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.

IF PLANNING A MEXICO MOVE—FIRST FIND YOUR SPOT

Have you ever traveled somewhere and had the feeling it was your spot? That’s what happened when I first visited the Mexican Caribbean. I went to Isla Mujeres, an island off the coast of Cancun, with my husband and quickly fell head over heels for Mexico. It didn’t take long to realize that somehow we had to move there.

Finding your spot takes equal parts luck and perseverance. For me they both played out. Finding Isla was the lucky part. When we got home, we planned our next trip, not to Isla, but to a handful of places on the adjacent Yucatan Peninsula. This is where the perseverance came in. For three years we explored the Yucatan—any time we could get away from work for several days—looking for the perfect spot we would eventually call home. If you’re looking to make the move, I urge you to ‘kick the tires’ before taking a ride.

With a vast and diversified landscape, Mexico’s beauty shines through—from rugged mountains and breathtaking beaches to colonial cities and outback pueblos. Bountiful choices. Because Mexico is such a vast country, for some it will be a tough choice. We’d narrowed ours to the Yucatan Peninsula which made things easier. But believe me, we diligently travelled from Merida in the north to Chetumal at the Belize border. 

Baja Peninsula

Once there, make friends with your hotel clerk or AirBnB host, talk to waiters and cab drivers, chat up the locals. Do your detective work. Ask questions about everything from climate and rainfall to grocery stores, rentals, neighborhoods and medical services. Don’t be shy. The remarkable thing about Mexico is how friendly and helpful people are. And if you’re on a social media platform, ask if anyone lives in your intended destination and see if they’ll meet for coffee and conversation once you’re there.

Above all, embrace serendipity. You know—chance. That’s how we stumbled onto Puerto Morelos. We’d traveled by bus to the Tulum pyramids and after staying the night at a nearby hotel, the next day we were told to walk to the Coba road where we could catch a bus heading north. Our destination was Isla Holbox. While waiting for the bus (after an hour’s wait we began to doubt its existence) it started to rain. We stood underneath a Ceiba, the Maya tree of life, shivering and disgruntled. 

Tulum Pyramids. Photo Paul Zappella

Just before chagrin set in, a yellow two-door Honda careened around a curve and squealed to a stop in front of us. The passenger, a woman named Karla, rolled down her window as the driver leaned over and asked if we’d like a ride to the pyramids.  We hopped into the back seat, adjusted our duffel bags, and settled in for an enjoyable hour listening to Alejandro, the driver, recount stories about living in Mexico and the beach house he was building in Puerto Morelos. That piece of information struck a chord, and before we’d reached the crossroads at the Coba junction, he’d invited us to stay at his house if our travels ever brought us back to Cancun. Puerto Morelos is 25 miles south. A date with destiny had been set, but that is a story for another post. Spoiler alert—It was thrilling!

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.

 

DAY OF THE DEAD ALTARS ARE THE HEART OF HOLIDAY CELEBRATION

Altar Made for Frida Kahlo By Students

I love the symbolism and decorum evident in all Mexican holidays and celebrations and Dia de Los Muertos, also known as Day of the Dead, is no exception. It honors loved ones who've died, that much is clear. But I needed some fine tuning on the why's and wherefore's of the holiday. So I headed into Santa Barbara's La Calenda, a charming Mexican artisan shop, to talk to owner Esperanza Vargas. Vargas hails from Oaxaca, has lived in California thirty years, and has owned the shop in Santa Barbara for nine.

"When I was little, I think Dia de Los Muertos was more a cultural thing," she said. "Every year my mother would make the preparations. She would create a big, big altar called an ofrenda about two weeks before, and she would make the bread, which is very important, pan de muerto. In our pueblo, if people didn't bake themselves, they would look for someone to make the bread or go to the bakery. But with the baker there was a long wait because having the bread was essential. All the homes would make their own mole and chocolate. My mother would start three days before with her cooking preparations for the mole. It took that long. I asked her why do we do it?

Pan de Muerto

She said, "Mi hija, for angel babies that die, angelitos, God lets them see their families once a year and that's why we make everything they used to like. They come to visit us during these days, November 1 at midnight for babies, November 2 for adults, because we send them the smell of the foods they used to like, so they follow the smells. Also, it's for the family, but if someone's family did not make an altar, we put one for them along with ours.

"You see," she said, "God gave them permission to come visit and that's why they do it. But now, sadly, they are making it too ugly. The drug dealers are saying Dia de Los Muertos is to honor their Santa Muerte, but that's not the reason at all. The real reason they come is because they were given per-mission by God.

"November 2 is for adults and we make food and bring flowers we have at home, marigolds, and take them to the cemetery where they are buried and we spend time with our loved ones there."

Marigolds Grown for Dia de Los Muertos (Mexico Desconocido)

The History Channel states the holiday traces its earliest roots to the Aztecs in what is now central Mexico. Aztecs used skulls to honor the dead for three thousand years before Day of the Dead celebrations emerged. Although it is sometimes confused with Halloween because of the symbolic skulls, it is not related at all.

After the Conquest in the 16th century, the Catholic church moved indig-

enous rituals honoring the dead, originally in the summer with an entire month dedicated to the dead, to times that coordinated with Catholic dates for All Saints Day and All Souls Day, November first and second. That's how they came to be merged together.

Dia de Los Muertos came into being thanks to an Aztec festival dedicated to the goddess Mictecacihuatl, known as the 'lady of the dead.' It's said she watches over the bones of the dead and swallows the stars during the day.

Offerings for the dead consist of water, the loved ones' favorite food and drink, flowers (marigolds because of their intense color and strong smell to guide spirits back to the family altar), bread and other things that were important in the dead person's life. Sometimes paths strewn with marigold petals are made so the souls can easily find their way home.

Sugar Candy Skulls or Calaveras

Skulls like the ones placed on Aztec temples for rituals remain key to the tradition that honors life rather than mourns death. Though skeletons (calacas) and other trappings of death are key, the ancient holiday is viewed as part of the cycle of life, in a joyous celebration that embraces death. In Mexico the inevitability of death is accepted rather than feared and families come together to honor their ancestors. The skeletons came about in the 19th century in Mexico City when a social activist and cartoonist created La Catrina (elegant skull), a well-dressed skeleton, to protest the Mexican people's desire to look European. Catrinas dance and sing; flowers, fruit and candy decorate the altars. For two days death's morbid side is buried beneath music and remembrances. Today people dress up as La Catrina or paint their faces like skeletons as part of their Dia de Los Muertos celebrations.

La Catrina in La Calenda, Santa Barbara

The Nahuatl people of central Mexico believed the deceased traveled on a year-long journey to the land of the dead, or Chicunamictlán. The living would provide supplies, food and water, to aid them in their trek. This practice inspired the modern tradition of creating altars at one's home, ofrendas, as well as leaving offerings at their grave sites. Altars are the centerpiece of the celebration and offerings are inspired by the four elements—fire, candles; water, pitchers left for the thirsty; earth, traditional foods; and wind, the papel picado which allows souls to pass through due to their perforations.

Picado with Perforations for Soul to Pass Through

Papel picado, thin and colorful paper strung high to catch the wind, represents the delicate nature of life. And the sugar skulls, calaveras, are also essential. Decorative, they are placed on the ofrenda and given as treats.

Families gather to clean graves before the holiday, then come the day, they eat and tell stories around the tomb. Ancestors are honored with a variety of foods and drinks: the candy skulls or calaveras, pan de muerto, tamales and mole, pozole, tortilla soup, hot chocolate, atole and pulque to drink.

Painting Faces Like La Catrina

Photographs of the departed are front and center, surrounded by all the trappings of what the lost family member held dear in life. First and foremost, Dia de Los Muertos is a celebration of life that focuses on the connections that endure beyond death. It's a family time for joy, laughter, remembrance, and appreciation of the preciousness of life. 

Cemetery During Day of the Dead Ceremonies (By Smithsonian Magazine)

La Calenda Oaxacan Shop is located at 2915 De la Vina Street, Santa Barbara, and is open daily. For hours of operation, call (805) 845-3046 or check their website at lacalendasb.com.

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.

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The Aztecs

BOHEMIAN BEACH CHIROPRACTOR IN MEXICO SAVES A KAYAKER'S DAY

Camping in the Baja

If you've ever traveled to Mexico, you know with a little initiative and luck, you can find anything you need there—anything. And by the same token, anything can happen. Host Ira Glass brought that point home in an episode of This American Life a few weeks ago. The topic was A Day at the Beach, and Shane DuBow shared a hilarious memory about a beach in Mexico with producer Alex Plumber. It's a doozie. 

Shane recalled an incident that took place while on a Mexico kayaking trip in Baja, California. He and his friends were on a month-long vacation to go sea kayaking in the Gulf of California. They were smack dab in the middle of nowhere.

Shane painted a picture of early Baja before the tourists arrived like this: "There's the desolate road, little beach communities and a handful of small tourist centers. But mostly what we were doing was finding deserted open beaches for camping. Most of the time there was nobody else around.  

"There were six or seven in our party. Some wanted to fish, others wanted to hang out and play cards. Some snorkeled. We slept outside a lot and it felt like we were 12-years old again, pretending to be Robinson Crusoe, living off the land. We carried all our own water and food, camping supplies, tents, sleeping bags and cooking equipment.

"We're in Baja, a week or so into the trip, and we're on a layover which means we're just camped somewhere and not trying to kayak. We'd been clamming all day, and out of the blue, my neck locks up. I can't turn my head to one side. This is bad for lots of reasons, but when you're kayaking, you have to be able to paddle and you gotta be able to use both arms and turn your head side to side.

"I'd had this occasionally over the years—it just happened to me periodically, maybe six times a year. It'd last for three or four days. We'd run into a little expat community on a beach nearby to where we were camping. These folks lived in campers and had set up little cantinas made from a tarp staked up by poles where they'd serve beers, and in our case, showed us how to clam. Afterwards they made us a clam feast.

Baja's Desert and Ocean

"So we went back to the guy that had taught us clamming, stopped by his camper. I asked him if there were any chiropractors nearby. I know, I know. What a ridiculous question because there was absolutely nothing nearby. He gets this look in his eye, sort of wistful, and says no, there's no chiropractor but there is a guy who's considered an amateur chiropractor who helps some of the locals. He lives on a boat two coves over from where you're staying. And if you go to this man, the guy tells me, he may help you. He calls himself Dr. Johnny Tequila.

Empowered by the possibility, Shane asks, "How do I get there? I don't want to miss it." The guy tells him he won't miss it. He grabs a bar napkin and a pen and sketches a rough outline of the coast and puts an X, as in X marks the spot. "That's where to find Johnny Tequila, just two coves over," he tells me. None of my friends wanted to go with me. They're all chilling out, playing cards.

"With my neck ache getting worse by the minute I realize I'll have to kayak by myself if I want to see this guy. My friends had started to tease me about my paddle stroke which was by this time one-armed and half-crippled and they're calling me "chicken wing," because of my neck.

"So I chicken wing for two coves worth, maybe a mile paddle, right close to shore, with the beach on my right and the open ocean to the left. While I'm chicken winging, at one cove over I look down at my napkin and it's all wet, so my map is destroyed. But I keep paddling, and there, at the second cove is a boat in the middle of this otherwise empty cove. It's not a harbor of any kind, no dock or anything man-made. Nothing around. It's docked in the water about 30 yards from shore.

"As I paddle closer I see it has a cabin. The mast is up, but not any sails. As I get closer and closer I can see around the mast and lined up are empty Cuervo Gold tequila bottles, but kind of orderly. That was the weird thing," Shane said. "You don't usually associate empty tequila bottles with order but these had been meticulously lined up, ringing the mast.

"Weird, I think. And here I am paddling up on a boat in the middle of nowhere with no one else around. I don't even know how to start. But from some place deep within, the word ahoy comes to me. Which I've never used before in normal conversation.

"Ahoy, ahoy," I say. And from out of the cabin comes a completely naked woman. She looks American, blond hair, tanned so deeply, it's like the tan that goes to your liver. Tan all the way through. Real muscley— her shoulders looked like she was probably a rafting guide in Colorado.

"She's completely naked and totally unfazed about being naked and just greets me and talks to me as if she were wearing clothes. And she's above me so I'm looking up at her being naked from my kayak, holding onto the side of the boat.

"Here I am in my kayak, and I say, 'Is Johnny Tequila here?' She's very nice and she says that he went into town for supplies but should be back shortly and why don't I just wait until he comes back. Eventually we see him, Johnny Tequila, on the beach near us. He's got a little row boat and he rows over to us. He looks exactly like her. He's got on shorts and he's got that tan. He's kind of muscley in his shoulders and chest and they both have kind of wild, bleached-out blond hair and real scruffy, maybe 30s, but the sun can make people look older, so who knows?

"I tell him my story and he's like, yeah, of course I'll help you. He says to follow him to shore. I chicken wing over and we both pull our boats up to the beach.

"Follow me," he says. And now we're going into the jungle, but it's not real jungle—it's dense scrub with bushes all around. Baja has lots of cacti that grows in the middle of nowhere with nothing else for miles. I follow him down a path and we come on to a clearing.

"There in the clearing is a table exactly like a massage table or chiropractic table you'd see in a chiropractor's office, where you can put your face in that center part that's open, and the neck part articulates and comes up. The real deal.  And a life-sized human skeleton is hanging from a tree, which I assume is a replica, but it looks like a skeleton. I'm checking this all out and thinking, a table in a clearing in the middle of the desert in Mexico, with a skeleton.

"He asks me to lie on my back, and I'm looking up at his face and his crazy hair. He's shirtless. So my shirtless chiropractor puts his hands around my neck in the middle of Mexico in a clearing with a skeleton. My amateur chiropractor now has my neck in his hands, and he gives me a chiropractic exam that resembles every other chiropractic exam I've ever received.

"Then he does an adjustment that passes for any other chiro adjustment I've had before. So I tell Johnny Tequila thank you for adjusting my neck. Can I pay you. And he says, No, I just do this to help people. There'll be no payment but if you ever see me in a bar, you can buy me a shot of tequila."

Alex, the producer, asks Shane if his neck was better. Shane says it's possible, but initially he has to chicken wing it back, but then over the next few hours he starts to feel much, much better. And the neck is okay.

"So," Alex asks, "when you think back on Johnny Tequila, is he an argument for chucking it all and moving to some quiet beach in a distant land or is he an argument against it?"

Shane responds, "He's one hundred percent an argument for. I can't believe you asked me that. A simpler life—just crack people's necks, drink tequila, sing in the cantina and go home to my naked lady. Did I not tell the story to make it seem good? To me it seemed great!"

An aside: Thirty years later after turning to Dr. Tequila on a remote Mexican beach for chiropractic help, Shane tracked the man down in a remote part of southwest Utah where he lives with the same woman, Cindy, who first introduced herself to Shane way back when, totally naked. Johnny is now close to 80. He told Shane his nickname came from a time when he was playing music at open air parties in his twenties out near the hidden hot springs in Death Valley. And he sent him a photo.

You really can find anything you need in Mexico. You just have to look for it.

Johnny Tequila Photo Sent To Shane

And have a smidge of luck.

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.

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.

THE DECLINE OF MEXICO'S MENNONITES: FROM AG POWERHOUSE TO CARTEL COURIER AND FOREST PILLAGER

 

Mennonites in Campeche at Harvest (Photo Reuters)

In Cancun we'd often see Mennonites in straw cowboy hats hawking cheese wheels at downtown stoplights. Smack dab in the middle of a thorough-fare, young men in Bib overalls would stand fearlessly on the center line, waving their products as cars zoomed by on both sides. We later learned the Men-nonites had a long history with Mexico and the Yucatán stretching back to the early 20th century.

The Mennonites trace their roots to a group of Christian radicals who emerged during the Reformation in 16th century Germany. They opposed both Roman Catholic doctrine and mainstream Protestant religions and maintain a pacifist lifestyle. They emigrated to North America to preserve their faith.

In the 1920s a group of 6,000 moved to Chihuahua in northern Mexico and established themselves as important crop producers. In the 1980s a few thousand moved to Campeche on the edge of the Maya Forest which is second in size only to the Amazon. According to Global Forest Watch, a non-profit that monitors deforestation, the Maya Forest is shrinking annually by an area the size of Dallas. In Campeche, the Mennonites bought and leased tracts of jungle land for farming, some from local Maya. 

Burning Fields in Campeche

In 1992 Mexico legislation made it easier to develop, rent or sell previously protected forest, increasing deforestation and the number of farms in the state. When Mexico opened up the use of genetically modified soy in the 2000s, Mennonites in Campeche embraced the crop and the use of Round Up, a glysophate weedkiller, designed to work alongside GMO crops, according to Edward Ellis, a researcher at Universidad Veracruzana.

Higher yields meant more income to support large families. For the Mennonites, a family of ten children is not uncommon. They typically live simple lives supported by the land and choose to go without modern-day amenities such as electricity or motor vehicles, as dictated by their faith. But their farm work has evolved to use harvesters, chainsaws, tractors. While most Mennonite communities remain in Chihuahua, now another 15,000 Mennonites also live in Campeche.

Mennonite Girls in Cleared Field (Photo Reuters)

Presently the tide has turned on deforestation in Mexico and both ecologists and the government that once welcomed the Mennonites' agricultural prowess believe the rapid razing of the jungle by these new ranches is creating an environmental disaster. The Maya Forest is one of the biggest carbon sinks on the planet and the habitat of endangered jaguars, plus 100 species of mammals to which the jungle is home.

A 2017 study published by Universidad Veracruzana showed that properties cleared by Mennonites had rates four times higher for deforestation than other properties. Under international pressure to follow a greener agenda, the Mexican government has persuaded some Mennonite communities to sign an agreement to stop deforesting the land. But not all communities have signed such an agreement.  

In speaking to Reuters, a Mennonite school teacher in a pueblo on the edge of the forest stated that the agreement has not impacted the way they farm. The Mennonites have signed on an attorney who states they believe they are being targeted by the government due to their pacifist beliefs while other land destroyers are not bothered.

Between 2001 and 2018, in the three states that comprise forest growth in Mexico, 15,000 square kilometers of tree cover was razed, roughly the size of the country Belize. With changing weather patterns and less rain, harvests are smaller in general for all concerned, both Mennonites and the indigenous Maya.

The Campeche Secretary of Environment, Sandra Loffan, clocked in stating the Mennonites did not always have the correct paperwork to convert forest land to farm land. An agreement was signed last year, 2022, to create a permanent group between the government and Mennonite communities to deal with land ownership and rights, and disagreements that arise including those from locals stating the Mennonites are abusing logging rights.  

Typical Mennonite Buggy

But this is only one of the Mennonites' problems in Mexico. Ten years ago connections between the community and Mexican cartels were exposed when a mule pipeline from Chihuahua to Alberta, Canada, was discovered. In this unlikely alliance, the pacifist Mennonites were growing tons of marijuana for the cartels and shipping it north, smuggling it in gas tanks, inside farm equipment and cheese wheels. For background, in an old ABC interview, Michael LeFay, Immigration and Customs Director in El Paso, stated a Mennonite network emerged long ago. What began with marijuana expanded into cocaine smuggling. When customs officials at the U.S. border looked into a car and saw Mennonites, he explained, officials waved them through. Mennonites were a common sight at the border and frequent travelers from Mexico to Canada because many Canadians from Manitoba and Ontario have Mennonite family members in Mexico. 

Mennonite Man with Cheese Wheel

Though the Drug Enforcement Agency's (DEA) issued a statement decades ago that only a few members of the Mennonite community had links to violent cartels, facts proved them wrong. In the 1990s not all Mennonite families owned land; they fell on hard times. At the same time the tenets of their faith drew questions from a younger generation raised in Mexico where there was no legal age restriction to buy alcohol or cigarettes. Vices began to creep in. It wasn't uncommon, an ABC newscaster reported, to see young Mennonite teens drinking Corona and smoking cigarettes after a Sunday church service once their parents left the church parking lot.

Reports started to trickle in: a Mennonite man was accused of smuggling 16 kilos of coke across the U.S.-Canadian border in 2012. Jacob Dyck faced charges of conspiracy to import $2 million of cocaine and possession for purpose of trafficking.

Then along came the Canadian TV drama Pure, earning a place in Canadian pop culture about Mennonites connected to the cartels. But DEA agents were still trying to get their heads around it, tsk-tsking the outrageous idea that Mennonites had a corrupt streak. DEA Agent Jim Schrant was quoted as saying a "large scale marijuana and cocaine distribution group run by Mennonites with cartel connections seemed bonkers." 

Though Schrant was aware that a huge drug distribution group was operating in Mexico and shipping large quantities into the U.S. he believed it was being run by individuals only. Then along came the story of Grassy Lake, Alberta, a rural town of 649 souls where 80 percent of residents were Mennonites. In time the DEA got wise and outed the town as the distribution hub for an international weed and coke smuggling operation linked to the Juarez Cartel.

31-Hour Drive from Mexico to Canada

A widely publicized case against Abraham Friesen-Rempel, 2014, had the DEA intercepting 32,500 phone calls believed to be linked to Juarez Cartel drug activity. Although Friesen-Rempel played only a minor role as driver, he'd delivered 1575 pounds of pot for the cartels. Convicted of smuggling drugs, he received a 15-month federal sentence. And so on, and so forth.

It's believed that the cartels lean on the Mennonites because they share a common bond of anti-government sentiment. Staunchly private, the Mennonites shun government interaction and their fierce sense of privacy aligns them with the philosophy of the cartels. Also, for decades they never got a second look at the border. The perfect cover for illicit border crossings. 

So now, though the drug implications are tamped way down, the government is extremely dissatisfied with the deforestation done by their farming tech-niques. Mexico's President Andres Manuel Lopez is pressuring them to shift to more sustainable practices. The government plans to phase out glysophate by 2024 which would lower harvest yields and their incomes.

"That's a consequence all farmers, Mennonites and locals, might have to pay to save the environment," said Campeche's Secretary of Environment Sandra Laffon.

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.