Cozumel’s Wild Mayan Heart

The warm ocean breeze caressed my bare skin as I gently rocked to my horse’s rhythm. My “riding outfit” was a bathing suit, the clothing of choice on Cozumel, and hiking boots. It was the last day of my vacation, and I was so relaxed, I didn’t have the energy to feel bad about leaving.

It was last April, and I was here with three women friends--Mom’s spring break, we called it. One of them, Lucy, had a time share in a resort on the touristy side of the island of Cozumel, the Crown Paradise Club Sol Caribe. Resorts don’t appeal to me, and if I’m going to a foreign country, I want to see it as the local people do. But with the room virtually free, I was persuaded to go along by Lucy’s promise that we would spend time exploring the wild, authentic side of Cozumel.

Although there’s an airport on Cozumel, we flew into nearby Cancun because it was more convenient from our homes on the East Coast. Outside the airport we grabbed a taxi and plunged right in on our mission to get to know the native people. Desperate to communicate with the driver, we dug back through our cluttered, middle-aged brains to high school Spanish class and blurted out words and fragments of phrases as they came to us. We asked how many children he had; he asked how many husbands we had.

Every so often he burst into song along with the radio. He had a good voice, so we asked him to sing his favorites. He snapped the radio off, happy to oblige. Then it was our turn. The only Spanish songs we remotely knew were “Feliz Navidad” and “Guantanamera.” And so we flew down the inky black highway, singing at the top of our lungs as though we had half a load on. Just blissfully happy to be in a foreign country yet still able to communicate with a fellow human being.

At Playa del Carmen, about 35 miles south of Cancun, we boarded a ferry to Cozumel. Nearly everyone aboard was Mexican, and many looked distinctly Mayan, the original people of the Yucatan Peninsula. There were few tourists.

Many of the visitors to Cozumel arrive on cruise ships that stop at the little town of San Miguel. The passengers fill the few streets to shop or promenade on the waterfront walk and rarely get to see the rest of the island, which is mostly wilderness. The wilderness was the part I most wanted to see.

Cozumel is one of the world’s best diving spots, and the best beginners’ reef, Paraiso, was right down the street from our hotel. So as soon as we unpacked we suited up, and our first adventure found me hanging in the mint-green water and swaying in the current with giant purple sea fans. I was mesmerized by the passing schools of iridescent fish; they moved together in such perfect rhythm, they seemed to be radioed together. Each time the sun moved from behind a cloud, it sent long rays of light filtering through the water, adding to the intensity of the colors. The beauty was enhanced by the absolute silence. I felt far removed from the Earth, yet I had only to surface to return to the world on land.

The next day, we rented three all-terrain vehicles, snapped on the mandatory helmets and headed out of San Miguel on the only paved road that crosses the island. On the east side, it ends in a T intersection. To the left is a 14-mile sand track along a rocky deserted shore. To the right the road is paved, passing half a dozen pretty beaches before reaching the southern tip of the island, Punta Celerain. There, at the picturesque lighthouse, the road loops back up the west coast to San Miguel and the resort hotels.

About midway on the cross-island road is a turnoff for San Gervasio, the largest excavated Mayan ruin on Cozumel. We stopped there first, having been advised that the interior of the island can be forbidding in the midday heat.

In pre-Hispanic days, Cozumel was a sacred place, particularly for women. They came from all across the Mayan world to worship at the temple of Ixchel, the goddess of the moon, fertility, pregnancy and childbirth. At least once in her lifetime every Mayan woman would make the pilgrimage, staying close to Ixchel for several weeks, praying and making offerings to assure an abundance of offspring without complications in childbirth.

As soon as we walked onto the sacred site, we were greeted by a 5-foot-long iguana with bright orange spikes rising from his back and head. He strutted in a manner that made us feel welcomed. We followed the ceremonial white limestone path to the sanctuary, passing through the entrance arch as so many women had done before. Wind and weather have worn most of the temple away, but we touched the rocks with reverence, aware of the energy and emotion that filled this place so long ago.

It was customary to deposit gifts or offerings on the shelves of the shrine’s vaulted passage. We each placed a leaf on a ledge and said a prayer. Our wish was for a rich and meaningful visit.

Cozumel’s east coast has a scattering of small public beaches and dozens of wide spots in the road where you can park and swim all by your lonesome. You can’t count on being alone, though. Soldiers patrol the shore to deter drug trafficking, we were told, and we ran into the same ones more than once in different places. And open trucks full of locals--mass transportation in Cozumel--were a common sight on the paved roads.

One evening I hurried down a side road to Punta Celerain ahead of my friends, hoping to capture the sunset on film. I heard scurrying in the brush and slowed just in time to see a dozen blue, spider-like creatures, 6 to 8 inches wide, sliding into holes in the sand. Oh my God, I thought, the girls are going to freak if this is what comes out on the road at night, along with snakes and who knows what.

After we watched the marvelous Caribbean sunset and filled our pockets with seashells, we started back to our rental car, parked on the main road. Along the way--it was two miles--I told the girls about the blue creatures with the long, curvy legs, and how stomping on the path seemed to scare them into their holes. Snakes were bolder; we saw a few and slowed to give them ample room to slither away. As we passed Columbia Lagoon, part of Punta Sur park, a wildlife refuge, I talked about crocodiles residing there.

We interrupted our quickening pace to shine our one flashlight on the long, linear scrapes across the sandy road. Were they croc tail prints or snake tracks, and was one worse than the other?

We were walking because the road to Punta Celerain was closed for construction work at the lighthouse. After about a mile, a truck carrying construction workers rumbled up behind us, and we asked for a ride. Standing in the back, leaning over the top of the cab, we watched for snakes and other critters in the headlights, feeling safe and pleased with ourselves. Later I learned that the giant blue “spiders” were harmless crabs and that the snakes on the island are not venomous.

Our best adventure came on our last day. We drove to El Cedral, a village near Punta Celerain, where only Mayas may live (or so we were told). While scoping out the small ruin of a temple, we had one of those moments of serendipity that make the best vacation memories. We ran into Martin Azcorra, who takes visitors on horseback into the jungle. (He has no phone; he and other wranglers simply tether their horses where cars park to visit the ruin, and wait for customers. We paid about $20 each for the two-hour ride.)

Martin put us on “gentleman’s” horses: well shod, a little lean but strong-looking and not overworked--good by Mexican standards. The wide, deep Mexican cowboy saddles were made by Martin’s uncle.

We followed an ancient limestone path called a sacbe, looking at iguanas perched high in trees that were wrapped in a strange parasitic cactus. Martin stopped at a “medicine tree” to scrape a bit of bark used for skin rashes; it smelled like lime.

At a garden in the jungle, the scent of a javelina, or wild pig, mingled with the perfume of flowers and wild botanicals.

I dug chunks from the hardened sap of a gum tree, and even without flavoring or sweeteners it was a good chew--and it lasted all afternoon.

From time to time, Martin, who spent some years working with cattle in Texas, called out to ask if everyone was happy.

Our destination was the cluster of “secret” Mayan caves where Martin and his brothers used to play. We tethered our horses near a stand of alamo trees that marked the entrance and crawled in. I looked out through the tree’s above-ground roots.

Inside, there were chambers tall enough to stand up in. Fruit bats hung from the ceiling.

There used to be painted pictures on the walls and large Mayan calendars, Martin said, which archeologists took away to museums. He swore, too, that he and his brothers used to find bits of gold and precious stones there.

A shaft of light came through a secret roof entrance and sent my imagination wandering.

As we left the jungle, the swaying gait of my horse made me feel as relaxed as if I were home. This is perhaps the secret of successful travel: If you can experience some part of a place as its people do, then it becomes part of you. And then you never really leave.

GUIDEBOOK

Cozy in Cozumel

Getting there: Flying from Los Angeles to Cozumel requires one plane change. Continental and TWA provide through service; Northwest, Mexicana and Aeromexico have code-share flights with other airlines. Round-trip fares begin at $408.

Where to stay: The Crown Paradise Club Sol Caribe, telephone 011-52-987-20700, fax 011-52-987-21301, is the grande dame of Cozumel’s all-inclusive resorts, at the end of the coast’s hotel row. Spring price: $130 per person.

An inexpensive choice, at $45 double, is the Maya Cozumel, one block from the coast road in San Miguel; tel. 011-52-987-20011. It has 37 rooms, pretty decor, pool and air-conditioning.

The Tamarindo, also in town, is a B&B.; Its five rooms with private bath are $40 to $100; tel./fax 011-52-987- 23614.

Where to eat: When we asked locals for the “best Mexican food,” they sent us to El Moro, on a dirt road outside town. A fun choice--everything in the place is colored orange. Good food (menu in English), margaritas. Tel. 011-52-987-23029.

In town, we liked Casa Denis, just off the main plaza.

For more information: Mexican Government Tourism Office, 2401 W. 6th St., 5th Floor, Los Angeles, CA 90057; tel. (213) 351-2069, fax (213) 351-2074, Internet https://www .mexico-travel.com.