An 18 inch tan lizard with brown rings cautiously explores the treasures which lay on the concrete walkway just 6 feet in front of me. Pushing its nose into a small seedpod, it turns away disappointed, still looking for something better. Slowly, my little friend waddles a couple feet closer, zeroing in on a fine tasty treat—the dry squashed remains of a small berry. As he begins to eat, he completely ignores my motionless body. A tourist with a camera decides he has a better idea, and begins to move in. My new friend scampers off and climbs over the wall into the safety of the bushy shrubs surrounding the clock tower.
I look up. To my left I notice an armed policeman, looking quite official in his black uniform. As he strolls through the plaza, his right hand rests on the barrel of his small machine gun that dangles from a strap across his chest. His handgun is holstered on his right hip, and I trust that he knows how to use both weapons. To my right, just behind the clock tower, a young American couple, each wearing fancy Mexican sombreros, is smiling and happily snapping vacation photos of each other
As I sit here on my favorite shady bench, a couple of large African American men sit on the wall just a few feet behind me and to my right. They are big and strong, with the build of professional football players. Almost instantly, they ask, “Are you online? Do you have internet here in the plaza?” In the past, I may have been intimidated by these two, but I simply smile, look into their genuine eyes, access my heart, and envision them as beautiful teddy bears.
Only minutes after engaging in a delightful conversation, the topic magically drifts to the spiritual deep topic of following your heart. After telling them that I am working on two books, the discussion drifts to the topic of honesty in writing. I tell them “I am being 100% honest with things as I perceive and remember them—but I’m sure that others around me may see or remember the same events differently. All I can do is be honest from my own heart’s perceptions.”
“Why Cozumel?” one of them queries.
“I don’t know. All I can tell you is that my heart guided me here.” Then I begin to briefly summarize the inner journey that brought me to be sitting on this small shady bench in the plaza.
Then it happens—the golden question, “What is so interesting about your life that people would want to read about it?”
I smile, pause for a minute, glance into their eyes for a heart check, and slowly begin “I think I can share my story with you.” Trusting my heart, I proceeded to summarize the basic elements of my life struggles, using love and confidence to share what is now simply a story. No look of shock—just pure soul connection—was their response. Not letting their size intimidate me, I instead allow my heart-to-heart connection to continue guiding me.
We talk further about spirituality versus religion. After agreeing that true spirituality and real life change must come from within, they share a quote from the end of the movie “Dirty Laundry.” I wish I could quote it directly, but haven’t seen the movie and did not write their words down. Paraphrased, the quote was something like, “You haven’t lived if you don’t follow your own heart.”
A twinge of sadness jabs my heart as these two beautiful men stand up and let me know that it is time for them to move on. They are cruise ship passengers, and have limited time on this, the last day of their cruise. Shane reaches out his hand and I shake it. Keith begins to do the same, and I immediately say “enough of this handshake stuff.” After giving Keith a big hug, I turn back to Shane and hug him too. As they walk away to wherever they went, my heart is smiling. Somehow, I know that their hearts are smiling too.
Dear Sweet Miguel
Wednesday afternoon, I hopped onto my bicycle seat and began what I believed would be a short exploration of the southeastern corner of the city. A surge of energy turned my short ride into a 15 mile roundtrip ride to Chankanaab. On my return ride, as I neared the city center, I hopped off my bicycle and pushed it through the pedestrian-only plaza.
I had only one thing on my mind—my sweet 75 year old friend Miguel. I suspected I would see him in the plaza. My flight arrived on Monday afternoon, but I had spent my last two evenings resting. I knew it was time for a visit.
I spied Miguel sitting in the gazebo. His eyes lit up when he recognized me. I must have been quite the sight after just completing a 15 mile ride in the dripping-hot humidity—but I ignored my own appearance. It was time for more important things.
After a brief hug, we leaned my bicycle against the gazebo and climbed the stairs back to the bench where Miguel had been sitting. “How is your mother?” he asked.
In the best Spanish I could muster, I briefly explained the basics of the passing of both my mother and mother-in-law—and how I had attended two funerals.
Miguel continued “I knew you were coming back to Cozumel on Monday, so I was right here in this spot on Monday afternoon, waiting for you. Then, I was right here again on Tuesday. I am so glad to see you here today.”
I began to get nervous when this sweet friend told me “I thought about you every day. You are growing in my heart. Did you think about me everyday?”
I answered “I thought about you,” but did not know how to delicately add, “Just a little.”
“We are just friends, right?” I asked inquisitively—gently trying to make sure that he understands my genuine intentions to just be friends.”
“Yes,” he answered, “but my wife and I were friends too before we got married.”
Red flags flashed before my eyes, as I attempted to remind him “I’m not interested in dating, romance or marriage – I just want to be friends.”
I’m not really sure how effectively I communicated. From what I understand of his comments, he is growing very fond of me, and made it clear that he would like me to live permanently in Cozumel.
Having made my intentions as clear as I could, I relaxed into the conversation. Our ability to converse is still quite awkward and limited. At one point he made the statement. “I am just sitting here observing you. Are you observing me too?”
I replied, “Yes, I feel like I am observing you too, because I don’t have the words to speak what I would like to say.” Speaking no better than a three year old, I tried to explain my spiritual path of learning to love everyone, including him. “I love everyone here.” I emphasized.
Miguel pointed at something on my lower left lip—something from my sweaty ride—until I was finally able to remove it with a napkin. I will never know what it was, and was not the least bit embarrassed.
Sitting together for another hour, Miguel and I attempted to converse in small talk about this and that. Whoever wrote my Spanish/English Dictionary has my deepest gratitude, as it was my constant companion. I so appreciate Miguel’s patience, but worry deeply about his heart and his intentions regarding me.
While riding my bicycle toward home, I kept reminding myself “I don’t need to worry about Miguel. I just need to love unconditionally, follow my internal voices, and be kind and gentle. Everything will work out beautifully in the end. I don’t need to know what any of this is for.”
I Did It
As Wednesday evening drew to a close, a new ‘knowing’ had managed to filter into my soul. “Tomorrow, you are going to ride your bicycle around the entire southern end of the island.”
This was not a decision made with planning, foresight, and logic. It was simply something that I knew—something I was actually quite surprised to know. Many times I had thought that “one day soon I will attempt this journey,” but logic told me that I was not yet physically ready for such a ride. As my inner ‘knowing’ settled into place, I simply surrendered and told myself, “OK, I guess I better get packed.”
Thursday morning, excitement filled my soul. I tried to pack lightly, but my backpack was still heavy—with two liters of water, bicycle tools/pump/patch kit, my wallet, and a few snacks. I wore my swimming suit under my light blouse and capris, but opted to leave the weight of towels and snorkeling equipment behind.
At 7:45 a.m., with SPF 30 smeared all over my body, I locked my gate, mounted my trusty bicycle, and set off in the direction of the waterfront. The cool morning breeze was refreshing as I made excellent time heading south along the coast. Within 35 minutes, I was passing the spot where my tire had gone flat on a previous excursion. At 9:00 a.m., I pulled into “Playa Palancar”—the furthest south I had yet ventured on my bicycle. Resting briefly at this beautiful sandy beach, I sipped on a soft drink while I studied the gentle pulsing of the turquoise blue waters. After asking if I was going to stay and play on the beach, my kind waiter was surprised when I answered “No, I am riding my bicycle around the island, and I need to be going soon.”
By 10:00 a.m., I had reached the entry station to the “Punta Sur” reserve area. This is a gorgeous place at the southern tip of Cozumel. From the entrance station, a dirt road winds along the beach, past a few small Mayan ruins. On one side of the road are spectacular white sandy beaches, off limits to the public, because they are protected nesting grounds for sea turtles. On the other side of the road are a few large marshy areas—home to a variety of birds, fish, and even alligators. Two miles down the road stands a beautiful, tall, white, round lighthouse. The view from the top of the lighthouse is gorgeous.
Because of limited time, and the $8.50 entrance fee, I made the decision to return on a different occasion—at a time when I can devote my entire day to the experience. But past memories are calling me back for more than the lighthouse and the view.
Another dirt road starts at the lighthouse. On a regular schedule, visitors can catch a ride down that road, on benches in the back of an old truck, with the final destination being a beautiful and isolated beach. On my previous visit to Cozumel, I found a beautiful, shallow, living reef within swimming distance of shore. Yes, when I return to the lighthouse, I will be bringing my snorkeling equipment.
With memories still calling me back, I turned my bicycle northward and began my ride up the eastern shores of the island. This side of Cozumel directly borders the Caribbean Sea, and the views are spectacular. For the next three hours I feasted on the energy of the sea. The shoreline on the southeast has a variety of sandy beaches and rugged black rocks.
In the sandier areas, the first things that captured my focus was a cluster of three-foot deep holes in the white sand, with what looked at first like snowmobile tracks winding 100 or more feet from the hole back to the edge of the rough surf. Almost immediately, I realized that these were turtle tracks. About four feet wide, the middle of the tracks was smoother, while the edges were riddled with little cupped out holes made by the turtle’s feet as they pushed and dug their way back toward the ocean. Most of these tracks looked quite recent, showing minimal signs of erosion from wind or storm. It also occurs to me that only one set of tracks led to each hole. Each tortoise must have followed the exact same path both up the beach and back to the water’s safety. What an amazing experience.
Making my way up the shoreline, I continued to see such tracks for ten miles or more, but many of the tracks further north appeared to be older, less recent, more windblown.
The eastern shores of Cozumel receive the brunt force of tropical storms and hurricanes. These shores are the island’s first defense against the fierce winds let loose by Mother Nature. The makeup of the jungles on this side of the island seems to tell a story of many of these past storms. The jungles near the water are short and squatty, and the palm trees seem to be beaten down by years of buffeting winds. The small jungle palms nearest shore have ragged clusters of shorter leaves that are bent back and sparse.
Thirty minutes into my northward ride, I came upon a cluster of healthier trees between the road and a small sheltered cove of turquoise water and white sand. Finding a place to sit in the shade of these trees, I used my senses to inhale my surroundings. Remains of a crumbling lobster lay on the ground in pieces, just a few feet to my right. The scent of salt water was everywhere, made stronger by the occasional breezes that brought a tiny bit of relief from the hot sun.
The surrounding ground under the trees was covered with clusters of white rocks. A closer look revealed that these rocks were remains of various types of brain coral that had weathered and washed up onto shore. Some had pink spots, but most were a sun-faded white.
A few of these small trees had succumbed in their standoff with storms, and had fallen over, revealing an incredible root system of twisted and tangled brown straw-like roots—roots that looked very much like a wild windblown head full of dreadlocks.
The scene was so inviting that I was soon standing up to my thighs in the warm, rhythmic surges of water in the sheltered cove. Thinking of the discomfort of riding 20 miles in a wet swimsuit, I opted to stay dry—thinking “Perhaps I’ll swim when I am a little closer to home.”
As I attempted to meditate in the shade, I noted that the breezes had ceased, and my shaded skin was very hot and moist. A little intuition told me “you’ll be cooler if you get back on your bicycle and ride—creating your own breeze. Not many minutes later, I was doing just that.
At noon, about halfway up the eastern shore, I came across paradise. It was a little beach called “Playa Bonita” (beautiful beach). Swimming on the east side of the island is highly discouraged. Strong riptides, undertows, and currents make it dangerous to wander into the tempting waters. This beach is one of the few developed places where swimmers can swim—as long as they do not venture very far into the depths. After securing my bicycle, I selected a table in the small beachside restaurant—a shady table right on the edge of a small balcony, only a hop, skip and a jump from the inviting surf below. While eating lunch, I immersed myself completely in the moment: watching the swimmers, sensing the energy of the powerful crashing waves, feeling the magic of the turquoise waters, and absorbing the vista of the half mile of white sandy beaches nestled in this beautiful circular cove.
A part of me said “Get in that water … do it now … you know you want to swim today.” But alas, the practical part of me won this debate. I realized that I had forgotten my sunscreen, and I still had a two hour bicycle ride ahead of me. Realizing that a swim might wash away much of the protection still remaining on my skin, and choosing to not risk another bad sunburn, I reluctantly mounted my bicycle and resumed my northward journey.
Soon, my memorable three hour journey up the southeastern shores of the Caribbean was coming to an end. What an incredible experience to gently glide along those peaceful, beautiful shores. What a peaceful spirit accompanied me as I studied the turquoise blue waters, white sandy beaches, turtle tracks, rugged black rocks, and windblown jungle trees. Each element of the journey seemed to come alive as I placed my entire focus into the experience—that aliveness still lives within my soul.
“Just keep on pedaling” became my internal motto for the final hour of my journey as I pushed my way back across the middle of the island. I was very tired, the heat was beginning to affect me, and my stomach was beginning to slightly ache. Looking back, I realize I was beginning to feel the sensations of a mild heat exhaustion. Nevertheless, I managed to remain centered and at least partially in-the-moment during this final push.
Feelings of pride surged through my soul as I locked up my bicycle and climbed my stairway to the cold shower that was screaming out my name. “I made it” I silently but joyously proclaimed. While I have no idea of the exact mileage, my estimates tell me that I rode nearly 50 miles during my circular journey around Cozumel.
While smiling in the mirror, I examined my red and exhausted face. After lifting my bangs, and touching a finger to my red forehead, I thought “Ouch, did I forget to put sunscreen on my forehead?” Regardless, I knew in my heart that this will not be my last time riding my bicycle up those beautiful southeastern shores.
© Brenda Larsen, 2009