On a dive in Cuba back in the good ol’ Obama years I fell in with a group of Portuguese divers. These were good times for the forgotten Caribbean Islands as locals were elated with talks of potential peace, a baseball game between Miami and Havana and speaking, “tu presidente aparecer como yo… your president looks like me! Diving off the coast of the Bay of Pigs we explored the unperturbed reefs of Cuba which, unlike much of the Caribbean, remain pristine as outboard motors are banned–why else do you hear stories of Cubans floating to the US on innertubes? Well why am I talking about Cuba you ask? I’ll get to the point. So on that trip the Portuguese were headed to do some cave diving. Riding the high from the previous dive the thought floated through my head for a moment before I heard the words of my father in a Darth Vader like monotone, “Anders, beware of cave diving….” Given the state of rental gear on the island due to the trade embargo you were truly rolling the dice to take that risk.. The crumbling cities and poverty of Cuba are truly one last lingering tragedy from the Kissinger era. After passing up the opportunity to dive in cuevas in Cuba, I finally popped my cave diving cherty in Tulum, Mexico and it was unforgettable.
“Better than sex,” I exclaimed with a grin as I popped off my mask upon surfacing from our first dive at Los Ojos, which skirt a network of caves no more than 7 m deep but are connected to a system that goes on for literally hundreds of kilometers. While we only did a 500m loop or so on a guided route (with a line) the experience was extraordinary. The contrast of pockets of light of azure surface waters before one plunged into total darkness was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Naturally, we lit the way with underwater torches (our dive team was a British couple I’ll let them have this word, plus it’s sexier). Rarely are you worried about what’s above you when diving, but one had to mind their head from massive stalactites as you swam around corners and fussed with your BC to maintain neutral buoyancy so as not to float into menacing spikes from above and below.
As far as fear was concerned, I’d honestly thought I’d be more worried. The last in the line of four divers there was no one behind me and no life in the still waters save for shrimp or a small silvery freshwater fish. With an imagination like mind I thought I’d torment myself with hallucinations of creatures from the abyss, yet when I dove I was strangely calm, in fact the experience was highly meditative. I was simply focused on your breath, mindful to conserve air and movement was limited to a slow kick or two to propel into the next part of the cavern. In fact it’s my imagination sitting here now at my desk that is delving into the spooky “what ifs,” of underwater geists akin to those in Pirates of the Caribbean or more macabre Lovecraftian beings. I harp on this because in the open ocean even after 100+ dives under my belt my brain often plays games with me with miming “JAWS, JAWS, JAWS,” ad nauseam while I would wait on the surface for a pickup. I have seen some large sea creatures underwater, juvenile tiger sharks, well fed curious black-tip sharks patrolling in pairs in dark water of 4pm dives, and the odd poisonous jelly, or scorpionfish. Perhaps it was the stillness and knowing the area was absolutely devoid of life that allowed the experience to shine. Diving in the open ocean on a reef is exciting insofar as what you see, be it playful sea lions, a school of hammerheads, a magnificent parrotfish and so on. Disappointment ensues when a dive shows no more than a few bleached coral, some fish smaller than your flipper and the neoprene butt of your divemaster.
Yet for cave diving, you relinquish any expectations of what you’d like to see, and simply surrender to what CAN be seen. And sometimes that’s not much as the darkness encircles you when you turn off your torch to examine trapped air bubbles on the wall or strange phosphorescence. Then there’s the whole Indiana Jones element of venturing into the unknown. Sure, we were on a well trafficked tourist route, but professional cave divers have ventured deep into the underwater cenote tunnels and have seen wooly mammoth skeletons, tiger jaws, human remains, and fragments of Mayan artifacts.
Had I had a camera & some skill, the photos could be National Geographic worthy. I was able to “borrow” some, (thanks internet) for the purposes of this post to truly illustrate the experience. We did two dives at Los Ojos which were preceded with a dive down to over 35m in “The Pit.” We were the first on that site before the tourists speaking French, German, Spanish, English, and Chinese stormed in. While the depth was impressive, my mask was foggy and the sites were less spectacular due to low light, though the sheer thrill of my first cave dive certainly was impressive. Apparently there is a day in the spring where the sun hits the Cenote just right and a picture such as the one below could be snapped. It was no such day, but signing up for the Advanced tour allowed for a smaller group and far more chill experience than going with a bunch of newbies or hungover lads.
Tulum is a party city. Solomun’s Boiler Room DJ set in Tulum remains a favorite among techno fans with the legendary comments on YouTube about the coked up model chic who hits on Solomun as he cooly sips white wine and ignores her. Our divemaster was from Italy, and a fan of “hard techno not that Ibiza party shit that comes here,” said that January is the worst time to work as he once had to turn away three lads that showed up still rolling ecstasy from a new years party and told them to return in a few days when they had recovered. Taking party people out to dive in caves is a deadly risk and could even jeopardize the safety of the divemaster. I’ve seen this first hand, as a friend once foolishly took marijuana edibles before a dive and ran out of air relying on buddy breathing with the divemaster. This is why divemasters take two tanks on cave dives. Scuba diving is dangerous enough without bringing drugs into the mix.
Drugs certainly are top of mind for many who visit Tulum. It’s said that the cartels actually run the large new years parties and raves that bring thousands of party seekers to this small beach town in the Yucatan. There’s a report of corals around the Tulum beach testing positive for cocaine. No bueno, amigo. Traveling with my mum and sis meant for a tame vacay, though I did want to at least check out the DJ scene, however no one worth seeing was listed on Resident Advisor while I was there.
What’s more, the city is pervertedly expensive. Since we stayed at a cheap Airbnb halfway between town on a dirt road littered with baches (potholes) we had to take taxis absolutely everywhere. An attempt to walk a mere 2 km to the beach was met with speeding trucks as we walked on a nonexistent shoulder. Each taxi ride was subject to negotiation, I frequently talked the driver down some 200 pesos and on average the trip to town or the beach was around 250-350 for a 2-3 km ride depending on the time of day. I talked to extranjeros who lived here and they say that’s simply the rate. Everything is inflated. Once we spent $93 dollars on fucking breakfast, and it was mid. Granted this was near that beach so that’s not something we repeated, (instant coffee, yogurt, granola and or eggs can be obtained from grocery store) but god damn one thing that I hate more as a long term laowai and reformed expat is feeling like a sucker when I travel. That’s just the vibe here, drinks are like 150 pesos at a regular restaurant. I can’t imagine what they charge for a margarita or mixed drink at a beach club. Rants about money aside, in true laowai fashion we chilled at the public beach, brought our own Tecate Light and splurged on empanadas 3 for 100 pesos from some homie selling em out of a portable glass box.
We still checked the boxes, by booking a tour of Chichen Itza where we marveled at the Mayan architecture and astronomy, and got shuttled through huge lines of trinket stalls. It was fun to not have to make all the decisions for a day as the sole Spanish speaker (okay so like B2/ C1 level on a good day) amidst my fam. But damn I have some serious respect for those tour guides to ‘shlep around a bus load of gringos for nearly 12 hours and still remain animated and enthusiastic. Such service was worth a $20 tip anyday. I could devote a whole post to Mayan culture, birth calendars, and rituals in the Yucatan, but you came here to read about Cenotes and bikini bottoms. All in all, Tulum is a top destination for partying and one-of-a-kind for cenote diving. I was beyond ecstatic to experience the latter which made it totally worthwhile, but for beachside pleasure I prefer lesser known strips of sand off Malaysia or further down the Pacific coast where beers are $2 and a modest meal is $5. I hope to someday return to dive the cenotes with a morena by my side and a ring on her finger.
Cheers!