FROM STRANGERS TO FRIENDS IN PROGESO DURING THE HOLIDAYS IN MEXICO

In Mexico, the holiday season seemingly goes on forever. And in actuality, it does. From Feast of Guadalupe on December 12 through Noche Buena, Navidad, and Año Nuevo, it finally ends with Dia de Reyes or Feast of the Kings January 6.

As early travelers in the mid-80s to the Yucatán Peninsula, we loved all the festivities and fiestas. That's part of what makes Mexico so Mexico! The pageantry and the color, the fireworks and the continuous holidays. 

For years we planned to move to Mexico so every vacation was centered around a Mexican get-away: from long weekends to a blissful week or two around Christmas. These trips were a quick fix to our serious addiction to the Mexican lifestyle. 

Hotel Trinidad, Merida

FIRST STOP, MERIDA

In 1986 we made our first trip to Merida and Chichen Itza. We arrived in Merida December 23 and located a hotel near the main plaza, Hotel Trinidad. I spotted heavy wood and brass style Spanish doors with "Open 24 Hours" painted at the top and took a look inside. On entering I discovered a hotel straight out of Barcelona, a tribute to Bohemia everywhere. Bright mosaic tiles in wild patterns covered the floors and gaudy paintings with broken pieces of mirror patterned into the frames decorated the walls.

Behind an antique wooden bar that served as reception, a studious looking clerk gazed up from a stack of papers. I looked behind him to an unruly growth of areca palms and a cascade of jungle plants that created a bountiful interior garden.

Within moments we'd checked into a room with 16-foot ceilings, no windows, but an enormous skylight that delivered all the light we needed. The rooms faced the terrace courtyard and during the day many guests left their doors open to take in fresh air and direct sunlight.

On Christmas Eve we woke early and walked to the bus station to catch a bus to Chichen Itza. Crowds thronged the depot as many people were traveling for the holiday. In Mexico as in Europe, December 24, Noche Buena, is celebrated as the feast of Christmas rather than Christmas Day. We were enroute to Piste, the pueblo that served as a base for travelers coming and going to the popular pyramid at Chichen Itza.

CHICHEN ITZA

After the crowded bus trip, we were dropped off a few hours later on the highway near the site. We grabbed our belongings and readied ourselves for the four kilometer walk. Chichen Itza did not fail. We spent the entire day taking in the vast site, but that's another story. Our goal after sightseeing at the pyramids was to head back to Merida and Hotel Trinidad. We made our way back to where the bus had dropped us off and waited for the next bus heading back to Merida to arrive.

The Merida depot, now late in the day, was packed to overflow with those traveling home to their pueblos. We shuffled along the narrow city streets, walking single file as crowds headed in the opposite direction to the terminal. Finally we were back in the tourist zone, where shops were closing their doors. We saw people carrying small bolsas with what I imagined were gifts, and when we passed the open door or window of an apartment, I peaked inside. Unlike American Christmas's, there were no decorated trees nor piles of wrapped presents. Instead we saw small family gatherings and dinner tables laden with platters of food, a happy display of camaraderie apparent by the sound of laughter and conversations we heard in passing.

Merida Streets near Cathedral

That was when I understood the wide divide in our cultures. Since then, NAFTA brought Costco and other mega-markets to Mexico along with fake Christmas trees in November and blow-up Santa Clauses. But in those days, it was different. Christmas was a holiday from the heart, not the pocketbook. It was not about gifts and giving. It was about family.

So naive was I that I thought we'd find a restaurant for a lovely Christmas Eve dinner. Nope. Businesses were closed. Every single person in that vast and marvelous city was certainly sitting across a table from loved ones, enjoying food and conversation. We passed shuttered stores and restaurants for blocks before finding one lone open tienda as we neared the hotel. We picked up a six-pack of cerveza and some antojitos and chips. That was our Christmas Eve fare. Little did we realize the pickings might be slimmer still on Christmas Day.

NEXT STOP, PROGRESO

The next morning, somehow buses were running, and after gratefully accepting coffee and a concha pastry from the clerk at the hotel, we decided to go to Progreso, a port town on the Gulf Coast, 40 kilometers north. But Progreso, small at the time, was locked down even tighter than Merida. After checking out the ocean, not the translucent blue we were accustomed to on the eastern coast but dark, cloudy water, we walked around town hoping to find something open. A few blocks from the beach we stumbled onto an unshuttered seafood restaurant, empty except for a sweet-looking old man who stood behind the bar. He looked like he was the owner, there to clean up, but when I asked if he was "Abierto," he couldn't say no to holiday strangers.

Progreso, Yucatán

"Feliz Navidad. Cerveza?" 

He gestured us in, bowed at the waist and pointed to a table.

We nodded and took a seat. He came around the bar with two Pacifico's and a well-worn menu, pointing to a photo of a shrimp cocktail. Assuming that was our cue, we nodded again. "Por dos," I managed to say.

Our Christmas dinner consisted of a good many cold Pacifico's and a delicious cocktail de cameron served in a giant fishbowl with a side of saltine crackers, undoubtedly the best, freshest shrimp cocktail I've ever had. By our third Pacifico, the owner had joined us at the painted wooden table, now cluttered with beer bottles. We three were a lonely hearts club, sharing a holiday. How many more beers we drank that day I couldn't tell you. But in time, my fractured Spanish was no longer an issue and we laughed and shared stories through sign language and an occasional common phrase.

What could have been an unmemorable Christmas became one we'll never forget, with a reminder on how the world works. At holiday time, everyone becomes your friend and someone to share a drink with, no matter where you are or where you're from.

LEST THEY BE ANGELS IN DISGUISE

And another lesson along the same lines comes from George Whitman, owner of Shakespeare & Company in Paris. His motto is prominently displayed over the bookstore's front door: Be not inhospitable to strangers lest they be angels in disguise. And let us not forget to return the favor.

Shakespeare & Company, Paris

Happy New Year to you! May your 2023 travels be rewarding and memorable.

If you enjoyed this post, check out  Where the Sky is Born: Living in the Land of the Maya, on Amazon. My website is www.jeaninekitchel.com. Books one and two in my Mexico cartel trilogy, Wheels Up—A Novel of Drugs, Cartels and Survival, and Tulum Takedown, are also on Amazon. And my journalistic overview of the Maya 2012 calendar phenomenon, Maya 2012 Revealed: Demystifying the Prophecy, is on Amazon.

HAWAII'S VOLCANO ERUPTION STIRS MEMORY OF MY BRUSH WITH PELE, GODDESS OF FIRE

Pele, Goddess of Fire and Volcanoes (By Charles Kane)

Mauna Loa, the world's largest active volcano, recently erupted for the first time in 38 years on the island of Hawaii, raising excitement among scientists trying to unlock its many mysteries. Speaking of mysteries, I have one of my own which I'll share here, though it's not about the volcano itself, but about Pele, the goddess who rules volcanoes, and makes her home at the Kilauea Volcano on the Big Island.

Mauna Loa December Eruption (Honolulu Star Advertiser)

THERE STOOD PELE

"Pele's too angry for a goddess!" my Santa Fe astrologer friend who knew about these things said. "Look at Athena and Aphrodite, or Kwan Yin! They don't have tantrums and throw fire around."

I had no idea where she was getting her information, but I had to laugh. "Well, I like her spunk."

We were on Maui after all, and it wasn't prudent to diss goddesses when you were hanging out on their turf. "And Pele is the goddess of fire. Maybe that's what you do when you're a fire goddess." 

"She's over the top. Way too much anger for a goddess. Everyone says so."

That was one of the things I loved about Sherry. She was so far out she considered herself on a personal level with goddesses. It was only fitting that she had a line on their social codes and morés. She would have rolled her eyes if she heard me say that, and then she would have said, stone sober, "Other goddesses."

"Well, when I saw her, she was pretty mellow."

 "What do you mean, when you saw her?"

"I never told you that story?"

We were sitting in upcountry Kula on the slopes of Haleakala. Sherry had landed a gig doing an astrological reading for one of her clients who lived there. The week-long stay included a primo little ohana on the owner's ten-acre property where we sat while this spirited discourse took place. It was a low-slung two-bedroom guest house with stunning vistas of Haleakala Crater and long views that extended down to the isthmus, the far away lime green cane fields, and the blue Pacific.

"No," Sherry said, now a bit huffy. "How could you not tell me this?

"Oh, it happened years ago, just after I met Paul in the eighties, when Lahaina was still low key. That's when I saw Madame Pele."

Good grief, it was now the millennium and I was still coming back to Maui. It seemed like I'd been coming back to the island half my life.

So I began telling Sherry the Madame Pele story. It had started innocently enough. Paul and I had met just weeks before his 40th birthday. He was heading to Maui with a friend to celebrate. As luck would have it, the travel magazine I worked for was staging a conference there and our dates coincided. Serendipity.

I knew nothing about Pele before her Lourdes-like appearance, though I'd always been a big believer in myths, gods and goddesses. When I lived on Maui a year after college, her name never came up.

The "Aha!" factor started the day after the Pele sighting. Paul was sitting in a bar in Lahaina having a late morning Blood Mary, still confused by the previous night's mysterious incident. He laid his tale on the bartender.

"You'll never believe what happened to me last night."

"Don't tell me you saw the woman with the white dog?" the bartender said.

Paul later told me chills ran up and down his spine.

"How did you know?"

"Everyone's been seeing her lately. Madame Pele, goddess of the volcano. She's showing up all over the island."

Paul sat silent for a minute, thinking things through. "Pele? I've got to tell you the story."

"Shoot."

"Well, my girlfriend's here for a conference. She had a meeting last night until nine and I picked her up in Lahaina. Since her hotel's in Wailea, I didn't drink at all before driving to the other side. The road's too dark.

"Right after we passed Puamana on the outskirts of town, we saw a beautiful Hawaiian girl, hitchhiking. She was wearing a turquoise blouse and white shorts, holding a white dog on a leash. I slowed down because I think Jeanine wanted to pick her up, being a retired flower child, but I sped up. It seemed weird. It was late. We really didn't say much after that. I think we were both kind of dazed a the sight of a Hawaiian hitchhiker with a dog at that hour. She seemed out of place.

"Twenty minutes later we get to the Kihei "Y" where you split off to Kihei or Wailuku, and there she was! The same girl with the white dog on a leash. It's like she just materialized!

"I said, 'Did you see that?' We looked at each other as I passed her. I slammed on the brakes and stopped. I'd overshot where she stood, punched the car into reverse, and slammed on the brakes again, this time stopping dead in front of her.

"I leaned over Jeanine, rolled down her window, and all I could think to say was, "How did you get here?" She looked right at me and said, "It was easy."

"I didn't know what to do, so I just took off. Neither of us knew how she did it. Not a single car passed us. You know how Maui roads are at that hour—empty.

"We drove to Wailea, and this morning Jeanine had another meeting on the Lahaina side so I drove her over and here I am, still trying to figure out what the hell happened. Pele? Tell me about her."

"Madame Pele is the goddess of fire and the volcano," the bartender said as he continued his bar set-up. "She shows up as either a beautiful young woman with a white dog or as an old, old woman with long white hair. She walks along the road, hitchhiking. Everyone's been seeing her lately. A lot."

Over the years, Pau and I have discussed, dissected, and argued it, but we always come up with the same answers. We weren't drinking or smoking, and we're not crazy.

Paul is the pragmatic type: Science rules, myths are for sissies, and ghosts and goblins don't exist.

Me, I'm the free spirit, but this was way out of my league. How did that young woman turn up twenty miles down the road in quick order, with her dog, as though she was just waiting for us to come around that bend? We're positive no cars passed. We didn't slow down or stop, so even if a car had picked her up, she'd have been just getting out when we rounded the bend. There was no time for that.

We have no idea how she did it, but Pele being Pele—anything's possible.

Why did she choose us? No clue. Hawaiians can't seem to agree on what it means either and we have asked many. Some say it's good—an omen—like seeing the shroud of Turin; some say it's not so good. Many ask if we spoke to her. If so, then it's a blessing. The one thing all locals seem to agree on is this: Pele shows up most often on Hawaii, the Big Island, her home, where the volcano flows. But this particular week she was a Maui magnet.

Over the years this story has proved to be the ultimate icebreaker. While eating sushi in Santa Cruz years later, Paul was telling the Pele story to the diner next to him. It was a cozy bar, seating for eight at most, an intimate room. Before Paul got to the crazy finish, a visiting Hawaiian at the far end of the bar interrupted. 

"Hey, bra," he said. "I'm from Maui. I'm gonna tell you where she was waiting: at the Kihei "Y." Right?"

Chicken skin! The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up. "How did you know?" I asked as my heart beat a little faster.

"It's an old cemetery. She always shows up there."

Well, that further creeped me out. The goddess knew her turf.

We never did figure it out, and occasionally we still think of Pele, like now, when the volcano flows. Other island friends have had sightings, but never on Maui. One guy we know saw her twice on the Big Island, as the girl. Local magazines sometimes tell Hawaiian tales of "ghost" sightings. But our Pele was no ghost. She was right there in front of us: a beautiful Hawaiian girl with long flowing hair and a white Samoyed. If only I had reached out to touch her. I was that close.

If you enjoyed this post, check out  Where the Sky is Born: Living in the Land of the Maya, on Amazon. My website is www.jeaninekitchel.com. Books one and two in my Mexico cartel trilogy, Wheels Up—A Novel of Drugs, Cartels and Survival, and Tulum Takedown, are also on Amazon. And my journalistic overview of the Maya 2012 calendar phenomenon, Maya 2012 Revealed: Demystifying the Prophecy, is on Amazon.