Escape to Paradise

View of Caribbean from the 8th Floor of our Hotel

The Wife Warily Feeding the Fish

Ah, Pura Vida

In late October of this year my wife and I decided on taking a two week vacation to Cozumel, Mexico. We had been here before on a couple of occasions and quickly fell in love with the place. It is a small island of the southern tip of Yucatan in the heart of the Caribbean, or Paradise. Luckily, it was off-season and the hotel half-empty of tourists, at least for the first week.

I purchased the trip, all-inclusive, online and it included the round-trip flight, two weeks at the hotel, all meals and drinks (alcoholic or otherwise). The hotel staff and waiters were warm and friendly and ready to spoil its visitors. Somehow, cheapskate that I am, I never minded tipping them. They brought us drinks and snacks, right out to the beach, even to the water if you happened to be in the ocean!

It was good to be in Mexico again and be in the company of Mexicanos, who continually seemed amazed that I, being American could speak Spanish so well. The hotel had two restaurants, a buffet open all day for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and a formal restaurant offering menu items, but one you had to make reservations for, and wear formal clothes to. The food was not what we expected, but you could eat all you wanted.

At our age, we wanted a vacation where we could sit at the beach, kick back, drink and eat and that's what we got! We were not in to the numerous excursions available (expensive too), diving, para sailing etc. or the tours to the mainland to Tulum, Chichen-Itza or Xel Ha, though we did book one to Xcaret, a jungle theme park for an entire day. But just snorkeling in the ocean in front of the hotel was enough for us. Dozens of fish surrounded us. Curious fellows who were used to being fed bread crumbs by the guests. The waiters, if asked would give us zip-lock bags filled with stale bread and once you began to feed them the word was out, and dozens came in from the deeper water and the frenzy was on! On occasion you would get a nibble on you back or leg even!

The water is crystal clear, and Luke-warm, a special treat. The beach had a gentle slope and soft waves that allowed non-swimmers like my wife to walk out 50-75 feet and still be only chest deep in water. The island is developed only on one side, the north-facing side with its only town, San Miguel, and dozens of hotels stretching for miles. The harbor hosts a half-dozen cruise ships daily that spend the day in San Miguel. The southern side of the island, the windward side is scantily developed with mostly restaurants here and there. The temperature was in the mid to low 80s but still quite balmy, especially after the rains; it's their rainy season. During the second week, the water muddied a little from the rain's runoffs.

In all, it was another memorable trip to Paradise, one that I especially wanted for my wife who has undergone so much pain and hardships with her ailing back. And she loved it. For parts of the days, she was pain-free or on a pain scale of 1-10, a 3 for several days! Normally she scores herself on the scale at home 7 or above.

Take Up Your Cross and Follow Me: The First Mexican Martyrs

(Painting showing Aztec fathers putting newly Christianized sons to death)

    Many years ago, I came across a poignant dialogue that describes a first encounter between a group of Spanish Conquistadors, a Captain and a Catholic priest, backed by a host of soldiers, and a group of Maya warriors, led by a chief and a woman who serves as a translator. The Spanish Captain tells the Maya woman, "Tell your chief we have come here in search of gold and silver." Immediately, the Catholic priest interrupts saying "No, no! Tell your chief we have come here so that they may come to know The One And Only True God'!"

    After a lengthy translation by the woman interpreter, the Maya chief says, "Tell this powerful men here (addressing the Captain), that in the Sun which is our gold, and the Moon which is our silver, lies our everlasting hope, but in order for him to reach them, first he must kiss the earth."

    This dichotomy between the acquisition of power and the saving of souls, was the hapless burden of the European conquerors and the Catholic church in Mexico. In her book, "Idols Behind Altars", Anita Brenner tells, among other things, of the church's struggle to convert Indians to Christianity during the early years of the Spanish conquest in 1521. 

    Suspicious and fearful of the new religion, the Indians reluctantly embraced a new Christian pantheon, but often, at the risk of grave danger, covertly clung to their own deities. Brenner describes how the Indians, who comprised the labor force building the numerous Catholic churches across Mexico, sometimes hid idols representing their own gods deep inside the altars as they built them, then quickly covered them up!  Thus, as they reverently knelt and prayed before the altars during mass, they were actually praying to their ancient gods hidden inside them.

    For the first decade after the Spanish Conquest in 1521, the Catholic Church was relatively unsuccessful in convincing the stubborn Indians to convert to Christianity, and despite openly condemning their beliefs, destroying their temples, paintings and idols representing their old gods, only a few brave souls dared be baptized into the strange new faith, some paying with their lives as the image above shows.  I cannot imagine putting my own son to death for his conversion to another faith.

    Ironically, with the apparition of the Virgin of Guadalupe to the Indian, Juan Diego in 1531, everything changed and thousands of Indians flocked into the churches to be baptized. Now, they had a new heavenly woman they could believe in, Mary, one like them, dark skinned ("La Virgen Morena"), not like the pale, white gods they had heretofore seen adorning the insides of the cathedrals they had helped build.

    Nonetheless, for years, indigenous beliefs flourished underground in secret, in caves, hidden from the eyes of the Europeans; for it was no easy matter to let go of the gods they had worshipped for centuries, in time forcing the church to find other ways to attract converts, not by pointing out differences in the native and european beliefs, but the similarities.

    Thus, in Mexico today we see this bizarre mix of Indian and Christian beliefs. Where one belief ends, and another begins is a supreme mystery, as Aztec dancers dance before the Virgin of Guadalupe at the hill of Tepeyac in Mexico City, at the very same place where they had once worshipped a female diety, Tonantzin.

     In fact, "La Catedral", the main cathedral in the heart of the "Zocalo" (central square) in downtown Mexico City, is built at the  very same spot, with the same stones that once made up the main pyramid of "Tenochtitlan", the Aztec capital, that Cortez himself had once characterized as the "Constantinople of the New World".

It was leveled by the Spaniards to build the city we know today.

Poor Man's Food: Cactus, Cacti Salad

How Mexcians figured out how to harvest and eat cactus you got me but it shines as a testament to their ingenuity over the centuries. Not only do cactus give water to quench one's thirst in the desert, but they are edible and part of the Mexican/Indigenous cuisine. In summer, the Tunas (cactus pears will be ripening and if you have never tasted one you are missing out on one of life's delicacies. How to peel the skin and avoid the disastrous spines, and get to the sweet pulply fruit inside, is another of life's mysteries and a credit to Mexicans. (I can tell you how on another espisode or if you simply ask).

The Aztecs would carefully peel back the thin layer of the cactus shoots, dry it and use it as paper to draw and paint on. The needles were carefully removed one at a time so that a long strand of skin would remain attached. Then they could sew with it.

Finally, they discovered that by drying the fibrous cores (skeleton of the plants) they would burn long and hot for fires. Strong ropes and cords were also woven from the tough fibers.

Image via Wikipedia

If you want to blow people away at your next party with something "ethnic" try making some Cactus Salad (Nopales). If you just happen to have a cactus plant in your back yard, cut slice off 4-6 new shoots, usually in spring, when they are bright green and tender. My mom insisted they must be cut before 10 AM or they will not keep that nice tart flavor.

Otherwise, you can buy the shoots whole or diced at many local super markets. If they are whole, you have to slice off the spines with a sharp knife. Danger: be careful not to stab yourself! Make sure the knife is sharp and that you get all of them! You can trim about 1/4 inch all the way around to get the ones on the edges. When done, cut into 1/2 inch strips, or dice into 1/2 inch squares. (Of course, you can cheat and buy some cactus in a can already cooked! Then skip the cooking part.)

Heat some water in a medium pan and toss in the diced cactus, with some garlic cloves, onions, and a dash of salt and boil (15 minutes?) until tender. Remove the cooked cactus and place them in a strainer and wash thoroughly with cold water until all the "slime" is removed. Then place in a large bowl to cool, while you dice fresh cilantro, avocado and tomatoes. When done, stir in and mix with the cactus. You can also squirt a little lime juice into the mix. Mmmmm. Chokes me up just thinking about it!

Serve as a side dish with any food and wait for "what's this?" reactions and some unexpected compliments. Some never acquire a taste for cactus but that is to be expected. There are still deadheads around that don't like onions, garlic, spinach, artichokes or even mustard! Imagine that.

El Musico Ciego: The Blind Accordion Player

I have always fancied myself a photographer, and after a thousand tries I do have a few shots I am proud of. Many were taken over years of traveling in Mexico. Some of my best were slides of people. However, there is a time when the camera is intrusive, invasive, even disrespectful. I was scolded once by an indian woman for taking her photo in a Oaxacan market place. "You Americanos think you can do what you please" she said defiantly. I was embarrassed, shamed by her public outburst and deserving. After all, what was my fascination with photographing poor indians, vendors and peddlers? Poverty is not artistic or poetic, is it?

I have read about cameras with false lenses which appear to aim one way, but shoot another. I learned to take a shot of people by pretending to aim at several possible locations, one of them being my true subject, and then after I had focused and cropped the image in the viewfinder, quickly pressed the shutter. The result was sometimes a shot capturing an unrehearsed moment in time, an shameless expression, unposed.

It is said that indians feared the camera, because they believed a photograph stole their soul. I have envelopes stuffed with the usual snapshots of kids, parties, camping trips, friends, family, pets but most are just that, snapshots. This for me, is one of the few that stands out. I was torn whether to take it or not, and I waited until the entire street was clear of people. There was something powerfully beautiful, tragic yet uplifting about a blind beggar playing accordion on a cobblestone street in Patzcuaro, Michoacan. Forgive me.

A Pause That Refreshes: Peeing With Cuco

Cuco Sanchez was one of Mexico's greatest "cantantes" (singer/songwriter). I had the privilege of seeing him in person some years ago in Mexico City. In was an intimate venue at one of the historical hotels near the Zocalo (central square). He began the concert on the button, but it was soon evident there was a problem with the sound system, feedback and squelching. He would frown, toss frustrated glances backstage, but never missed a beat. After a few songs, and increasing frustration, he simply turned off the mic, and sang a' capella! El Maestro simply did not need the damned thing! That night, dressed in his Charro outfit, he belted out all his classics like "Cama de Piedra" (A Bed of Stone), "Gritenme Piedras del Campo" (Cry To Me Rocks From The Fields), and "Anillo de Compromiso" (The Engagement Ring), and "Guitarras, Lloren Guitarras" (Cry Guitars, Cry). He eminated machismo, confidence, power and his delivery was flawless despite the crappy sound system. When the intermission came, I excused myself and went into the men's room to pee. And there, there in the urinal next to me was The Man, El Maestro de la Cancion Mexicana, Cuco Sanchez, peeing alongside me! I told him how much I was enjoying his performance, despite the cursed sound system; he just smiled and thanked me. It was indeed a most memorable night, especially being granted the privelege to have peed with Cuco Sanchez. Aye, aye, aye.

A Mother's Faith: Santos & Milagros

My mother was named Guadalupe, after her patron saint, The Virgen of Guadalupe and she had an abiding love and faith in the virgen. This print had a prominent place on the family altar which she had formed atop a mint-green dresser in her bedroom. Always, votive candles burned before the images of saints (santos) she had brought with her from Mexico. She loved to tell the story of the virgen's apparaition to the indian, Juan Diego and of how miraculous she was. "She appeared to an indian", she would stress, "not to the Europeans or the priests, but to an indian." She seemed especially proud of that.

Another image that was dear to her was San Martin de Porres, the black South American saint, pictured with his broom to emphasize his humble status. He was especially kind to the poor and to animals. One of her favorite stories of Martin was of a miracle he performed in a church that was infested by mice. "Look", he told the mice, "you must move out of the church because the priest if getting ready to exterminate all of you." The mice obeyed Martin, exited the church, and were saved.

One of my favorite prints was one of San Antonio (Saint Anthony) holding a Christ child. It is a beautifully colored print and seemed almost holy to me. I knew little about him but in the print he lovingly holds the child and looks heavenward, bathed in a glow of golden light, the child with a halo around its head, peers benevolently at the viewer. He wears the traditional brown Fransican robe tied at the waist with a rope, and a rosary tied to it.

The print depicting Mary was, I felt unique. It is softly colored and her expression is one of peace, tranquility and tenderness. One hand is pointing to her sacred heart (burning with the fire of Her love) and the other holds a branch of white lilies. No wonder my mother prayed to the mother of all mothers, who understands our human suffering, especially those of a mother.

El Santo Nino de Atocha (The Christ Child of Atocha), was yet another of her favorite "santos". The print, a delicate black and white lithograph on old, yellowed paper, she kept in a simple wooden frame, depicts a Christ Child sitting in a chair, wearing a strange plumed hat, holding a staff in his left hand and a small basket in his right. He wears sandals on his feet. I recall thinking how the artist had failed to capture the face of a child, and how he looks too grown up in it. At the time, I had no idea about the stories of a mysterious child who magically appeared to the sick and needy, in the far off Atocha, Spain, bringing them food and water.

The Virgen of San Juan de Los Lagos was yet another of her favorites. She was especially miraculous my mother said. She is pictured in a triangular shaped, elegant and fluffy blue gown, rich with gold brocade. Long and wavy locks of hair tumble down her shoulders, and an over sized crown graces her head, bordered by two cherubims holding a banner which reads: "Immaculate Mother Pray For Us", in Latin, and crescent shaped moon at her feet. I will never forget visitng the church in San Juan de Los Lagos, Jalisco in Mexico with my mom about 1965. The entrance to the beautiful old colonial church is lined from floor to ceiling with retablos (miracle boards), documenting the hundreds of miracles attributed to her. Painted by amateur artists, the child like images on tin depict the suffering of mankind, and the lettering on each one tells of the specific event, with names and dates, and the divine intervention of La Virgen in their lives. I was stunned. As I wandered around outside the church I found a large open room and stepped inside. Piled to the cielings and along its walls were stacked, dozens of old dusty wheelchairs, crutches, and old arm, leg and body casts. When I asked my mom what it all meant, she said "These are things left behind by people who came here in them and left, no longer needing them." I felt humbled, and embarrased by my stupid question.

I often scoffed her faith: "Mom, you don't really believe this stuff about miracles and Santos, do you? Shaking her head she would say "You are an incredulo! Se te ha metido El Diablo." On occasion, I would find one of the statues on its head, or a print facing the wall. When I asked about it she would say "I am punishing him. I am tired of praying and praying for your older brothers and he fails to answer me! He will stay that way until he answer my prayers!"

Today, a small, abandoned altar graces an upstairs bedroom in my home, and some of her statues and prints of her santos still grace it. While I never could acquire the faith of my mother in the santos and milagros (miracles), I did learn to respect it. Maybe it was El Diablo that prevented it, just like she always said?

La Llorona/The Weeping Lady

When I was a kid my mother told me the story of La Llorona. This powerful oral tradition story often began with: "I knew a woman in my pueblo in Mexico who was La Llorona." I have come to find out that there are many variations to the myth, but there seems to be one resonant theme: a woman has lost or killed her children and she is wandering the earth in search of them. My mother's version went this way: An indian woman was married to a cruel and womanizing Spaniard. When a neighbor told her one day of his many affairs, she took her children 4 or 5 to the river and drowned them one by one in a desperate act of revenge. The river washed each away and she never saw them again. One day she died and went to heaven and as she stood in judgement before God, he asked: "Where are your children?" When she could not answer his question, He proclaimed: "I cannot let you into Paradise until you bring me the souls of her children". "But how can I ever find them", she moaned, "the current has taken them away!?" "You find them and bring them to me." The story goes that as night descends, wherever there is water, a river, a marsh or a lake, you can hear the piercing wail of La Llorona: "Aiiieee mis hijos! Aiiieee mis hijos! Aiiiee mis hijos!" At any rate, the story served to bring us all in early at night for fear that La Llorona would devour us! "Did you hear that??!!" Someone would shout, and we would all race home! Will she ever find them? Qien sabe?