We made the very short walk back to the hostel, opened the tequila, and made new friends, mostly surfers, the majority of them from Australia and Israel. I think I was in that ripped skirt all evening. When we finally retired for the night, we all went our separate ways – the boys to their quarters and me to my bungalow I had decided to splurge on (at $20 dollars per night I thought it to be a fine reward after the long bus ride) and I guzzled some water before sleep to stave off the hangover I’d invited by the amount of tequila I’d indulged in. I curled up in the bed, sticky from salt water, overheated, sunburned, and very happy. While in bed I heard the scurrying of crabs on the cement floor as they explored my bungalow, and curious to see them, I turned on the light. I ended up falling asleep with the light on, completely content.
I awoke to a strange shaking, more like a swaying feeling. I felt as though I were being rocked or swung back and forth, and in my half-awake-dream state I shouted out, thinking this was my travel companion shaking my bed and wondering why he would do such a thing. In a flash I was awake for real, and remembered that he was sleeping elsewhere, and the swaying shaking feeling was still happening, and I was alone. My bed swayed as if it were a hammock, and I felt that this was an impossibility and that I was crazy. The lights were off, there was a strange silence. The swaying shaking feeling was over. I got up and walked out of the bungalow, on the soft sand towards the bathroom, taking care to keep my eyes peeled for snakes, and using the flashlight on my phone as a guide. The power was off and the place was eerily quiet. I went back to bed and thought I’d had a very strange dream. The next morning the Israeli surfers asked “did you feel the earthquake last night?” and it all made sense. I’d never experienced a quake before and felt silly for not realizing that was what had happened. Not until another friend joked that she’d initially thought her boyfriend was shaking the bed did I stop feeling silly for my same sensation. Later that day I received several text messages from friends in Guanajuato begging me to report back if I was safe; that Oaxaca had suffered a major earthquake registering a 6 on the Richter scale. We all felt quite lucky.
The trip was filled with amazing experiences as we continued along the Oaxacan coast to various $10/night hostels filled with interesting people. We met and befriended folks from all over the world as we continued with one way bus tickets and explored towns along the coast, from beach to beach, falling more in love with the Oaxacan coast with every new stop. Zicatela remains my favorite, however, but it was all amazing. Eventually we had to say our goodbyes to travel companions we'd picked up along the way who'd joined us for the beach exploration, a really cool couple from Chicago. Mr. Charming's brother had to head back home too, so then there were just the two of us ready to head off to the jungle.
We eventually crossed into the state of Chiapas, land of mountains, jungle, and canyons. Every day was another discovery - we visited amazing markets and tried new foods, discovered wonders of the world and did dangerous things. We stopped in Tuxtla Gutiérrez from there traveled to Chiapa del Corzo. While in that charming town, we took a barco through the Cañon del Sumidero, where we found ourselves looking up from the river at cliffs rising 1000meters above us on either side, like walls. This was the image that I'd seen on tourist ads and flags for Chiapas. It was breathtaking. We then explored San Cristobal de las Casas and drank amazing coffee while wandering the quaint colonial feeling streets. After so much time at the coast I was unprepared for the cold climate at elevation, and was happy to see that at sundown the Zocalo became a bustling marketplace, with women selling everything I needed to warm up - soon I was the proud owner of a handmade wool hat, scarf, and legwarmers. I donned them all and finally stopped complaining about the cold, finally ready to enjoy myself again. The following day I was reminded of how small the world is when walking through the Zocalo in San Cristobal where I ran into an old friend. Thrilled, we all went off to enjoy the World Cup soccer game, and remarked at our luck to have run into each other. Thinking things couldn't get any stranger, I couldn’t believe it when exiting the bar I ran into another friend from Guanajuato who just happened to be in town! Crazy.
After a fine time in San Cristobal, we moved on to the jungle. We went to Ocozocoautla, where we visited the Sima de las Cotorras (Abyss of the Parrots), a huge sinkhole with a depth of 459 feet (140 meters) and a diameter of 525 feet (160 meters). It's a sight to behold, standing on the edge of the hole looking down upon treetops. I gazed into the abyss as my travel companions hiked in with a guide, as I had stayed back, knowing my limits and having chosen to stay where I felt safe. But soon envy coursed through me and I felt silly for not having gone in. It looked so unbelievable, and I wanted to be a part of it. When the boys came out a few hours later, they insisted we should all go in the following morning to watch the parrots make their daily departure, which was said to be awe inspiring. As I thought about it, as if to convince me, a parrot flew in and landed on my head. I asked, "there's a parrot on my head, isn't there?" and slid the camera across the table, with a look that I hoped said "take pictures!" and below is a photo of the parrot as he climbed down my face, using my hair and left ear as a stronghold for his (very) sharp claws.
We had a good laugh and I decided that I had to have the courage to climb into the abyss, home of these parrots, and be a part of it all. The afternoon had me filled with anticipation for the morning's planned adventure.
Climbing down into that abyss turned out to be quite a poor decision on my part, as I did not have appropriate shoes for mucking around in the jungle on wet muddy hillsides that slope down into an abyss. I borrowed a fellow traveler's shoes, and being men's (and therefore several sizes too large) and without much tread and add to that my lack of confidence in my right leg because of an old injury from a broken femur, I was not prepared for the hike in. At once afraid and without traction, I slipped here and there, my heart stopping in my throat. Suddenly I found myself sliding, unstoppable and fast, down the hillside, grabbing at saplings which simply bent and slipped out of my grasp. For a horrifying few seconds I was sure I'd die that day, falling into the abyss. Suddenly Mr. Charmer had my wrist, and was pulling me up. I was embarrassed and terrified. I didn't want to go further. I felt angry, which was probably my coping mechanism. Mr. Charmer told me later that I had shouted "I CAN'T DO THIS!!!" but I don't remember. He thought it was pretty funny. I didn't.
Our guide informed us that the only way out was to continue down into the abyss and with each step all eyes were painstakingly, annoyingly, on me, as I struggled to climb and trust my now untrustworthy legs and feet. I was absolutely NOT having a good time, but I wanted to love it. I have a love/hate relationship with heights: I love the adrenaline rush of the height but then recognize it as fear and become frozen. We made it to the very narrow ledge (the boys insisted it was far wide enough to not be afraid, a full 3 feet wide, Bah!), where we had to clip our climbing ropes in for safety. There, we were to wait for sunrise which would be the cue for the parrots to awaken. Within moments of clipping in (I blame our late arrival on my near death slide and the subsequent snail's pace hiking) it started: As the sky lightened at a quick pace, parrots spiraled up and out of the abyss below, from treetops 100 meters below our feet and up past the sinkhole walls as they rose above us, and out to their feedings. Swarm after swarm of birds, squawking and spiraling out as the sun rose nearly made me forget my fear. It was incredible.
After half an hour of watching the parrots spiral up from below us and out above us, our guide suggested we head back out, continuing along the abyss wall where we were perched 30 or so meters down into the huge hole. I stepped gingerly, nearly immobilized by my fear, and furious with myself for how my breath refused to come smoothly and my heart beat a mile a minute in my chest. The boys encouraged me along, but once we climbed out into a safer zone where we were away from the drop, they could no longer contain themselves, and fell into laughter. "You should have seen your face! You were absolutely terrified!" they said. They were right. I concentrated on getting my breathing back to normal and keeping the outward appearance of laughing at myself as we thanked our guide and prepared for the next leg of our journey. I tipped the guide heavily and thanked the Universe for my life. Oh, what a day.
In the photo above I look happy, but I am holding on to that rock for dear life and incredibly aware of the drop in front of me. Yes, those are treetops below our feet.
Having survived, I happily boarded the bus for another one way trip further into the jungle. We were headed for the Mayan ruins of Palenque, near the border with Guatemala. Palenque feels like pure magic, so strong it is palpable. We stayed in the El Pachan, a place outside of town with accommodations ranging from motel room type lodging to camping to huts on the river. It had a sort of hippie-commune-feel. I loved it. We visited the Palenque ruins just outside of El Pachan, and climbed pyramids and wondered at the sight.
It was back to my original travel companion and myself, and we remarked on the adventure we’d been having over the month. I felt free, I felt spontaneous, I felt like he had given me a gift. I told him so. We headed back to El Pachan, and he announced that he’d like to go to to the Gulf to Isla Holbox and swim with the Whale Sharks. I was not ready to leave the jungle and its magic, so I bade him farewell and settled in with my camera and my backpack in my little hut on the river.
The time I spent there was unlike any other, and without the previous few weeks of adventure with a travel buddy I might not have had the courage to continue alone. It was the best thing I could have done. Everything fell into place, really, EVERYTHING. For example, at one point I went into town to check my email and had received an email from my house manager in Guanajuato stating that the subleaser had moved out and that therefore rent was due from me immediately. I was hundreds of miles away and the attempts I made to wire the money just did not work – the bank was unwilling to work with me because I did not hold an account with them and I wanted to wire to a different state. The following day, as I prepared myself to head back to town, ready to beg the bank to allow me to wire the money, I passed the Mono Blanco and saw a familiar smiling face. I did a double take. It couldn't be, but it was... my roommate, Angel! He lived up to his name that day, I mean, here I was, EIGHT HUNDRED MILES FROM HOME, needing help, and he happened to be there. After an impassioned reunion of hugs and disbelief, he told me he was literally just passing through for a matter of minutes, on his way back from Guatemala. What luck! I gave him the money and he took it home with him and the rent was paid the next day. The universe shocked me that day with the reminder that all really does work out if you’re open. WILD!
Being on my own was perfect. I hung out with fire-dancers, acrobats, and musicians. I became the commune nurse of sorts, as people came to me for advice from foot fungus to lacerations. I observed jungle animals the likes of which I had never seen, and swapped stories with world travelers. I wandered the jungle and searched for waterfalls and bathed in both the free running water and the magic of the ambiance. I'd been warned by some that there were areas of the jungle to stay away from as thieves armed with machetes had been known to attack, but I wasn't dumb enough to venture into the jungle alone and always took one man with me as a companion/guide/insurance policy - and saw none of machete wielding jungle thieves.
The rainy season started with a bang. For the first few days it was predictable, a blue morning sky becoming heavy with cloudcover by late afternoon, and heavy showers pounding down through the evening. It was fun to be "stuck" at the Mono Blanco during the storms, listening to live music and drinking a few beers while meeting fellow travelers. By midnight when I wanted to go to bed, the air was clear again and the jungle quiet, the moisture hanging in the air and the rains finished for the day. One afternoon the rain started early and came down harder than I'd ever seen. Travelers were rushing in from their afternoon hikes and people were grumbling in their discomfort. The rain showed no sign of letting up, and I gave up on my plan of shooting more photos for the day. I trudged through the waterlogged paths to my hut on the river and put my camera and backpack away on the table, knowing it would be a long evening at the Mono Blanco and preferring not to have to keep one eye on my things in defense of thieves; if I was going to be stuck there, I might as well be able to relax.
A young woman sitting with me was one of the musicians for the Mono Blanco, playing music as part of the nightly entertainment. She'd opted not to perform that night, and was relaxing with me as we noted how strange the weather seemed to be getting. We thought we should head over to another local spot a short walk away where the fire dancers would be performing, and get a bite to eat while watching the show. As we headed over and approached the small stream that cut through that part of the property, we saw that it had swollen up and over the modest footbridge. Because this stream was a very small and shallow one, we were not afraid to attempt to cross, and removed our shoes so we could better feel for the slats of wood that made up the bridge. We laughed as we ran into others doing the same, and together we arrived at our destination.
The fire dancers were performing to a full crowd, and were just fantastic. The experience became bizarre, as over the course of the half hour show first fingers of water slipped in, running alongside the bar and below the awnings, and then collecting at the entryway and rising, until suddenly we found ourselves to be standing in water up to our ankles. The venue was also a restaurant, and the waiters calmly continued to serve food to the patrons who sat at the tables with their feet immersed in the brown water. I was astounded that they could continue in such circumstances, and felt no fear. The fire show ended and the waiters announced that they were going to have to close; the kitchen was completely flooded and we were now sloughing through water up to our calves. We headed back in the direction we'd come, this time having to completely guess at the location of the small footbridge. I did not attempt to put my shoes back on, and laughed as I went back to the Mono Blanco.
The Mono Blanco was in much better shape. It was on slightly higher ground, and the water only rose to the edges of the entrance. As this was in the jungle, there were no walls for these places, just rooftops, so we entered and sat underneath the shelter and watched the rain fall in torrents just past our dry spot. The power failed and we were left with the sounds of the storm to entertain us. We joked that we would be washed away when the young musician jumped up in horror, exclaiming, "my saxophone! It's in my hut, and surely will be ruined!" and ran off before we could stop her. I shrugged and found some other people to chat with. What felt like a very long time passed, and she had not returned. I remembered that she had mentioned that she once fell off a cliff and therefore had bad ankles as a result of her many injuries, and this made me picture her unable to battle the rising water and perhaps in danger. I headed down towards the huts, which were on the other side of a much larger river than the bulging stream we had crossed earlier. As I approached the bridge - or where the bridge should have been, I stared in disbelief at the swell of the river, so high it had risen above the banks and above the bridge, not even its handrails visible. The river surge had taken over, looking like an impossible wall of water in front of me. I wondered if she had tried to cross and had been taken in the current. Nobody could cross that and live, I knew. I screamed her name over and over, and the sound of the water was so loud that I couldn't even hear my own screams. I walked and walked around the premises, hoping for a sign of her but knowing that if she'd been taken by the river she was long gone. I probably wandered for an hour, and finally had to give up. I knew I could do nothing, and headed back to the group huddled under the shelter.
There she was, soaked but fine, with her saxophone beside her. I was speechless and relieved. She explained that she had indeed crossed the river and that she hadn't been able to return because by the time she'd made it to her hut and rescued the saxophone, the water was rising at such a rapid rate that she could no longer see the bridge. She described the hut as fully immersed in the river, with the bed and the table floating and the water at hip level inside the abode. She'd been found by a fellow traveler who was staying in one of the few two story bungalows, and they'd passed the time in the higher level room in awe of the power of a flash flood. Apparently in the time I'd been wandering, the water had receded enough for them to cross the river, but with much trepidation, as they'd barely been able to see the entire bridge and had to hold on to each other to be sure nobody was swept away.
I thought of my camera. I knew that if my pack, camera and other items had been evenly distributed on the table, it would have been floating and my camera was likely unharmed. But I also knew it was stupid to try and cross the swollen river. I went back and forth, thinking of the photos I'd shot on this long and adventurous trip, already mourning my camera and the loss of the photographs it held. Finally I went to just take a look at the bridge, to see if it was passable. I understood why they'd been able to cross; the water had receded significantly and the majority of the bridge was visible. When I saw that I could make out the majority of the bridge, I decided to cross. It was a dangerous and ridiculous thing to do, but the strangeness of the whole evening fueled my decision. The first few steps were nearly impossible, as the water pulled at my legs, threatening to take me where the river was going. I held on to the handrail and within a few steps was on solid wood planks with the water below my feet. It was quite the sight to behold, this bridge that usually stood 6 feet above the water, now flush with the top of the river beyond my toes. I crossed gingerly but quickly, holding onto the handrail as I went. As I approached the other side, I could see that the final few steps of the bridge were under water, and calculated my path carefully. I was now on the other side, but was immersed in water up to my calves. I knew I had made a mistake in crossing, but since I'd made it, I decided to go for my stuff, thinking of my camera.
Instantly an officer from Proteccion Civil was brashly fighting the waters from ahead of me, waving a flashlight as he came to “rescue” me. I explained that I was fine and just wanted to get my things. I felt calm to his panic. He insisted on accompanying me to my hut where I was able to see that the waters had receded enough that the hut was not under water at all and we deemed it safe to enter. When I was not able to open the door he waved to some other officers who rushed over with an ax and offered to chop the door down. I refused, noting the serious damage already done to the property and not wanting to add "chopped up door" to the problems the owner would have to fix after the flooding was over. I shoved the door with all my body weight and it budged a little. I did it again, and was now able to see that the bed was against the door, blocking it. It must have floated to that end, and settled there when the water went back down. We reached in and pushed the leg of the bed until I was able to open the door. I was amazed at what I saw: the floor sticky with thick mud, the walls painted with debris and stained with the brackish water from floor to hip level. The sparse furniture was haphazard but my belongings were safe and dry on the table which was on the opposite side of the room from where it had been when I'd left it. I was pleased to see my camera was fine, and loaded myself up with my belongings and prepared to head out. The whole visit to the hut had taken no more than a couple minutes, but I felt a sense of urgency, knowing flash floods can hit and trap or kill nearly instantly. I wanted to get out of there.
I headed towards the bridge and the man from Proteccion Civil followed. He insisted on the “rescue” and held my hand as we approached the bridge. I had walked this path countless times and felt that he was coming at the bridge at slightly the wrong angle. Plus, I was annoyed that he was holding my hand and wrist. I mentioned that he should go a little further to the right to get onto the bridge (the end where the bridge met land was not visible as it was under water) and he scoffed that I should follow his lead. I guess it’s a good thing he had ahold of me because as he stepped towards the start of the bridge, he had misjudged his trajectory. Instantly he lost his footing and went down into the river, the current threatening to pull him from my grip, his body immersed to the waist. He made it back onto solid ground which had been hidden by the rising waters, and reminded me to be careful. I tried not to smile as I assured him I would do as he said, and we crossed the bridge together. He fell once again as we neared the other side of the bridge, its curved end unseen under the water, just after warning me about how the end of the bridge could not be seen and me to be careful again, and step only where he stepped. Before he finished his sentence, he plunged off the bridge into the raging river, one hand holding tightly to my wrist, the other holding my plastic bag of clothes above his head. I still had his hand, and held on tightly as he got his footing again. I was very glad I’d insisted on carrying my camera myself. Annoyed, I took the bag he’d insisted on carrying for me and headed up the hill where others were gathering. He pointed out the embroidery on his shirt stating that he was Proteccion Civil and acted as though I should be very impressed, and I politely thanked him and found a dry place to put my things and sat down to contemplate the fact that my hut was washed out and full of mud, and certainly not available for sleeping for the night. I waited out the night and in the morning got myself a bungalow on higher ground for the following night so I could rest up before hitting the road again.
That's the bridge that was at one point, completely underwater. I did not attempt to cross it until I could see most of it, but it was still probably a dangerous stunt to pull.
I went by bus from the jungles of Chiapas, saying goodbye to Palenque with a newfound feeling of strength. I had decided to visit Villa Hermosa in the state of Tabasco. I was traveling alone and that added a new dimension to the experience; I had nobody to turn to and chat with, I had only myself to contemplate the scenery with. To see the effects of the massive flooding there was sad; to see the devastation and know there was nothing to be done was painful. While in Tabasco I saw the massive Olmec Heads and was devoured by mosquitoes. I stayed only one day.
I moved on to Oaxaca city, exactly two years to the date of my previous visit there, and this time I did not attend the Galleguetza but had a more subdued time in the city, just digesting my adventure. When I returned to Guanajuato after all of this, everything seemed different but the same, I felt both less connected and more connected, but happy to be home. I went through my photographs of the trip and marveled at my adventure. It’s great to live life open to possibilities that present themselves when you go with the flow!
