We drove south. South down the Yucatan’s Caribbean coast to a tiny town called Mahahual. It’s a beach town, the last on the peninsula. From there, we turned onto a narrow dirt road with a sign that warned us we were entering an area with few people. We drove for another hour through mangroves and across tiny strips of land with towering grasses encroaching on the road. We drove until we came to the end, where Mexico stops and only scuba divers and fishermen know the lay of the land.
The name of the place was Xcalak
One would think that would be the end of our journey. After all, it was the end of the road.
But that one would be wrong.
We slept that night in a grass-roofed hut and the next morning we rose early and ate a small breakfast of fresh fruit and bread and orange-yolked eggs. Then we had our passports stamped out of Mexico and boarded a small fishing boat. By small, I mean a traditional panga, a narrow boat about twenty-five feet in length with no cover to keep off the Mexican sun.
We threw our bags on the bow and sat side by side, Lee and I, and we trusted our lives to a Mexican fisherman who'd spent his whole life navigating the shallow waters and hidden bays where Mexico and Belize meet.
Our captain was short and dark-skinned and spoke three languages: Spanish, English, and Mayan. He deftly turned the boat out into the choppy morning seas and we banged our way down the coast past uninhabited jungle and over swimming-pool-clear water. A half-hour later, we turned inland up a narrow river that wound through mangroves until it poured into the Bay of Chetumal.
It was the most remote place I have ever been.
We were headed to Ambergris Cay, an island off the coast of Belize. Rather than fly, we opted for the scenic route and that included a 3-hour boat tour...on a three-hour tour. You remember the song?
Well the weather didn’t start getting rough, thankfully. The day was clear and the water in the bay was as still as glass. Turtles bobbed up to catch a little air and small sharks were visible weaving in and out of the seagrass. I trailed my hand in the water and let the sun warm my face. I felt so alive.
We arrived in San Pedro on the far southern tip of Ambergris Cay without incident and we stamped into Belize where we spent ten days wandering down the beach and sampling local restaurants.
And then we headed home.
Adventure often hits when you least expect it.
An hour-and-a-half into the boat ride back to Mexico, the motor quit.
That’s when you pull out your cell phone and find your lovely remoteness has left you with zero signal. The captain tried. His friend that accompanied us on the way back through the destitute bay tried. I tried. Lee tried. We floated. We drifted. There was very little wind, but the current took us past one of the many small deserted islands that dot the sprawling bay.
“No problem,” said Lee. “We can swim to shore and spend the night on the island.”
“Problem,” said the captain. “Sharks.”
“OK,” said Lee. “We can paddle to land and then get off and spend the night on shore.”
“No, nada,” said the captain. “Jaguars.”
“OK,” said Lee. “So, we anchor and sit on the boat until somebody comes.”
That might be a very long time.
This is where events that could have become life threatening take a turn thanks to modern technology. Apparently, we'd drifted into a spot with cell phone reception. My phone finally had signal. The captain called a friend and a few hours later we had a ride back to Mexico.
I guess pushing the envelope and courting adventure might someday get me into real trouble. But thankfully this was not that day. Grace held us in her hand and we made it home with a story to share.