Friday Pick of the Week
Today, with a magazine deadline looming—and a book manuscript due in two months—I am, naturally, thinking of vacation. This is partly because I've already planned one; I'll be diving in late May. And while I'm on
my favorite Mexican island, I may take a day trip to swim in a cenote (pronounced see—
no—tay) along the Yucatan peninsula, as described in today's Times "Escapes" section.
Have you ever been to one of these inland caverns? They are not easily described, but essentially they're massive cave systems filled with fresh water. They dot the Yucatan, sometimes appearing like enormous sinkholes, sometimes looking like little more than a very small pond, no bigger than a backyard pool—which can travel underground for uncharted miles. Some of the cenotes are set up for tourists, with stairs and lighting. Others you can find at the end of an apparently abandoned dirt road, with a rocky path to the cenote and a man waiting to take your pesos.
Using flashlights and rope, you can dive them, though I haven't. Snorkeling in a cenote is already an intense experience. The water is crisp, cool, and remarkably clear. There are some small fish, but there's not really much life in them; they are stark. The underwater rock formations are dramatic and otherworldly. You can swim from chamber to chamber, especially if you're willing to hold your breath and swim under a rock ceiling for 30 or 40 feet until you reach a room where there is again room to lift your head above water. This is really not far, of course, a child can do it, but when you're swimming and there's only rock overhead—no light, no sky, no air—your rational mind can desert you.
(I'm not great about these things; when I'm underwater, I like to be able to see light overhead. Once, in Belize, I went canoeing with friends in an underground cave, and at times the cave ceiling was so low that we could not paddle, but had to lie down in the canoe and use our hands to grab the rock and pull the canoe along. Not for the claustrophobic.)
At Gran Cenote near Tulum, my friends and I climbed to the top of a rock wall and jumped about 30 feet or so into the water. (You kind of have to pick your spot.) Unlike in the United States, in Mexico you can do these things without having to sign eight pages of legalese. It's a risk, sure (though not really a very big one). But the kind of risk that makes you feel deeply alive.
Swimming in a cenote is humbling and spiritual—a Baptist preacher would understand. It's another aspect of our wonderful neighbor to the south that many U.S. citizens don't appreciate. Mexico is a hard and beautiful place, the beauty often in correlation to the toughness. Cenotes fill you with feelings of humility and awe at the power of nature, and maybe a little more respect for the people who inhabit this amazing country.
El Gran Cenote, Tulum.
