Del árbol caído, todos hacen leña

(Written on March 17)

Day fourteen in southern Mexico, we're running on short periods of shut eye between the bumps, stops, ignition roars and engine stalls of the eight hour night bus ride from Bacalar to Palenque. I am sitting at a candle lit table draped with a pink paisley fabric, psy trance plays as lights dance atop the tin roof of the out door bar neighboring our campground at El Jaguar. Thus far, I have spoken more French than Spanish, somehow, read more Russian than English. I was seeking an abrupt shift to what had become habitual and here it is, like nothing I had expected it to be. After I finished writing my last post we split up to ease our chance at hitching a ride in a warm tropical drizzle at sunset, Devon, Aidan and I following word of mouth directions to the gates of El Encanto, a communal campground that the boys had come upon a few days prior, returning with tales of high vibes and djembe jams. I am and will continue to dream about a place like El Encanto, lit tents mottled the jungle terrain, a yoga & meditation hut, an alter, a fire pit, a wooden geo dome, a communal kitchen enclosed in mosquito net where we drew, wrote and cooked. An ancient cenote inhabited by a crocodile sat in the back where we swam. We worked in exchange for a portion of our stay, the boys worked the compost and garden while Devon and I cleaned and painted psychedelic designs on clean wooden slates in the kitchen. I fell in love with the djembes, practicing whenever I could. There we met Axel and Elina, their heart centers wide open, they told us of their life and their work. They are spending a few months there (Axel's mom owns El Encanto), painting a teepee that they will bring around to festivals in Europe this summer selling their creations. Their brand and future art collective, Light Projection has a beautiful concept behind it and I will interview them for my blog sometime in the near future. We spent two nights there then hiked back to the Reserva de la Biosfera Sian-Ka'an. On the 11th, we woke up on the white sandy reserve after a stormy night that had blown our stakes out of the ground, broken our zipper beyond repair and covered our sleeping bags with a thin coat of sand and water. We sat on the corners of the tarp, hit with winds and rain as we held the tarp down through the eye. That morning Devon decided it was time to go home, we hitched hiked to downtown Tulum in the back of a pillow lined van and we said goodbye to her and Aidan as they left back to Cancun to catch a flight to Vancouver.