It’s 9 a.m. We’re excited and go topside as ‘Celebration’ is slowly docking to the pier at Cozumel. Looking over the railing We're stunned, “OH! IT’S THE BLUEST WATER!” we’ve ever seen! It's like looking at liquid topaz.

I’m stunned, the waters at Galveston and Corpus Christi are nothing compared to this… this…, the best way to describe it is “ocean aquarium.”
You can see the beautiful multi-colored coral reefs at a hundred yards, all I can say over and over is, “ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL!”
From underwater, a yellow submarine breaks the water surface.
People are soaking up the sun on the white sandy beach. See several groups snorkeling.

The coastline is decorated with tall colorful hotels and resorts. Skeletal I-beams show more are under construction.
See numerous catamarans and sailboats gliding over the water, their sails full of wind.

I want to sit and cry. It’s almost hard to imagine we finally made it here. All the troubles we had starting out are behind us, and the day at sea has given us time to relax.

There’s much to see and do now, and we have only 14 hours to work it all in. I’ll cry later. Maybe.

We’ll start the day with a self-guided tour in the town of San Miguel.
Talking with people that’s been here before tell us the afternoons get hot, so we’ll do our walking around in the cool morning, and save the afternoon for ‘beginners snorkel’.
We’ll end the day with a nice quite romantic sunset cruise along the coast of Cozumel.
‘Celebration’ leaves at midnight, so we have to be back by 11:30.
Everything’s planned, what can go wrong?

While getting dressed, we decide not to take the video camera until we get a feel of what town is like. We hide money in various parts of our clothing, “just in case…”

The Day Before
Everyone congregates in the Astro lounge. Trevor, the Canadian cruise director, talks about Cozumel:

“Whatever you’re heard about drinking the water,” he tells us “it’s true, do NOT drink it, or risk spending the rest of the cruise in your cabin’s bathroom.
Cozumel is a Mayan word ‘Cuzamil’ meaning “land of swallows.”
A tip about renting a car “Don’t drive on the beach, the insurance will not cover the expense of having it pulled out of the sand. Any damage is to be paid for on the spot.”
Advise about hiring a taxi, “First, ask them if they speak English. The driver should say “Si (or “Yes”).” Next ask them if they know how to get to San Miguel. They should answer “Si.” Finally, ask them if it snowed eight feet last night. If they say “Si” don’t take that taxi.” Another warning, “they drive fast!”

Cindy, is the cruise shopping expert. She’s another Canadian of the 170 various nationalities that serve as crewmembers aboard the Celebration. Cindy gives advice about shopping for “Diamonds, silver, gold platinum, and tanzanite, a stone that will be mined out in 3 – 5 years and will be worth more later.”
She explains “You can spend up to $400 per person tax and duty free. Anything over that amount is taxable back in the States.”

I remembered something I’d read earlier on the Internet before we left for the cruise, souvenir prices get lower the further you go from the beach.

***

We’re off in a flash going down the stairs to exit the ship, and hit the back of a line of people waiting to do the same. It’s time consuming since everyone has to insert their ‘Sign and Sail’ card in a time clock that logs each person going ashore.

While waiting, bottles of water are being sold, $4. Before the cruise, Sandra bought two plastic insulated water bottles we’ll wear over our shoulders.
Finally, we’re on the pier.
“Isn’t this nice,” Sandra and I look at each other as we’re greeted by a smiling senorita wearing a flowing, colorful Mexican dress.
A voice says, “Look here!” We turn and ‘click’ the ship photographer takes our picture with her. I turn back and she’s gone, smiling with some one else. I realize it’s a set up for souvenir pictures.

An elderly man approaches us holding a two-foot iguana wearing a tiny sombrero. He pushes it towards me, then Sandra. ‘Click’ ‘click’ pictures are taken with IT. A woman behind us screams as the man hands the friendly, but unsmiling lizard at her. We walk on as the woman runs pass.

A short Mayan warrior dressed with leather straps and strange black and white markings painted on his solemn dark face is walking around. He’s wearing a tiara of pheasant feathers. In it’s center, I notice a human skull, and he’s armed with a spear. I’m beginning to wonder, is he a native standing around caught in the activities, or are we suppose to have a picture made with him, he doesn’t look as friendly as the iguana… ‘click’ We do anyway.

I definitely want a picture of us with the ‘Celebration’ in the background. ‘Click’. When we see it later, Sandra and I are smiling. Fifty other ‘us’s’ are in ‘our’ picture.

We enter an air-conditioned building in the middle of the pier. Everything bought here is duty/tax free. Prices are moderate, but I wonder what they’re like in town. Exiting the building I read a sign, “Anything brought here can NOT be taken into Mexico UNDER FEDERAL LAW.”

Good thing we didn’t buy anything or we’d have to go back to the ship, wait in line to sign in, drop the stuff off in our cabin, wait in line to sign back off, and have our pictures made all over again. The iguana I could handle, but the skull-bearing warrior…

See car rental booths, several bars (the “land of another different kind of swallows”), diamond and jewelry stores, and a few small open-air souvenir shops.

I see pretty bird feathers with hand painted scenes of a cruise ship and palm trees, but then a beautiful ceramic angel catches my eye. It’s 18” tall with a 2’ wing spread. I’d like it, but know it’d never make it back to the states in one piece.
The store owner/manager/salesman sees me looking it over. “You like? $150 Pesos.” he says.
“Oh yeah, it’s nice, but-”
“OK, OK, for you, 50 U.S. doll loors!”
“Thanks but-”
“O.K. how much? What’s worth to you, name price, it’s yours!” He takes it off the shelf.
“I really like the statue, but you see I can’t take-” He hands it to me. I press it back, No. He presses it, Yes. The angel flies thru the air between our hands. I take it and put it back on the shelve. He reaches for it. “NO!” I quickly blurb out. His hands and face fall. I tell him, “This is a beautiful piece of art-” His face lights up with hope. “But I’m afraid it’d get broken before I get it home.” He understands. I think.

Next shop, then another. It’s only 9:30 and it’s already getting hot. I look for a hat and see several. “How much?” I point at one. “Si senor, 15 doll loors, US.” Hmm, I’m thinking maybe this guy will come down like the angel salesman. I offer “$12.” “15!” he counters. “Hmmm, no thank you” and start to walk off knowing he’ll think it over and call me back. He doesn’t.

We go thru other shops. I see another hat, pick it up, try it for size. It fits. Noticed the salesman is licking his lips, smelling money like a shark for blood. I tease him, and start to put it back after I look at the price, 20 Pesos. I ask, “Will you take 12 US dollars?” “SI!” he brushes it off and humbly, gently, ever so carefully, places the crown on my head.

I now feel guilty for asking for a discount. He smiles, he’s earned and paid his shops rent for the day.

Walking back the way we came we’ll have to pass the same shops again. I wonder if I should tip my $12 hat to the guy that wouldn’t come down in price. As we pass, I avoid eye contact with him.

- Hi Ho, it's off to town we go in chapter 8 -

Chapter 8
Warning: This chapter contains graphic violence

Leaving the pier, we go to the taxi stand. A sign reads ‘San Miguel $14 U.S.D.’. We hire one of the twenty waiting. The driver smiles, opens the door for us. After getting in, before we can say anything the driver is off like a rocket. I’d totally forgotten everything Trevor said about the taxi drivers and their driving.

I recalled his warning as we dodged pedestrians, bi-cyclists, and speed bumps. We try making conversation with Senior Capt. Juan T. Kirk but get no reply.

I want to ask him about the snow that fell last night, but think it’d be best not to, I don’t want to disrupt his intense concentration on flying and cause him to impact with any innocent asteroids/bicyclists/other taxi shuttle-crafts.

As we approach the speed of light everything along the road is a blur. The only thing I can see clearly is another taxi pulling along side us at 186,262 miles per second.
Suddenly it goes into to hyperspace and starts to pass. I can see it’s passenger’s faces but just for a millisecond. Panic is clearly visible the man and woman’s faces. A shock wave hits our shuttlecraft causing it to shake violently as our rocket cab enters the jet stream of the one passing us. It was that, or maybe ours too, has just broken the sound barrier. I hoped it was a speed bump.

Using both hands, I grab the seat headrest in front of me and pull against the G forces to look over the pilots shoulder to see the speedometer. It’s reading 0. Either it’s broken, or the taxi has surpassed it’s limit of 70 m.p.h. Which, I don’t know. I look back at Sandra, she has a sardonic smile as the skin on her face stretches back towards both ears.

Scenes of my life quickly pass before my minds eye. I see events of my first day in kindergarten, thru school, my graduation, then raising my hand to take the oath to join the Air Force. The scenes are interrupted intermittently with views of partly constructed buildings that have long been abandoned (maybe a taxi crashed, taking them out?). More visions, I see Sandra and my wedding, our honeymoon to San Antonio in 1977. Other objects flew by the window. Palm trees, at least I think they were.

I was at our buying our third used car in 1987, when three miles and twelve seconds later we reached town.

I know it’s downtown cause my eyes could focus as we slowed down to 150 m.p.h. The taxi lands. The driver turns to us, “Taxi back,” he points, “Here!”

There’s four words I know in Spanish. “Aqui” (pronounced ‘Ah-key’ for ‘here’), “Si” (“see” for “yes”), “Agua” (“awg- wa” for “water”), “Te amo” (“ta am o” = “I love you”). “Agua” and “Te amo” are useless for us here.

“Aqui!” I say and point. He grins, “Si, Si!” He gets all excited thinking we speak Spanish and starts talking phrases, syllables, contractions. His hands waving around expressing adjectives.

I know only one phrase, “No in the en doe” (“I don’t understand”). He stops talking his Greek to me. “NO?” his face is puzzled. I want to say ‘Si” but it would only add to the confusion. I shake my head back and forth. He puts out his hand, “14 doll llars U.S.” I hand him a 20. He makes no effort to make change, nor waits for a 10 second countdown before he blasts off back towards the ship for more astronauts/crash test dummies.

We stroll the main street, Avenida Rafael E. Melgar, which runs along the beach. The buildings are fairly modern looking (1960ish), painted and well kept.
Souvenir prices? We don’t know for sure until we see more and compare. Remembering prices get lower the further you go from the beach, we turn down an alley to go deeper and farther away. We come to a pretty, semi-crowded outdoor mall. “Best prices, here!” each salesman shouts as we approach.

We see a fountain with turtles sunning themselves. Outside one jewelry store is a table with a sign that reads “$1.00.”

We go over and look. The table is full of silver bracelets. “A $1.00? Surely not.” I inquire with the salesman. “Si, one doll loor US.” We pick some, go inside to pay. He waves his hand around the store, “See anything else, give good deal.” The outside $1.00 table has done it’s duty, suckered us in.

Sterling silver chains, necklaces, earrings, rings are on display.

I decide to test the ‘haggling process’ again, they expect it I tell myself. I know Sandra would like a .925 silver ladies chain necklace. ‘500 Pesos’(removing one zero converts the price to 50 US doll loors). The salesman joins me, I ask, “30 US dollars?” He pulls out a electronic scale/calculator, weights it, punches some numbers in, “O.K.!” He smiles.

This is too easy, something is wrong. Either I’m getting ripped off or the prices are cheaper elsewhere. I don’t wonder which.

We continue looking, haggle some, and consider buying more. I take the price war to the next level, “If we buy more, we get a bigger discount?” It won’t hurt to ask.

His eyes and grin grow bigger, “Si! Si!” Before paying I must remember to set aside $14 for the shuttlecraft back. We’ve only been in town for fifteen minutes, ten of them have been in this store. Half our spending money has already exchanged hands. We’re doing our best to build up the Mexican economy, and succeeding.

Fast forward seven days: Shopping in Galveston, we try to buy more T-shirts. They’re marked $15. I try to haggle and offer the store clerk 12. He looks at me funny, and says “No, $15, plus tax.”

"Back to the land of USD’s worth 1.18 pesos"
We go deeper in to town. Here the buildings, shops, and bars are older. More older. Most look like they were last painted in 1850 during a hurricane. Worn by time, colorful patches of previous paint jobs are exposed.

The road is three lanes wide, two are used for parking. See lots of old rusty pickup trucks and small size economy cars. Their front bumpers have dents. Collisions with… taxis? Lot of people are riding motorcycles. Sandra points to un-helmented male motorcyclist. On the back seat is a woman/girlfriend/sister/cousin/aunt holding a newborn baby. See a young girl riding a Honda cycle, weaving thru the traffic. She looks just old enough to be riding a bicycle with training wheels. Someone must have started it, her feet can’t reach the kickstarter. Don’t ask me how she changes gears. The best I figure is she stays in 1st gear all the time.
Then I wonder, how does she stand up at stop signs? Does she Alto? I learn my fifth word in Spanish.

James, a friend at work, asked me to find some Cozumel T-shirts for him and his family. Two, a size 3XXX, one, 2XX. Went to a store selling T-shirts, Onyx animals and chess sets, jewelry of all types (comparing prices, we did get a bargain earlier).

Look thru the T’s. A saleslady walks up. “Hola” she smiles, her bright gold teeth are almost blinding. I resist the urge to put my hands over my eyes, and realize I’ve learned my sixth word, ‘Hola’ must mean ‘hello’. “We’re looking for 3 XXX and 2 XX’s.”
“No, no 3 XXX, 2 XX.”
“Gracias,” Sandra says. I learn my seventh word in Spanish, ‘Thanks’.
Go next door, we exchange “Hola’s” ask for the 3XXX/2XX shirts. Same answer, “No.” The same with the next two stores, apparently no one in Cozumel sells 3 XXX or 2 XX sizes.

We try another store. As soon as we walk in, a lady with shiny golden teeth forgoes the customary “Hola’ and says, “I have 3 XXX and 2 XX sizes.” Huh?
Sandra and I look at each other, how did she know what we were looking for?
We look thru her stock, and find a woman’s T decorated with silver blue colored dolphins for Helen, Jame’s wife, one with multi-colored fish for his daughter Melissa, and a cow painting a sign that reads ‘Eat More Fish Cozumel” for James the fisherman.

A sign read ‘3 for $25’. I’m getting the hang of the ‘art of haggling’ so I ask, “20 USD?” “No, sorry senior, $25 US doll loors.” She has the monopoly on sizes 3 XXX and 2 XX in all Cozumel I figured. As we pay, I’m still bothered by how she knew what we were looking for.

As we come to other stores, salespeople entice us in. I’m called a ‘tightwad’ only once as we pass one. Maybe I should turn around, go into his store, look around, tease him with looking and putting items back on the shelf, haggle about the prices, get them as low as I can get, then leave without buying anything. No, the salesman is obviously having a bad, or slow day I reason. I’m ashamed I thought of the idea and move on.

We see a store with a 3’ painted ‘corn on the cob’ on its glass window. We go in and smell corn cooking. Should I haggle over the price? A young woman wipes her hands on a towel and says something in Spanish.
I ask, “Poly vou English?”

She shakes her head, shrugs her shoulders, the universal sign of “What in the world are you saying?” Sandra holds up two fingers and points to the picture of the corn, “Dos?” (‘two’) “Si, Si.”
‘Dos’ is the eighth word I’ve now learned, give me a week here and I’ll be speaking Spanish good enough to drive a taxi.
The corn lady pours the yellow vegetable minus the cob into bowls, then points to three on the counter. Her eyebrows go up, wrinkles appear on her forehead, another universal expression of a ‘question mark’.

One bowl has a white powdery substance. Looks like salt. The brown color, I think is a spicy seasoning I use on junk food and quick snacks (popcorn, soup, cereal nut mix). The third is green powder I haven’t a clue what it is, but suspect it’s pulverized jalapeno. I point to the brown. She nods, hands me a spoon and I soak the ‘corn without an ear.’

I should have taken the hint. As soon as the brown seasoning hit the corn it turns a beet red color, like an ‘instant third degree sunburn’ on the kernel. Steam rises from the bowl. I took a small teaspoon bite of the corn.

All the following happened faster than a blink of an eye: (Warning! The following is rated ‘R’ and should not be read by anyone under the age of 18 without a parent or guardian. If you hate watching violence, the brutality of people suffering as they are being tortured, or scenes of drive-by shootings, please leave now! Thank you.)

All the volcanoes in Mexico erupt at the same time in my mouth. Saliva turns to lava.
All the water at Niagara Falls flowed from my eyes.
I go blind.
My tongue hates me and promises to do so for the rest of its life, if it lives.
My mind flashes the scene from the movie ‘Alien’ were the space creatures acid-blood eats holes thru the floor / ceiling / next floor / ceiling. My stomach screams ‘DON’T LET IT IN HERE! PLEASE, HAVE MERCY!”

Like a shotgun blast, the pellets of #6 shot of corn takes flight. An old pickup truck parked across the street is hit, several holes appear in its side.

I grab at my bottled water. Reasoning screams “SAVE SOME FOR THE REST OF THE DAY!” Logic yells “WATER IS NOT GOING TO DO ANY GOOD!” My mind and tongue are arguing with everyobdy, "YOUR IDIOT! DO SOMETHING! QUICK!"
I drink it all. I need more, the fire isn't anywere nearly out. I look around me and see resturants and bars, but then remember I can’t drink the Mexican water!

My mind flashes back the time Jack, a friend from Indiana was visiting us, and ate his first pizza with jalapenos. He was running around our house trying to peel the skin off his tongue until Sandra gave him a piece of chocolate to neutralize the fire.

“CHOCOLATE, I NEED CHOCOLATE!” I scream! I CAN’T DRINK THEIR WATER, CAN I EAT THEIR CHOCOLATE?” I don’t know, confusion reigns over all sensibilities.

Then I remembered. There was a piece of candy on our cabin table courtesy of the cruise line, Did I pick it up? I quickly pat at my pants pockets. Not this one, not this one. I pull out Mexican pesos. Wait! What’s this? My hand explores. “YES!” It’s the piece of chocolate wrapped in foil. My mouth screams, “PUT IT IN!” Reasoning explains “TAKE THE FOIL OFF FIRST!” My mouth argues “THAT WILL TAKE TO LONG!” The chocolate is melted, the foil hard to unwrap. “I’M DYING! HURRY!” my tongue begs. This is no time to argue, I put the piece in and quickly chew. “Mmmmmmmm,” the lava begins to subside, the tastes of metal and chocolate takes its place.
In a few brief seconds all the world is right again.

I can see to walk, but still wiping at my eyes. We turn back towards the beach. A man approaches, looks like a street person without a cardboard sign that says ‘Will labor for food, please help’. He pulls out a hand full of tanzanite necklaces and shows them to us. “You like? 15 US doll lors.” He dangles them eye level. Caught unaware since I was expecting him to ask for a handout, “Er… Gracias, no.” “For you, 10?” “Gracias,” we shake our heads ‘No.’ He moves on.

Sandra and I take pictures of each other at a public square. A man with a horse carriage watches me take a picture of Sandra, and she starts to ‘click’ me, when he asks “Take picture?” pointing to both of us.

I wonder how much US Doll loors. “Si” Sandra says. He turns to his horse and asks its permission, “Have picture made with these nice people?” The horse answers back by nodding his head. We laugh, but not because it’s bi-lingual. He points for us to get in the carriage (the man, not the horse). We smile, and ‘click’ our picture is taken.

I expect the man (or maybe the horse) to ask for a financial remuneration for their work. They don’t. As we start to walk off, I still expect the man (not the horse) to call out “2 doll loors!” We walk a couple of steps. “O.K, 1”. They still don’t. They were just being friendly and hospitable. I reach into my pocket, separate the chocolate’s foil from the Mexican coins and give them to him. The man tips his hat, asks his horse, “He is a nice man, yes?” The horse nods in agreement. More laughter. I regret I didn’t bring the video camera.

We see a dog, if you could call it that. It’s so meatless you can count his ribs, see his veins pumping with a slow heartbeat. I don’t know if it’s true about people eating dog here, clearly this one wouldn’t feed many, much less one. Maybe that’s what was keeping it alive and from being eaten.

We’re running out of time and have to get back for our ‘beginning snorkeling’ excursion. We flag a cab and get in.

As we look for our seatbelts to strap in for our ‘take off’ we hear a whistle. Captain cabbie waits.

A young man and woman in their early twenties, stick their head thru the window. “Going to the marina? Want to share a cab and fare?” He asks us. “Sure!” They ask the cab driver “How much?” I start to say “$14” but the cab driver answers “4 doll loors.” Not $14? It’s the same distance coming here as it is going back, $4?

They get in. During the drive back, we forget the time warp experienced coming to town as the couple tells us they’re college students from California, in Mexico for a month, not in a hurry to get back to the U.S. on their way to Cancun and are having a good time. Sharing the cab fare helps them save money. They ask us where we’re from, if we’re having a good time, what we’ve seen, going to do.

Before we know it the cab stops. We’re at the ship’s wharf.

Sandra and I get out, start to pay our $2 but decide to pay for the other couple’s share. They’re grateful, and wish us well. We do the same.

Sandra and I walk the pier, thru the tax/duty free building (prices in town were better bargains).

On the pier, Sandra and I ask a stranger to take our picture with ‘Celebration’ in the background. No one else is on the pier, or our picture.

Looking back
Before going in to San Miguel, we didn’t know what to expect.
The whole time there we didn’t see a drug dealers, signs of gang activity, homeless people, nor did anyone asks us for spare change, that is without offering something in exchange. I’m not saying the problems aren’t there, I don’t know, if they are we never saw them.

We never felt threaten, except maybe we’d take back with us the idea “not to take life so seriously.” “Or fast.”

Everyone seemed to have a high work ethic. The people displayed the creed, “If you want to eat, you work.” They may not have much, at least compared to what some small businesses, or even the lowest income families in the U.S. have, but take pride in what they own or manage.

Also I noticed, they look out for each other. Just like the lady at the shop that knew what size T-shirts we were looking for without our ever being in her store. I never did figure that out.

To survive, the people have learned to work together, and help each other.
Everyone was pleasant, not demanding, or with the attitude “YOU OWE ME BACK CAUSE I DID THIS FOR YOU!” Like the hospitable man with the horse carriage, not expecting anything in return for taking our picture, he and his horse just being… friendly. Sure, maybe he was hoping we’d hire him, but didn’t get upset we didn’t.

Like the young American couple just starting out in life, sharing a cab with us…

We saw thru new eyes.

“Isn’t Cozumel a tourist trap,” you ask? “After all, that’s why they’re so nice, they’re wanting the U.S. dollar?”

Maybe, but isn’t America too? How many times are we bomb barded with commercialization to “buy this,” “You deserve it,” “You owe it to yourself!” You’ll be somebody if you own this!” We’re told we need things to survive. We value ‘things’ over people.

We’re modernized and spoiled, but this Mexican society, and culture, tells me we still have a lot more to learn about helping each other.

Maybe there’s something to it, America.
It hasn’t been that long since the tragedy of 9/11. We pulled together then. What happened?