What do you do in a country where, every couple of miles, federales agents with submachine guns peer at you and your dinky rental car? We were as popular as the monsoon season after a drought.
We were in a place where Americans go to spend their money, get marinated in alcohol, stuck on beach fronts and paradise, forget their troubles and go home. Happy vacation! I’ll be home after 5.
But we didn’t do any of that. Armed with a DSLR, our Kindles, a GoPro and sunshine optimism of tourists in a new country, we had attempted to hit the bar scene in Cancun (dead), do a little sightseeing (but it’s hot and humid), and sit at the beach and read. One dollar to sit here, amigo. No, thank you.
We booked a scuba tour with La Calypso Dive Center and Brenda, one of their divemasters took us on a tour that included two cenotes: Casa and Dos Ojos.
This is Casa. You are submerged in a world with spectacular views and almost endless visibility. The only limitations were the intervening walls of rocks and earth and the occasional mangroves.
You can see the pillars of light as they stab through the darkness. The experience was just frames, unspoken words and awe hung in the water like dancing particles and air bubbles.