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Caribbean Travel Guide
© PHOTOS BY CAPT. CHUCK
Isla Mujeres
| Get "Lost" in Your Own Island Paradise! Captain Chuck Shows You the Thrills of Caribbean Travel to Pirate Islands! |
Isla Mujeres
“The Quiet Little Sister”
The Pirates, long gone from one of their most treasured
harbors, have left few mementos. On this quiescent little nugget
of craggy coral and sand, dawn comes with timid laser fingers
probing the powder blue sky. Just offshore a laughing gull
chatters; or is that the echo of spirits long departed? Edge a bare
foot into the clear water of the western Caribbean’s soft beach.
Cool. Morning in the tropics is an event that slips softly onto
your shoulders, before you slather on the sunscreen, or hide
under a floppy hat.
On Isla Mujeres, the world is full of promise. Beside me,
Tzumuc, a guide, offers, “Today I show you how dive with the
sharks.” His black Mayan eyes gleam, “You no be scare; they
are a-sleeping.” He is not joking. The message on his T-shirt
commands, “Eat the worm,” a promo for Mexico’s wild tequila
liquor, Mescal. A tiny dead worm curls in every bottle,
affirming its quirky pedigree.
Zaragoza, his buddy, boosts his own specialty, “I take you look
at ten tousan’ birds, hatchin’ babies. Make mucho guano.”
Stocky, powerfully built men with ginger-colored skin; at one
time they would have been daily fishermen, before the
transformation. A dozen years ago Hurricane Gilbert slammed
into their island, and left little more than crumbs to pick over.
Even the center of downtown – the Tortilla Factory, where
each morning the island women lined up for their daily bread –
was left in ultimate ruin.
But this is the Isle of Women – Mujeres – where ancient tales
talk of Amazon warrior women who lived here; the terror of
men who ventured too close. Legends say Mayan women
congregated in yearly pilgrimages for centuries. That was
apparently before Caribbean Pirates anchored in the shallows,
awaiting treasure-laden ships bound for Spain. Stories also claim
the Pirates stashed women prisoners here, between forays.
There are few if any records, but the engaging name endures.
The long struggle to rebuild had been done many times.
Today, this tiny coral spur, a 5 mile-long comma off Mexico’s
Yucatan coast, has evolved into a tourist gem, a place to truly
get away. For centuries a quiet fishing village, today a
smattering of luxury resorts and condo rentals line its pristine,
crystalline-sand coastline. What hasn’t changed is those
smouldering sunsets, sparkling chanticleer lights of sunrise; the
calm serenity of sand between bare toes.
It’s a favorite day-trip from Cancun, with a ferry boat that
drops off island-happy foreigners, mostly state-side Americans,
then takes back another group, along with a few cars and
trucks. Isla is a place to slip the catch, to drift along with
turquoise currents, white sand and coral castles at glorious
Coco Beach, or several others. Here, a couple of thousand
people move to quiet rhythms, not to the picante beat of
neighboring Cancun.
A shady hammock answers the call, for most. But there are
ways to keep active, and interested, for those who want, or
dare. Just offshore, you can snorkel what seem like virgin reefs,
bursting with lobsters the size of Schwarzenegger’s forearm,
darting yellowtails, scarlet pargo, angelfish, baby squid.
And yes, you can dive to the “Cave of sleeping sharks,” lying
at the bottom in 60-ft. of water, which seems to be a spa for
ocean-going sharks. Marine biologists think the white tips, bulls,
tiger sharks come to have tiny fish rid their gills of parasites. A
thrilling dive for the adventurous. Cousteau did a feature on it.
In the evenings you can stroll the streets of Isla. Locals live in
Carib-style homes, though limited in size, crisp and well taken
care of; as the latest issue of grandchildren play happily in the
yards. In this pocket-size city, close-knit, multi-generation
families blend as one.
Many have lived here for as long as the elders can remember.
The few blocks of homes squat among hotels, stores and
restaurants; some still have fish nets hung to dry and mend.
Hotels run the gamut from the luxurious Avalon Reef, or Playa
La Media Luna, with prices from $385 to $585 per person, per
night, on the beach; to villas, condos, and small hotels such as
El Caracol, or Poc-Na, catering to youth hostelers. Restaurants,
too, are aplenty, from thatched roof palapas to top drawer
Spanish and French cuisine.
Recently renovated is the temple dedicated to Ixchel, the Mayan
Goddess of Fertility. Reputed to have received Mayan women
on pilgrimage for centuries, her temple was collapsed into
rubble by the vicious hurricane, but is now rebuilt, at the south
end of the island.
The most famous resident of Isla was Fermin Mundaca, a
swashbuckling Pirate and slave trader who built his hacienda in
1858. It boasted a solar clock, with magnificent “Rose of the
Winds” gardens. But he was rebuffed by a local beauty, Prisca
Gomez, “La Triguena,” young enough to be his granddaughter.
Heartbroken, he went insane and died, but not before he carved
his own epitaph:
“As you are, I was. As I am, you will be.”
His gardens sparkle with tropical birds, monkeys, pythons, and
a penned jaguar.
Most travelers to Isla will feel it immediately, the quiet adventure
that unties the knots. Isla Mujeres is indeed, the stressless
society.
Try it; your cares will fade.
######
isla-mujeres.net/tourism/home.htm
isla-mujeres.net/generalinfo.htm
“The Quiet Little Sister”
The Pirates, long gone from one of their most treasured
harbors, have left few mementos. On this quiescent little nugget
of craggy coral and sand, dawn comes with timid laser fingers
probing the powder blue sky. Just offshore a laughing gull
chatters; or is that the echo of spirits long departed? Edge a bare
foot into the clear water of the western Caribbean’s soft beach.
Cool. Morning in the tropics is an event that slips softly onto
your shoulders, before you slather on the sunscreen, or hide
under a floppy hat.
On Isla Mujeres, the world is full of promise. Beside me,
Tzumuc, a guide, offers, “Today I show you how dive with the
sharks.” His black Mayan eyes gleam, “You no be scare; they
are a-sleeping.” He is not joking. The message on his T-shirt
commands, “Eat the worm,” a promo for Mexico’s wild tequila
liquor, Mescal. A tiny dead worm curls in every bottle,
affirming its quirky pedigree.
Zaragoza, his buddy, boosts his own specialty, “I take you look
at ten tousan’ birds, hatchin’ babies. Make mucho guano.”
Stocky, powerfully built men with ginger-colored skin; at one
time they would have been daily fishermen, before the
transformation. A dozen years ago Hurricane Gilbert slammed
into their island, and left little more than crumbs to pick over.
Even the center of downtown – the Tortilla Factory, where
each morning the island women lined up for their daily bread –
was left in ultimate ruin.
But this is the Isle of Women – Mujeres – where ancient tales
talk of Amazon warrior women who lived here; the terror of
men who ventured too close. Legends say Mayan women
congregated in yearly pilgrimages for centuries. That was
apparently before Caribbean Pirates anchored in the shallows,
awaiting treasure-laden ships bound for Spain. Stories also claim
the Pirates stashed women prisoners here, between forays.
There are few if any records, but the engaging name endures.
The long struggle to rebuild had been done many times.
Today, this tiny coral spur, a 5 mile-long comma off Mexico’s
Yucatan coast, has evolved into a tourist gem, a place to truly
get away. For centuries a quiet fishing village, today a
smattering of luxury resorts and condo rentals line its pristine,
crystalline-sand coastline. What hasn’t changed is those
smouldering sunsets, sparkling chanticleer lights of sunrise; the
calm serenity of sand between bare toes.
It’s a favorite day-trip from Cancun, with a ferry boat that
drops off island-happy foreigners, mostly state-side Americans,
then takes back another group, along with a few cars and
trucks. Isla is a place to slip the catch, to drift along with
turquoise currents, white sand and coral castles at glorious
Coco Beach, or several others. Here, a couple of thousand
people move to quiet rhythms, not to the picante beat of
neighboring Cancun.
A shady hammock answers the call, for most. But there are
ways to keep active, and interested, for those who want, or
dare. Just offshore, you can snorkel what seem like virgin reefs,
bursting with lobsters the size of Schwarzenegger’s forearm,
darting yellowtails, scarlet pargo, angelfish, baby squid.
And yes, you can dive to the “Cave of sleeping sharks,” lying
at the bottom in 60-ft. of water, which seems to be a spa for
ocean-going sharks. Marine biologists think the white tips, bulls,
tiger sharks come to have tiny fish rid their gills of parasites. A
thrilling dive for the adventurous. Cousteau did a feature on it.
In the evenings you can stroll the streets of Isla. Locals live in
Carib-style homes, though limited in size, crisp and well taken
care of; as the latest issue of grandchildren play happily in the
yards. In this pocket-size city, close-knit, multi-generation
families blend as one.
Many have lived here for as long as the elders can remember.
The few blocks of homes squat among hotels, stores and
restaurants; some still have fish nets hung to dry and mend.
Hotels run the gamut from the luxurious Avalon Reef, or Playa
La Media Luna, with prices from $385 to $585 per person, per
night, on the beach; to villas, condos, and small hotels such as
El Caracol, or Poc-Na, catering to youth hostelers. Restaurants,
too, are aplenty, from thatched roof palapas to top drawer
Spanish and French cuisine.
Recently renovated is the temple dedicated to Ixchel, the Mayan
Goddess of Fertility. Reputed to have received Mayan women
on pilgrimage for centuries, her temple was collapsed into
rubble by the vicious hurricane, but is now rebuilt, at the south
end of the island.
The most famous resident of Isla was Fermin Mundaca, a
swashbuckling Pirate and slave trader who built his hacienda in
1858. It boasted a solar clock, with magnificent “Rose of the
Winds” gardens. But he was rebuffed by a local beauty, Prisca
Gomez, “La Triguena,” young enough to be his granddaughter.
Heartbroken, he went insane and died, but not before he carved
his own epitaph:
“As you are, I was. As I am, you will be.”
His gardens sparkle with tropical birds, monkeys, pythons, and
a penned jaguar.
Most travelers to Isla will feel it immediately, the quiet adventure
that unties the knots. Isla Mujeres is indeed, the stressless
society.
Try it; your cares will fade.
######
isla-mujeres.net/tourism/home.htm
isla-mujeres.net/generalinfo.htm
Download the Book
Click 'Home' to order!
The full text: 247 pages of fun,hilarious adventure,
sailing
the Bounding Main! Just $16.95
-OR-
CD only $12.00 free ship.
Order Your own Pirates Pearls & Paradise Today!
Avast, Me Hearties, Ye'll Love the Voyage!
Click 'Home' to order!
The full text: 247 pages of fun,hilarious adventure,
sailing
the Bounding Main! Just $16.95
-OR-
CD only $12.00 free ship.
Order Your own Pirates Pearls & Paradise Today!
Avast, Me Hearties, Ye'll Love the Voyage!