YOUNG LAYLA VISITS SHAMAN DON CUAUHÉTOMOC FOR A DIVINATION

 

In Wheels Up—A Novel of Drugs, Cartels and Survival, a young Layla Navarro travels with her mother to a faraway village to have her fortune told. This excerpt detailing her meeting with the shaman and his reading on her future was not included in Book 1 in the trilogy. 

Sierra Occidental Madre Mountains

Even Layla had a divination as a child; she was ten at most. She remembered her mother dragging her to a pueblo even poorer than Valle del Gatos where she grew up. It was a long journey as they traveled by bus, seemingly for-ever. Was it a Nahuatl divination? She couldn't remember for sure.

The bus dropped them a kilometer from the plaza. As they arrived at the pueblo, her mother stopped a curious-looking old woman, back hunched from years of labor, who carefully watched them as they walked into el centro, little more than a patch of cleared ground without a single tree, surrounded by a handful of scruffy huts.

"La casa de Don Cuauhetemoc?" her mother inquired.

The crone pointed across the square to a stick hut set apart from the others.

As they neared it an old man with long white hair wearing a faded wool poncho emerged. He seemed energized at the sight of them. A smile ap- peared on his well-lined face.

"Por fin," he said as her mother approached him. "You have brought her at last."

"Si," her mother answered, her hand firmly grasping her daughter's.

Don Cuauhtémoc ushered them into the hut and asked that they be seated. He went out the back opening where a smoky fire smoldered over an outdoor pit—his kitchen—and rummaged around for several minutes while he pre-pared an aromatic herbal tea that he brought inside. The shaman handed them each a steaming glass.

"Bienvidos. Té," he said, pointing at the dark liquid, motioning for them to drink. To Layla, the contents of the glass—hot to the touch—smelled fragrant and tempting. She blew on it before taking a sip.

They exchanged small talk. The girl tuned in and out as she stared at the humble home with dirt floors, twig walls. The man was unbelievably poor. Who was he?

Layla would never forget what happened next. Both adults looked at her and small talk ended. There was a long silence. Don Cuauhétmoc shifted his gaze to her, smiled, walked over and asked her to stand. As she did so he bowed his head and put both hands on top of hers. He let out a long low hum. Her mother sat in the background, observing.

Don Cuauhtémoc left her standing there and moved to one side of the hut where a rectangular table sat. He spread a clean cloth over it. From a corner he brought out a vessel that contained copal, a musky incense, and lit it. He waited a moment as the fire took hold and smoke appeared. A pungent smell crept through the small hut. Rummaging again in his special corner, he pulled out a bag that contained his diving paraphernalia and placed it in the center of the table. The shaman then sat at the table on a low stool. He planted both feet firmly on the hut's earthen floor and closed his eyes. With palms facing upwards, one on each knee, he opened his body to the cosmos. For several moments Don Cuauhetemoc sat transfixed. When he opened his eyes, he asked Layla to sit directly across from him on an adjacent stool.

Burning Copal

"Pardon my sin, God; pardon my sin, Earth," Don Cuauhtémoc said in a low voice, eyes again closed as he held the divining bag and continued. "Allow me to borrow the breath of this day, today, to make this divination."

He opened his eyes and stared at young Layla for a long time. It seemed as if his mind was made up. His question emerged. "How will this girl's life unfold?

Silence.

"I am now borrowing the breath, the cold, the wind, the cloud, the mist at the rising sun of the east, at the setting sun of the west, four corners of the sky to the south, four corners of the Earth to the north.

"On this holy and sacred day I am taking these seeds and these crystals."

He continued his liturgy, calling upon volcanoes, lakes, rivers and all the world's natural resources. His long invocation was spoken at times in a muted tone, sometimes in a robust one. In closing, he beckoned to white sheet lightning, a bizarre natural phenomenon, and begged a response to his directive.

Having summoned the cosmos and borrowed its breath and lightning, the diviner began to untie his divining bag. An exotic smell escaped as he emptied the blend of crystals and seeds onto the table, mixing them together in a counter-clockwise direction with his right hand.

The ceremony fascinated Layla and she nearly reached out to touch the bag's contents but was stopped by a stern look from Don Cuauhtémoc. He spread the seeds and crystals before her and began to select ten crystals. He slowly rubbed his hands atop them all and began to pick and choose just three from the ten; one for the center of the table, the other two as its bishops. He held the main crystal up to the light, examining it for any movement before again stating his question. "How will this girl's life unfold?" addressing the three main crystals.

With his left hand he took the seeds and spread them around the crystals. At this time he called upon his ancestors, asking for advice on this simply stated question.

Only twigs crackling in the outdoor fire pit broke the silence.

Don Cuauhtémoc stopped and blew into his right hand and grabbed as many crystals and seeds as he could. He placed the handful aside and pushed the remainder towards the right side of the table, separating seeds and crystals into groups.

"Come, Lord, you are being spoken to," he announced in a reverential tone.

He bowed his head in contemplation for some time, slowly nodding back and forth. After what seemed an eternity to small Layla, the shaman opened his eyes. He moved the main crystals closer to the girl now with his left hand and said, "The answer is this: The woman is coming."

Layla's mother, silent until this moment, let out a sigh, apparently satisfied with the outcome. As for Layla, the endeavor mystified her and she had no idea what it meant.

Since her mother looked confident, she felt it was a good omen and the long journey to the dusty pueblo succeeded in offering some form of solace for their lengthy travels.

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.

MARRIED TO THE MOB—A MEXICANA NARCA FALLS HEAD OVER HEELS FOR HER BODYGUARD

In Wheels Up—A Novel of Drugs, Cartels and Survival, Layla Navarro falls for her bodyguard, Carlos. This excerpt, a back story on how their relationship unfolded, was not included in Book 1 in the trilogy.

LAYLA AND CARLOS (Mexico City)

Layla often wondered how she'd gotten herself into the crazy relationship with Carlos, her bodyguard. For someone who was supposed to be smart—she was the accountant for the Culiacan Cartel for godsake—she often found herself consumed with emotion because of her feelings for a handsome, overbearing hulk of a man.

On their last business trip to Mexico City, known as CDMX to locals, they almost came to blows. Problems were happening more frequently, not unlike small temblors foreshadowing a substantial seismic shift, the cosmic wake-up call.

They decided to leave Carlos' Escalade at their hotel parking garage and take a taxi over to see Don Ernesto at the Marquis Reforma, a fashionable Art Deco property on Paseo de la Reforma. Ernesto was the Culiacan Cartel's main man for distribution for Mexico City's cocaine and delivery systems, and Layla was in high anxiety mode as she mentally prepared to cram all his expertise into her head at their upcoming meeting.

That night, Carlos had started out all right, no big problems, or no bigger than usual. But when communications with Don Erneseto got down to a higher level of disclosure, the capo gave Carlos a nod and he slunk away but not before giving Laya one of his poisonous "get ready" looks.

He excused himself to the don before exiting the suite. To Layla he said, "I'll be in the downstairs bar. Should I call you?"

She told him to ring up to the room in an hour, which he did. She noticed his voice had a slight slur, not common, but since he didn't need to drive—they'd be taking a taxi—she thought nothing of it. 

"I'll meet you by the elevators in five," she said. She gave Don Ernesto a quick goodbye kiss on both cheeks, then a handshake and finally her requisite, "Ciao." 

She knew things had gone south the instant the elevator doors opened. She could spot trouble and there it stood in the form of her bodyguard. He gave her a hard stare, barely motioned his head in a non-assuming way and moved towards the exit at a slow jog. From that moment she was practically running to keep up with him. Chinga! He was her bodyguard, that were in Mexico City, not some rural pueblo, and he was running away from her. How absurd! 

As they tore out of the hotel's go-round doors onto the lavish drive-up entrance where the bellmen stood, a valet called out, "Taxi, señorita?" 

"No gracias!"

She quickened her pace to keep up. He was way ahead of her and moving fast. For a man his size, he could move.

"Carlos!" she yelled. He didn't turn around. Louder now, "Carlos!"

Then he did a quick twist and yelled back at her as he crossed the street, "Leave me alone. You're nuts! You're the one who's screwed up, not me."

She felt like she'd been hit in the gut with a baseball bat. Passing from the opposite direction was a well-dressed man, mid-thirties, who'd seen Carlos at a near run and Layla, striving to catch up. By this time they were sprinting. The passerby obviously sensed her anguish and called out in passing, "Don't believe him. He's the crazy one, not you."

At that moment she wanted to throw her arms around this total stranger and thank him because she wondered what mistakes she'd made, how much she herself was to blame for their explosive relationship. Somehow Carlos always managed to make her feel like crap no matter what. 

He was pulling ahead. She was losing him now. Damn the heels. He'd crossed yet another block and she was farther behind. She couldn't be alone on these streets; it was Mexico City for God's sake.

"Carlos!" This time she yelled it loud and long. To hell with anyone who might see her running after some man on the street like a common trollop. "Please stop!" 

At that he turned, gauged her distance, took off his coat and tucked it under his arm but moving all the while. He seemed surprised she wasn't farther behind. With that look she knew she had him. She ran with abandon as fast as she could and soon caught up. She was no lightweight but she couldn't be alone in a CDMX hotel room in her line of work. It was unacceptable. Of course she could handle a gun but that wasn't the point. Hijole! What the hell were they paying him for anyway? El Patrón insisted she have protection.

When she caught up with him he was breathing heavily. "Why did you chase me? Chinga!" 

"You will not leave me alone here!" she shouted, surprised by her own show of force. "Do I need to remind you? You're on the payroll." 

In retrospect she realized she should have taken Patrón up on his offer to reassign Carlos a few years back. Her uncle had a knack for reading people and no doubt sensed trouble. That suggestion was his way of letting them both off the hook. Otherwise, Carlos would surely have been expendable. You didn't quit the cartel. The cartel quit you. 

Hijole! Why hadn't she listened to Patrón? Oh, now it seemed totally clear: what she should have done. But back then, they were still too good together, at least in the bedroom. There was the sex, so much sex. The on-going sex, the break-up sex, the make-up sex. And yes, also the fighting and a whole lot of it. Drama and tears, walk-outs and disasters. Hurling names at each other like javelins. No brutality, just two screeching cats, fighting it out. 

Too late now, and this charade had gone on too long. What was it with the men in her life? Were they all pendejos? Did she pick these guys or did they pick her? Even Reynoldo, her brother, God rest his miserable soul. He'd also treated her like dirt. And how long ago was that? She'd been a teenager and he was dissing her back then. She needed one of those internet courses that taught self esteem. You could learn that, right? Or was she stuck in this loop forever, a mere doorstop, even though she commanded all negotiations in Mexico on cocaine and marijuana for the cartel? What the hell was going on? 

Maybe it was time to see Our Lady of Guadalupe at the Basilica of the Virgin. Do penance to Mexico's patron saint, and a woman at that. So maybe she was actually a goddess? Forget about the Virgin Mary. Sure Mexicans pretended they believed all that Catholic stuff. She'd even been forced to go to church herself when her father put her in parochial school before he died. 

Mexico's twisted alternate history ran through her mind. The conquistadors ravaged the land and converted the sinners, or so they thought. What was really happening centuries ago and to this very day was the sly coverup each and every Mexican knew so well. The Virgin Mary wore blue; their sacred and beloved Guadalupe wore blue. Yes, there was a close resemblance, but the dual icons were worlds apart in significance. Go into a church in any Mexican pueblo and who did you see about the altar? Our Lady of Guadalupe, not Mary, Mother of God. And Feast of Guadalupe, December 12th, was more revered that Christmas. 

Mexicans converted the various saints to align with their gods. Catholic holy days coincided with their sacred days. The missionaries were never the wiser. Not unlike the cartels, they were all about volume; they wanted to boast to the European powers how many natives now worshipped their savior. As part and parcel of the Catholic Church, they cared only about numbers. 

It was a thinly veiled conspiracy. The Mexican, Aztecs, the Nahuatl, the Maya, they all pretended they'd been saved by the blood of the Lord. But they had merely converted Christianity into their form of paganism. In Oaxaca, Chiapas, the mountains of Michoacán, where the indigenous people were strongest, that's where shaman still ruled the villages and the ancient calendar, Aztec or Maya, governed lives. Not the book of the Lord. The calendar was the way. And the local shaman, who at times would pose as a priest, served as every pueblo's mayor and major domo. He settled disputes, gave readings, sanctioned marriages, named children from their calendar make-up not unlike astrology, divined dreams, cured illnesses and helped choose life paths for his flock.

Lost in thought, she stared at Carlos, her hotheaded bodyguard and lover, still huffing from their Olympic style run. For some reason she flashed on shaman Don Cuauhtemoc's reading from so long ago: "The woman is coming." God, she hoped it actually meant something.

If you enjoyed this missing excerpt from Wheels Up—A Novel of Drugs, Cartels and Survival, order a copy from Amazon. Also on Amazon, Where the Sky is Born: Living in the Land of the Maya. My website is www.jeaninekitchel.com. Find book two in my Mexico cartel trilogy, Tulum Takedown, on Amazon. And my journalistic overview of the Maya 2012 calendar phenomenon, Maya 2012 Revealed: Demystifying the Prophecy, is on Amazon.

WHAT MEXICO CARTEL'S QUEEN OF THE PACIFIC AND LAYLA NAVARRO HAVE IN COMMON

Sandra Avila Beltran (L) at Party

THE STUFF OF LEGENDS 

Though female Mexican cartel leaders are few and far between, there were one or two I'd heard about while living in Mexico. There was a hardened former federal police officer, Dona Lety, who had commandeered the Cancun Hotel Zone as her territory, wrenching it from the grips of the Gulf, Sinaloa and Los Zetas cartels. Her gang was involved with drug sales and extortions from bars and restaurants, even stooping to squeeze payments from lowly hammock makers. The Hotel Zone became her personal fiefdom. If business owners did not bend to her demands, someone could lose a finger. Even though she'd gone head to head with some major players, she was still small change in the big picture.

When the idea for Wheels Up, a narco thriller set in the Yucatan and Riviera Maya came to me I decided to go against type and cast a woman as top dog for Mexico's most powerful cartel. No Dona Lety for my novel, I wanted a jefe of jefes. It seemed a fitting insult to have macho cartel narcos paying homage to a boss woman. I loved the irony. 

And thus, like Athena, sprung from the head of Zeus, Layla Navarro was born.

I modeled Layla Navarro, my Wheels Up—A Novel of Drugs, Cartels and Survival protagonist, on Sandra Avila Beltran, known in the narco world as the Queen of the Pacific. 

Layla rises to the top of the fictional Culiacan cartel in Sinaloa, much as Sandra rose to the top of the Guadalajara cartel in that famous city. Layla's ascent happened after her uncle, cartel boss, was recaptured and sent back to prison. Since Rodolfo, her older brother and heir apparent, had been gunned down in an ambush a year earlier, Layla fell into the position. Her job was to secure and further the goals of the Culiacan cartel during her uncle's incarceration in Mexico City. 

Sandra Avila Beltran is the stuff of legends. Though her advancement happened over three decades, her rise to power was vertical. She participated in and had a front row seat to cartel activities, from private jets, clandestine plastic surgeries, murderous shoot-outs, money laundering, non-stop corruption and even a stunning bribe to a Mexican president for $100 million dollars. 

At the height of her career, Avila had a knack for carrying suitcases with millions of dollars in crisp Benjamins to make cartel payoffs. Born into narco royalty, much like Layla Navarro, she lived in opulence, a world of private schools, piano and dance lessons, trips to Disneyland. Her father, one of the founders of the Guadelajara cartel, even had her counting money as a child.

She said she'd spent so much time counting cash as a kid that she later turned that ability into a clever party trick: she'd grab a roll of bills, hold them up, and precisely calculate the value. 

Not as precocious as young Sandra, Layla Navarro grew up in her older brother's shadow. Fun and games were no part of her childhood and Layla was not even considered second best as her childless uncle ascended the ranks to head of the Culiacan cartel. Layla was third in line, after Rodolfo and second brother, geeky Martin. But the devastating ambush that took out her eldest brother brought her unique abilities to the forefront.

Neither Sandra nor Layla was removed from the terrors of life in cartel families. Sandra witnessed her first shootout at age 13. In an interview with The Guardian, she said, "At dawn you heard the music, the shootouts. It was when they killed people."

IF LOOKS COULD KILL

Both women had movie star looks and exuded a magnetism and sex appeal that welcomed them into the wide world of major drug cartels. They entered this haven of danger and wealth as connected power players.

Sandra Avila Beltran Age 19

Avila, once alleged to be Mexico's most famous female drug trafficker, became a household name known as Queen of the Pacific after her coolness during a 2007 police interview captured her on camera in a video that went viral. In it she came across totally unruffled by claims that she had been part of an operation to smuggle nine tons of cocaine across borders, insisting she was only a housewife with a side-hustle selling clothes and renting out properties. 

In spite of her protest, Avila was charged along with her lover, Colombian drug lord Juan Diego Espinosa, El Tigre. Authorities claimed she was one of the key cross-border links between the Sinaloa cartel and Norte del Valle cartel in Colombia. With the spotlight turned on to her alleged cartel activities, Avila's lifestyle and criminal career became the basis for the Mexican tele-novela, La Reina del Sur. 

Cartel royalty runs deep in Avila's veins. Her uncle, Felix Gallardo, controlled the illegal narcotics trade from Mexico to the U.S. for decades. If you watched Netflix's Narcos, Gallardo's presence and power is written all over the script. In Wheels Up, Layla's uncle has an ironclad grip on the Culiacan cartel and is known only as El Jefe.

OTHER PLANS

While Layla Navarro's career was always tied to her uncle's Culiacan cartel, early on, Avila distanced herself from her family's cartel ties. As a 17-year old she enrolled in journalism classes at Universidad Autonomia de Guadalajara, planning a career as an investigative reporter. But three years into her studies, a jealous boyfriend kidnapped her. And after this significant episode, once released, she left town, ending her hopes of a career in journalism. Instead, she turned to the drug underworld, bringing numerous skills: she was an extremely disciplined car driver, a master horseback rider, and a talented sharpshooter. Plus, she herself said she made the best of her ability to flirt.

A suitor once bought her a new pickup truck, left it at her house with an envelope containing $100 thousand dollars and a note that read, "Spend the money on a trip or anything you want." Shortly after that, at 21, she was linked with drug lord Amado Carrillo Fuentes, known as Lord of the Skies, a famous pilot who flew tons of cocaine for Felix Gallardo's cartel.

Sandra Avila Beltran At Home

She rose fast, her life became full-time cartel, and she was coveted by powerful and dangerous men at every step of the way. She avoided cocaine and drugs, stating to The Guardian, that if women use cocaine, "the men think you are just another disposable woman and you won't be respected." Layla Navarro shared those exact sentiments and never did drugs though she did enjoy her tequila.

DOUBLE STANDARD

Avila went on to say that men in the business would have harems of women and sexual freedom, but women had to maintain a personal code of ethics. As noted by Layla Navarro in Wheels Up, "Women are either Madonnas or whores." As a female power player at the top of their games they had to walk a tight line.

Gaining respect for both of these female narcas was paramount. Avila's climb to power included her gifting her son a Hummer on his 15th birthday along with a $40 thousand dollar allowance every three months. By this time, she'd met El Chapo, commanded a 30-car flotilla, and had won shooting exhibitions.

She seemed invincible. Until she wasn't. Her son was kidnapped in 2002, and when she paid the $5 million dollar ransom, the police became interested in her lifestyle. She went on the run and became a fugitive for many years. But her undoing came when she attended a fiesta for El Chapo high in the Sierra Madre Mountains. She arrived with an AK-47 in hand, wearing a baseball cap and no make-up and was seated next to El Chapo. The band playing for the fiesta composed a narco corrido about her and that was her undoing. The song, Party in the Mountains, became a hit, her anonymity was shattered, and bad luck followed.

ON THE LAM

Months later she was ambushed, made a run for it, ended up on the lam in a barrio and was rescued by a woman who gave her a change of clothes and 50 pesos for a cab. She continued on the run for three years but was finally caught with her new love, El Tigre. She claimed she was sold out by a business partner who had failed to pay her for an investment return. In retaliation for her questioning his honor, he handed her over to the government. 

She'd survived two husbands and a dead lover, but finally, justice caught up with her in 2007. She spent a good portion of the next decade behind bars, but her jail time wasn't the same as a regular civilian's jail time. She had 'guests' escorted to her cell where her three maids served food, alcohol and cigarettes. When interviewed by Jose Gerardo Mejia, the first journalist to speak to her once incarcerated, he described the prisoner "in four-inch heels, adorned in jewels, custom clothing, and fawning guards who treated her like a minor diplomat."

Avila Beltran in Interview, The Guardian

Though she had been sentenced to 70 months in federal US custody, she was eventually transported back to Mexico to carry out the balance of her sentence after pleading guilty to accessory after the fact for helping El Tigre, her love interest, reduce his sentence.

In Mexico she was sentenced to another prison term for money laundering but Mexico courts threw the conviction out in 2015 and she was given an early release. 

Though Layla avoids the law in Wheels Up, her infamous uncle is not so lucky. But he, too, had quite a different behind bars experience than his fellow inmates—a comfortable bed, fine linens, large screen TV, good food with his own chef, cigars, alcohol and women when he so desired.

OUT OF THE GAME

Avila was released from prison in Mexico in 2015 and immediately began recovering her contacts. With her fortune mostly buried, it's rumored, she hired a host of lawyers to recoup approximately 15 homes, 30 sports cars and an estimated 300 jewels. Now in her 60s and not shy about interviews, she was asked by Jonathon Franklin of The Guardian if she had any qualms about her career and the products that the cartels sell.

Her position is simple she said—each individual is free to partake in the drug world or abstain. "The statistics show more people die from alcohol than drugs and where alcohol is sold, no one feels remorse. No one is obliged to use," she said. 

And what about cartel related deaths? "They result from competition and the Mexican government's brutal assassination tactics. The government at times has to kill people because it is not convenient to imprison witnesses who could testify against them."

The problem, she insisted, was not those who can't leave the cartels but those who prefer not to. "There are people with loads of money who don't get out, don't want to. They like what they are doing, like a Formula 1 race car driver who says I do it because I like speed."

And how do politicians eradicate drug violence, the reporter aks. "First you attack poverty," she answers. "Poverty is what causes violence. First you become a delinquent, then you become violent."

In Wheels Up, when Layla Navarro checks in with her surviving brother to see how her uncle is doing in prison while she's on the run, he assures her all is well. While imprisoned, the guards have his back, the warden is in his pocket, and the politicians will do as they're told when beckoned.

"Aah yes," she muses, "because if they don't do his bidding, they and their families will be murdered across generations." When you deal with the cartels, the cards are never stacked in your favor.

Avila Beltran With Her Cosmetic Line

Sandra Avila Beltran is presently on TikTok promoting a line of cosmetics, and a documentary about her, titled The Queen of the Pacific has had 109 million views. With or without bodyguards and smuggling schemes, she's still the stuff of legends. 

 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.

A MEXICO ADVENTURE TALE: THE LOST WORLD OF QUINTANA ROO

 

Today’s Cancun radiates luxury, flash, and all things civilized. When I first traveled there in the 1980s, though it wasn’t the sophisticated resort city it is today, it was no backwater. It had a Club Med, a spiffy hotel zone, and in 1989 played host to the Miss Universe pageant. At the time, Cancun, in the state of Quintana Roo, was not well known, but its clear turquoise waters and white sand beaches served as an enticing backdrop to a world-wide audience. Cancun was ready for its close-up.

Back then, you could venture a mere five miles north or south and find yourself traipsing through tangled jungles or walking alone on desolate beaches. Though I considered myself a seasoned Mexico traveler I’d never ventured to the Yucatán Peninsula, and my introduction to its eastern shores came unexpectedly. I found an out-of-print book, The Lost World of Quintana Roo, in a vintage book shop in Moss Landing, California.

Along with a compelling cover, the dust flap intrigued me. “This is the true story of a remarkable adventure. Michel Peissel, a young Frenchman with an international background, was stranded on the coast of Quintana Roo in eastern Yucatán, abandoned by boatmen he had engaged to take him southward.” 

I was hooked.

Peissel's tale was a tall adventure indeed. Sixty years ago he walked the land, and considered Quintana Roo to be "the most savage and wild coast on the American continent."

It was a mere territory, with no laws, no government, no roads— accessible only by sea or on foot.

In 1958 this was how Peissel, then just 21-years old, discovered it. Through a strange set of circum-stances, Peissel’s fate led him on a solo walk through thick mangroves and dense jungles from the northern tip of Quintana Roo to Belize.

MEXICO SABBATICAL

On graduating from Harvard in 1958, Peissel planned a six-month sabbatical in Mexico before entering grad school for a business career. After meeting a well-traveled German writer in Mexico City, he became fascinated with a little known territory on the Yucatán Peninsula, Quintana Roo. Peissel first headed to Merida, then Progreso, where he chartered a boat to Cozumel. From there he planned to sail down the Quintana Roo coast. After arriving in Cozumel he hired two young Maya boys with an 11-foot vessel, bamboo mast and rag sail, to take him to the QRoo mainland.

After a harrowing eight-hour crossing, they arrived at Puha, a coco plantation or cocal, on the mainland. At that time the coast was entirely uninhabited except for Puha, Puerto Morelos, and Tankah. Exhausted, Peissel fell asleep and missed the second half of the journey on the Maya sailboat, which left him with a fateful decision—how to get to Chetumal in a land with no roads and virtually no people. After being abandoned, his only hope to exit the jungle was to travel on foot from cocal to cocal, relying on the assistance of the Maya who lived there for food, water, and direction.

LONG JOURNEY

Wearing only sandals as his boots left with the boat, he began his two hundred mile journey through dense jungle and mangrove swamps. He was chased by chiclero bandits (chickle cutters for gum trees) and encountered Chan Santa Cruz Indians, who until then killed any light-skinned person on sight as the Caste War of Yucatán had ended just twenty years earlier. He partook in religious ceremonies with indigenous Maya and stumbled onto unknown pyramid sites. Peissel became the first person known to walk the coast of Quintana Roo, arriving in Belize forty days later.

RETURN TRIP

It would be three years before Peissel made a return trip and in that time he found many things had changed along the QRoo coast. In 1974 Quintana Roo became a state of Mexico and shortly thereafter the Mexico Tourist Council devised a project for a planned resort community which is now present day Cancun.

Years later Peissel again returned to Quintana Roo. He paddled and sailed his way down the coast on a Maya seagoing dugout canoe. After his early adventure to Quintana Roo, he abandoned his plans to become a banker and went on to write fifteen books and produce twenty documentary films. Because of his journey to Quintana Roo, journeying to other outback destinations like Tibet, Nepal, and Bhutan would become his life’s passion. Peissel died in Paris October 7, 2011. At 74, his was an adventurous life well lived.

On a personal note, I was contacted by the author after I wrote a review of the 1963 Lost World publication in 2000 for the Miami Herald. The review reached Peissel in Paris; he located me through email and thanked me for it. He mentioned the book was out of print and if f I knew of a publisher who might want to re-publish, to let him know. I had few publishing contacts, but I was excited to have been contacted by Peissel. I later heard from his brother Bernard who explained he'd read the review and forwarded it to Michel. We remained in contact and it was Bernard who informed me of Michel's passing.  

                                        

But my six degrees of separation with Michel did not stop with the review. I traveled to Paris and one of my stops was Shakespeare & Company. Owning a bookstore in Mexico as an expat drew me to this famous Parisian landmark. By chance I met the owner, George Whitman. Though an ocean apart, we were kindred spirits—expats with bookstores on foreign soil. When I told him about Alma Libre Libros, he asked what part of Mexico it was in.

I said Quintana Roo. And then the conversation got real interesting. "Quintana Roo? Quintana Roo! I walked Quintana Roo when I was young."

"You've been there?"

"Oh yes, in the thirties I traveled through Mexico. My visa ran out and I helped build a bridge between Chetumal and Belize to get my papers in order." 

"Have you read The Lost World of Quintana Roo?" I asked. "By Michel Peissel?" 

"Michel, of course. He'd come into the bookshop when he wa a student at the Sorbonne. We often talked about my travels in Quintana Roo."

So Peissel had piggy-backed onto Whitman's true life adventure. Whitman was his game changer as Peissel was mine. I'd come full circle, from finding an out-of-print book in California that became the heart of my Mexico desire, inspiring me to travel south and settle as an expat in Mexico. To top that off, I accidentally met Whitman in Paris, who connected the dots with Peissel. Aaah, life can be sweet.

Though the book is out of print, it's possible to find copies through various sellers. It's a compelling tale. Climb aboard and be ready for a fascinating armchair adventure. 

For more information on my writing, check out my website at www.jeaninekitchel.com. My first book, a travel memoir, Where the Sky is Born: Living in the Land of the Maya, is available on Amazon as are books one and two of my cartel trilogy, Wheels Up—A Novel of Drugs, Cartels and Survival, and Tulum Takedown, also on Amazon.

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 Vintage photographs are taken from The Lost World of Quintana Roo.