Isla Mujeres

We boarded the ferry at Playa Caracol, and far across the turquoise water we could see the strip of land known as Island of the Women. Certainly, there were many women on the ferry on their way to this seductive island, most of them dressed in beach attire. Of course, men were on their way there, too.

Forty minutes later we pulled up to the port and locked up with the dock. With the exception of a few who brought their suitcases, most of the droves were, like ourselves, on a day trip from Cancún.

Corner of Avenida Juarez and Calle Abasolo.

Avenida Rueda Medina, the first street we encountered when off the ferry, was a thriving hub where everyone seemed to be. Hustlers thrust laminated brochures at our faces, trying to sell us tours. Every business along the far side of the street seemed to be renting golf carts. Surprisingly, two random Mexicans who just happened to work at the hotel where we were staying in Cancún recognized us! (We believed the first guy, but when the second one stopped us, we knew it was a ploy.)

We walked inland on a narrow street with shops opened up, all the owners trying to entice with their wonderful deals. Already annoyed, we kept our heads forward and pushed on.

The east coast of Isla Mujeres.

Isla Mujeres is not a big island. At this point it was only about 1,000 feet wide and soon we would come out on the other side before a beautiful blue panorama of Caribbean Sea and rocky coastline.

By now the hawkers had faded away and we were able to enjoy the serene vista. On this eastern coast we had a long view which stretched far to the south. 

First on our agenda, however, was to find a place to eat. For the moment we found ourselves in a quiet part of town. That played to our advantage.

I saw a sign on the outside of a wall advertising tacos for 35 pesos. We stepped inside to what looked like a family operation. Behind the counter a man and woman cooked the food. Four tables, all fairly close together, served as the dining area. A teenage boy, probably their son, came in with a bag of groceries.

We weren't terribly hungry. I ordered two tacos, a birria and barbacoa. A bottle of Coke on the side hit the spot. The birria taco was fall-apart tender and very flavorful.

A bottle of Coke and tacos.

A small taco shop on Isla Mujeres. 

Now it was time to rent those golf carts. I was worried about this because some of the hawkers we ran into earlier gave us quotes of 85 USD for two hours. From what I learned on the internet, it should have been much lower. There's nothing more irritable than getting swindled in Mexico!

We returned to Avenida Rueda Medina and the first two companies we encountered were currently out of carts. At that moment we lost hope and thought that perhaps we had waited too long. A lesson learned.

But then we came across a cranny of a building with a golf cart parked out by the sidewalk. I went inside and inquired and learned they still had one left. We rented it for two hours for 1,000 pesos, or roughly 50 USD. We were on our way!

A golf cart is the arguably the best option for the tourist to see the island. There are also taxis, scooters, and a rickety old bus. But the golf carts seem most practical.

I drove for the first half, getting used to our new means of conveyance. I had to watch out for the speed bumps. Dang speed bumps! Every time I it hit one too fast, Jenelle would let me know.

The golf carts didn't go as fast as the cars or scooters. I tried staying to the right so they could pass. Even while driving, the hawkers on the street tried soliciting us, usually offering beer. I'm sure they knew it  was strictly forbidden on our carts.

We took to the island in a counter-clockwise direction, making very few stops until we arrived at the southern point. Being good stewards, we shut off our carts and locked them up with a cable lock that wrapped around a bar and steering wheel.

Punta Sur.

Punta Sur was, in my opinion, was the most picturesque place on the island. Like a finger, it jutted into the ocean with steep jagged cliffs on both sides. The slender strip on top had a beautiful stretch of green growth, cactus and an array of statues.

What caught my attention were all the iguanas. They crawled everywhere, but mostly on the rocky ledges near the cliffs. They mostly stood still, but would sometimes move to the next rock and strut their head. Although I saw dozens of them, I took way too many pictures because they were such a novelty. I felt as if I had just discovered a lost species of dinosaur that was an ancestor to our modern lizards. Very fascinating.

One of many iguanas.

Now, to be sure, we weren't quite at the southern point. It cost 100 pesos per person to gain access to walk the additional half mile to the very end. I would have loved to, but we didn't have the time. We had to return the golf cart.

Isla Mujeres was given its name by the Spainards, who landed in 1517. They found figurines of females scattered throughout the island. At one time it had a temple dedicated to Ixchel, the Mayan goddess of the moon, love and fertility. Many women would make a pilgrimage to the island, which was symbolic of their transition into womanhood, hence the name.

Jenelle's turn to drive the golf cart.

Now it was Jenelle's turn to drive. She promised I wouldn't even feel the bumps! Now I was able to sit back and enjoy the scenery.

We made two stops. The first was at another overlook of the rocky eastern coast. This one had even more iguanas than Punta Sur. It was kind of creepy to see so many reptiles in one place. The place was infested with iguanas.

The second stop was for me. It was a cemetery. Although there was nothing of note or historical about this cemetery, its location was all it needed.⸺Next to the Caribbean Sea!

Iguanas everywhere!

Cemetery just off the coast.

A typical road on our circuit of the island. 

Our time with the golf cart now drew to an end.  After returning our cart we walked northwest on Avenida Rueda Medina, along an array of shops. Soon the main road petered out and then we came to a sandy one-car lane. We emerged onto a pristine beach with hundreds of people.

This beach, I believe, was public, but all the shaded lawn chairs belonged to the hotels. The white sand was smooth and perfect. No rocks. The water was the color of larimar. Friends, families and strangers all cooled off in the same shallow water.

I couldn't wait to change into my swimming suit and have my own adventure. With shirt off and bright red chest and thighs now exposed, I waded into the water, the fine white sand beneath my feet like a fluffy pillow. Once my swimming trunks were submerged I dove like a fish into the refreshing fluid. I swam underwater for several strokes before coming up for air. Everything was perfect.

For the next half hour I enjoyed the water. The waves were never too big and not once did I feel even a pebble beneath my feet. With goggles on I floated across the top, watching the murky green water and sand. The world beneath the surface was a dreamy one.

Playa El Cocal. 

On our way back to the ferry I walked barefoot and shirtless until I was dry. We stopped to buy Jenelle a sweatshirt, then at a 7-Eleven to get a drink. We both needed fluids.

Our last stop was at another cemetery. This one was only a couple blocks from the northern beaches. Jenelle even came in with me. Like a typical Mexican cemetery, the monuments were built above-ground. We saw an assortment of statues and crosses.

Cemetery #2 on Isla Mujeres.

Without much time to spare we hurried to the ferry terminal. We hoped to catch the 5:30 boat, the second-to-last one for the day. It was a madhouse, everyone trying to get back to their hotel.

When they scanned our tickets, the ticket lady admitted our entrance, but blocked the people behind us. We were the last ones allowed on the boat! The others must have been forced to take the 7 pm boat. What a sigh of relief for us!

Jenelle and I sat with hundreds of others on the ferry, listening to a stocky Mexican man serenade us with Cielito Lindo. We relished the moment. We couldn't have asked for a better day. We saw a heavenly landscape, ate at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, had an adventure on a golf cart, and swam in the greenish-blue beauty of the Caribbean Sea! ♠

Soggy Day at Churchill Downs

The weather forecast went from worse to extremely worse. Unknown to us, a Category 5 hurricane was slamming the panhandle of Florida and remnants were now reaching us in Kentucky.

If there was just one thing I wanted to do during our trip to the Bluegrass State, it was to go to Churchill Downs, the infamous racetrack that is home to the Kentucky Derby. But now the forecast called for over two inches of rain and 27 mile-per-hour winds. The official website for the racetrack said they would race in rain or sunshine. But would they really?

We made the white-knuckled drive from Lexington to Louisville amid pools of water on the freeway and downed branches on the sides.

By the time we made it to the parking lot the rain had temporarily subsided. I walked to the ticket counter and asked the lady behind the glass if they were still racing today. “We are absolutely racing,” she responded. It was a go!

Very empty at Churchill Downs.

Near the entrance stood a life-sized statue of Barbaro, the 2006 winner of the Kentucky Derby who tragically broke his ankle two weeks later at the Preakness and had to be euthanized. They say his ashes are buried beneath the statue.

Churchill Downs opened in 1875 and was named after John and Henry Churchill, who leased the land from their nephew, Colonel Meriwether Lewis Clark Jr., who was the grandson of the great explorer, William Clark. Since then it has grown in prestige as arguably the best horse racing track in the country, and has been designated as a National Historic Landmark.

Some showed up in fancy dress.

Even though it wasn't Derby Day, many of the people still dressed up in fancy dresses and hats. We went for the “casual smart” look, but nothing too fancy.

We bought general admission tickets, but had a hard time knowing where we were allowed to sit. We tried the second level balcony, but got turned away. We ended up sitting on the first level near the finish line, below the overhang to stay dry. By now the rain was picking back up. I didn't know if we were allowed to sit there, but on this rainy day there was scarcely a crowd to compete with.

Pre-race parade onto the track.

As post time for the first race approached, the bugler made the call and the horses began to parade onto the track. Like royalty they walked out in a dignified manner, the mounted jockeys dressed in colorful silks. The track was a sloppy mess. Rain stayed consistent and at times intense, although that didn't seem to bother the athletes in this competition. They made their way to backstretch for the starting gate.

We watched the big screen above the scoreboard that stood behind the finish line. One by one the horses filed into the gate. With the last one in, the starting bell rang and the horses were off!

We watched on the big screen until they made it around the far turn, then we could see with our own eyes as they came down the homestretch. With hooves hammering down like pistons, they sped like cheetahs, flipping up mud as they raced across the finish line. Fancy Fascinator, a filly bred in Kentucky, was declared the winner. The exhilaration I felt as they came thundering down the homestretch gave me goosebumps.

Fancy Fascinator, winner of race #1.

The grandstand was still very much empty. There were a few of us clustered around the finish line, but the majority of the seats sat vacant. I'm sure the severe weather had a lot to do with it.

From time to time I ventured closer to the track, away from the protection of the overhang. I used an umbrella to block the slanting rain, but inevitably it would blow the umbrella inside out. It was always a challenge to take pictures without getting wet. For this reason I tended to stay put in one place, under the overhang.

The third race tested the field at a distance of six furlongs. The winner was a horse named Bango, and the jockey was Tyler Gaffalione, one of the best jockeys in the nation. He was currently the top jockey at Chruchill Downs.

Along the homestretch in race #2.

Tyler Gaffalione atop Bango in race #3.

All day long it was a very soggy track.  Race #4.

Before the fourth race Jordan and I went to the paddock to watch the jockeys come out with their horses. In the past the paddock has been a place where I could get up close to both jockey and horse, but this paddock was a little different. One had to have a “license” to get up close, so we had to watch from a distance. Not as fun.

After the race we returned to a location near the paddock where we knew the jockeys would be coming out. We sat nonchalantly at a table and pretended like it was no big deal when they walked past. The winner was California Burrito, and as her jockey, Edgar Morales, walked past he wore a big smile. Francisco Arrieta, who didn't place at all, passed by with a grimace on his face and stopped to watch the replay monitor. I noticed his sopping wet silks and splats of mud on his white pants.

Paddock area at Churchill Downs.

Horses in the paddock prepare to meet the jockeys. 

Jockey, Francisco Arrieta, after the race.

On the second level there is a large painting with a plethora of jockeys and a smattering of horses, all painted in caricature. The man that stands out the most is the jockey in the center. He has a large nose and smooth dark hair, and appears to be adjusting his neck tie. There is a chart below that identifies each person. This man is Eddie Arcaro, winning jockey of the Kentucky Derby in 1938, 1941, 1945, 1948 and 1952. That would make him the most prolific Kentucky Derby jockey. In fact, every man depicted in the painting is a Kentucky Derby winner.

Near him is another jockey who is smelling a rose. That would be the legend Bill Shoemaker, a four-time winner. Next to Willie is a man in blue and gold silks, with an Elvis coiffure and holding up his left hand. That is Ismael Valenzuela, a Texan-born jockey who won the Derby in 1958 and '68.

Portion of a large painting depicting former Kentucky Derby winners. 

As fate would have it, the rain would put a damper on everything. I usually try to get pictures from several different angles in the stands, but this time I was extremely limited. I worried about getting my camera wet. It was difficult to hold the camera in one hand and umbrella in the other. It was nearly impossible to shoot into the rain without getting my lens speckled.

As the afternoon approached the fifth race, my family was getting wary of the cold and rain and was anxious to go. I didn't blame them, but if it were me alone, I would have stayed for all nine races.

Mom and Dad in front of a statue of Aristides, winner of the first Kentucky Derby in 1875.

Knowing I had one last chance at pictures, Jordan and I repositioned ourselves along the Clubhouse turn so I could get a picture of a race with the iconic twin steeples in the background. Our biggest issue, however, was that the rain had picked up and where we stood there was no overhang to protect us from the onslaught.

We positioned ourselves with Jordan holding the umbrella while I took pictures. The angle of the rain was head-on, creating more difficulty. This would be the longest race of the day so far, a distance of 1 1/16 miles, which was completely around the track.

From our vantage point we could barely see the gate, but once the starting bell rang, it didn't take long for the pack to come barreling around the corner and into the frame that I had anticipated. Within a few seconds they had sped past and were on their way to the backstretch.

As they circled around to the homestretch, once again we couldn't see them from where we stood. But judging by who was in the lead during their wind-down as they once again neared us, I assumed that #7, Best Performer, won the race. He was ridden by Tyler Gaffalione. As the horses and jockeys turned around and rode to exit the track, we got one last look at these elite athletes.

Race #5 along the first turn, with iconic twin steeples in background.

Winner of race #5, Tyler Gaffalione, atop Best Performer.

I was sad to leave, but knew it was for the best. We still had another white-knuckled drive back to Lexington.

It was a memorable day: the rain, the mud, the history, ladies in dresses, men in hats, jockeys in their colorful silks, and powerful horses. And even though it wasn't ideal weather, it was certainly a day I will never forget. ♠

Dennehotso

Lonely hogan in Dennehotso. 

“I was born at Dennehotso, near a red, round rock. The winter was over, and it was the beginning of summer. My father was of the [Within His Cover People] clan, but I never knew him and do not know his name because he passed away when I was very small. As time went on, my maternal grandmother, [Woman with the Four Horns]; my mother, [Mourning Dove Woman]; and the rest of the family roamed the Dennehotso area. My mother used to live near Comb Ridge, and there was a small box canyon that had a spring and a lot of mourning doves . . . We did not have many sheep, but we did have a lot of goats, and many of the rams had four big horns. This is how my grandmother got the name Woman with the Four Horns.”

These are the words of Navajo Oshley, spoken through an interpreter, describing the place of his birth. No one knows for sure the date he was born, but it was likely in the 1880's. From my youth, I vaguely remember Navajo as he walked on Main Street in Blanding. He has been described as having a “slim, tall frame bent with age; large black hat, and steady gait.” Little did I know at the time that many of the Navajos in Blanding had originally migrated from Dennehotso.

I have always been curious about Dennehotso. The word comes from Navajo, meaning “Yellow meadow extending up.” Usually I only drive past it when we drive through the Navajo Reservation between Mexican Water and Kayenta. Once I stopped at the Boarding School when I was a coach for the Middle School wrestling team. There were other dirt roads that took off from the main highway. I knew there was more to see.

But there's also a taboo associated with the reservation. I never know what is allowed and what isn't. The Hopi Reservation, for example, doesn't allow any photography. Although when I talked to a local Navajo, she told me that as long as I didn't do any hikes or pass through any areas with no trespassing signs, I should be alright.

With that in mind, I decided it was time to peel beneath the surface and see what Dennehotso looked like beyond the highway. As luck would have it, we would be passing by on our way to Blanding.

Baby Rocks, near Dennehotso, Arizona.

Traveling north on Highway 160, just a few miles south of Dennehotso, we came to one of the many iconic land formations in the area: Baby Rocks. These are fairy-like structures that have eroded over millions of years to look like baby hoodoos atop a sandstone ridge. There are also other “figurines” that can take on a mythical aura, especially back in a time with no electricity and only moonlight.

John Holliday, a Navajo Medicine Man and relative to Oshley, recounts a story of their common grandmother: “During the time of local conflicts, [Woman with the Four Horns'] husband wanted to join in and fight. One day he got ready and left on his horse, but his young wife decided to go with him. They were newlyweds, and she was a little girl. She got dressed up in all her turquoise jewelry and ran after her husband. After she caught up to him, they both got on the horse and traveled as far as Baby Rocks when the enemy captured them. They took her and her husband to Texas. During this time, her family back home held special ceremonies and sings for her return. With that she escaped and walked to Fort Sumner, where other Navajos were being held captive. Somehow my great grandmother managed to survive and return home to Baby Rocks near Dennehotso. She owned nothing but four horned sheep when she was released from Fort Sumner.”

As we pulled to the side of the highway to look at the Baby Rock formations, we beheld a snow-white horse emerge from behind a small sand dune. Then we saw a second white horse. They both moved along slowly, not at all worried that we were watching them. They were busy foraging for food, of which there wasn't much; just a tuft of wild grass here and there.

Then a gray horse came into view. Perhaps this looked like the horse that Oshley's grandparents rode before they were captured at Baby Rocks.

Snow-white horses emerging at Baby Rocks.

Back on the highway we drove north toward Dennehotso, then turned off on a washboard road toward the cemetery. We passed what appeared to be an old abandoned rodeo arena. I've visited a couple cemeteries on the reservation and always attempt to be cautious and respectful. Visiting a local cemetery is something I try to do anywhere in the world I travel.

The Dennehotso Community Cemetery is located one mile off the main highway and is surrounded by low rolling dirt hills. In the distance you can vaguely make out the rocky spine of Comb Ridge.

The cemetery consisted of mounds of dirt heaped upon each grave. Some of the graves had a conventional headstone, while others only a wooden cross. Some were finely decorated with flowers and personal items, while others appeared obliterated and maintained by no one.

Dennehotso Community Cemetery.

We then drove into the main part of town and took the “Dennehotso Loop Road,” which circumvented the core of the town.—It wasn't at all what I expected. I thought for sure that the main portion near the chapter house and school would be paved, but they weren't. We drove the sandy and sometimes sideways rocky road, attempting to get a feel of “village” life on the reservation.

After the first section of road that paralleled the highway, the road made a turn toward the west and onto a bridge that crossed Laguna Creek, nothing more than a drizzling rivulet. Before the days when Dennehotso was an established community, families lived near Laguna Creek where water was sufficient to use for irrigation to water their crops. After harvest they moved a few miles to the northwest along Comb Ridge where they dwelt the rest of the year, raising livestock. This was the same pattern depicted by Oshley in his autobiography.

Beginning the Dennehotso Loop Road.

Comb Ridge is a geological uplift, creating a spine in the desert that stretches seventy miles from Blue Mountain in the north to Kayenta in the south. The northern third is more prominent, and is what I'm familiar with because it is close to my home town. The southern portion, however, is more obscure, mostly hidden within the depths of the Navajo Reservation. I was hoping we would catch a glimpse of it during our tour of Dennehotso, but that didn't happen. The prominent side of the ridge faced the other direction.

On our drive we passed modern, but simple houses, with no grass, usually old cars, and sometimes a basketball hoop over dirt. Some houses had a horse trailer and livestock near the home. Only once did I see a hogan.

On the backside of the loop is a sandstone hill with a “D” painted on it. There weren't too many houses here. I saw one gentleman with a shovel in-hand, working on his garden. He gave me a distrustful look.

"D" for Dennehotso.

By the time we were three-fourths around the loop, we were back at Laguna Creek, but this time with no bridge. The dirt road ran directly through the water, which included a quagmire of mud. I slipped my vehicle into 4WD, just to be sure. Without serious issue, we made it through.

Upon completing the loop we passed a stray dog, then returned to the highway. There was nothing “village-like” or quaint about the Dennehotso loop road, but instead it was dotted with homes of normal Navajo people attempting to survive in a vary harsh landscape.

Stray dog.

My final stop was at the Dennehotso Market. Inside was a small grocery store and a fast food restaurant. Nothing caught my eye as particularly unique. We each bought an ice cream sandwich.

On the west-facing wall of the building was a beautiful mural. It was a painting of a mother with her baby in a cradleboard. I couldn't help but to envision Mourning Dove Woman carrying her precious little baby, Navajo Oshley, on her back. ♠

Beautiful mural at Dennehotso Market. 

Source for supplemental information: The Journey of Navajo Oshley, An Autobiography and Life History.  Edited by Robert S. McPherson. 

Petroglyph Site #2

"It was very still. Turning, he looked back the way he had come.  The road was empty, just a narrow, winding way among the boulders, brush, and outcroppings of sandstone.  Uneasily, he looked around.  He had always loved the desert, its vast distances, the silence, the creatures that knew how to survive, for if nothing else, the desert was a place of survival.  Everything that had lived in the desert had found some pattern for survival, some means of adapting to the heat, the cold, and the lack of water."--Louis L'Amour from The Haunted Mesa.

Petroglyph location: Southwest Utah