Mexicowoods—An Expatriate Life

A Walk in Chapultepec Park

Not long ago I found myself alone in Mexico City with time to kill. On impulse, I hopped on the Metro and rode out to Chapultepec Park, Mexico City's huge playground. Of course Sunday afternoon is the best time to visit, when the park fills with tens of thousands enjoying their day off from school and work. But I was there on an uncrowded weekday morning. Relatively few visitors walked along the vendor-lined pathways.

(The skyscraper in the distance is the Torre Mayor, the tallest in Latin America.)

Mexican people seem to use parks better better than norteamericanos. How often do you say, "Hey. How about spending a day in the park?" Mexicans say it all the time.

Here an energetic couple entertains junior by chasing one another in circles. Bear in mind they are running full out at an elevation of 7349 feet. Acclimatization is everything.

The less fit sit on a balustrade, watching a busker do the entertaining.

Limbs intertwined, lovers find an spot away from traffic. Parks are full of cuddly couples. I suspect we see so much public romance because houses are small and crowded. Privacy is relative: In Mexico, a park beats sharing the living room with Grandma.

Chapultepec, separated from bustling Tenochtitlán by the waters of Lake Texcoco, was once a retreat for Aztec chieftans. Today the lake is mostly filled in, but remnants exist in the park, like this duckweed covered canal that offers cool shade on warm days.

Another remnant: Lago Chapultepec, where you can rent a paddle boat for an hour or a day. The world's best parks—Central Park, Golden Gate Park—afford city dwellers opportunities to get out on the water.

Today's stroll took me past the monument to Los Niños Héroes, commemorating six military school cadets who fought to the death opposing the invasion of Mexico City by U. S. forces during the Mexican-American War.

The attractions of Chapultepec Park cannot be appreciated in a single day and probably not in an entire week. Twice the size of New York's Central Park, it contains an amusement park, a zoo, and more than six museums, including the National Museum of History, a children's museum, and two modern art museums.

It also contains the incomparable National Museum of Anthropology and History, and the objective of my walk through Chapultepec Park was to pay it a visit. I'll post about that experience in a few days.

Sian Ka'an Biosphere Reserve

Our beach house in Tulum is located less than two miles from the northern border of the Sian Ka'an Biosphere Reserve, a large tract of jungle, lagoons, lakes, beach, and coral reef that extends for nearly a quarter of the Quintana Roo coast. That it exists at all is a miracle. A group of conservationists got to it before developers managed to gobble up all of the Maya Riviera. Today it is a Mexican National Park and a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

We rented our house at a tiny eco-resort named Playa Selva. When we discovered that our host, Mauricio Roman, has been a guide at Sian Ka'an for fifteen years, we lost no time engaging him for a day of exploration.

Part of our excursion was to be by boat. We launched from this ramshackle outpost on freshwater Laguna Muyil. (Here laguna means lake.)

The lagoon is shallow, fringed by marsh grasses. Occasional areas of high ground support small patches of tropical jungle.

This land was occupied by ancient Mayans who fished in these waters and in the Caribbean Sea beyond. They dug a canal through the wetlands in order to float their catches inland to places like Cobá. Our boatman uses their canal to transport us from Laguna Muyil to Laguna Chunyaxché.

Laguna Chunyaxché drains via a natural river to the Caribbean Sea. We boated across the lake and down the river until reaching this dock, where our boatman proceeded ahead of us while we floated along in the water, sitting on our life jackets.

How I wanted to photograph that part of the journey! But I don't have a waterproof camera. Yet.

We jumped into the water amidst a cloud of minnows. We floated through wetlands where the boundary between river and grassland blurred. Then we entered a region of mangroves. Bromeliads and orchids grew on aerial roots. Blooming, fruit bearing branches arched overhead. This place is primeval, a nursery for so many kinds of plants and animals.

We also explored nearby jungle on foot. Overnight rains brought out mosquitoes in droves, overwhelming our repellent. We pressed on anyway, slapping and scratching.

Flying termites build nests in these parts. Mauricio told us Mayans call them "gardeners of the forest" because they prune away deadwood, making room for new growth. This nest is about three feet long.

We got to know termites intimately when a colony set up housekeeping just outside our beach house. One morning we awakened to find our rooms full of flying ants. "Gardeners of the forest" or not, Mauricio's gardener encouraged them to build their nest elsewhere.

The Yucatán Peninsula consists of a flat limestone shelf that slopes gently to the sea. Once sea bottom itself, the peninsula emerged as dry land when the ocean receded. In the jungle we found shells embedded in the limestone, proving the land's marine origins.

Shallow soils underlain by limestone provide poor anchorage for roots. Tall trees compensate by throwing out massive buttress roots.

Modern Mayan chicleros scarred this Manilkara chicle while collecting the sap to make natural chewing gum. Almost no chewing gum is made this way anymore. It's cheaper to make it from synthetic rubber. Think about that the next time you pop a Chiclet into your mouth.

From all the fungus growing here, one might think these pictures were taken in the Pacific Northwest.

Sian Ka'an encompasses some 23 known Mayan archaeological sites, all of them undiscovered by the big tour companies. This small building is located along the river connecting Laguna Chunyaxché with the sea. Mauricio calls it a temple. From its size and remote location, I think maybe it more likely a field office than a religious site.

Little restoration work has been done on Sian Ka'an ruins, giving us an idea of what they looked like when they were discovered.

This structure, called El Castillo, weathered the centuries well. The darker stonework areas are parts of the building left unrestored to demonstrate the original appearance.

The reserve is a great gift to us all. Hopefully it won't become overused; after all, it isn't spectacular. But its quiet beauty and the wealth of discovery it contains remain waiting for those who will appreciate it.

Overrunning the Ruins

I've learned to arrive early at important points of interest. I wait for the gates to open. This way I get a couple of precious hours with the place all to myself. At Cobá, only a couple of workers travel the shady trails at 8:00 AM.

 

Near the entrance, the bicycle concessionaire has set out hundreds of mountain bikes, harbingers of crowds to come later.

 

Tricicladeros await those unwilling to cycle or walk. A complete circuit of the ruins is more than five miles long, so there's a good market for transportation.

 

Now it's 10:30 AM, we're on our way out, and here come the crowds. A tour leader holds her clipboard high, a flag for her busload of Cancún excursionists. Before them, about seventy whooping cyclists come swooping down us like the hounds of hell, veering around us tame walkers.

 

Tour companies bring them in vans, their logos familiar from pamphlet racks displayed in every hotel. "Get out...go native." Disneyland archeology.

 

A large bus brings a Spanish package tour group. Nice people; quieter and more respectful than American vacationers.

 

Souvenir sellers await tourists just outside the gates of Cobá. Everything they offer can be purchased anywhere on the Mayan Riviera, or for that matter throughout the Yucatán. Business will be booming when afternoon heat drives visitors out of the ruins, on their way to a margarita and the resort swimming pool.

Complaining about crowds gets me nowhere: I am one of them, I am part of the problem. I grumble as I jump out of the way of a speeding bicycle, but without the promise of all these people coming to visit, Cobá might not have been made accessible today.

Mayan Ruins at Cobá

From Mexico City we're flying 800 miles due east across the gulf of Mexico to Cancún. From there, we're driving two hours south to Tulum to attend the wedding of some friends. To pass a few days before the ceremony, we are exploring this part of the State of Quintana Roo—exploring that is, when we're not kicking back at the beach.

Ten years ago I tried to visit the ruins at Cobá. At that time, it was a relatively unknown Mayan city, reachable by a narrow, potholed road. I missed the turnoff onto the dirt entrance road and never reached the site. Since then, the state has built a wide highway that whisks visitors to the ruins from Tulum, Playa del Carmen, and Cancún.

Cobá was a significant Mayan city. In the 8th Century, 55,000 people lived here, more than double the population of modern Tulum. The site occupies 80 square kilometers, larger than Manhattan. It was a hub in the network of sacbeob—white roads—that interconnected the Mayan civilization. One sacbe, 100 kilometers long, connected Cobá with Chichén Itzá.

The Mayan civilization collapsed for unknown reasons prior to the arrival of the Spanish. The jungle reclaimed the city of Cobá.

 

Massive tree roots pried stones from their courses, collapsing walls and arches. Many structures today are no more than heaps of rubble.

 

But a few major structures remain intact. Considerable restoration efforts give visitors a glimpse of how they may have appeared to the ancient Mayans. I suspect restoration projects had more to do with creation of tourist attractions than archeological research. This enigmatic building is called the Crossroads Temple.

 

Cobá is noted for a number of stele, limestone tablets carved with depictions of historical figures and events. All are badly eroded: limestone is easily dissolved by water. Palapa roofs have been erected over them in a dubious effort to preserve them.

This stela features a Mayan noble. A modern diagram makes blurred details somewhat clearer. The boxed symbols visible on the upper left are Mayan glyphs, probably telling a story concerning the nobleman.

 

A 3' carved stone disk bears the figure of some animal. A haunting larger-then-life skull continues to dissolve in the rains. Both lie exposed on the ground.

 

Two ball courts have been found and restored. The Mayan ball game was played by opposing teams who struck a heavy rubber ball with their hips. The weight of the ball caused injuries and fatalities among players.

 

The Cobá ball courts are fitted with goals. Passing the ball through one resulted in an immediate win, but scoring this way is extremely difficult and most games were won on points gained in other ways.

 

The Noloch Mul Pyramid is the tallest Mayan structure in the Yucatán—42 meters. I can't find any information on its purpose, probably because nobody really knows.

Its purpose today is to give tourists something to climb. Steep, narrow steps are challenging for out-of-shape tourists, but I have to give this couple major points for persevering to the top. Not everyone has this kind of gumption.

 

Overshadowed by the more famous Yucatán sites—Chichén Itzá and Uxmal—Cobá in the past hadn't gotten all the attention it deserved. But with better access and extensive restoration, it is coming into its own. Moreover, Cobá's shady trails make walking far more pleasant than at the big Mayan ruins, open as the latter are to the tropical sun.

Hiking the Blue Ridge Mountains

We are hiking mountain trails near Cashiers, North Carolina: Whiteside Mountain, Rock Mountain, Silver Run Falls. The woods we walk through are cool and serene.

None of the paths are flat. All have steps cut into them. Good thing we're conditioned from scampering up and down San Miguel's hills every day. Our cardiovascular systems are acclimated to 6000'—we don't get winded at Cashiers wimpy 4500'.

It's said that long ago, a squirrel could travel from Georgia to Maine jumping from one American Chestnut tree to another. Chinese Chestnut trees, introduced at the beginning of the 20th Century, carried with them a blight that killed more than three billion trees throughout their Appalachian Mountain range. All that remain today are shoots from old roots. The photo shows two live sprouts and a dead 4" sapling. Sad. A Nantahala National Forest brochure encourages hikers to report any tree at least 10" in diameter in the hopes of finding blight-resistant varieties.

Details seen along the trail: a granite outcrop encrusted with an unknown green mineral. Can anyone identify it?

Fungi sprout from a dead snag. I don't know enough about them to pick and eat them. These looked good to me, though.

The season is fall—and lucky us, we caught the peak of the color change.

Autumn leaf color is more muted here than in New England, but gorgeous nonetheless.

Atop Whiteside Mountain, Laura and her Uncle Jon read all about the granite formation they're standing on. Part of our oldest mountain chain, it's a mere nub compared with the Himalaya-like peaks that existed here 450 million years ago.

From the mountaintops, we look out over the Cashiers Valley, our view enhanced by all that fall foliage. This view is from Rock Mountain, looking toward Whiteside.

I found myself drawn to this old land, its gentle mountains more nurturing, more inviting than California's Sierra Nevada where I used to backpack. Unlike the high sierra, I could find a home here.

Others feel this way: this area is home to retiring boomers. Land values inflate, mountain cabins give way to elegant lakefront homes, chi-chi restaurants line the main streets. The Cashiers area, with its moderate climate and beautiful setting, is becoming a haven for the well-to-do. We who live in San Miguel know this story all too well.

On the Rock Mountain trail, we met only one group of hikers (although the trail had recently been detoured to bypass a new housing development). On Whiteside Mountain, we ran into hundreds. Whether we shared the trails with others or had them all to ourselves, our experience was exhilarating and memorable.

A Nature Walk

Laura's dad is a professor at the University of West Florida. We went there to sit in on his course on the works of Cormac McCarthy, and arriving early, took a walk through the 1600-acre campus, much of which has been set aside as a nature reserve.

A boardwalk gives access to extensive wetlands.

A small, slow river meanders through, reminding me of Rancocas Creek in southern New Jersey, where my parents would take me canoeing when I was very small. The smell of brown water, the hum of insects, the warm sun on my back enfold me in a benign, lazy world.

Few plants flower in this late season; berries are the main source of color.

Snapping turtles, some quite large, lurk in murky waters. Their scummy shells could use a good scrub, an issue the groundskeepers at UWF may want to consider. Familiar with these creatures from my boyhood days in the Eastern United States, I don't even consider reaching into the water to pick one up.

Here in Western Florida I encounter my first Red Velvet Ant. It's a large insect—¾" long. It's not actually an ant, but a wingless wasp. Another creature to avoid touching.

A sign at the entrance hints at the prospect of somewhat more interesting wildlife, but we don't run across any, more's the pity.

 

UWF is a center of excellence for environmental studies. It prepares students for careers in environmental restoration. The wetlands we walk through are a model project, a demonstration that environmental destruction is not irreversible, a sign of hope that the planet can indeed be saved.

A Walk in the Park

Dr. K calls me with good news: the pathology report shows the tumor is contained. No metastasis has occurred, no further treatment is required. I must submit quarterly psa measures. Undetectable levels for five years will enable his conservative self to declare a cure. Ungrateful, I grumble that my plumbing continues to function unreliably. What can be done? “Walk” he says. “Nothing will help you recover faster than walking.”

Inspired, I set out to hike through Parque Landeta, an open space preserve near home. Until now, shuffling around the block had constituted the whole of my post-surgery exercise program. Time for a change.

Summertime is Mexico’s most beautiful season in the altiplano. My path takes me though swathes of matapulga (pinkweed) and rosilla (dogweed). The former is said to kill fleas, hence the name.

Parque Landeta authorities aren’t prissy about mixed use in the preserve. A cornfield occupies the eastern end. Sheep crop lush plants that grow where floodwaters have receded. Opportunistic egrets mingle with the flock, gobbling up insects disturbed by grazing.

An inviting path winds among huizaches, past ruins whose original purpose is anyone’s guess.

To the west, the path passes through a gate marking the boundary of El Charco del Ingenio. Neither farm animals nor dogs may trespass here, nor hunters with slingshots.

Within El Charco, wetland restoration has created a summery place. I hear continual birdsong and quacking. Dragonflies hover over water weeds, hundreds of butterflies sip at mud puddles.

Just a year ago, great yellow machines belching black smoke labored to return old silted-up Obraje to wildlife habitat. I wrote then about my satisfaction seeing instruments of environmental destruction so redirected.

Along the track, a lichened rock catches my eye. Colas de caballo (pink throat morning glories) bloom everywhere.

Red tunas ripen on the nopales. I pick some and eat them out of hand. A friend will make syrup and jelly from these cactus fruits.

Lower left, a cholla blooms. No cactus has sharper spines nor attaches itself more aggressively to careless passers-by.
In All the Pretty Horses, Cormack McCarthy captures their indifferent cruel nature:

...they passed a stand of roadside cholla against which small birds had been driven by the storm and there impaled. Gray nameless birds espaliered in attitudes of stillborn flight or hanging loosely in their feathers. Some of them were still alive and they twisted on their spines as the horses passed...

Just over a mile out, I overrun my available energy. I limp back to my car, exhausted, sun-warmed, joyful at the encounter between my healing body and the healing land.

Comments:

GREAT news John. And Landeta Park is a joy to walk. I used to do it every morning with my dog when she was alive. It's beautiful all year round. Babs | 08.08.09 - 5:49 pm | #

Happy to hear the news. And just as happy at your doctor's advice to walk. You gave us all a great experience. Steve Cotton | Homepage | 08.08.09 - 7:48 pm | #

Hi, Just stumbled across your blog - very inspirational. all the best, Jen Jen | Homepage | 08.09.09 - 6:57 am | #

Congrats on the good news. I never had any doubt, of course. Felipe Zapata | Homepage | 08.09.09 - 10:53 am | #

John, Glad to hear the Doc thinks he got it all and it didn't spread! Happy to hear that you are home, in the care of your friends and Laura and comfort of familiar surroundings. For inspiration,... Al E. at 92 is still driving and very active!! He walks daily.......... Warm regards, Randy Randy Seale | 08.11.09 - 4:28 pm | #

I recently came across your blog and have been reading along. I thought I would leave my first comment. I dont know what to say except that I have enjoyed reading. Nice blog. I will keep visiting this blog very often. ___________________ Julie