Eventually, of course, the sun does rise. The soft gray morning light produced by the rainy environment generates a feeling of being caught in limbo, an inference that something is going to happen, but not here, and not to us. We are on the outside looking in, not really a part of whatever is happening, it is somewhat humbling, yet in a curious way, refreshing. It spawns an attitude of non-responsibility, as though we are spectators rather than participants. We are driving through jungle, everything is green and gray, the world is bi-colored, it is restful to the eye and to the mind. Ed appears to be either sleeping or near sleep in the back seat, Joseph drives silently, and I am left with my thoughts as the trite drivel of BigTexas Radio supplies an involuntary link with home. Perhaps a bit of homesickness hints, there certainly is nothing here in the Yucatán to identify with as "home." For the first time in my small provincial life, I better realize the extent to which the world does not revolve around the United States, its citizens, its values and its culture. People go on everywhere, living, surviving, and experiencing life as it is presented to them in their environment without benefit of the "Channel 4 Evening News," the NY Times, or the Washington Post

We arrive in Chetumal late morning, it is dreary and gray with everything wet. Water has gathered in random depressions, telling of a steady rain over a period of time. People are out and around, but no one is wasting any time in getting chores done before retreating back inside, out of the weather. We find a suitable hotel, nothing fancy, in fact, it is just barely plain, but it will suffice. Our mood is quiet, whether this results from our extended camping trip or the gray mood of an unexciting Chetumal is difficult to ascertain. We find ourselves neither happy nor melancholy. We are almost in a trance, once again waiting for something to happen. Perhaps it is because we have decided not to go to South America and because of this decision, we now start north toward home. We still have a great deal of territory to cover and the future is certain to contain surprises, I personally feel more encouraged than discouraged. Perhaps I am too chicken to get any farther from home, perhaps I am not the world adventurer that I was while sitting in the comfort and security of my comfortable armchair back home. In any case, I find myself thinking of Carl Franz's quote about travel in Mexico, "Where ever you go, there you are."  (People's Guide To Mexico)   

We agree to linger in Chetumal for a day or so, hotelling it, before continuing on the next leg of our journey. Indeed, it is nice to sleep in a bed again, hammocks are acceptable for a short period of time, but us American boys prefer the comfort of a mattressed bed for real sleep. After rearranging our clothing and other gear, we set out in search of dinner and a look at the area surrounding our hotel. Dinner works, but nothing to write home about and Chetumal, or at least the area we explore, does nothing to inspire us, it seems a fairly benign city at best. We return to our hotel and sip "Presidente" brandy. Conversation is minimal, perhaps due to the fact that we experience everything together, leaving nothing to tell each other. Morale is high and we get along well, still feeling very close, the musketeerian attitude perhaps even stronger now after the near 'incident' between Joseph and Jim while camping with our Canadian friends.

The next morning brings a break in the weather, it stops raining but the sun does not really come out, it instead is filtered through thin, and sometimes scattered, clouds. The temperature and humidity are high, it is not very comfortable at all. It reminds me of the east coast summers of my childhood. We will spend only today here, planning to leave the very next morning. After a brief discussion about the days agenda, we begin our day. Joseph and I are anxious to go down to the waterfront area to see what we can see. Ed is involved in a good book and will stay at the hotel, reading outside on the rather nice patio area, just relaxing. Perhaps he will find us later in the day when he plans to take in the sights as well. Ed enjoys his time alone, he is an independent person, being secure with himself both physically and mentally. It is very likely that he feels more comfortable alone, than as part of a threesome. I have to admit, three can be very bulky, I wonder how others feel when approached by a virtual "gang" of large white people. In reality, I am forced to admit that Joseph and I probably can be a bit much at times, we are both capable of being dominant, headstrong, and argumentative, many times not even realizing it. It is a tribute to Ed that he could travel with us at all. He deserves a well earned doff of the cap for always maintaining his consistently even, fair, cheerful, and positive attitude.

As Joseph and I find our way down tree-lined avenues on very clean sidewalks toward the waterfront area, we begin to see the orderly beauty of the city in spite of the gray day. The area around Chetumal is noted for its hardwood trees, primarily mahogany and rosewood, and many of the houses are built of milled boards, lending a somewhat colonial look to the city. This is unlike the northern areas of the Yucatán peninsula where the architecture leans more to simple structures of circular shapes, constructed using straight, thin, saplings stuck directly into the ground very close together, then topped with oval shaped thatched roofs. Bordering the city of Chetumal, thriving on the ample tropical rainfall, are dense jungles of vine-covered trees, with ferns, broad leafed plants, and a myriad of other flora and fauna. There seems to be an abundance of colorful blossoms, including orchids, growing attached to many of the trees. Although we do not see them, we are told of wild pigs, the 'javalina,' that roam the jungles along with herds of deer, as well as countless other species of birds, reptiles, insects, and animals of every type. With Belize bordering next door, the people as well are a very diverse and handsome mixture of race, including Caribe, Spanish, Maya, and English.

Eventually we find ourselves at the waterfront "mercado" area, where dozens of shops and vending stands of all types are offering 'Freeport' prices to one and all. Many bargains are available, but we have no intention of spending money on unnecessary goods. However, we do take advantage of the fine selection of liquors and buy, along with some brandy, a one liter bottle of "Sausa Comemorativo" tequila, I guess we consider booze 'a necessity'. Just as we are growing bored with looking at all the merchandise available, we are approached by a Mexican man, speaking English, and very good English. He is a shop owner, indeed, he has even set up two of his sons with their own shops in the normally busy waterfront mercado, and he wants to talk. He tells of his seventeen years in America, most of which were spent in, of all places, Minnesota. He recounts, with a laugh at his own expense, how, on his way back to Mexico, he passed through Los Angeles and realized the extent of the mistake he made by going to Minnesota. He laughs, we laugh, and he invites us to tour the warehouse he owns. The warehouse supplies his store, the stores of his sons, and some of his competitors as well. His warehouse is impressive, it has a fairly large inventory of a widely diverse sort. As we walk down the aisles, all the while pointing out various stockpiles of very saleable merchandise, he tells of his experiences in Minnesota, and of his 'big' house in Progreso, which he only uses part of the year. All in all, we are being paraded, we are being sold something, but just what we not only cannot tell, but cannot even imagine. Finally, after about a half hour of posturing and psychological maneuvering, he, somewhat furtively, takes us to a secluded part of the warehouse. After (figuratively) casting suspicious glances in both directions, and in his most confidential and conspiratorial voice, he invites us to look at the merchandise which is the most popular (and the most profitable) of all his inventory. We are surprised to find a great supply of dildos, vibrators, and other "marital aids" of every description, some very imaginative. There also are pornographic magazines, news printed tabloids depicting various sexual and violent acts, as well as 'comic books' and other pornography, some catering to attitudes completely foreign and somewhat repulsive to us. Our friend now gets down to the real reason for bringing us here. It seems as though the wholesalers of this merchandise are in Los Angeles. He wonders if we would be interested in going to Los Angeles to these wholesalers, he will supply names and addresses, make purchases and deliver the merchandise to him, here in Chetumal. He continues that in addition to pornography and 'adult toys,' small caliber pistols, the "Saturday night specials" are in big demand, and ammunition would be very profitable as well. He once again will supply the names of the wholesalers. We would purchase (using our own money) and deliver this merchandise to him, for which he would then pay us double. How about it, huh? We are dumbfounded, not only at the ridiculousness of the idea, (we envision ourselves as gunrunners and porno dealers, it just doesn't seem like us) but the fact that this man seems to think that there is a good possibility that he has made a connection. We, as straight-faced and politely as possibly, decline his offer, explaining that we must return to our business in the USA, and will not be returning to Chetumal in the foreseeable future. He gives us a card and asks that should we change our mind, contact him at the address shown. He escorts us to the front door, we shake hands, say goodbye, return to the waterfront, and subsequently to the hotel. When we tell Ed of the offer received, we all have a great time laughing as we discuss various hypothetical situations that could arise if we were to change our minds and decide to become "gun runners and porno dealers." We further ponder just how much merchandise we could stuff into the trunk, under the seats, and any other hiding place in the Caddie. We sip brandy, carry the stories to ridiculous ends and finally call it a night and fall into a deep sleep. Tomorrow, we shall depart Chetumal.

MEXICO CHRONICLES ( Return to Contents)
Copyright 1996 by R.P. Folsom. All rights reserved.