As I begin my writing today, I am surrounded by pigeons, beautiful and colorful pigeons. Each proudly displays its own unique blends of brown, black, grey, and white. One even has a hint of purple, while another reflects green sparkles as the morning sun shines on his shinny upper back.
A few minutes earlier, as a single pigeon strutted by, I tossed out a tiny fragment of my morning cinnamon roll. Soon, two pigeons were eagerly hanging out just a few feet in front of me, hoping for an additional act of generosity. Pinching off another tiny piece of sweet bread, I flicked it out onto the ground. Gradually my winged admirers multiplied, four, then seven, then eleven. At the height of my popularity, I counted seventeen cooing fans. While eagerly awaiting each tasty morsel, they proudly strutted their stuff, with their tiny little heads bobbing forward and backward, dancing with the rhythm of each footstep.
My new flock of friends is very fickle. As I finished off the remaining few bytes of my meager breakfast, they seemed to realize that their own dining session was also ending. Showing no interest in remaining long-term friends, they began to disband as randomly as they had arrived. A few at a time, their numbers diminished, until now, I am again alone with my tiny laptop.
Dolphin Delight
Activity in the plaza is starting to bustle as I reminisce over yesterday’s incredible adventures. It was a day I will not soon forget, seven hours of wonder-filled sailing and snorkeling with eleven of my new American friends.
For two hours we slowly meandered down the picturesque shoreline of Cozumel. The cool ocean breeze was incredibly refreshing as I sat on the front deck of our thirty-foot sailboat while visiting with a few of my new friends. The front sail provided much welcome shade from the bright sun above as we enjoyed our view of the crystal clear blue waters below.
As we sailed, a large thunderstorm appeared to be gaining on us, gradually approaching from behind and to our left. But, as commonly happens here on the island, the storm was localized, missing us completely. After a couple of hours, the threatening showers simply blew by to our east.
Our first stop was a sandy location called “Cielos” (meaning heavens). This area, very near the southwest tip of the island, derives its name from the abundance of starfish in the depths below.
Our boat tied off on a lone buoy in ten-foot-deep waters. Perhaps three-fourths of a mile to our east sat a beautiful white sandy beach. This area of the island has no man-made developments, making the pristine beach appear ever so tempting and inviting. At one point I paddled to a spot about two hundred yards from shore. The water here was only about five feet deep, allowing me to temporarily stand up. As I swam back toward the boat, I began to notice whole, unbroken sand dollars scattered here and there in the sandy bottom below.
Something else I noticed were small fish, ranging from two to four inches in length. Even with a discerning eye, these fish were almost completely invisible. Their bodies were thin and flat, hugging the bottom like miniature sting rays without the tail. They had two little bulging eyes on top of their head, and their coloring was literally identical to that of the white sandy bottom. I’m still not sure if it is true, but one of my friends told me that these were baby flounders.
In the other direction from the boat, away from the coastline, the bottom was slightly grassy with a few scattered rocks. Throughout this area, large starfish were randomly scattered. I don’t recall ever having seen such perfectly shaped starfish in nature. My previous experience with starfish has been primarily in tide pools along the Oregon Coast, where amongst the sharp jagged rocks, the starfish were usually contorted in a variety of positions as they clung tightly, hanging on for their lives in the cold surf. Here, gently resting on the bottom, these beautiful starfish truly did remind me of stars in the “Cielos.”
For me, the highlight of “Cielos” was a large Moray Eel hiding in the cavity of a rock just ten feet from our buoy. Several times I took a large deep breath before using my underwater “dolphin” skills to swim to the bottom, getting as close to the cavity as I dared. The eel was spectacular, with the same beautiful black and white coloring as the one I had seen from a distance on a previous outing near Chankanaab. From my vantage point just a few feet away, I had a clear view. With its upper body in a slight “S” shape, and its mouth wide open, the eel was showing me its profile.
After making a couple of “swim-bys,” I opted to leave well-enough alone, realizing that I know nothing about the possible aggressiveness of these beautiful creatures.
Our second snorkeling stop was by far my favorite. After sailing a few miles back up the coast, and a little further away from shore, we again leaped from the boat, plunging into the warm currents of “Columbia Shallows.”
Reaching depths of perhaps thirty to forty feet, this reef is abundant with living coral heads, many of which rise quite near to the water’s surface. Taking advantage of the strong currents, both boat and swimmers drifted for forty-five minutes as we passed above beautiful vistas of the ocean life below. In the midst of the reef’s wonders, three favorite memories still linger.
The first two I have seen before. A large manta ray and a lone sea turtle each playfully enjoyed the aliveness of their natural habitats as they explored the bottom below. By far my favorite memory, however, was that of the shark.
As I drifted near the boat, I heard the muffled sound of someone loudly calling out. Momentarily raising my masked face out of the water, I heard the word shark and noticed a few people eagerly pointing behind me toward the depths below.
Immediately putting my mask back into the water, I turned around, began swimming against the currents, and anxiously scanned the reef with intense interest. I was not sure exactly what I was attempting to see, and try as I might, I could see nothing at all that even remotely reminded me of a shark.
Again popping up out of the water, I asked the lady nearest me, “Where is it?”
“You missed it,” she said, “it swam behind the reef over there.”
Continuing to swim against the strong current, I gradually made headway back along the reef, while constantly scanning the bottom below. I fully expected, any minute, to see a small shark swim by somewhere in the depths.
When I finally saw it, an adrenaline rush filled my entire body. This was no baby. There, swimming along the bottom, perhaps fifty feet away was a large six foot shark. It looked every bit as ominous and dangerous as ones I have seen on television and in movies. As I continued to swim against the current to get a closer view, I was fascinated, not feeling even the slightest sensation of fear. Somehow, I just figured that if we were in any danger the boat captain would be signaling for us to return immediately—which he was not doing.
For perhaps five minutes a few of us maintained position, observing the large spectacular creature below. Soon, the shark settled down onto the sandy bottom between two coral heads. After a minute or two of maintaining position amidst the currents, I decided it finally was time to move on.
Once I returned to the boat, I learned a little more. The shark below was a “nurse shark.” Just this morning, a few minutes before beginning my morning stroll to the plaza, I engaged in quick internet search.
“Nurse sharks are rarely aggressive to humans,” the article casually declared.
“Hmmm,” I thought to myself, “this means that there must be rare times when they do attack humans.”
I smiled as this thought added a little cautious perspective—and another small feeling of adrenaline—to the whole experience.
As our sailboat began our two-hour journey back up the coastline, I was in seventh heaven. None of us even remotely imagined our next treat. About halfway back to the city, someone noticed movement in the distance. Immediately we were all intently staring at the horizon to see what it was.
Up popped two sets of fins—only to quickly disappear. Seconds later, three fins popped out of the water, and then again submersed below the waves. Soon we could clearly see that a small school of perhaps eight dolphins was swimming about a quarter mile off to our left.
The captain immediately changed direction and headed right towards the beautiful mammals. Within minutes, they were splashing right in front of us. What happened next surprised every one of us. Being at the very tip of the boat, I had a front row seat. Three or four at a time, the dolphins took turns racing with us under the bow of the boat. For more than a minute, the dolphins engaged in a tag-team race directly below my bare feet. Almost as if on cue, one or two would veer off and more would take their place. They were literally six feet below me, their beautiful gray bodies elegantly swishing forward just inches below the surface of the crystal blue waters.
As the dolphins gave up and stopped following, the captain flipped a large U-turn and headed right back toward them. Each time, as we came near, the dolphins resumed their behavior. Everyone else on the boat had grabbed their cameras, but I was so fixated on the incredible energy of the experience that I did not want to leave my post. Finally, after five or six long passes through the dolphin playground, I quickly scampered for my backpack, retrieved my camera, and managed to get a few quick photos before our final pass through the dolphins came to an end. While pulling away, as we watched the dolphins from a distance, many of them began to splash their tails on the water’s surface.
“That means they are mating,” someone exclaimed.
For the final thirty minutes, I remained at the very tip of the boat. After spying the dolphins, the captain had put the sail away and was driving solely under the power of his engines. Wrapping one arm around the rolled-up sail, I leaned forward, silently inhaling the vista around me. A light cloud cover was protecting us from the heat of the sun. The salty scent of the air, the cool breeze, and the incredible scenery were hypnotizing me. As we neared the shore, my new friend JayDee approached.
“I am totally loving this peaceful experience.” I told her.
“Yes, it’s almost spiritual.” She replied.
“Exactly, for me it is spiritual.” I eagerly continued, “I have been up here in an almost meditative state, just absorbing everything around me. I cannot imagine a more beautiful day.”
Three-Legged Joy
Earlier this week, on Sunday night, the plaza festivities were eagerly calling to me. Arriving around 7:45 p.m., I was quite surprised to see my friend JayDee sitting on a bench with her father who had just arrived in town for a visit. I snuck right past Miguel and ran over to greet JayDee. She and her father quickly scooted over on the bench, making enough room for me to squeeze in—but before sitting, I let them know that I needed to go talk to Miguel first.
As I tapped Miguel on the shoulder, he responded with a huge smile, a brief hug, and a quick peck on the cheek. Immediately, he began to look around for a place where I could park my body, but pointing to my left, I quickly told him, “I’m sitting over there with my friend JayDee and her father.”
Seconds later, I was introducing Miguel. For the next forty five minutes Miguel stood and chatted with the three of us. He was happy to report that a friend had driven him all around the island in his Jeep on Saturday. Miguel has a beautiful jeep sitting in his driveway, owned by his son, but does not drive it himself.
“I don’t have a license to drive.” Miguel reminded me.
Several times before, we have discussed this issue. Repeatedly Miguel has asked if I wanted to drive the jeep, but my response has always been “Yes, I do have a license, but I don’t have insurance to drive in Mexico. I can’t drive your jeep.”
Sunday night, Miguel surprised me with, “I think I will get my own license. Then you and I can drive all over the island. My son worries about me. He doesn’t want me to have my own license—but I know I would be OK.”
I just smiled—I’ll deal with that situation if it happens. Who knows, I might just let him drive me around a little—it might be fun.
Normally the band begins to play by around 8:15 p.m., but technical problems seemed to be delaying their start. At 8:30 p.m., Miguel excused himself with “I think I’m going home to watch television and rest.” I couldn’t help but wonder if he felt like a “fourth wheel.” It was necessary to frequently speak with JayDee and her father in English. I tried to be polite and fill Miguel in on what we were saying … but wondered if perhaps he felt annoyed that I had other friends at the plaza.
Fifteen minutes later, JayDee and her father also excused themselves. He had been traveling since the wee hours of the morning, and decided that waiting for a band that may never start was not as important as getting some much needed rest.
While sitting alone, I began people watching—but soon switched to watching dogs. Several people from the humane society were taking advantage of the lull in festivities, and were walking around the plaza with dogs on leashes. Each of the furry little “perros” was wearing a little coat that said “adopt me” in bold letters. As I watched from afar, one particular little guy immediately captured my love and attention.
Never in my life have I seen a little dog radiate such love, joy, and zest for life. Everyone around this dog seemed to be enchanted by his beautiful countenance and his innocent playfulness. I was so captivated by this delightful little fellow that a few moments passed before I even realized that something was different. He only had three legs. His left front leg was missing.
For fifteen minutes, I watched this little guy interact with the crowd. It was plain to see that I was not the only one captivated by his presence. When he ran from one place to the next, he joyfully hopped up and down on his right front leg as he propelled himself forward with his rear legs.
Looking at this incredible animal, I did not see a handicap. Instead, I saw pure love, indescribable joy, and complete acceptance of “what is.” I could not help but be amazed as I began to derive a lesson for myself.
This little dog did not even have the word “victim” in his doggy vocabulary. It was obvious that his purpose here was to love and enjoy life. Nothing as small as missing a leg was going to stop him from doing just that. Through his positive attitude and pure love, he was literally infecting everyone around him.
“Would that we could all approach life with the attitude of this beautiful little dog.” I pondered to myself.
As the music finally began at 9:15 p.m., the humane society workers quickly retreated as the center of the plaza filled up almost immediately with people. I was actually sad to see the little bundle of joy disappear with his keepers. That beautiful little three-legged dog gave me a precious gift that can never be taken away.
Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved