I find it difficult to believe that in just a few hours I will have been in Cozumel for exactly one week. My experience is that when I am practicing “living in the moment,” time seems to play strange games with me. On the one hand, I feel as if I have lived here for literally months, or even years. On the other hand, it seems like I arrived just yesterday. Each day is so overflowing with a fullness of experience that it could be an entire lifetime in and of itself. Yesterday was such a day.
After memorizing another sunrise, I gave myself permission to spend a couple of hours just sitting and relaxing in front of my laptop. It was not long however, before I gave in to my eager desires to explore more “uncharted territory.” Shortly after 8:30 a.m., I hopped onto my bicycle to begin an unplanned expedition.
“Ouch,” I silently exclaimed, as I flinched at the lingering soreness. I had completely overdone my first bike excursion on Sunday evening, and my derrière felt as if it had been badly bruised from the long bumpy ride on a hard narrow seat. I had given myself a two day sabbatical from riding, hoping to give my body a chance to recover slightly, but a mild pain yet persisted.
“It is not too bad,” I encouraged myself, “Its much less painful than it was Monday morning.” I coerced myself into continuing, by reassuring myself that I would not push myself into riding a great distance—yet in the back of my mind I was fully aware that the weather forecast was predicting that Thursday might be the only day this week that would be free of rain. I began my ride cautiously, as I glided through the neighborhoods to my south. This time, unlike past explorations, I focused on areas further away from the waterfront.
As I navigated further away from the center of town, I noticed that many of the streets began allowing two-way traffic. The building architectures, a variety of multi-colored concrete/cinderblock walls, were quite similar to those in my own neighborhood, but the streets did not feel quite as narrow, nor were they as crowded. Neighborhood shops, mini-supers, and tiny mom-and-pop restaurants were frequently scattered amongst the homes. The mini-supers are quite small, and usually contain a small selection of refrigerated soft drinks and a limited variety of basic snack foods. The neighborhood shops came in all varieties, such as iron works, shoe repair, carpentry, tiny salons, clothing, etc…
As I neared the end of the developed city, I took note of the fact that I had just passed 135th avenue a few blocks earlier—meaning that I was approximately 27 blocks from the waterfront. Curious to find the main road that runs east to west, literally cutting the island in half, I aimed my bicycle northward, my intuition telling me that the road would just be a short distance away.
The island of Cozumel is situated approximately 12 miles off the eastern coast of the Mexican Yucatan peninsula, directly opposite the city of Playa Del Carmen. Cozumel is approximately 30 miles long (north to south) and 12 miles wide (east to west). Except for the airport and a several mile stretch of tourist resorts just north of town on the western side, the northern half of the island is almost totally uninhabited. What sparse maps I am able to find of the island do not reveal any roads leading into that remote region. One of these days, I plan to explore on my bicycle to see if there is any access at all.
The road I was searching for was slightly familiar to me, as I had driven on it one time during my short adventure to Cozumel in late 2007. It came as no surprise, when after riding approximately 4 blocks north, I ran right into a wide four lane highway. “This is the place” I whispered to myself, as I instinctively steered to the right without a second thought. It was now 9:30 a.m., I had not eaten anything for breakfast, but the little voice in my head told me “Just ride … you will be OK … you can stop along the way and get drinks and food if you need them. Just ride.”
“This Jedi master mind control stuff is kind of exciting,” I silently told myself. I simply need to pay careful attention to the thoughts that seem to be placed into my heart. Peace and confidence permeated my body as I knew that I have never regretted following any of these voices—in fact I have always had incredible experiences when I did follow them. I had full expectations that this time would be no different.
As I write this, I am again sitting on a shady bench in the town plaza. A large lizard is slithering around less than six feet in front of me. It pauses in a sunny spot to momentarily absorb a few warm rays, and then proceeds to munch on several tiny reddish berries that litter the concrete walkway in front of me. A family with young children passes by—and before I can snap a quality photograph, my new friend darts off to my left—apparently not at all comfortable with the prospect of being so closely examined.
This area of the plaza is paved with five-foot squares of concrete—but with an added and distinctive flair. Instead of grout, the border between each slab is ornately filled in with a three-inch strip of small rocks held in place by a cement grout. The Squares of concrete are littered with leaves, berries, and bird poop. In fact, not long ago, a little blob of brown moisture landed on my right forearm—one of the “blessing” of sitting under this thick shady tree to write. Just two days ago, a bird carefully positioned itself above me, took aim, and bombed my laptop monitor with two partially eaten red berries—nothing that a quick wipe with my hand-towel could not quickly take care of. I am not-so-eagerly awaiting my first experience of droppings that consist of a more milky and substantial nature.
Back on the highway, civilization gradually faded away as the road took on an increasingly remote feeling. Jungle began to take the place of homes, souvenir shops, and the occasional mini-super—yet these small shops and homes were not all-together left behind. The jungle in Cozumel is not at all like you might imagine from watching old movies of expeditions into the wilds of the Amazon. While the jungles of Cozumel are green and thick, they only rise up about twenty feet above the lush thick growth of smaller trees and shrubs below.
Some six miles and thirty minutes later, I was thrilled as the turnoff road to San Gervasio came into view. Situated about midway across the island, this intersection marked the end of the first leg of my journey. By now, I had imbibed over half of a liter of Coca Cola and my entire body was dripping with sweat. My body felt as if I were riding in a steam sauna—but in some ways I guess I was doing just that. According to weather.com, the temperature would have been about 86 degrees, with humidity in the 62% range.
“Keep going,” my inner voices whispered in my ear. “You’re almost there. You can do this–don’t give up now.” As usual, I ignored my own ego logic and listened to the voices in my heart. Turning north, I guided my trusty bicycle onto a narrow one-lane road that would be my companion for an additional four miles as I delved deeper into the wild. I had expected the road to be gravel, as both the maps and my memory told me it would be—but I was pleasantly surprised by the rough, bumpy pavement.
The jungle seemed to be hotter and drier than I remembered. Eighteen months ago, I had driven down this narrow road in an air-conditioned car, on a cloudy day, just minutes after a rainstorm had given new life to the thirsty jungle below. During that drive, the jungle had felt so lush and green. Now, perspiring from every pour, feeling the heat of the sun pounding down on my forearms (which by the way were covered in SPF 30), I pushed on in sheer determination.
Pulling into the parking lot at last, I was greeted by a gentleman who told me where I could park my bicycle. In his broken English, he then warned me that the mosquitoes were out today, and suggested I should wear bug repellant. In my broken Spanish, I asked if I could buy insect repellant inside, and he said “Yes, but if you like I can give you some.” I smiled and accepted his offer, and he was soon spraying all of my bare skin, ankles, forearm, neck, and even some on my hands for me to wipe on my ears and cheeks. Handing him a 20 peso bill, I thanked him and asked if he would keep an eye on my bicicleta.
One of my favorite memories of Cozumel in 2007 was the magical few hours I spent exploring the jungle paths in the Mayan ruins called “San Gervasio.” These ruins cannot even begin to compare to the appeal and grandeur of the restored pyramids at Tulum on the mainland, but they have continued to capture a sacred space in my soul. Mostly unrestored, San Gervasio contains about ten to fifteen crumbling Mayan ruins, joined together by a small maze of pathways meandering through the untouched jungle. The appeal of San Gervasio for me is the remote location, the ancient Mayan spiritual energy that still lingers (at least I feel it), and the dirt pathways that wind their ways over and around tree roots, as you follow them between the small ruins.
After purchasing a ticket and making a quick restroom stop, I chugged down the remaining half of my liter of Coca Cola—not stopping until it was completely empty. I had noticed in the bathroom mirror that my nose was red, but not from sunburn—it was red from body heat. I gave the Coca Cola a few minutes to settle, and then set off into the jungle. I didn’t stop for much of anything; I knew exactly where I was going. A feeling of disappointment attempted to settle in as I noticed that the jungle did not live up to my memories—but I pushed the disappointment away and reminded myself to not compare the present moment to the past. “This is a new experience,” I told myself, “Release past memories and comparisons, and create a completely new memory with no expectations.” That is exactly what I set out to do.
I stopped for a short break by a sink hole where a large jungle tree with incredible roots was growing with a prominent presence. I removed my backpack, pulled out a book “God on a Harley,” and was about to begin reading when the book slipped from my fingers, landing at the bottom of the small sink hole some six feet below. Laughing at myself, I scanned the area and noticed a place on the far side where I could climb down inside. Once at the bottom, I let my imagination run wild as I wondered what sort of creatures might be living under the thin layer of leaves that lined the ground. In my sandals, with bare toes and ankles, I carefully blazed my path on the fifteen foot journey back to my book. As I bent down to retrieve it, I glanced up to examine the view. In front of my eyes, a large open cavern led about ten feet underneath the spot where I had been sitting above. Three or four bats where hanging, suspended upside down near the rear of the cavern. Immediately I thought of my dear friend Jeanette, knowing how excited she would be at the sight of these mysterious winged night creatures. She absolutely loves bats.
Returning back to my perch above the cavern, I read for half an hour and then resumed my quest for my ultimate destination – the largest of the structures – a small pyramid named Ka’na Nah, which is believed to have been the sanctuary of the Goddess Ixchel. It was my favorite, and I envisioned myself spending several hours reading and simply absorbing the ambient energy. As I strolled down the narrow pathway, a couple of iguana’s gradually inched across the path. I briefly paused to watch them before they scurried off into the leaves and underbrush, and then resumed my slow pace forward.
Finding a shady rock on which to sit, I cycled between reading and simply “being.” While studying the pyramid with its unique jungle backdrop, I imagined the ancient Mayans occupying this space, hearing the same sounds of birds, the same rustling of leaves, the same gentle breezes, the same jungle odors, and the same gentle clouds gracing the blue sky above.
In this beautiful and peaceful ambience, I finished reading my book, “God on a Harley,” completing the second time that I have read it in the past week. Before leaving Salt Lake City, my friend Trish highly recommended it, and told me “Brenda, you must buy it and take it with you.” I am grateful for her advice, as the book has spoken deeply to my passion for living in the moment.
The beautiful little book by Joan Brady, tells the story of a woman who was stuck in life, and who finally learned how to transcend the emotional walls she had built around herself, to live in the moment, to take care of herself and her own needs, to strip away the ego, to recognize that all things are possible, and learn to live in the flow of the universe. The book was basically a simple roadmap for exactly what I am trying to do in my own life.
As I read the book for the second time, I underlined quotes that resonated deeply. I won’t share with you the quotes that I highlighted. I’ll let you find your own, should you choose to read the book for yourself.
Three hours later, as I finished the short 147 page book, I felt in my heart that the time had arrived for me to resume my journey. With peace and rich calmness, I meandered back to the main gate, unlocked my bicycle, and methodically pedaled my way back the same way I had come. Just an hour later, again exhausted and drenched in sweat, I was throwing my dripping clothes into a pile and stepping into a nice cool shower—with visions of a restful nap floating around in my mind.
But alas, I realized it was 3:45 p.m., and I had not had a single bite to eat all day. I never cease to amaze myself at how I can simply forget to eat when I am immersed in the moment. After slipping into fresh clothes and sliding into some fresh makeup (yes I said sliding—as the humidity makes it really moist and slippery), I walked back down to the plaza with intentions to experience a new restaurant. After a delightful meal of chicken chimichangas, a little voice inside said “It is about time that you actually stuck your toes into some saltwater.” Yes, in my six days here, my explorations had not yet taken me to the surf’s edge.
After my wet and sandy toes dried off in the moist air, I brushed the dry sand away, slipped back into my sandals, strolled back to the plaza, and spent two hours studying Spanish books. The language is becoming easier every day, and I am determined to learn as fast as I can.
I topped off my day with vastly different forms of dessert. First, I sat in silence as I enjoyed another beautiful sunset—with the sun framed by beautiful towering cloud formations as it disappeared gently into the faint images of Playa Del Carmen, barely visible just twelve miles across the water. Then, as I walked away on the now-quiet streets, an ice cream shop accosted me out of nowhere. It loudly proclaimed “Stop here, Now! Buy something for yourself.” I love listening to these types of internal voices. I eagerly complied by purchasing a “cajita de helado de fresa”. I can’t explain why, but in a magical way, it was the best cup of Strawberry ice cream I have ever eaten.
© Brenda Larsen, 2009