guess that’s out. Let’s see if the travel company has anything else they can offer at the last minute.”
The ever helpful lady at their office thumbed through her available trips. “What about Loreto?” she offered.