Expecting a day of tequila sunrises and snorkeling, the Brawny Sherpa and I set off by catamaran from Cancun to Isla Mujeres. The water was too rough for playing in, though, so, once on the island, we rented a golf cart for about $20 and tootled toward the Mayan ruins at the tip of it instead.
If the Maya could see what would become of this place—visits from slave seekers and pirates—would they have built a temple that could serve as a lighthouse? We couldn’t help but think that “discovery” by Europeans hardly brought advancement to this beautiful place.
From the ruins, we drove past pricey real estate, garbage heaps, and a shantytown before making our way back to the northwestern tip of the island, by some tourist shops where we didn’t buy tee shirts, to the very colorful graveyard.
Every time I visit Isla Mujeres, I wonder, Would I go back? Then I go back. I try to make sense of this place where spirits, military, Maya, shopkeepers, and vacationers all mingle in such a relatively small space.