My goal as a travel facilitator is to create a perfect, memorable day. Perfect for those who have a soft spot in their hearts for the quiet, magical moments that travel is capable of providing; moments that can be transformative and immersive; that require little more than just letting go and living in the moment. In other words, more … and there’s that invented term again …. excursionary serendipity.
On this day, we were three; my two guests and I, off to visit a cenote and making a stop in the village of Ek Nakan, taking a photo or three of the magnificently Gothic yellow church and having a most delicious taco at the minuscule three-table restaurant named Janeth (the H is not a typo) recently opened and that shows a remarkable aesthetic sensitivity for such a small village with its checkered tablecloths and flowers on each table.
It occurred to me, since one of my guests was an avid as well as professional photographer, carrying an imposing Hasselblad to the wonderment of many, that there was a good photo op of some old stone gateposts leading into a cornfield: a shot I found particularly evocative.
“Vamos?” I asked.
“Vamos!” she agreed.
Upon arriving there, we saw cars parked and people milling about. A man strode out from among the group and offered up a welcome and greeted me by name. It was one of the men who work in the cooperative that is in charge of the beautiful cenote there. I then saw several more faces I recognized from the many visits to the village over the years. It turns out they were just pulling out of the earth pibes (the banana-leaf-wrapped tamales made for Hanal Pixan) and asked us to join them in tasting them right then and there.
We were soon surrounded by smiling, welcoming souls. We visited their altar, commenting on the photographs of the departed on display, taking more than one photo and just basking - that really is the word: basking like seals on a sunny beach - in their gentle, heartfelt hospitality. And while we felt welcomed and to be honest a little like distinguished guests, it was casual and genuine. I didn’t get the sense that they were kowtowing to the gringos. I quietly asked one of the men in charge if we needed to pay something or make a donation for eating half of one other tamales and sharing in their moment, and the answer was a firm para nada: absolutely not.
Promising to return in the near future we left with full bellies and hearts, marveling and commenting on the magic of encountering such a totally unscripted scene, here in the magical Yucatan.
