The location of this old Mayan city was well chosen.
It is a place Mayan elite lived for the best part of the year,entertained visitors, enjoyed food and drink on porches as their sun sank into the Caribbean sea. There were simple platforms built on the grounds upon which slaves and servants lived in thatched communal homes. There are altars that still overlook cliffs where offerings would have been made to the Mayan Gods.
Most of the old city has crumbled and front porches have been claimed by iguanas, prehistoric reptiles that survived the dinosaur extermination.The iguanas bask on the stone floors in palaces off limits to tourists, their coloring matching that of the stones around them perfectly. They run oddly with their tails swinging left to right and legs moving like robot legs, surprisingly quick, tongues testing the air as they move towards food or away from danger.
The pyramids still standing here tell the story of this ancient Mayan culture.
On top of the wide base have been stacked smaller and smaller blocks. At the top of the pyramid is a single living unit for the head of the society. There is no agonizing discussion of equality and fairness. All major decisions come from the top of the pyramid and all below the top support the King until they can’t and the pyramid crumbles.
It is strange to walk in one of history’s graveyards.
We have better toys today but we play in the same sandbox the ancients played in.
The surf rumbles all day and all night.
Where water meets land, long white capped waves roll over, roll under, and roll onto the land like conquerors.
There are high and low tides and thin legged birds kick bubbles left by the waves like Colombian soccer players. In early morning there is a row of seaweed deposited on the white beaches and men with shovels, rakes, wheelbarrows, move the seaweed, cover it up with dirt or bury it so still sleeping tourists have the white beaches promised by tourist brochures when they wake up for their breakfast of fresh fruit and fresh squeezed orange juice.
The sand here is Caribbean, white and fine grained. It sticks between toes, clings to you like a cranky child.When dry it is soft to walk on, When wet, you can run on it and make sand castles to your imagination’s limits.
When pirates ran these coasts there was nothing left but vestiges of an old Mayan civilization.
Natives lived in the jungle, fished the sea,worshiped old Gods left them by ancients. Stone walls and stone faces have been overcome by vegetation and old, precise, mathematical equations are forgotten. Tulum is now a place of loose wires and knotted plumbing, wind generators and rusted fishing hooks.
Before you move here, you would want to stay a month in August.
The rain, humidity, and heat will make you understand why you have the place to yourself.
“Why is Yoga so popular, ” I ask?
” Tulum”, Angelique smiles,” is an old hippie colony – it grows out of that. People want to feel good. ”
There is plenty of feel good here with a huge European presence.
In the morning a large group of Europeans sits at a big table at the Canopi restaurant and talk in foreign languages, eat healthy, dress in flowing garments for the girls and shorts for the boys. By nine o clock most will be seated on mats on a wood floor in an open thatched roof room, assuming positions that stretch the body, holding those special hard to hold positions for excruciating minutes.
Along the main thoroughfare are signs for hotels, bars, restaurants, shops, renting bicycles, buying juice, shopping for land from Mr. Tulum, eating Vegan, There are words of advice and scheduled times for finding your inner person. It brings back memories of Akbol in San Pedro Town, Ambergris Caye.
” You’ll never forget this chair….. ”
” Be easy on yourself….. ”
” The first day of the rest of your life…. ”
” Fresh lobster….. ”
” Free Corona…..”
This is not a cheap place to be when you need water, a hot bath, internet, good food, fine wine and entertainment.Tapping into your inner person is best done when you have a stack of hundred’s in your wallet and a high credit limit.
Chasing Zen masters is sought these days mostly by people of substance.
Tulum has two faces.
There is the Hotel Zone which is a strip of bars, restaurants, hotels,and retail shops along the main road running along the beach all the way south to a biosphere nature preserve called Sian Kian. Then there is the Mexican town of Tulum where locals live. You can find tourists in the town of Tulum and locals in the Hotel Zone, but each is a different slice of Mexican pie.
This restaurant,Matteo’s, is in the Hotel Zone, towards the north end, and features, according to the sign, ” The Best Fish Tacos on Earth. ”
When questioned, these two kids maintain that the tacos are really the best in the Universe, but agree this would be difficult to prove since Mexico doesn’t send up space ships to verify.
In mid day, the restaurant is doing good business and fish tacos are swimming out of the kitchen.The kids give a thumbs up and let their picture be taken. I’ll be back for the best tacos on Earth.
Who would turn down such an opportunity?
Imitation is, a famous wit once explained, the greatest form of flattery.
Elvis Presley was a star and shone bright in Tinseltown for decades. In his Elvis impersonator show, Danny Vernon croons, tells jokes, moves his hips, loves on the audience.
Some of these fans saw Elvis himself in Las Vegas, watched his hips while he turned Rock an Roll into a money making machine. A good impersonator brings back old magic and Danny gives glimpses of the King.
This show is almost two hours and Elvis would approve.
Afterwards, Danny poses for pictures with the ladies, like Elvis did.
The ladies, old enough to be grandmothers, are giggly and reach for his sequins.
Even after death, Elvis casts a big shadow.
Some people grow bigger than life, even after they have vanished.
Elton might not approve, but a cheap radio, playing one of his yesteryear hits, provides music at the Rincon RV Resort Farmer’s Market.
Having the same feeling as watching a John Wayne movie on a TNT movie night, I listen to Elton belt out his early ancient hit to whomever is listening. Once a song goes out on the air, it has more lives than a cat.
Now, rumors of his lifestyle are far more interesting than his music, but good songs seem to outlast their composers and resonate across generational borders.
Ghosts stick around, but music residuals go on forever.
Shuffleboard is more cut throat than it appears.
Before these players take a shot, they consult, put chalk on their hands,look at the weather, visualize their stride.
You are the one responsible for propelling your disc down a slick, treacherous court. You live or die by your own hand.
In this game, strength is not needed, but steady nerves, strategy, and touch are critical. Your only uniform is a good pair of tennis shoes, loose fitting clothes and a cap.
There is no crying here because these are grownups who know the odds, and the score.
The only thing harder than playing shuffleboard here is playing shuffleboard on a cruise ship, with rough waves.
I wouldn’t play shuffleboard against any of these old people, man or woman.
I know sharks when I see them and old sharks are particularly dangerous.
The Rincon Railroad is for kids at heart.
Around the corner from the front office, the railroad town of Rincon has been created. On certain days of the week, on a strict schedule, railroad caps are donned, engine whistles toot, and trains roll around five different sets of tracks.
Frosty’s Diner is a favorite fifties stop on this line, and, if a visitor pushes a red button by the side of the tracks, jukebox music takes you back to when these railroad men were kids.
Inside, chocolate shakes are thick, hamburgers are bigger than the buns, a waitress named Flo tells her annoying customers to ” Kiss My Grits. ”
I would love to eat here but I am too big to fit inside the car.
We have borders.
Our skin is our closest border, a barrier that keeps bacteria and viruses out, gives us our particular shape and size, allows us to be flexible and move with agility.
Our minds have borders that allow us to go as far as we think we can.
Countries also have borders that keep them independent and sovereign.
This border check, on Arizona Highway 19, is between Nogales and Tucson.
Cars going north, further into Arizona and the United States, come to a standstill as border agents stop us and ask – ” Are you American citizens?
German shepherd dogs, on leashes, walk around our vehicle with their specially trained noses looking for drugs and contraband. A uniformed Border Patrol agent peers through the car window at us as we go through his check and answer his questions till he gives us a quick visual once over and waves us through.
Open borders is a compassionate political theory, but, at night, do we leave our front doors open and hang a Welcome sign on our refrigerator?
Why does migration seem to be always going in the same direction, from less economically viable countries to places with more opportunity?
For better and worse, at some point, people always vote against borders with their feet.
Art flourishes in the desert.
At the Tubac Art Festival, streets are closed to traffic, excepting horse drawn wagons, and tents are being set up while parking attendants put on their lime colored jackets and sunscreen.
Two of the parking lots are already full of cars by ten thirty, and, in the third lot, sightseers are getting their shoes dusty walking across dirt fields towards the Art Festival. Tubac is festive and shows us old and new restaurants, galleries, gift shops, restaurants, bars, white tents sheltering festival exhibitors.
Tubac is off Highway 19, between Tucson and Nogales, and, according to my brother Alan, who was here some years ago, looks different than it was.
” None of that was here, ” he remarks and points at a cluster of shops, each one trying to attract buyers with signs and special sales.
February is a prime time of the year for retailers here and a proprietor shows us his hand woven rugs from around the world as we zip into his shop to look at western artifacts.
” Is it hard to make it here in the summer, ” I ask?
The man squints a bit as if he were outside in a spotlight sun.
” We do the best we can, ” he says, ” you have to be adaptable. ”
This annual festival will draw thousands and some will buy. Most will look, socialize, eat, deal with parking and logistics, take pictures and enjoy the event.
Art, for me, is always a festival.
I buy something small by a Chinese man who does watercolors of goldfish and I bet the ones he drew, and filled in with color, were part of his dinner last night.
Art, in the East, is as far from cowboys and Indians as you can get.
Recent Comments