Chuburna Puerto Journal 2011

Tonight, I picked up my journal, after more than one person has inquired about my writing in recent weeks. I flipped through my overstuffed sketchbook that I carried in Mexico at this time last year.  Two journal entries caught my eye simply due to the contrast and range of travel experience...

Day 6
Chuburna Puerto, Mexico

The days are long here, even though I sleep in and I wake to the light.  I know that whatever time I get there, it will be too late for many of the birds who have already gone deeper into the shrubbery for shade. I like breakfast, which delays me.  Those birds that I do find,  I find by dumb luck and patience.  Today was about birds of prey and iguana.  Yesterday was marked by the raucous soundings of the Chachalaca and a Crested Guan, or Curassow who climbed to the top of the trees and sounded their call. The Lesser Yellow Headed Savana Vulture was my beautiful prize today.

I fed ham slices to the mama dogs near the boats.  The young harbor man eyed me with suspicion as I walked the perimeter searching for a place to launch my travel Kayak into a maze of islands not covered on any map that I could find.  That probably isn't good, and I probably shouldn't launch anything anywhere.

Day 12
Chuburna Puerto, Mexico

The two week vacation, though skimpy, may have come about for people's own good.  It seems as we close in on two weeks, no matter where we are in the world, all hell seems to break loose.  A traveler is prone to injure themselves, we perform unnecessary rowdy activities, and "push it" until we find ourselves flipping through the pages of the local tourist paper hunting for the location of the nearest hospital and Consulate.

It was today that I found myself wishing that I had read up on the venomous creatures of the Yucatan, and that I had taken one blogger's advice to stock oneself with a pricey antihistamine that should "keep you" long enough to get to a hospital if one of seemingly dozens upon dozens of scenarios involving spiders, scorpions, wasps, or snakes comes your way.  But I was heading off on an adventure.  The sensible travel planning would have to wait for a couple of hours.

At the nearly two week mark, I found myself thigh deep in malodorous sulphuric mud and brine, wallowing about in search of a freshwater cenote, flamingos, and the local variety of gator.  All of the anithistamine in the  world wouldn't save me from this guided "day trip" of mountain biking the mud flats of the Northern Yucatan coast.  There didn't seem to be a lot of biking involved, unless you include carrying a heavy rusty bike on your shoulders through this mud pit of a tidal flat.  This went on for miles.  We had already encountered an aggressive poisonous snake ten minutes into the day.  I hung my reef booties on the handle bars of the bike after they were sucked off my feet back there by the viper.  I believe it was the loud suction cup smack of the booties being pulled into this muck that may have been what scared the snake back into the brush.

Not everyone believes in a sixth sense, but I hope that all readers will consider that there is a special traveler sense that tips you off when your guide is lost.  The guide tries to hide the signs of a frantic racing heart, thick unrecognizable brush, and lack of trail, but something tells us that we are in trouble.  Around the world all lost guides strike a regal gait, hold their head a bit too high, and try to scan for any sign that they recognize, all while avoiding eye contact.

We ditched the bikes on a pale pink mud bank so to go in search for the "National Geographic was there" cenote.  It promised fresh cold water to be bubbling up out of the core of a tiny island. The guide Carlos proceeded to tell me that he had brought  no water because it was too heavy.  The second guide in command, Luis,  drowned his phone three steps toward the island.  I was clearly not in good hands.  I carried my own water, food, and an equally nonexistent mental map of the area in my head. My gear was waterproofed in simple plastic bags, rolled into an vinyl aquabag.  More than once I fantasized about "forgetting" the bike, the guides, and walking the coast to my rental home guided only by the sun.  I was actually having heat induced dreams of ditching my guides, lounging on the coast eating the entire can of black beans and drinking all of my water myself. The guides interrupted my dreams so to make a vague gesture toward what appeared to be two foot tall mud islands comprised of higher formations of mud with some scrub brush on top.  They seemed pitiful, and sure to disappoint, but we pushed on.

We walked in waist deep water, with our legs sinking deep into the underwater sulphur mud below.  This created a dangerous situation where you could possibly sink deep enough to drown.  I decided it may be best to distribute my weight by sinking into the water and scootching my way across the mud like a crab of sorts.  It was humbling to be swimming in muck,  as both guides laughed.  I wanted to ask if he knew where we were, and which island we were looking for, where was the trail, and why do we have bikes when we need a boat.  But I held off on the questions and simply moved toward the islands of mud.

It was not entirely a surprise that the mud lump from which the underground water source, known regionally as a cenote, was to emerge had been washed away in the five plus years since National Geographic was here.  It was still bubbling, but now it was underwater. I modified my crab crawl into a doggie paddle and belly flopped into it's cool waters.  For a few brief moments I was free of sulphur mud.  My lead guide noted that this is where he would get drinking water for us.  There was one problem, he did not swim, and had no intention of diving head first into an underwater gaping cavity in the mud where the water flowed out of.  I had to do it.  More than once I imagined this being my last adventure.  I dove time and time again, holding an old plastic bottle into the mouth of an underwater river.  The water was undrinkable, being filled with too much of the sulphur muck no matter how hard I tried.

There was no drinking water, no gators, no flamingos, not a visible cenote for me to film, and a little too much adventure.  We had to return to reclaim the burden of bikes, and we still had no idea where the trail was.  We had no other option than to go to the coast which would increase our trip by many miles.  I tried in vain to mention the tides, and how it may not be in our favor.  That resulted in the understatement of my life.  We were met by waves crashing upon the rocky coast.  There was no beach as promised.  There was ocean, a powerful surge of incoming tides, and what appeared to be an approaching swell.  It would have been a somewhat enjoyable swim/hike now that our stomachs were full of beans, tortillas and cookies, but then there were the bikes.  We were now forced to navigate four foot waves while pushing a rusted mountain bike on fossilized coral and unstable rocks.

The sea tore the bikes from our hands so many times on our return.  It took six hours longer than it should have.  At times it felt as though we were trying to surf with bikes.  I wanted to cry, but I was just so happy to be on a straight, though dangerous course home, that I held off on the tears.  I learned pretty quickly that I had to stay between the ocean and the bike at all times, or risk having both of my wrists snapped if I remained on the land side of the bike. The second guide, Luis followed suit.  I seemed to be the new leader. Carlos was not pleased with this change in command, but Luis chose well, as I new the coast, and I was carrying the remains of my well packed lunch.

When we returned, we didn't speak much, but we agreed to go to a local place to drink a lot of beer and eat ourselves silly on the free tapa dishes that come with the overpriced Sol.  The owner of the place came out to see the unlikely trio of two local Mayans and myself, all stuffing tacos in as fast as we would.  It was hard to overlook the amount of damage that this adventure tour did to our bodies.  I had done the heaviest first aid kit raids in my travel history. It seemed like the worst was behind me, but I had no idea that in 72 hours I would be searching through the local tourist paper in search of the nearest emergency room....

Shared World

Today in the Garden

Today, I traveled just inches away from the world that I have grown to know...in the corner of the garden just outside my door.  I saw a flash of color that drew me in to this mysterious place...by the driveway.

The Road Back

Top to Bottom:  Rio Hondo as it reaches Belize, and Pollo Asado and Squirt refueling station, Tulum, Mexico, my hotel pool where victory laps took place, Merida 2011-2012

I have been back a month, and as I watch snow flakes fall on a late evening in March, it feels a bit as though I never left, as it seems like winter is coming rather than going. This Yucatan trip was the hardest trip that I have made in some time.  Language acquisition was particularly important as I navigated the Yucatan Peninsula in crisscross fashion for months on end.  It was a project that I dreamed up several years ago.  It made me sit through Spanish classes at Instituto Cervantes, NYC, spend a winter watching only Latin films, buy verb flashcards, and a kayak that I would later strap to my back day after day.  I swam laps at the pool and carried heavy buckets to a hundred roofs, knowing that each one made me a little stronger and a little closer to returning to the kind of travel that I always loved. The preparation was often seemingly on the back burner as I felt a bit trapped in city life.  "Too many depended upon me," I was told.  But then it dawned on me that I depended upon myself as well, and I barely recognized the New Yorker that I was fast becoming.  I needed an exit strategy and it was named "operation cenote."

So with work completed, I left, and few even realized I was gone.  That is NY for you as there is always someone or something that replaces you quite rapidly.  I arrived to every travelers nightmare where nearly every bit of travel preparation that I had made promptly went belly up upon my arrival.  From car rental agreements to the beach house that I rented.  Then hospitalization and several epi pen injections, and a brutal recovery from severe burns caused by my prescribed medicine's interaction with the sun...and all this within the first weeks.  I had to roll with a roller coaster ride of experiences that no one could have anticipated.

I came very close to giving up, but then realized that I could convalesce in Mexico and gather my inner courage.  Luckily, I did just that.  I forced myself to bed rest, editing, research, plus very large breakfasts and a lot of DIY first aid.  I learned that every trip to the Pharmacy could be an entertaining language lab.  I Used prior travel medicine knowledge to help me out of a rather scary two weeks with second degree burns on 1/3 of my body.  I cried when I looked at myself in the mirror on several occasions.  I feared infection, scaring and more days of pain.  I am happy to report that though there were many days of pain and a lot of tears, I was able to ward off both infection and scaring.  It gradually appeared that I was on my way to being as good as new.

I celebrated my recovery with a nighttime swim in the little hotel pool. I shivered and was still shy about the amount of scars that were still visible at that time, but I thought,"tough, I am swimming anyway," and I am very glad that I did.  For me, being visibly wounded is often harder than being invisibly wounded.  It brings out my shyness to the point of nearly sidetracking my activity. As I get older, I keep the shyness at bay the best I can. I donned my most elegant swim suit and the silk sarong that my former students had once lovingly covered in inspired swirls of dye, custom made for me, and down the stairs I went to the pool. My private celebration was briefly interrupted by the muffled applause of a beautiful Mexican lady who knew a bit of my story. It was a victory of recovering past the point of dangerous infection, and from that point on, time would slowly heal the scars left on the inside and out.  More importantly it was a more private victory tribute to being able to believe in oneself no matter what.          

To be continued...

Reconnection

The summer has passed and my seasonal environmental job also draws to a close.  It marks a closing point but also a reminder and renewal of my closeness with nature.  Though at times working outdoors caused us a great deal of stress as we had to cancel sites and be bumped off schedule, it was a big reminder that even in a city as big as New York, nature rules.

It was a pleasure to view the city from dozens of rooftops and speak to the residents that inhabit these neighborhoods.  It is too soon to know how these days will influence my artwork and life, but I feel that these days etched into me and when I move on to quieter places for reflection and creation, these moments will follow me.

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Sun Sun and More Sun

Right, so this was my ultimate survivor summer, but I wasn't any more remote than the urban jungles of the South Bronx.  What did I learn?  A lot of Spanish phrases and a fair bit about sunblock.  

Throughout the receint months, I have been in an unusual situation for a New York dweller.  I have been outdoors more than indoors.  I have experienced all kinds of weather, but rain and extreme heat seemed to compete for my attention. Just yesterday, a calm cloudy early autumn day registered163 degrees on the roof where I worked with my crew.  I felt relieved that we didn't bring the heat gun device in the midst of August, because some details you just don't want to know.

So what did I learn, well, I learned that after testing 8 types of sunblock, NO AD brand reigned supreme.  Yup, the cheap one that i first encountered as an eight year old while tearing up Wet-n-Wild in Orlando, Florida. My Mom dipped me in the stuff long ago, and now I can buy it in mass quantities at any corner shop in Brooklyn, Queens, or the Bronx. It is sold in nearly liter quantities that you can transfer to smaller reclaimed bottles so to save your back.

I had a horrible reaction to the fancy organic indulgence sunblock, an event that alarmed me of the possible reactions to mineral based sunblock.  I also spent two afternoons administering first aid to three crew members that had Coppertone Sport reactions when it got near their eyes. Not fun for any of us.

The biggest lesson I learned was to just cover up the exposed skin and alternate shorts with long pants, short sleeves with long.  Not exactly earth shattering news to report, but sometimes simple solutions are the best.


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Play a Good Hand While on the Road

When off the beaten path, a good card game will save the day.  Cards pack easily, they are small, and they usually have fairly simple rules that can be translated well enough to carry you through a monsoon season.  When you are far from all things...the smallest entertainment will make a big impact.

Today, I found a pack of environmental playing cards that would warm the hearts of even the most icebound of travellers to the far North and South seas.  Never before have I seen a card game based around the food chain, let alone my favorite underdogs of the sea, Krill...but today was my lucky day.  Not quite sure how to play it yet, but I know it will end up on the far stretches of the globe as a treasured conversation piece.

In all things, a small, meaningful gift will be worth it's weight in gold in the bottom of your pack.

Happy travels.

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Weatherproofing Yourself - Part 1

I have just returned from the Midwestern United States and it's 14 degree windchill. It is windy, snowy and just beginning the long winter cool down. People are out sledding, skiing and generally enjoying the weather both there and in the comparatively balmy New York City, but there is one major difference-here everyone is seems to be ill. Granted, here it is much more crowded in NYC and the likelihood of coming face to face with someone with the flu is pretty good, but I think it is also impacted in part by how people dress for the weather.

Over a year ago I decided to weather proof myself as an experiment. Could I enjoy life here in the city more if I were out in the elements and prepared for them? It seemed like a simple solution to my complex situation of being an outdoorsy person in our country's largest city. I would get to be outdoors a lot more, I would notice subtle changes around me, and I would get pretty fit in the process. I had become a Starbucks clutching, impatient subway rider, and that had to go. I decided to forgo my monthly metro pass and the Starbucks for several months an used that money to purchase gear. The plan was to walk to my destination instead of wait for transportation. I only used public transportation when I was really far from something. Waiting for the crosstown bus became a thing of my past.

With any lifestyle change comes initial adjustments and the occasional setback, the most obvious one in this case was time. Where was I going to find the time to do this? It ended up being a simple early to bed early to rise solution that helped with the initial changes in my commute around the city. Walking takes time, but so does waiting. Walking resulted in a predictable arrival time where the transportation wait times varied wildly. It also fostered a better sense of community because I ran my errands while in transit, allowing me to shop locally and become aware of the small businesses that I want to support. I was able to come up with various routes that would combine something practical with something beautiful- I could have a picnic breakfast in Central Park and watch the migrating birds for a couple of minutes instead of staring blankly down a subway tunnel for morning entertainment.

In the next posts, I am going to go through some of the gear trials and explain what I found useful in my experiment.