Monday, March 8, 2010
Never Stop Seeing Paradise
As an expat in this the Caribbean Pueblo of Tulum, I happily gave up a secure, predictable salary in Canada to live here. My compensation for giving up the conventional approach to life, is the heavenly landscape before me, which I am blessed to visually capture a piece of everyday. Waking up early to hitch a ride to the beach and teach yoga or taking the “Collectivo” and travelling to cities nearby where I can make a bit more money to sustain my simple life in paradise. All for the great fortune of being able to sit by the sea, when I have free time, and creatively express myself inspired by the sound of the crashing waves upon the shore.
Most folks come so they can sleep in “Eco Chic” cabañas where the sound of the echoing waves lay you to sleep. I can no longer afford to live so close to the sea, as that is a tourist enclave, so I fall asleep to the resonance of the sweet noises of a busy tourist town. I am set off to a meditative dream state, by the distant lullaby of the Mariachis wandering while busking in the streets. They create a cacophonous melody with the Cuban band that plays 10 in the morning until 10 at night entertaining tourists as they sit down for a late meal of Mexican beer, tortillas and frijoles. The lead vocals being the homegrown roosters that walk freely through the streets seemingly unaware that their farmland is a paved road with streetlights. Their cock-a-doodle-doo sounds more like a Quiquiriquíííííííí in Latin America. They are as much a part of my lullaby as they are my wakeup call.
The alarm for those living in town is a fusion of sounds. Roosters cocking, men cycling on three wheel bikes honking horns and selling fresh breads, while others selling sweet, warm atole, a masa based sweet drink accompanied with tamales. The oil and water trucks with their catchy slogans competing for air space so those that are in need, run out barefoot chasing the trucks down.
If you are lucky, in the morning you may have a chance encounter with the young women from a small rural village, where she grows chaia, (a local veggie that looks like spinach and tastes a bit like chard) handmade tortillas, and fruits both fresh and candied, crystallized with sugar. She sells a bag of 6 tomatoes for 10 pesos, less than a dollar. Her cart filled with fresh, cheap, local produce, and babies in tow. She is happy to go home with a cart of only smiling babies. .