Trip number two: the Yucatan by way of Cuba

 Trip number two: the Yucatan by way of Cuba

December of 1983 was when I was next able to visit the land of Mexico, this time much further to the south. Presently, a good twenty years later, it seems like the time span between March of 1982 and the Christmas time of 1983 was a short one, but for me much had happened in between and I don’t think until writing this document had I ever realized how close these visits were in relation to each other.

In reviewing these first two visits to Mexico as an eleven and thirteen year-old, the period of the end of my fifth grade year in elementary school and midway through my seventh grade year were large contrasts. In the fifth grade, I was attending school with one main teacher, Mrs. Daniels; my parents were still in what I thought was a normal lasting marriage. I could walk to school. My classmates were close friends from my limited college neighborhood whom I had known since kindergarten.

By the seventh grade, I was attending school with six different teachers daily, was introduced to many kids from various parts of the county from various schools, and my parents had been separated for some time. Also, my brilliant social studies teacher Mr. Courtney had introduced a whole new exciting plane of world affairs and geography to me. My worldview had somewhat changed.

The geographic difference of Mexico wasn’t the main difference this time; I think it had to be me. Nevertheless, this trip to Mexico was significantly different than Matamoros in Tamaulipas.

Again, I was largely unaware until the last few years that this border town of the first visit was in a state called Tamaulipas. In addition to Bill Gates and his ultra-modern (or postmodern) hyper-Anglo world of spell checks, my own family probably has had little knowledge or little interest in knowing the particular state of Mexico where we had alighted that day in 1983. Perhaps as a Chinese citizen may not care if Las Vegas is specifically located within Nevada but simply the United States, that’s how the majority of us Americans are in other countries. Maybe only a Masters student in Latin American Studies with an emphasis in geography (as well as place related sciences as political science and economics) would lend to one such as I to care at all which Mexican states we have visited over the years⁴.

Quintana Roo has been a state more embedded in my consciousness ever since going there. Perhaps it is flashier in nomenclature; perhaps the intellectual influence from a geographer like Bill Courtney from 1982-84 was what made it more of an issue. Perhaps it was my increased maturity and growing curiosity of the globe, or simply a combination of all of the above. Having been to the relatively exotic locales of Nassau, Bahamas, San Juan, Puerto Rico, and the American Virgin Islands the previous year, I had an idea of the Caribbean and tropical environs. This part of Mexico offered a completely new contrast to the previous mental images of Speedy Gonzalez in his desert settings, or Clint Eastwood riding across the rocky dryness with parched lips, or my real life impression of the rather subdued Rio Grande with its withered green and rather puny appearance.

I don’t remember seeing any rivers, famous or otherwise, in that trip to the Yucatan peninsula. We came in by a rather small boat, especially considering that the waves of the sea off Cozumel Island were enough to make my friend Patrick Lumbley quite nauseous. Our ship let us disembark in this fashion, possibly to let those who didn’t qualify (we were a minority on the cruise that went to Tulum-Xelha) an easier route while the rest of the passengers were on their way to Cozumel or Cancun, I’m not sure which.

My dad had done his best so that we could see the Mayan ruins: he had made good with the head steward by offering him a “nice” bottle of wine gift wrapped and left at his cabin for our family’s best consideration to be among the chosen lucky ones allowed to go on the excursion. So we found ourselves traveling by this rather small 30-50 foot long ferry to the shores of the Yucatan. I believe we could see the island of Cozumel as we went. Possibly it was the day before, when we could see the island of Cuba in the distance to the south and east, its large mountains apparently snowcapped. The snow part I may be making up from my dreams or some other visage, but this is how I remember seeing Cuba for the first and only time since.

These were the days of the Reagan Cold War eighties and my awareness of Communism was largely heightened. Later that day I took particular note of the East German/Soviet cruise ship docked in the port at Cozumel-or perhaps it was Cancun? I distinctly remember seeing some of these East German passengers stroll through the Mexican streets and wonder what they thought of us, their American capitalist counterparts.

Mr. Courtney from Binford Middle High School was an excellent source of knowledge when it came to Communism and the Soviet Union, predictions of the future by George Orwell, the state of the world as it was back then plus the history that had led up to it. His emphasis and dedication to current affairs around the world led me to grapple with much of the world’s situation when it came to politics and international struggle.

So there we were in the streets of this southern Mexican state on the Caribbean with these otherworlders, not knowing if they wished to defect and hide from their would be captors or rather felt animosity towards us as their natural enemies. The Hammer and Sickle, painted upon the main smoke stack of their ship, perhaps in retrospect was more of a brand of oppression upon them then a signal of a true ideal. To me Communism approached a real concept of humanity but was forever very far from it, as far as Cuba and the Yucatan peninsula was from the Russian steppes or the Siberian gulags.

A Slice in time---Spring Quarter 2003

As I write this, I become self aware of my tastes in reading, writing, and perspectives from the mass media. At this point, I will make a short list of what is going on with my brain and studies. I am finishing my Masters in Latin American Studies at the University of California at Los Angeles, living in a first story apartment, two bedrooms, two baths, across a parking lot from the University Village Day Care Facility right next to the 405 freeway, south of the 10 Interstate Interchange. We are, in effect, between Santa Monica and Culver City, West Los Angeles: just south of Westwood and the LDS temple.

I have been reading the Los Angeles Times daily newspaper since January or so. My two-year subscription of the Economist ran out some time in February of this year. I did a fairly good job of keeping up with that and enjoyed the challenge and the pleasure of that commitment, started as a high school teacher (fall of 2000) and finished my penultimate quarter of this current degree. I have also read the daily paper pretty well, especially during the Iraqi conflict. I am reading a few books at present, a series of lectures and interviews with Michel Foucault from 1977-84, a book call the White Nile, about the first European explorers of the origins of the Nile. I just (this week) purchased a 47-cent used copy of a book about Pakistan. I have enjoyed the first three chapters so far. There is no particular readings assigned to my Geography 248 class by Allen Scott, but I bought his Regional Economies book for some $20.00, and have done some research for the paper on Hollywood and Latin America, the last paper I need in order to graduate in June (one month from now). I attend a 3^rd quarter Arabic class six hours a week, avoiding much of the homework but staying more or less abreast in class. I also attend an Urban Planning class with Steve Cummins every Monday, also avoiding most of the readings, but learning most of the gist as to how he deals with issues of “Youth”. I attend various lectures of many sorts week to week, and also catch a New Testament class at the Institute every Tuesday and hang out at Bruin Walk almost every Friday. I play basketball every Monday and Thursday at the Sawtelle building around the corner, and attend the UCLA Ward with my family while serving as Co-Chair of the Activities Committee.

I have enjoyed the NBA playoffs lately as I do every spring, rooting against the Lakers as always, and watch some baseball, too, especially highlights. I watch a good share of news as always, especially during the War (three weeks from March to mid April). I watch some comedy and film on television, but currently watch a steady diet of dramas as follows: Sundays-Alias at 9:00, Mondays-Everwood at 9:00 (with 7^th Heaven preceding if not conflicting with a game), Tuesdays-Judging Amy at 10:00, Thursdays- Friends at 8:00, and Fridays- Ed at 9:00 (although the new episodes have finished for the season, thus maybe I’ll wait for September for this one). I enjoy the acting, characterization, and dialogue of these shows, plus the normally consistent plot developments of the stories. I suppose I do watch a lot, but they seem to contain as much depth as many movies. I would like to hope so any way.

Giving you this much of a personal profile, it is an indication of my insights and lifestyle, my particular perspectives as for this spring and last official term as a “beginning” graduate student. Recently I have concluded that I will try the “labor” market for a year and if things are not satisfactory as such, I will attempt a Doctorate in Geography somewhere. I won’t discuss my job prospects fully as I see them here, because this does not fit into the question of me as a composite. Sufficient to say, perhaps abroad? Enough of the present and future for now. Back to Mexico, “By way of foot”.

The State of Quintana Roo

I don’t specifically remember the docking or disembarking on the soil or cement of Quintana Roo that December day of 1983. It had to have been relatively early in the week, Tuesday or Wednesday. I think we left Miami on a Sunday, no? I can’t remember how early it was that morning, but I do remember daylight as we lurched to and fro between the offshore swells. This motion did not cause myself or any of my immediate family any problem of seasickness, but it did to my friend Pat. Perhaps he didn’t have sea legs from any previous experiences. Fortunately for me, I had been on a whale-watching voyage around Cape Cod when I was younger and my intense bout of the nausea seemed to have toughened me up for later in life much as I was unaffected then. Pat wanted to cover his eyes with his white towel but my Dad recommended he look at the distant horizon across the vast water. We sat surrounded in benches with other seemingly neophyte tourists.

Poor Pat had a mixed day, but overall it was positive. We started by boarding a large and modern bus, a half hour or so from the Mayan ruins of Tulum. These are the same ruins featured in the movie Against All Odds starring, I believe, Jeff Bridges and Rachel Ward. This film came out about the same time as our trip, I’m not sure if before or after. Phil Collins and Miami Vice were both hot back then. The Caribbean was an exotic locale. The site is very impressive and was my first visit to a semi-ancient site. Perhaps Pat had been to the ancient burial mounds in Evansville, Indiana, because he had relatives in nearby Booneville. I wanted to go last summer (2002) but we were unable.

Tulum is located very scenically on the beach, with certain pyramids overlooking the sand and the ocean to the east. There are many buildings and certain parts were being excavated or renovated while we toured around. Our native Mexican guide gave us a display of how the Mayans anciently would perform their human sacrifice ritual by having my 16 year-old sister Monique lie on the top altar of the highest pyramid while he pretended to bring a knife down on her heart. We climbed at least that main building overlooking the beach, plus a few lower walls in the middle of the city somewhere.

We saw a building also in the center that had a trio of gods, interesting to us of our faith. The stone etching of the central god at the top of the wall, high above us was the largest. I believe the figure was in the form of a snake with a large headdress and symbols of power. To its right was a smaller version of the same. To the left of the center god was a figure that seemed nebulous or cloud-like; that we might conjecture is a spirit. What kind of concept of a divine trinity did the natives have back in 300-700 A.D.? Years later, my mother and stepfather had a native LDS tour guide discuss with them how the Book of Mormon might be a connection to this city or the ancient Americas. For me as a youth, I think this place had a resonating effect on my personal faith and imagination for years to come. It certainly honed my interest towards ancient sites.

Soldiers and guns and “army/military stuff” always fascinated me. I noticed some Mexican soldiers with M-16 rifles at our first landing area on the Yucatan. I also remember seeing a few billboards of advertisements. I seem to confuse the mental and linguistic images of the signs I saw with some I had seen in the National Geographic Magazine. One was a Coke message saying “Disfruta Coca Cola (enjoy)”. Later inside Tulum, which thankfully was devoid of most signs of commercialism, I saw a whole camouflaged platoon of gun toting Mexican soldiers walking by. I seem to recall one of them had a radio backpack and antennae just as the platoons in the movies. Did they wield machetes?

I wandered by myself in Tulum exploring a less traveled part of the complex before leaving altogether; poking inside of various cement or stone built structures or passageways. I believe this was the north end of the city facing the encroaching tropical jungle, perhaps a few hundred meters from the beach. I peered through a long square tunnel that led from within the walls of the city to a fair distance outside to the plants and underbrush without. I let my imagination run wild; pondering a crawl out to the lush foliage I could view from my hands and knees. I thought better when realizing my lone state and the fact that a very non-imaginary jaguar could be waiting for an unsuspecting adventurer such as me on the other side. I hurriedly went back to find my group and in that slightly paranoid state observed the armed jungle platoon.

Yes, Mexico was cool!

From Tulum we took the bus down to the Xelha lagoon. Perhaps this was an hour or so south down the coast? The bus certainly went fast down the Yucatan highway, barely missing the traffic in the other lane. The driver must have been Mexican but I can recall no details of him. We looked at poor little Mexican children by the side of the roads, little huts or vending stands situated every so often. I remember not many tall trees close to the road, and I am not sure there were hills of any significance. The lagoon was a special tourist spot relatively far from Cancun, I think. Looking at a national map of Mexico now, Tulum is south of Cancun about 50 miles. Perhaps Xelha was up northward towards the city of Cancun, I am not sure⁵. I cannot recall for sure if we left on our cruise ship via Cancun’s port or Cozumel on the island across the mainland. Wherever we had left land from that day back to our ship, it was at a dusk of nostalgia and contemplation for the world around us, a cold war segue of international possibilities.

The lagoon provided near ideal conditions for snorkeling: it was fifty percent fresh water and fifty percent salt. Pat and I did a little bit of swimming together but we split up more of the time. I saw many fish, (possibly a few small sharks) and many manta rays. The visibility was amazing, and the underwater caverns seemed tempting yet foreboding. Pat’s mixed day of pleasure and pain continued when later he apparently left his new bathing suit at Xelha. He was distraught along the lines of, “My Dad is going to kill me for losing my new suit!” I think he would rather have faced more seasickness than to have lost that swimsuit and dread his father’s anticipated wrath. My senior year of high school (1988-9) I would learn how hard his father was as a chemistry teacher. Maybe Purdue basketball fans, like Pat’s dad as I believe was an alumnus, have to have a mean edge to survive.

After having seen Nassau, Bahamas, the Virgin Islands, and San Juan, Puerto Rico the year before, this part of Mexico introduced a new mystery to the vast Caribbean region. The Yucatan peninsula holds a rich part of native history that no other island of this sea can approach. Even South America as a continent doesn’t hold the spectacular sites like those of Mesoamerica, beyond the Incan lands of Peru and the Andes. I had officially begun a journey to the ancient peoples of the western hemisphere. This has been a constant source of fascination to me ever since.

One more note on the Mayans and Mexicans I saw on this trip. Grown men, working on site of the ruins or simply along the roadside, were incredibly small. I saw shirtless men who could not have been taller than five feet. They had large bellies of middle-aged men but measured no more in height than me in third, fourth, or fifth grade.

The world is mysterious and Mexico contains much of the enigma of the human species. I had read about Native Americans in North America for years: now part of the world, embodied in these small adults, had a visual connection in my own first person. Despite not actually walking there for a long period of time after 1983, I could now itinerantly travel there in my dreams, both sleeping and awake.

Past or future: Who Decides?

Dreams are always present whenever we make return trips or new voyages into the unknown worlds away from home. This much of Mexico had become a real part of my journeys prior to adulthood: the surreal visions of the third of my existence mostly at night had further become awakened, taking the long voyage to adulthood. Do people revert to a more youthful self in their sleep? Perhaps some become advanced in age as a fictitious soul within their own mind walks. Do we day dream into the future (and thus project ourselves older) more often while conscious and balance those dreams out by jumping back in age while unconscious? One thing is for certain, it is more possible to recreate past experiences in the brain than future ones. This only makes a lot of sense to those empirically gifted among us.

Is the future much murkier than the past, after all? Books, memories, photos, and stories (much like those of the Bible) are forever interpreting what has occurred. If dreams can be real, much as those with faith in the greater unknown choose to posit, then perhaps images of the future may not be much murkier than what has gone on and been recorded in years gone by. As prophecies go, maybe these future interpolations are not much further amiss than bold or even week interpretations of the past. Perhaps dreams are true after all, or survive at least as long as a rock if albeit ephemeral. Who knows?

Perhaps some part of Mexico, the Yucatan ruins, the Mayans or the machetes of the soldiers of Latin America etched themselves into the once and future me, or at least somewhere in my permanent subconscious.

1 According to the LDS triple combination published in 1985 from the BYU Geography Dept. p.298

1 Number of trips, nine in all.

2 As of April 2005, there have been two more trips added, including six new states.

3 We did end up going this year after New Year’s, so the trip total is nine as later reported (2003).

4 Recently at a Sunday school lesson at our UCLA Ward at Ohio Ave. in Westwood (around the end of April, 2003) I mentioned I was writing this book/memoir to Nathan Palmer, a finishing Doctoral Candidate in Physics. He served his mission back in the 1980s in Coahuila and northern Mexico. He was impressed that I was able to guess the states of his stay upon discussing his mission. I made the note to him then out loud that if for nothing else, this record would serve for my own posterity. I also will add that when I meet natives or former missionaries in Mexico, I usually discuss states and regional geography with them.

5 Further review of a better map in my daughter’s room confirms that Xel-ha is to the north of Tulum.