After beginning like any other average day, Tuesday gradually evolved into an eventful day that I will not soon forget. In my short ten days here in Cozumel, my only experience venturing out into the ocean waves had been five minutes of wading up to my ankles. That was about to change. My internal voices were quietly nudging me, “Today feels like a great day to go Snorkeling.”
Even though they were heavy, and took up considerable space in my luggage, I had brought my own scuba mask, snorkel, and fins with me. Rental gear is expensive, and just never seems to fit right. I prefer to enjoy my time in the water without having to fuss with the little details of whether the mask is leaking, or water is rushing down my snorkel tube, etc… My nice gear is a luxury that I purchased for myself when I became scuba certified in early 2000.
My current dilemma soon became “How do I squeeze everything I need into this small backpack?” In addition to the mask, snorkel, and fins, I needed a beach towel, water to drink, and other miscellaneous items to help make my day more enjoyable. I stuffed and squeezed until my backpack was ready to burst at the seams. “Yes, it all fits,” I congratulated myself. Even though the fins were sticking about 10 inches out the top, everything seemed secure enough for the long bicycle ride ahead.
I waited around home until arrangements had been made with the property manager for a plumber to come over. The pump that feeds water up into the large tanks on the roof was not working. That is another story in and of itself—suffice it to say that I considered it a priority. My imaginations regarding potentially non-functioning toilets and showers were not pleasant ones. Finally, arrangements were in place, and I set off on my next adventure. I sailed like the wind (well OK, I wasn’t quite that fast) through the city streets of San Miguel de Cozumel. I’m sure I looked quite silly with that overstuffed backpack, having two large fins sticking out from the top—but looking silly (or not) was the last thing on my mind.
Ten minutes later I was gliding down the main island road that leads southward along the coast. The cool breeze felt incredibly refreshing as it brushed past my cheeks. Invigorated by the experience, I pedaled on almost effortlessly. With every deep breath, I inhaled the refreshing energy of the ocean. Even the physical pain of bouncing on that hard bicycle seat was miniscule, a mere annoyance. My thoughts were elsewhere, and my imagination was already effortlessly floating, face down, along the surface of the ocean, observing the magical and beautiful sea life below.
My first stop for the day was about seven miles down the road, right before Chankanaab National Park—the spot where I had turned around on my first bicycle excursion of the island. Padlocking my bicycle to a sturdy little jungle tree, I strolled about 20 yards down onto the beach and began making final preparations. I was already wearing my swimming suit under my clothes, so that part was easy. I do have to admit I felt a little twinge of nervousness as I hid my backpack behind some bushes. My keys and 270 pesos (about $20) were inside. I knew the consequences of losing my keys, but a feeling of peace settled in saying “Relax … quit worrying, you know everything will be just fine.”
The beach here was very similar to the beach in the center of town—beautiful, yet very rocky. From my vantage point, an incredible vista unfolded before me. The ocean surface glowed with a gorgeous tapestry of colors, radiating a variety of hues ranging from pale greens to dark blues. Through the crystal clear water, every change to the ocean floor created a new hue to be reflected on the surface.
After slipping into my scuba booties to protect my feet from the rough surface of the jagged rocks, I gently waded down into the water. “Oooh, this feels so nice” was the first thought that crossed my mind as the warm Caribbean waters engulfed my legs. I had forgotten how soothingly warm the ocean waters are in Cozumel. A wave tried to knock me off balance—but the waves were small, and standing erect required only minimal effort. I was ready and eager, and soon my mask, snorkel, and fins were securely in place. Bending at my waist, I gently placed my face in the water and pushed forward with both feet. “Oh, yes, why haven’t I done this sooner?” I didn’t have an answer for that one.
My first task was to figure out the direction in which the currents were flowing. In 2007, when I had snorkeled a few miles north of here with Berto, a mild current was flowing from the north to the south—but he had told me that the current frequently changes directions. A few minutes later, I recognized that a mild current was pushing me from the south toward the north. This was important to know, because my desire was to swim up-current and then gently drift back to my starting point. Inching my way southward, I was amazed at how much effort was required to swim against the northbound flow—but I was determined, and was making reasonable progress.
About ½ mile to the south was a large pier that appeared to be the northern edge of the Chankanaab National Park. Having never been inside, I was curious about what was over there, and decided to make a stealth approach from the ocean side to check it out. Finally, after about 45 minutes of swimming upstream, I had achieved my goal.
Pardon the brief interruption. My stomach has been growling ferociously, and I decided it was about time that I ate breakfast. I don’t believe I have eaten breakfast even once since I arrived here in Cozumel. A few minutes ago, I wolfed down two scrambled egg sandwiches, just like my mom used to make them. Of course, I then needed to wash the dishes, following which a shower was loudly calling my name. I also decided that it is best not to lounge around in my pajamas anymore. On Monday I was working on my blog photos at noon, still in my PJ’s, and Arturo started calling through the screen window at the top of my stairs … “Hello, Brenda?” It had been a little embarrassing to answer the door in my pajamas—so now, at 9:30 a.m., my stomach is full, I am cleaned up, and fully dressed—ready to continue my story.
As I approached the deep end of the pier at Chankanaab, about 100 yards off shore, I soon realized that this was not really a pier at all. The end of the pier turned at a right angle, and continued another few hundred yards before bending at yet another right angle and returning to the shore. The pier was actually a huge fenced-off area, enclosed with chain-link fence all the way around from the top to the bottom. The ocean floor was at least 60 to 70 feet down at the deepest point. Swimming up to the chain link wall to catch a glimpse, I was surprised to see how mossy the fence was, especially the lower portions. I took note that there was really a double chain-link fence, one on the outside of the enclosure, and another on the inside, with a gap of about 8 feet separating the two fences.
Continuing to swim a little further around the corner, I noticed an American family sitting at water level on the inside of the fenced area. A young boy noticed me on the outside, and in a surprised voice asked “How did you get out there?” I smiled and replied “I swam here from the beach.” He smugly replied something like “Well, you might be having fun out there … but we have dolphins in here.” Then I noticed them. Sure enough there were a couple of dolphins swimming around just inside the cage, playing with the people inside.
As I swam back around to the north, I located another dolphin cage, with no people around. Two dolphins would occasionally swim over and make eye contact; then they would playfully dive down and swim away. How I wish that there hadn’t been an eight-foot gap between the two fences—but I loved being as close as I was. What an unexpected treat to be so close to those beautiful and graceful creatures.
I must have spent 30 minutes hanging around those dolphin cages before deciding it was time to drift northward, back towards my bicycle and my hidden backpack. Letting go of the chain-link fence, I turned away and began gently floating with the current.
While Cozumel is world-renowned for its scuba diving and snorkeling, the best reefs are further offshore, accessible only by boat. Near the beaches, the underwater view is mostly of sandy bottoms, with sparse and scattered gatherings of coral-covered rocks, surrounded by a variety of beautiful, ornately decorated fish. Having been spoiled several times before by some incredible snorkeling and scuba experiences, I already knew to lower my expectations for this outing. But this was still a beautiful experience.
Completely losing myself in the moment, I occasionally paddled to get a better view of rocks or fish below, but I mostly just drifted with the flow. At one point I paused above an especially beautiful rock on the bottom about 15 feet below. While maintaining my position against the current, I noticed what looked like a beautiful flat wavy leaf growing from the underside of the rock. It was white, with large black speckles all over it, with a black border around the edges. Then I noticed that the “leaf” kept changing in size. Intrigued by what this might really be, I continued to maintain my position above. A few minutes later, I was thrilled to see the leaf turn into a large eel, about four feet in length. It gradually slithered up along the rock. Its body was flat, about four inches in width, and moved in a wavy, bending motion—similar to that of a snake. I continued to watch in fascination until the beautiful eel disappeared into a hidden crack behind some coral.
Soon, I stopped resisting the ocean current, turned northward, and began drifting once again with the flow. I could not help but compare the experience to life, realizing how much easier life seems to be when we stop resisting and allow ourselves to flow with the energy of the universe all around us. As I neared the beach where my bicycle and bag were safely stowed away, I was saddened that my present adventure was almost over, but filled with eager anticipation as to where the rest of the day might lead.
After retrieving my backpack, which was still exactly as I had left it, I wandered 50 yards down the beach to a beach club called “UVAS,” where I utilized their fresh-water showers and then decided to work on tanning my still pasty white legs and back. Before applying sunscreen, I decided to allow myself 15 minutes on each side with no sunscreen—just to get the process jump started.
“Surely, 15 minutes will be just fine” I told myself. Just to be safe, I examined my white legs to make sure they were not already turning pink from having just been snorkeling for two hours. “Yes, they still look pale and white … I’ll be just fine.” Carefully watching the minutes tick by on my wristwatch, I first lay on my back for 15 minutes. Then I rolled over onto my stomach. A cloud temporarily blocked the sun, so I gave myself an extra five minutes on my stomach.
Following this brief exposure to the sun, I methodically covered every inch of my bare skin with SPF 30, noting that my legs were still as white as could be. “Yes, I did it—not even a hint of sunburn—that should help me get started on a nice tan,” I congratulated myself.
After squeezing my snorkeling gear back into my backpack, I bought a Coca Cola at the bar, used the restrooms, and returned to my bicycle—anxious to get going on the next leg of my journey.
Continuing past another five to six miles of beautiful rocky shorelines, my mind was flooded with thoughts “I need to come back here and snorkel on this beach … and that one … and that one.” Even though every inch of this shoreline was calling out to me, I pushed on to the south, past every beach. Knowing that I was only about a half mile from my ultimate destination, I finally gave in and stopped at yet another beach park. I was exhausted and famished—both from hunger and from thirst—and decided I needed to listen to my body. Many of the beach clubs in this part of the island are free, including the use of their lounge chairs, and restrooms. They provide these services in the hopes that you will buy their food and drinks—which is exactly what I planned to do.
I parked myself at a table under a shaded patio covering, and absorbed the incredible vista of white sandy beaches and gentle surf. Yes, the beaches in this part of the island are covered by beautiful white sand. The same aura of multiple shades of blues and greens continued to radiate an inviting glow out in the water.
I ordered a plate of chicken quesadillas and a soft drink. The food was delicious, but not plentiful–and I was still hungry as I finished inhaling the last morsel. The menu prices at this resort seemed to be more aimed at the tourists. Taking careful inventory of the contents of my wallet, I opted to ride on with a still slightly empty stomach—waiting to buy more food until after I returned home. Besides, I was eager to resume the final half mile of my quest.
Soon, I was parking my bicycle in the parking lot of the resort where I had spent eight incredible days in 2007. Berto had told me that it is currently closed due to lack of tourists, but the resort looked quite open and busy to me. I walked inside—carefully using the back entrance to avoid being stopped because I was not an official guest. Making a direct beeline for the information desk, I found a young man named Ricardo sitting behind the counter. I greeted him and asked if he spoke any English. “Barely,” he said, so I did my best to communicate with him in Spanish. After a few minutes, I had managed to say that I was looking for “Rafael” who used to work here 18 months ago—and that I really wanted to talk to him. Ricardo told me he would talk to his manager to see if anyone remembered Rafael. If someone knew him, and if he is still on the island, they would let him know where I am staying and ask him to contact me.
It still confuses me that my house does not have a number on it, but when I struggled to describe to Ricardo where I live, he seemed to know the exact house I was trying to describe. He said “My friend Jessica lives in the large apartment building right across the street.” From this, I believed that he really did know my house, because he was describing the beautiful apartment building directly opposite my front balcony.
It was worth a try, and I have no idea if anything will come of it, but something inside me told me to make the effort. I still cannot get past the memory of my final conversation with Rafael when he said “Oh Brenda, you have to come back and meet my Medicine Man.”
It was 3:50 p.m., and I was fully aware that I had at least an hour and fifteen minute bicycle ride still ahead of me. Feeling hot and tired, I decided it was time to turn my bicycle back to the north and to begin my homeward journey. By now, my backside was really hurting, and it felt as if the pain were from more than just the hard narrow seat—but I just pushed forward knowing there was nothing I could do about it until I arrived back at home.
Thirty five minutes later, as I passed the spot where I had gone snorkeling just a few hours earlier, I was energetically renewed with the thought that I would be home soon. “I can do this.” I kept repeating to myself. My backside was increasingly hurting, and by now I was mostly pedaling from a “standing-up” position, because sitting down on the seat just hurt too much. I was determined to just push through the pain, and fully intended to keep riding.
Then I noticed that something felt different, and I glanced down at my rear tire. It was almost completely flat. Dismounting from my bicycle, I stood there for a minute on my wobbly legs, and simply laughed at the situation.
“I guess I get to walk for a while. I have walked great distances before, and I can do it again.” I reassured myself. Continuing to giggle at the fun story this was going to make, I began my trek on foot. I pushed my bicycle forward and repeated over and over, “I can do this … I can do this … I can do this.”
Fifteen minutes and a half mile later, I was exhausted as I came up to a small beach-side restaurant. I leaned my bicycle against a wall, collapsed into a plastic chair under a beach umbrella, and asked the young waiter for a Coca Cola; then I pointed to my tire and added “Do you have a pump I might be able to use on my bicycle?” I was at least able to get some cold fluids before continuing my walk. I had exactly 120 pesos left in my wallet and the soft drink used up 18 of that. As I walked away, I felt bad because I did not leave a tip—but a little voice inside said “No … don’t leave a tip today … you can do that some other day … you will need the remaining 100 pesos for a taxi ride.”
I walked another half mile in the sweltering heat, and came up to a beach club with four taxis parked out in front. The thought of walking in this heat for another three hours was not very inviting, and I decided to simply query a cab driver “How much for a cab ride into the city?”
I honestly had no clue what the answer would be, but was not at all surprised to hear the words come from his mouth as he said “100 pesos.”
“Will you take my bicycle too?” I asked.
“Yes, the bicycle too.” Of course, by now, I already knew this would be his answer.
As tired, hungry, and exhausted as I was—I was suddenly glowing with energy. I knew the universe had just blessed me with yet another fun little “synchronicity” to let me know that I was not alone. I started out the day with 270 pesos ($20) in my backpack. I ended the day with exactly 2 pesos (about 16 cents) remaining. With the rear seats folded down, and my bicycle safely secured in the back of the taxi, I relaxed all the way home. I was giggling inside at my prompting to not leave a tip when I bought my last soft drink. “I’ll stop there on my next ride and make it up to that young waiter.” I told myself.
While driving along the beach, I asked the cab driver “How far is it from here to the city.” I could not believe his answer (and am still not sure if I do) as he told me “12 kilometers,” which would equate to about 7.5 miles. I would have had a long walk indeed.
Once at home, I headed straight for the shower. I soon discovered why I had been hurting so much. My upper back and the back side of my legs were a bright, bright red, and were very warm to the touch. The fronts of my legs were red too—but nothing like the backs. “Ouch, I guess I wasn’t so clever after all,” I mumbled to myself as I stepped into the cool refreshing shower.
Slathering “Hawaiian Tropic: Cool Aloe I.C.E” all over my body did not provide a great deal of relief. “Perhaps I need to avoid riding my bicycle and stay out of the direct sun for a week or so,” I wisely advised myself as I grimaced in pain.
After a long and mostly sleepless Tuesday night, I opted to spend yesterday mostly indoors. Walking, sitting, and even standing were not exactly pleasant experiences. I didn’t like making sudden moves because the rubbing of my jeans against my legs felt like rubbing sandpaper on an open wound. In fact, even my soft cotton pajamas felt like sandpaper. I got brave and did venture down to the waterfront at noon—long enough to get a chicken sandwich at the “Tiki Tok” restaurant. I felt quite proud of myself, because I had now learned how to ask for a “to go” box to bring my dinner meal of leftovers home with me.
About 2:00 p.m., I called my dear friend Michelle to ask for advice about recovering from sunburn pain. She related a story to me about her daughter, from just a few weeks ago. Her daughter had been badly sunburned, and was in a great deal of pain. Michelle took her some Apple Cider Vinegar and used a moist cloth to apply it to all of the burned areas. Her daughter later told her that the vinegar helped a lot, but when the pain came back she decided to spread mayonnaise all over herself. “Why did you do that?” Michelle asked her. “Because it was made of oil, and the thought just popped into my head to do it,” was her daughter’s reply.
“The funny part of the story,” Michelle continued, “is that the next day when her daughter woke up, the sunburn had all turned to a brown tan, the pain was gone, and she didn’t peel at all.”
A few minutes later, I was off to the store, walking slowly to avoid the pain, to see if I could find some Apple Cider Vinegar in Cozumel. During the whole walk to the store I was chuckling about the mayonnaise. To my delight, after 15 minutes of searching the aisles in the “Mercado de San Fransisco de Asis”, I finally found what I was searching for: “Vinagre de Sabor de Manzana.” Along with the vinegar, for fun I also threw a small squeeze bottle of mayonnaise into my cart. “What the heck,” I told myself with a giggle, “It’s worth a try.”
As I painfully hobbled back to my apartment, I was very surprised to find Arturo at my front door. He is the sweet man who works for the property manager—the same one that picked me up at the airport when I first arrived. “I brought you a fan to use,” were his first words. Then he added “Did you see your bicycle?” I had parked it downstairs by the gate on Tuesday night—being too tired to carry it up to the balcony. “Yes, I know,” I told him. “Would you like me to help you get it fixed?” He eagerly asked. “Yes, I would love some help,” was my quick and eager reply.
Soon, Arturo was driving me all over the city to help my buy a patch kit for my tire, and a small pump that I could carry with me on future adventures. The only problem is that after four bicycle shops, no one had the pump I needed. When we returned home, he suggested that we just walk my bike over to the nearest shop (3 blocks away) and have them fix it for me this time. He said “You can do it yourself next time.” I was absolutely amazed when they fixed the flat for less than a dollar.
I had wanted to purchase a more comfortable seat, and mentioned that fact to Arturo. The main reason I had not already done so is that I did not know the words to ask. In my broken Spanish, I told Arturo that I wanted a more comfortable “chair” for my bicycle. He smiled and spoke to the store employee on my behalf. Within minutes, I had a selection of new bicycle seats on the counter in front of me. Only five minutes later, we walked away with my repaired bicycle—a bicycle that now had a new, wider, softer seat installed. I still think I’ll wait a few days before I try it out though—the sunburn still hurts too much.
I just love Arturo. Before leaving he asked if I wanted help assembling my new fan. Knowing full well that I could do it myself I answered, “Yes, I would love your help.” Five minutes later, I thanked him from the bottom of my heart as we went our separate ways. I don’t know where he was going next, but I headed straight for the tub. Standing in the bathtub to capture any runoff, I moistened paper towels with Apple Cider Vinegar and spread them all over my sunburned back and legs. Then, after the vinegar dried, I put a grin on my face and began to spread mayonnaise all over those same red areas.
I can honestly say that I don’t have a clue if the mayonnaise had any effect at all on the sunburn—but it was definitely a humorous experiment. Before going to bed last night, I ate the remaining leftovers of my chicken sandwich from lunch. Eating the food in stages, I first ate the chicken breast patties and the pineapple. Then I finished off by eating the lettuce, the tomatoes and the bread. If you consider that fact that I was covered in mayonnaise while I ate that lettuce, tomato, and bread, you could say that at least for a short while, I was indeed a genuine “Brenda, Lettuce and Tomato Sandwich.”
As I showered this morning, I could not help but giggle again at the slight “Eau de Mayonnaise” that still graced me with its sweet fragrance. Somehow, the humor helps to take away the pain of the sunburn that still lingers—probably for many days to come.
© Brenda Larsen, 2009