THE MEXICO LAND DEAL—BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR

 

A Dock in Quintana Roo

Back in San Francisco we returned to life as we knew it: work, stress and traffic. In our spare time we lived and dreamed Mexico. This Mexico dream Paul and I were creating went back to my flower child roots and gave me hope that I still had a bohemian streak in my now routinely ordinary life. 

Alejandro arrived mid-summer and we had papers drawn up as fully as possible without actual parcel numbers and the legalese required in a land buy. We depleted our savings and wrote Alejandro a check. Now we were one step closer to owning a beachfront lot in the Mexican Caribbean. To finance construction we planned to sell our California house but would wait until paperwork was finalized before taking that ultimate decisive action.

Every chance we had we ran back to Mexico. On one trip we sat down with Alejandro and drew up house plans. Not long afterwards Alejandro was back in the States. It was 1986. He’d finished construction on his Puerto Morelos home, built a cottage in back, and hired a Maya worker as caretaker. He’d placed an ad in travel sections of U.S. newspapers and rented his house out to tourists. Apparently business was brisk. We were impressed . . . again.

And what was happening with the title for the property? That’s why he was back in the U.S. To prepare the property for future sales he’d need infrastructure, electricity and roads, so he was looking for more investors. Paul and I decided to wait to take our next trip south until there was something we could sign, like the fideicomiso. 

By October I hadn't heard from Alejandro and we'd hoped to take a vacation at Christmas if the title cleared. Even though we avoided calling, not wanting to become nuisances, it had been long enough. His secretary put me through. 

"Hello Jeanine. As a matter of fact I'd planned to call you. I have news about the land. Some important news." 

As that sentence dangled before me, he continued. "Things have changed a bit and I've been waiting for confirmation. Now I have it. It was looking a little bleak for a few months and I didn't want to worry you and Paul. But here it is.

"It seems the State of Quintana Roo has decided to pre-empt my purchase of the land near Playa del Carmen. The state needs that land to build a new car ferry to Cozumel. They plan to move it from Puerto Morelos to Playa." 

A thousand thoughts raced through my mind. Pre-empted? Car ferry? "But Alejandro," I stammered. "What about our lot?" 

"That's why I haven't called for some time. I've been in negotiations with the governor's office for several months trying to sort this out. They're seizing the land by eminent domain and had planned on giving me fair market value for the property. Of course, their view of what the property is worth and my view differ widely. Since I purchased the property two and a half years ago, tourism has soared in Cancun and you've seen how Playa has grown. They'd planned to give me $50,000 US for the land and I know it's worth much more than that." 

By this time Paul was nearby and had sensed my anguish. He probably also saw I was hyper-ventilating. 

"What's happened?" he demanded. "What's going on?" 

I lowered the phone's mouthpiece and spoke over it. "They've seized the land by eminent domain and want to give Alejandro $50,000." 

"What?" Paul yelled. "Who seized it?" 

"But hold on, hold on," continued Alejandro. "I have more news, better news. My brother has a friend in the governor's office and he's convinced them that instead of simply giving me market value, they should actually find another piece of land—beachfront—and trade my land for this new property. It's taken a while to find something still available and a worthwhile swap. But we found land nearby. The parcel is much larger and it has potential, with a fresh water stream feeding into the ocean, and cenotes." 

Cenotes are freshwater pools common in the Yucatán as the Peninsula has only a few rare rivers above ground.

“Where it it?” I murmured, feeling like I’d just been hit by a Mack truck.

“It’s four kilometers north of Playa. The land is close to Capitán Lafitte. Are you familiar with that property?”

Of course I was familiar with Lafitte’s. It was a small, picturesque hotel with palapas on the beach and a restaurant. Quite the romantic setting, laidback and off the beaten track.

Well, that didn’t sound so bad. Lafitte’s beaches were something to behold. Maybe Alejandro had dodged the bullet by having friends in high places. Maybe we would still own land in Mexico after all.

But this part of our adventure let me know one thing for certain . . . when buying land in a foreign country, fasten your seat belt because anything can happen. We were heading for a very bumpy ride.

A Beach in the Yucatan

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.

DIFFERENT STROKES FOR DIFFERENT FOLKS—NEW ERA, NEW EXPATS

 

A Tulum Beach

When I dreamed of living in Mexico, I envisioned a white sand beach, a sleepy pueblo, and a long walk to town. Utilities so vital today—phone service, TV/cable, internet—were not issues. (Specifically so with internet which wasn’t around yet). Maybe I was dropping out all over again, taking a breath of fresh air after living in a hectic 9 to 5 world filled with work, stress and traffic.

When I met the rare expat, many had similar dreams: Buy land, build a house and have a Margaritaville moment. Maybe forever. Today’s expats though far from home are doing the hustle but on Mexican time. Digital nomads search out cities offering world class museums and galleries, extraordinary food choices, vibrant music scenes, all set in an Architectural Digest’s dreamland of impressive colonial era buildings and drop-your-jaw-modern housing styles.

The nomads have embraced Mexico in a big way, from CDMX to Oaxaca City, Tulum, and places in between, providing that place has high-speed wifi, cheap rents and a robust night life. Nomads aren’t the only bump in expat stats: retirees, always a given in Mexico, are more prevalent than ever as they escape high price living and cold weather up north. 

After the cross-Yucatán shuffle searching for our spot, we’d met Alejandro while waiting for a bus on the remote Coba road. He’d given us a ride and invited us to visit him at his beach house in progress. We obliged and stepped into destiny—Puerto Morelos. His directions said to walk north a kilometer from town—his house would be the first we encountered. We rounded the last curve in the road and spotted it. 

The Mediterranean style house was a stunner with curved walls, arched windows and bright purple bougainvillea growing up the sides. We walked to the front door, knocked and there was Alejandro. As he ushered us through a beautifully carved mahogany door, we could see straight through to the Caribbean, a shimmering turquoise blue. It felt like we were coming home.

"Your trip it's been good?" he asked as he grabbed my duffel bag and waved us into a colonial style kitchen with views of the water. Paul grabbed my hand and squeezed it as we shared a glance in disbelief at this set-up.

"Of course you'll stay a few days, collect your thoughts, relax," he assured us, as though he were the grand tour guide of our lives. In the back of my mind I kept thinking, maybe he is.

He told us about property he had for sale, beachfront land in Playa del Carmen. The last time we'd been to Playa it boasted little more than a low-key dock and a handful of restaurants. But now a sense of purpose filled the air—there was money to be made. A fashionable two-story hotel sat near the ferry dock complete with plaza. And Playacar, an upscale housing development with a smattering of spacious homes, had materialized.

Playacar shared the northern boundary of Alejandro's land acquistion. Although not much was developed, the size of the lots and the looks of the homes told the story. Alejandro had big plans for his killer piece of real estate, too. Were we interested in buying a beachfront lot? You betcha, after hearing his rock bottom offer. Now how to pay for it. Master Card?

Things moved quickly as he explained the mystery of buying land as a foreigner. Though we'd heard of the fideicomiso, or real estate trust, he gave us a refresher course. When land was within 50 kilometers of the ocean or Mexico's borders, foreigners were required to have a Mexican partner in land transactions. Usually the partner was a Mexican bank that held a 50-year renewable trust. The fee simple title was placed in the name of the bank selected as trustee, giving the buyer full ownership rights to buy, sell, lease the land, or pass on to an heir.

"I'm still in the final stages of clearing title for my land," he continued. "Until that's finalized I can't subdivide the property but it should happen within a year." 

We looked at each other, aware of the other's thoughts. A whole year to wait. Alejandro must have read our minds for then he said, "Of course we can write up a formal contract staking out the lot you plan to buy. We'll notarize it and once the title is cleared, you'll be ready to build. We'll transfer funds at the time we draw up the contract and you can have your fideicomiso prepared."

This seemed an appropriate way to move forward. Alejandro would be in San Francisco in a couple months and we could then draw up a contract for the property. We shook hands on the deal, pleased with our good luck.

Since we still had vacation days left, we rented a bungalow near Alejandro's and settled into the solitude of Puerto Morelos beaches. At night we walked into town along the dark jungle road guided only by the rays of the moon.

We soon got used to the streets, the people, the tempo of life. We knew when the bank was open; what day the vegetable vendor set up his stand; what time to find the sporadic baker selling bread. We were getting accustomed to the polite nods or the occasional "Buenos tardes" from people we didn't know. We were fitting in. We marveled over the aimless dogs, sleeping in the streets in the sweltering sun. They weren't vicious nor did they bark. Even if a car came close to hitting them, they barely moved. To us this epitomized a sleepy pueblo on the Mexican Caribbean coast—life was so secure dogs could sleep in the street uninhibited and unconcerned. 

We'd found our place a the end of the world. We were on our way.

The author with Alejandro on the land. Photo Paul Zappella

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.

TRAGIC ROMANCE OF THE YUCATÁN—FELIPE CARRILLO PUERTO AND ALMA REED

 

Two names forever linked to the Yucatán are Felipe Carrillo Puerto, Yucatan’s progressive governor, and San Francisco journalist Alma Reed. Their love affair fueled pages in newspapers on both sides of the border but the unlikely outcome of this very public romance enlisted all the elements of Greek tragedy.

Reed, born in San Francisco, became one of the city’s first women reporters.  An advocate for the poor, she assisted a Mexican family in commuting their 17-years old son’s death sentence in 1921. The story was picked up by the Mexican press. Due to heightened publicity, Mexico President Alvero Obregon invited Reed to visit his country.

ENTER EDWARD THOMPSON

As a stringer correspondent for The New York Times, Reed was sent to meet Edward Thompson, lead archeologist excavating Chichen Itza.  During the visit, Reed met Felipe Carrillo Puerto, governor of the State of Yucatan.

Carrillo had commissioned a road from Merida to Chichen Itza, opening the budding archeological site to tourists and scientists.  To commemorate the event, he organized a welcome ceremony inviting North American journalists and archeologists.

UXMAL AND CARRILLO

At the ruins, Reed interviewed Thompson who’d traveled to Yucatán specifically to excavate Chichen Itza. Thompson took a liking to Reed and recklessly divulged he had dredged Chichen Itza’s sacred cenote and had taken gold and jewelry from the sacrificial victims. Astonished by the enormity of his admission, like the true-born paparrizis she was, Reed asked Thompson to sign a confession. He did.

Felipe Carrillo Puerto in Yucatán

After Chichen Itza, the entourage left for Uxmal. During this leg of the journey Reed and Carrillo got acquainted. Reed was fascinated with the charismatic Carrillo who had been called both a Bolshevik and a Marxist for his sweeping reforms.

In Reed’s interview, Carrillo explained Yucatan had been inhabited by a handful of powerful families dating to Merida’s founding in1542. These wealthy landowners were basically slave masters and notorious for their cruel treatment of the Maya. 

REVOLUTIONARY IN THE MAKING

 In 1910 Carrillo had fought alongside Emiliano Zapata in Central Mexico. From their association he took Zapata’s battle cry, Tierra y Liberdad for his own. Back in Yucatan, Carrillo claimed part Maya, part Creole heritage and began his reforms by setting up feminist leagues that legalized birth control and the first family planning clinics in the western hemisphere. As governor he seized uncultivated land from powerful hacendados and distributed it to the Maya, stating it was their birthright. He built schools. He reformed the prison system.

It was no small wonder Reed named him the Abraham Lincoln of Mexico. As a liberal she agreed with his reforms; on a personal note, she was smitten. But as a divorceé and Catholic she tried to ignore feelings she was developing for the married father of four. She left for the U.S., vowing never to return, hoping to severe ties in what was becoming amor calido (romance of the steam).

The New York Times had other plans however, and sent her back to Mexico to cover the archeology scandal that erupted due to Edward Thompson pillaging the Chichen Itza cenote. Reed had a job to do.

On her second round in Mexico, neither Reed nor Carrillo could ignore their feelings. In the ultimate taboo, Carrillo divorced his wife to become engaged to Reed. He even had a romantic song composed for her, La Peregrina (The Pilgrim).

The two idealists prepared for their wedding that would take place in San Francisco.  Reed hastened back to the City to make arrangements before her permanent move to Mexico.

SEND LAWYERS, GUNS AND MONEY

Shortly after Reed’s departure, however, another revolution seemed imminent. Fighting had broken out in the Yucatan. Henequen planters and hacendados wanted to overthrow Carrillo. President Obregon’s right hand man, de la Huerta, was opposing him and because Carrillo backed Obregon, he was also at risk. Carrillo was forced to find guns to fight both the planters and de la Huerta’s forces. To make matters worse, he now had a $250,000 reward on his head.

To secure guns and ammo, Carrillo went by night to the Progreso coast with three brothers and six friends as guards.  Just as they waded out to the launch they would sail to New Orleans where they’d acquire firearms, a Navy captain signaled to soldiers lying in wait on shore.  The soldiers rowed out and captured Carrillo who told his small group not to fight, but to go peacefully.

 De la Huerta’s forces took them back to Merida, jailed them for the night and planned an arraignment in the morning.  Carrillo refused to make a plea. He was, after all, governor of the Yucatan, and refused to recognize a kangaroo court.  He was condemned on January 3, 1924, and taken to Merida Cemetery where he, his brothers and friends were lined up against the wall to await the firing squad.  The first round of volleys was sent over their heads; the soldiers didn’t want to kill them, so fiercely local were the Yucatecans to Carrillo.

The commander ordered those soldiers to be shot, and over the dead bodies of the first soldiers, Carrillo, his brothers and friends were executed as they stood with their backs against the cemetery wall.

A MARTYR'S DEATH

 In San Francisco, Reed had been alerted that trouble was at hand. She heard the news shortly after Carrillo had died a martyr’s death, at 49.

Grave Carrillo Puerto. Photo Barbra Bishop

She returned to Merida to see the spot where Carrillo fell.  She stayed but briefly, and on arriving back to New York, was sent on assignment to Carthage to explore ancient ruins.  She would never re-marry. Her reporting life took her back to Mexico where she helped establish the artist José Clemente Orozco.

One of Reed’s fears was that Obregon had a hand in Carrillo’s death.  He had, after all, assassinated Emiliano Zapata after luring him to a truce with Pancho Villa. Reed thought Carrillo’s radicalism may have aroused opposition from the Mexican president, but she could never prove it.

The pueblo Chan Santa Cruz, south of Tulum, changed its name to honor the governor, and now is known as Felipe Carrillo Puerto.  Alma Reed died undergoing surgery in Mexico City, November, 1966. She was 77.  

Statue at Assassination Site of Felipe Carrillo Puerto. Photo Barbra Bishop

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.

MAYA TRAIN MAKES INAUGURAL VOYAGE ON YUCATÁN PENINSULA

 

Tren Maya

Tren Maya, a high-caliber, high-cost infrastructure project connecting both the eastern and western coasts of the Yucatán Peninsula while crossing five states in southeastern Mexico inaugurated its first phase of the 1,525 kilometers of railway tracks on December 15. 

Beginning in Cancun and ending in the Gulf city of Campeche, Mexican President Andrés López  Obrador (Amlo) projected it will provide travelers an alternative to driving long distances between major attractions on the Peninsula and initiate new jobs in the process, lifting southeastern Mexico’s economy. 

With one phase partially ready and two still incomplete, the $28 billion dollar train, originally estimated to cost $9.8 billion USD, remains highly controversial. On completion, the rail will feature 34 stations-five states.

Depending on who you talk to, it’s either “the greatest railway project built anywhere in the world,” (Amlo) or “an attack on the environment and the Mayan identity,” (Pedro Uc, member of the Assembly of Mayan Territory Defenders, Múuch X’ilinbal).

At first the cries were but a whimper, with conservationists, the occasional archeologist, or Riviera Maya environmentalist sounding alarm. But now, after nearly three years of overwhelming construction and forest purge, the cries of elimination and contamination have been heard from as far off as The South China Post, Japan Times and New Delhi Times to newspapers much closer to home. This 'feat' promised by the Mexican president has been both lauded and maligned in media coverage everywhere. 

LARGEST JUNGLE IN THE AMERICAS

The Riviera Maya, which the train passes through, is the largest jungle in Americas after the Amazon and the 947 miles of tracks resulted in cutting of 3.4 million trees, according to the Mexican government. Environmentalists suggest the real number is closer to 10 million, as reported by The Guardian.

Tren Maya Route Map

With little transparency and a near delinquent lack of geological testing, an unknown amount of underground caves and ancient Maya cenotes, fresh water sinkholes sacred to the Maya but also an intrinsic part of their water requirements, are at risk. 

Environmentalists, archeologists, concerned locals, and even the U.N., have voiced concern that the railway and its hasty construction will critically endanger pristine wilderness and ancient cave and eco-systems beneath the jungle floor. Portions of the train route extend over a fragile system of underground rivers, including the world's longest, that are unique to the Yucatán Peninsula.

But with the train already billions over budget and behind schedule, scientists and activists, according to Reuters which has closely monitored and documented the evolution of Amlo's flagship project, says the government cut corners in its environmental risk assessments in a bid to complete it while López Obrador is still in office.

U.N. CLOCKS IN

U.N. experts warned the railway's status as a national security project allowed the government to side-step usual environmental safeguards and they called on the Mexican government to protect the environment in line with global standards.

FONATUR however defended the speed with which the studies were produced claiming that, "Years are not required. Expertise, knowledge and integration capacity are required," in response to questions from Reuters. It also declined to comment on the U.N. statement.

CENOTES

The Mayan Train route cuts a swath 14 meters (46 feet) wide through some of the world's most unique ecosystems, bringing civilization closer to vulnerable species such as jaguars and bats. It will pass above a system of thousands of subterranean caves carved by water from the region's soft limestone bedrock over millions of years.

Early on, July 2020, researchers from 65 Mexican and 26 international institutions signed "Observations on the Environmental Impact Assessment of the Mayan Train" claiming it would cause "serious and irreversible harm."

Said one environmentalist, "When you destroy territory, you destroy a way of thinking, a way of seeing, a way of life, a way of explaining the reality that is part of our identity as Mayan peoples."

When interviewed by NBC Latino, Lidia Camel Put, a resident of one area being cleared said, "There is nothing Maya about the train. Some people say it will bring great benefits but for us Maya that work the land and live here, we don't see any benefits.

"For us, it will hurt us because they are taking away what we love so much, the land," she said.

When marines showed up to start cutting down trees to prepare for the train on the edge of the village, residents who hadn't been paid for their expropriated land stopped them from working.

POLLUTION FACTOR

For residents of Vida y Esperanza, the train will run right by their doors. They fear it will pollute the caves that supply them water, endanger their children, and cut off their access from the outside world. In Vida y Esperanza, the train will run directly through the rutted four-mile dirt road that leads to the nearest paved highway. FONATUR says an overpass will be built for Vida y Esperanza, but such promises have gone unfulfilled in the past.

SAFETY ISSUES

The high-speed train can't have at-grade crossings (where a roadway and rail lines cross at same level), and won't be fenced. One-hundred mile per hour trains will rush past an elementary school, and most students walk to get there. Equally jarring, the train project has actually divided the pueblo Vida y Esperanza in half.

Not far from where acres of trees have been felled to prepare the land for train tracks, an archeologist and cave diver, Octavio Del Rio, pointed to a cave that lay directly beneath the train's path. "The cave's limestone roof is only two or three feet thick in some places," he told NBC. "It would almost certainly collapse under the weight of a speeding train."

FRAGILE ECOSYSTEM

"If built badly, the railway could risk breaking through the fragile ground, including into yet-to-be discovered caves," said Mexican geochemist Emiliano Monroy-Rios of Northwestern University. He has extensively studied the area's caves and cenotes.

"Diesel," he added, "could also leak into the network of subterranean pools and rivers, a main source of fresh water on the Peninsula." With less than 20 percent of the subterranean system believed to have been mapped, according to several scientists interviewed by Reuters, such damage could limit important geological discoveries. 

In 2022, López Obrador wanted to finish the entire project in 16 months by filling the caves with cement or sinking concrete columns though the caverns to support the weight of the passing trains, as reported by The Chicago Sun-Times. This could block or contaminate the underground water system, the only thing that allowed humans to survive in a land of fickle rain fall. 'I rely on water from a cenote to wash dishes and bathe," said Mario Basto, a resident of Vida y Esperanza.

IMPACT STUDY

The government's environmental impact study for Section 5, a 68-mile and most controversial stretch that runs from Cancun to Tulum, states its environmental impacts are "insignificant" and have been adequately mitigated, Reuters wrote. The study adheres that the risk of collapse was taken into account in the engineering of the tracks and that the area will be observed through a "prevention" program.

However, dozens of scientists disagree, writing in open letters that the assessments are riddled with problems, including outdated data, the omission of recently discovered caves, and a lack of input from local hydrology experts.

"They don't want to recognize the fragility of the land," said Fernanda Lases, a Merida-based scientist with UNAM, calling the problems identified "worrisome." And adding insult to injury, the names of the 70 experts who participated in the government study were redacted from the publication.

Monroy-Rios said his research highlights the need for extensive surveillance and monitoring for any infrastructure project in the region, and this has not happened. "I guess their conclusions were pre-formatted," he continued. 

"They want to do it fast and that's part of the problem. There is no time for proper exploration.
The railway has deeply divided Mexicans and the controversies surrounding the construction exemplify struggles developing countries across the globe face to balance economic progress with environmental responsibility, Reuters wrote.

LOOMING MILITARY

López Obrador has already given the military more tasks than any other recent Mexican president, with armed services personnel doing everything from building airports to transporting medicine to running tree nurseries. The army will operate the train project once it is built, and the proceeds from that will be used to provide pensions for soldiers and sailors. The president said the army is among the most trustworthy and honest institutions in the country.

For more than two years Maya communities have been objecting to the train line, filing court challenges arguing the railway violated their right to a safe, clean environment, and that they be consulted. Back in 2019, the Mexico office of the U.N. High Commissioner for Human Rights found that the consultations the government did prepare were flawed.

How will it all play out? As of February 28, the military-controlled Tren Maya S.A. de C.V. announced the passenger and cargo rail route will begin operations on December 1, 2023.” It will be one of the best rail systems in the world," said Javier May Rodriguez, general director of FONATUR. "Its trips will be safe because it will have state of the art technology." December 1 marks the date of the fifth year anniversary of Amlo's presidency. Auspicious timing? Or not. Time will tell. 

Tracks Outside Valladolid

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.

FALLING FOR MEXICO—NOW ON MEXICAN TIME WE FAIL ANOTHER TEST

Isla Mujeres. Photo Tony Garcia

Waking at Maria's on Isla Mujeres was paradise personified. Nestled in a comfortable bed in a rustic stucco room I stretched and smelled the ocean breeze. Fuchsia colored bougainvillea spilled across the window leaving a clear view of the Caribbean.

A few hours later Paul and I were hopping out of a taxi onto the dock. We weren’t far from where a scene from "Against All Odds” had been filmed. The movie starring Jeff Bridges had been a factor in coming to Isla. Wowed by the island’s beauty we wanted to experience it first hand. It didn’t disappoint. 

We queued for the next Cancun ferry. Hours later after lunching at an outdoor cafe, strolling through town and shopping at Mercado 23, we ventured to the hotel zone for dinner. The restaurant had all the amenities—beach, low lights, candles. But where was dinner? We began to panic after a second request about our food. Would this be another near miss for the last ferry to Isla? At 9:30, after gulping down a mouth-watering meal, we bolted from the restaurant into the arms of a waiting taxi driver.

“Puerto Jurarez dock!” Paul said.

The drive was slow going. We pulled up at the dock, throwing pesos at the taxista. Paul jumped out and spotted what I feared: Our ferry chugging away in the distance.

I stomped around the parking lot in a huff. “The restaurant, so slow! What are we going to do? This place is a total dive.”

“We have to look for a hotel.”

That brought me to my senses. Forget the warm breeze, the lapping water, the backside of the Sultana del Mar ferry. We needed a hotel. These were the early days before tourist gentrification. Puerto Juarez’s most outstanding feature was the steely facade of a military base on the outskirts of town.

We dragged ourselves to the pot-holed street and spotted a nearby hotel. As we approached I could tell it was definitely not the Ritz.

“A room,” I choked, looking a the clerk. “How much a night?”

“Thirty pesos.”

My heart sank. Three dollars? "Can we see it?”

He led us down a dilapidated, unlit walkway to a concrete building with a dented door. As the key turned into an ancient lock, the door creaked open. The undeniable odor of bug spray wafted over the threshold.

“We’ll take it,” Paul said, gagging.

Like dead men walking we followed the clerk to the office and paid. I asked where we could find a cold drink.

He pointed across the street. “The cantina.”

“How late are they open?”

“Midnight. We close at 11. If you stay out later, ring the bell. Here’s your key. I’ll close the gate after you.”

We pushed open an iron gate and I heard the lock click behind us. Impressive two meter walls ringed the property. To warn away trespassers a broken bottle finish topped the smoothed concrete veneer. Spiffy.

We walked down the dusty street into the town’s lone cantina. Pacificos on order, we chugged them, not wanting to miss another deadline. Even though we weren’t on Mexican time, we were in no hurry to get back to a grungy room with smells of eau de DDT.

At the hotel, the clerk was good as his word. Gate still shut, sign off. With Paul behind me I turned the latch—it wasn’t yet 11—and nothing. What? I turned the latch again and pushed. Nada!

“No! We’re locked out!”

“He said to ring him,” Paul, ever in control, responded. Now he turned and pushed the latch.

“Where’s the bell? Is that it?" I asked. "Toca? With the arrow pointing to it? What a weird way to say ring. Toca means take. Take the bell?”

“Just ring it already.” Language class was over.

“Toca, toca, toca,” I was pushing a button to nowhere. “Have we been gone that long?”

“Try again.”

I pushed till my index finger went numb. “A three dollar hotel room and no way to get in. What are we going to do?”

“Let me think,” Paul said, looking around. “Over there, the end of the wall. See where there’s no broken bottles?”

“Yeah, what about it?” I asked, thinking bad thoughts.

“It’s time for a reverse jail break.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! You could never climb over that wall.” Who did he think he was? Spider Man?

He shook his head. “Not me, Juanita.” Paul always used my pet name when things got rocky. He gave an unconvincing smile. “Tu.”

“Me?” I choked. “I’m wearing a skirt.” Granted it was long, but still.

“I promise I won’t look.”

“Oh, shut up,” I said, realizing he was right. All hands on deck. “Okay.”

Under the dim light of a lone street lamp we made our attack. Good thing it’s dark, I thought. I wouldn’t want to be caught dead climbing into this dive.

Paul laced his fingers together providing me a step up so I could reach the chosen spot. I was very close to heaving myself over the crucial section when I heard him gasp. What the heck?

“Buenos noches.”

Buenos noches? Who was he talking to? In his conversation he’d backed away from his hefting-me-over-the-wall stance. Meanwhile I dangled six feet above ground with my skirt rapidly moving up my backside. Not a fashion choice.

I twisted around, no easy feat, and looked down on a Mexican policia. Police?

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Paul tried the nonchalant approach. “Helping her over the wall. We’re locked out but we have a key. ” He held up what would open our door inside the compound that we were presently locked out of—where we could sleep—if we didn’t spend the night in jail.

“Why not ring the bell?” the Voice of Reason asked.

“Toca el timbre?” I said. He gazed at me hanging there. Could he see up my skirt?

“Si,” he said, stretching out the vowel. “Toca el timbre. I’ll try.” He was indeed a willing servant of the people. 

Toca, toca, toca. We waited, the three of us. Two by land, one by air.

He shrugged. “They are asleep. It is late.”

That it was. “But,” he paused, and with what I am sure must have been a smile on his face he said, “I’ll help you.”

“Call them? Do you have the number for…” Paul gazed at the unlit sign searching for a name. “Hotel Fizal?”

How in the world did they come up with that?

“No,” the policia shook his head. “We both push.”

This is insane! Paul looked at me and shrugged. Apparently I had no say in the matter. So with my bottom now being gently pushed by Paul and a gendarme, my skirt slowly hiking up in a less than ladylike manner, I made my way over Hotel Fizal’s two meter wall. 

As I touched dirt on the other side I started to laugh. “I’m in!” I yelled, feeling like one of the Dirty Dozen.

As I walked to the gate to let Paul in, I heard him say. “Mil gracias and buenos noches to you, señor.”

Lesson learned: In Mexico, expect the unexpected.

Sunset on Isla Mujeres. Photo Tony Garcia

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.