Ancient Mayan Rebirth Rituals at Dos Palmas

By Irene Butler

Published In TravelLady E-Magazine

The narrow road was lit only by our van headlights. Rustling and low murmuring eerily drifted from the surrounding tangle of jungle. I, along with six other Mayan culture enthusiasts, and our guide, Claudia, were on our way to the Mayan village of Dos Palmas to heal body and spirit in a sacred Temazcal (sweat lodge) ceremony – to be reborn as warriors.

Dos Palmas is located in the Riviera Maya region of Quintana Roo State (120 km south of Cancun). As an ecotourism project, tourism and community are developed with environmental preservation. It allows the village families, who run the project, to earn incomes while staying together in their community (instead of leaving for cleaning positions in city hotels).
What an ideal setting to glean insight into the beliefs and traditions of the ancient Maya civilization. Rivalled only by the ancient Egyptians, the Mayas reached their zenith during the classic period (250-900 AD) building magnificent cities, developing a sophisticated writing system, an astrological calendar of astonishing accuracy, as well as inventing the concept zero in mathematics.
Upon our arrival at the village consisting of palapa-style houses, we were whisked down a path past romping monkeys to test our skill at conch shell blowing. A former trumpet player in our group blasted out sound with ease. For all my effort, verging on hyperventilation, I only managed a few feeble squeaks.

Ready or not, Claudia led us to the ritual site altar filled with flowers and statues of gods.
My eyes zeroed in on the craggy chiseled face of Polo, the Grandfather Shaman, who had witnessed 95 summer solstices. Rising from his chair, this spiritual sage greeted us in Mayan. He then nodded to his eldest son and two younger siblings to commence the rituals before he retired for the night.

Smoke from the burning sap of the sacred copal tree spiraled upward from a receptacle on the altar. Claudia translated the young Shaman’s message, “He is asking the gods to enlighten us and give us strength.”

We moved behind the altar to a low circular rock wall with a blazing fire in the middle piled high with heating lava rocks. Conch shells were sounded by group members in turn from each of the four entries into the circular wall asking permission from the gods to enter the Temazcal that loomed to the right of the circle.

To the south we summoned the serpent, representing water, to make us one with Mother Nature and the world. The eagle was called from the east for the breath of life and the winds that bring rain and good harvest weather. From the west we hailed the deer, symbolizing the earth, and the wisdom of the grandfathers. To the north we called upon the Jaguar, denoting fire, to give us the spirit of a warrior.

Shedding the outerwear that covered our bathing suits, one by one we were fanned with the purifying copal incense to help us focus on the action of the healing ceremony. We were each given a small lava rock to toss into the fire with “good wishes for others, including our enemies”.
Crawling through the low doorway into the sweat lodge, we positioned ourselves on the palm leaf covered dirt floor. Four shovels of red-hot lava rocks were passed in succession through the door and into a central pit. Each time we greeted the stones as grandfathers coming into our midst. The door was closed. In the blackness the Shaman threw water infused with basil and rosemary onto the glowing rocks. I became drenched in the blasting billows of sanative steam. I breathed in the soothing warmth.

The Shaman’s soft tapping on a skinned instrument and his healing words were mesmerizing. “We are here to shed our problems and worries and be reborn from the womb of the Temazcal. In closing he called out, “Cry, shout, laugh, yell to release your tension.” Not one of us uttered a “boo”. He asked this again. Silence. A scream shattered the mute atmosphere across from me. Then a loud squeal to my left, followed by my own shocked yelp as cold water the Shaman threw on the upper wall rained down on my head. Laughter interspersed yells around the circle until his pail was empty. Needless to say, there was a lot of good-humoured “releasing”.
My buoyed spirit dragged my limp body out into the night air. Extending our gratitude, we bid farewell to our esteemed hosts.

Donning our sweat suits, we followed Claudia to a dimly lit cavern for a dip in the cenote (sinkhole). Bats flitted overhead. Stalactites splattered droplets into the fresh water below. After the first breath-catching moments I found the water temperature both comfortable and reviving; and so translucent stalagmites could be seen when treading at a 10 foot depth.
An estimated 4,000 cenotes dot the Yucatan Peninsula. Under a veneer of thin soil and vegetation the whole peninsula rests on a porous limestone shelf. Rainwater seeps through the limestone forming a massive network of underground rivers that eventually flow to the ocean. Cracks in the limestone, making these rivers accessible from above, are known as cenotes.
We did not need to be called twice to the feast prepared for us by the village women. Corn tortillas were brought to our table moments after sizzling on a pan over an open fire. Bowls of succulent chicken simmered in traditional achiote spices, flavourful fried beans and rice were passed around until we could hold no more.

The monkeys were huddled in sleep around the base of trees on our way back to our vehicle. The black jungle swallowed us once more. The Temazcal left me deeply moved and filled with valuable messages of our oneness with nature. I knew I would forever relish the thrill of living the legendary ritualistic rebirth of a Mayan warrior, though at that moment my heavy lids and the soggy faces around me indicated a bunch of very tired warriors indeed.

For Direct Reservations:

Dos Palmas, EcotoursPlaya del Carmen, Quintana Roo
info@dospalmas.info or gabriel@dospalmas.info
phone: 52 (984) 80 32462cell: 52 (984) 7450413

OR book thru hotel travel agents (in Quintana Roo State, Mexico)
Cost: 860 Mexican Pesos per person – which is approx. $ 78 US or $89 CAN

For more information: http://www.dospalmas.info/
Back to TravelLady Magazine

The Many Faces of Beijing

By Irene Butler

Published in TavelLady E-Magazine

A fascinating medley of ancient sites and cosmopolitan delights flooded our senses in Beijing, China’s capital of nearly 15 million people.
On our first stroll down Wangfujing Dajie, the prestigious pedestrian shopping street, my husband Rick and I were hooked. In an explosion of neon and glitz we intermingled with young women in fashionably scant outfits, men in expensive business suits, and well-to-do families toting loads of purchases; yet we knew this to be far removed from typical living standards.
Tantalizing swirls of aroma lassoed us off Wangfujing onto “Snack Street” every time we passed by. We joined like-minded people at kiosks to purchase bowls of tasty noodles ladled from steam-billowing vats and skewers of spicy meat from sizzling grills. Then it was back to browsing through more specialty shops and a favourite six-level bookstore with a bustling cappuccino bar.

Physically near, but seemingly a world away from this flamboyant old commercial locale, we roamed the hutongs (literally-‘narrow alleys’, now expanded by foreigners to mean “traditional neighbourhoods”). The alleys lead to courtyards with houses on each of the four sides called siheyuans. Dating back to the Yuan, Ming and Qing dynasties (1279-1911), the siheyuans are arranged around the Imperial Palace. The aristocrats once lived nearest the palace grounds to the east and west; the common people, such as merchants, labourers, and artisans to the north and south. They are now filled with ordinary citizens.

The hutongs gave us a glimpse into how life was in China for thousands of years. Vendors sell traditional foods from carts and small stalls. I was drawn like a magnet to the “youzhagao” stand and was soon munching a bag of deep-fried twisted dough sticks. An elderly foot-bound lady stood near us; a testimony to the ancient custom officially banned in 1911. Jovial old men sat around crate tables furiously clacking mah-jong tiles (Chinese chess). Our A Ni hao@ (hello-pronounced nee how) was always met with a smiling response. Some called out, “Meiguo”? (United States). Our six months of Mandarin paid off as we replied, “Jianada” (Canada).
Our next venture took us to Tiananmen, the world’s largest square, originating in the 15th century. It was from a rostrum at Tiananmen Gate that Chairman Mao proclaimed the People’s Republic on October 1, 1949. Gazing at the expansive sweep of concrete, I envisioned Mao’s periodic review of one million soldiers marching past his podium during the Cultural Revolution (1966 - 1970). Also called to mind was the shocking event of 1989, when army tanks rolled into the square and slaughtered thousands of pro-democracy demonstrators.

On each side of the square lies a national monument. To the north is the Imperial Palace. Off limits to ordinary citizens for over 500 years, it gained the appellation, Forbidden City. First built between 1406 and 1420, its 800 halls and palaces have been reconstructed many times. We were dazzled by the resplendent yellow roof tiles glistening in the sun. The ‘Imperial Way’, a wide path running through the middle of the central palaces, could once only be trod upon by the Emperor himself. Nine dragons sculptured on a 200 ton marble ramp adorn The Hall of Preserved Harmony. Lion sentinels gush water from their mouths when it rains. Massive incense burners once permeated the air with sweet jasmine and pungent sandalwood. We could easily see why the Emperor never left this hedonistic haven of obsequious wives, concubines, eunuch servants and guards (and the Empress, of course) unless absolutely necessary.
Congress meets in the Great Hall of the People west of the square. All 10,000 representatives can be seated in the auditorium simultaneously. A galaxy of lights circles the great red star on the ceiling.

Mao’s Mausoleum is to the south. After an hour of inching along in a three-block-long queue, we proceeded past the glass-domed sarcophagus containing the preserved body of this infamous dictator, his head resting on a scarlet cushion. His countrymen revere him as a Great Revolutionary Leader that “made some mistakes”.

As evening approached the airspace above the square became a profusion of dancing kites and bobbing helium balloons. A massive crowd swarmed the designated area for the sunset flag-lowering ceremony, all squeezing in for the best view. Luckily, we were front and centre of the grand display of the PLA (People's Liberation Army) marching at precisely 108 paces per minute - 75 cm per pace. At sunrise a similar flag-raising ceremony takes place.

Fronting the Revolutionary Museum on the east side of the square we stood for awhile watching the giant clock count down the days, hours, minutes and seconds until the beginning of the Beijing 2008 Olympics. We saw it as also counting down unprecedented changes.

As Beijing clearly exemplifies, China is a country on the rise with a rapidly growing middle class and communism marching hand-in-hand with capitalism. We were compelled to take a good look at the China of today, as the old shopping streets are now competing with new supersized malls. Opening in 2004, Beijing’s Golden Resources gained the status of “largest mall in the world” (only to be eclipsed a few years later by one even larger in South China). The hutongs are steadily being replaced by high-rises. The fascinating historic monuments, such as the Forbidden City, are presently undergoing major renovations. A multitude of Olympic facilities are sprouting up around the city. We are not opposed to progress, but wonder how long before the visages of China today will only be nostalgic reminiscences.

For more information on Beijing:http://www.travelchinaguide.com/
In 1987- UNESCO listed the The Forbidden City (also called Palace Museum, Imperial Palace) as a World Cultural Heritage Site.

PHOTO CREDIT to: Crystal Chung

Corpus Christi - Sparkling City by the Sea

By Irene Butler
Pix by Rick

Published in TravelLady E- Magazine

Scouring a map for a southern vacation niche, my husband Rick pointed to a dot on the Gulf of Mexico saying, “Corpus Christi has a nice ring”. A bit of investigation revealed it had enough sand, surf and delightful amenities to fit our classification of “glorious”.
Gaining its appellation from the Roman Catholic feast day on which Spanish explorer Alonzo Alverez de Piñeda discovered the area, we arrived in the only city so named on the planet.
On our very first morning, we headed out of the city proper and over the bridge to Padre, the world’s longest barrier island, with a phenomenal 70 miles of beach. Part of Padre’s appeal is for what it does not have – crowds – with the exception of an influx of college students during spring break at its southern tip.

Near a row of resort hotels we moved with the flow of beachcombers. Children raced up and down the rolling dunes edging the beach, fishermen bobbed their lines from docks and piers, and bird-watchers focused their binoculars.

When our legs gave out we took our cue from vehicles slowly manoeuvring along the firm sand periphery and drove to an isolated spot where only the lapping of waves could be heard and seagulls soared. We waded along the glistening turquoise shoreline and then perched on a dune to savour our picnic fare of chilled jumbo shrimp dipped in delectable sauce and crusty French bread spread with Camembert between sips of Wolf Blass Cabernet Sauvignon.

During the following weeks a leisurely routine evolved of beach excursions interspersed with walks along city streets and stops at attractions no visitor would want to miss.

The USS Lexington commands front and center stage in the bay. Dubbed the Blue Ghost for its steel blue colour, this WWII era aircraft carrier has a grand display of vintage planes on its 3-football-field length upper deck. Turned museum, after serving longer than any other carrier in US Naval history, its 16 deck height now houses a 3-storey IMAX theatre where white-knuckled and queasy we dipped and dived as if in a cockpit with fighter pilots doing training manoeuvres.

From the lowly salt marshes to the dolphins at the upper echelon, we followed the evolutionary path of sea inhabitants at the Texas State Aquarium. We learned that Padre Island is one of the few nesting grounds in the world for the endangered Kemp’s Ridley Sea Turtles. To help regenerate their numbers, eggs are collected and hatched in protective nurseries. We imagined the thrill of joining scientists and volunteers on the shores of Padre during summer for the hatchling’s release and to see them race across the sand to their briny home.

The Art Museum of South Texas captivated us with early western themes of riders and horses thundering across landscapes. In another area were the works of Dale Chihuly. The patch covering the visionless left eye of this world renowned glass artist was not a result of his trade, as I would have thought, but from an auto accident in 1976. Since then, lacking the necessary depth perception, he conceptualizes projects with sketches and paints; then has a team of artists bring it to fruition in molten glass. Several of his vibrant works, including the massive Cascade Blue Chandelier, were stunning.

Nestled under the shadow of the harbour bridge, the Museum of Science and History displays artefacts from shipwrecks off Padre Island dating back to1554, as well as replicas of two of Columbus’ three ships. The third, the Niña, is moored in the downtown marina.

An evening on the Texas Treasure Casino Cruise did not bring us nearer to a pot of gold; but it did award us a golden sunset upon embarking and a wealth of fun. Live entertainment and a scrumptious buffet went on for the first hour of the sail. I rested my slot arm until the ship reached international waters and gambling could legally commence.

Bird watchers flock to Corpus Christi to see the many winged beauties that skirt the shorelines when migrating between North and South America, and species that stay for a spell. Of notable interest are the endangered Whooping Cranes who make an astounding 2,400 mile journey annually from their summer abode in Canada’s Northwest Territories to spend their winters in Aransas National Wildlife Reserve.

Early one morning we boarded the 75ft Wharf Cat and sailed out to meet these dual citizens, who as adults stand 5 feet tall and have wingspans of up to 7 feet. We found them happily scooping up their favourite blue crab and wolfberry lunch. In the early 1900’s only 16 Whooping Cranes remained in the world; today, the result of conservation efforts, there are 475 world-wide (both in the wild and in captivity), and the count at the reserve this year was…..drum roll, please…. 235!

Though our people pleasures digressed somewhat from the cranes, we agreed there was a lot to “whoop” about in their choice annual R&R location. Lounging at an outdoor café on the bay watching yachts and fishing boats cruise by on our last evening was a divine end to our enjoyable and memorable stay in Corpus Christi.

Corpus Christipop. 380,000 (2005 census)Average winter temperature – 70 -80 F288 days of sunshine annuallyhttp://www.corpuschristicvb.com/

Turtle tidbits:www.nps.gov/pais/naturescience/stsr.htm

Whooping Crane wooing:www.mb.ec.gc.ca/nature/endspecies/whooping/index.en.html

Whooping Crane & Birding Boat Tourshttp://www.texaswhoopers.com/(361) 729-4855 or 1-800-782-2473

Hotel Suggestions:

Radisson Beach Hotel3200 Surfside BlvdCorpus Christi, Tx (361) 883-9700http://www.radisson.com/

Bahia Mar Extended Stay Hotel15201 Windward Dr.N. Padre Island(361) 949-2400http://www.corpuschristibeachhotels.com/

PHOTO CREDITS: Rick Butler

Cancun, Myan Riviera, Cozumel

By Irene Butler and contributing writers.

Published in Air Canada Vacations E-Magazine


Siesta, fiesta, cerveza—ariba!

Mexico’s Yucatan Peninsula is a true “slice of paradise,” where vestiges of Mayan civilizations, steamy jungles, white-sand beaches, blue-green seas and modern centres all converge into the ultimate travel experience.

With something for every age, taste and budget, the northern cities of Mexico’s state of Quintana Roo offers up many prime places to explore from the shores of Cozumel and ancient mystery of Mayan Riviera to the mega playground metropolis of Cancun.

For non-stop action—Cancun is where it’s at. Start things in stride. Awake to the sound of the lapping ocean. Stroll along the sandy strip in the Zona Hotelera (Hotel Zone) where resorts line the famous Kukulcan Boulevard. Then “charge it!” at the ultra modern malls that grace this area with specialty shops and brand name goods. Colourful markets and panoply of great restaurants also abound. Club-goers are also in their glory here—Cancun’s nightclubs rock!

A short stint from Cancun is the Ruinas del Rey (Ruins of the King). Built centuries ago by fishermen, today this small, archeological Mayan ceremonial ruins are surrounded by the Hilton Cancun Beach and Golf Resort's 18-hole golf course. Be sure to opt for a guided tour and hear stories of ancient Mayan body art practices such as jade grillz (i.e. tooth jewelry).

From Cancun, take a ferry to the Isla Mujeres (Women’s Island) for a glimpse of slower paced local life, complete with daily siestas and late night dancing in the town of Playa Norte. Shallow water at the north end beach is great for wading. Snorkel and diving devotees are ubiquitous in deeper areas.

Perfect for teens and adult funsters, Playa del Carmen is the place to be and be seen when it comes to partying in the Caribbean. At nightfall, the 5th avenue strip (Quinta Avenida) comes alive dotted with bars and clubs suited for every taste & style.

Discover More to Mexico in Mayan Riviera

Dropping down into the Mayan Riviera, development geared toward eco-tourism sustaining local communities and the environment is impressive. First stop: Xcaret Eco Park. Featuring a TON of attractions, plan to spend a full day to explore the grounds at leisure. Floating along two natural underground rivers, is just one of the many awesome water activities you can try out. See Papantla Flyers, perform a ritualistic feat in honour of Xipe-Toteck (the god of fertile soil). Watch in amazement as these acrobats swing to the ground tied upside down to a central pole. Mayan village and Mexican cemetery replicas and enclosures with indigenous animals round out the variety, plus a spectacular evening show portraying rich Mexican cultural heritage from pre-Hispanic times to present day.

At the end of a narrow road is the village of Dos Palmas. Here, you can participate in a moving and truly unforgettable experience—an ancient Mayan ritual rebirth ceremony led by village shamans—the 95-year-old village elder and his sons—involving a visit to the sacred temazcal (sweat-lodge).

Next, move on to take in Xel-Ha (shell-ha) and Tulum (two-loom); being that they are in close proximity. The gigantic water park, Xel-Ha, is filled with divers and snorkel aficionados luxuriating in the warm sheltered waters. A swim with the dolphins is a popular feature here and at most other recreational parks.

On the edge of the jungle, cresting a rocky cliff discover Tulum—the only Mayan city built overlooking the sea with the best preserved ancient buildings you can find. Find out about the ancient civilization’s intriguing mastery in architecture, mathematics and astrology. After touring the ruins, make your way down to the breathtaking turquoise sea at the base of the cliff for a refreshing dip.

Mayan enthusiasts will find taking things a step further south to delve into the ruins of Chacchoben (The Place of Red Corn) well worth the journey. Amidst towering mahogany trees, strangler figs and banyan tree tentacles, be dazzled by the overpowering dimensions of the temples. Once a city reserved for rulers and nobles, the remnants of the burial site of kings lie at the base of the temple to the sun god. Opened to the public in 2002, many of its secrets are still covered in vegetation giving it a primal feel.

When it comes to discovering the ancient past, no trip to Mexico is complete without checking out the most visited site in the Yucatán— Chichen Itza. Dating back 1500 years, this famous archaeological site is rated among the most important in the Maya culture. It covers an area of approximately six square miles where hundreds of buildings once stood, with now little over thirty still standing.


Cozy up to Cozumel

A day at Cozumel is an enviable excursion. For those staying in Cancun/Mayan Riviera, this picturesque spot is within convenient reach with more than affordable US$12 roundtrip ferry rides sailing every hour from Playa Del Carmen. Boasting easy access to the Palancar Reef—the second largest coral reef in the world—Cozumel is the number one dive destination in the western hemisphere. Gear rental outlets abound. For those looking to keep dry, a ride on a glass-bottomed boat or submarine is a must.

Give in to temptation and simply spend hours strolling Cozumel’s endless picturesque beaches. Be sure to make periodic stops at the many beach clubs—simple palapa (thatched roof) shacks serving up scrumptious fried fish, soft drinks and ice cold cervezas (beer).
For a glimpse of local lifestyle, amble through the island’s town of San Miguel. At the southern tip of the island, a climb up the 133 steps to the top of the historic lighthouse at Punta Sur Ecological Reserve is well worth the spectacular view. Make time to meander through the nearby botanical gardens, and for the more daring, a boat ride through crocodile infested marshes completes the total Cozumel experience.

Rick's Photo Galleries

ZANZIBAR

SOUTH AFRICA







Our AFRICAN SAFARI

Find Fun For the Whole Family at XCARET

Published in Air Canada E Newsletter


By Irene Butler

Blissfully wrapped in turquoise surf, sandy beaches and alluring jungle, my “id” leapt for joy (as Freud would say) as I scurried between the kaleidoscope of attractions and activities. Xcaret (ish-cah-reht) Eco Park is a sampling of all that is Mexico. Paramount in design, development and operation, the park provides sustainability for both the local communities and environment. With something for everyone, whether from ages six to sixty-plus, my husband Rick and I could readily see why this delightful site is also known as Mexico’s Disneyland.

A ride up the 80-metre rotating tower was a good place to start, awarding us a panoramic view of the 200-acre park and the Caribbean flaunting inviting blue shades above the second largest coral reef in the world.

Next, we made a bee-line for the talcum-powder beach. Bodies languished on “chaises longs” or swung in hammocks strung between palms. But this was not for me…at least not yet. I was eager to try out one of several novel water activities. Being an amateur at snorkeling, but not ready to scuba, I pulled Rick toward the “Snuba” booth. This sport combines diving technology with the freedom of snorkeling using a breathing apparatus connected to a tank floating on a raft.

I scoured my handy itinerary for what to do next. The river raft ride, tubing in the lagoon…Ah, hah! Floating down an underground river and swimming in a cenote (freshwater sinkhole) won out!

Our guide for this adventure, Jos, explained, “The whole Yucatan Peninsula is covered with a porous limestone layer under a thin veneer of soil and vegetation. Rainwater seeping through this layer forms a massive underground river system. Where the limestone collapses, making the river accessible from above, this is known a cenote.”

Donning life jackets, we bobbed along on a gentle current sided by a tangle of jungle with swinging howler monkeys and perched macaws, and then through limestone caverns with glimmering stalactites. The grand finale was ending in a lagoon of mangroves inhabited by pink flamingoes.

Thoroughly waterlogged, land exploration was in order. At the Butterfly Pavilion we followed the metamorphosis from eggs to the egression of the winged beauties from their chrysalis. Butterflies fluttered among the expanse of tropical plants, often posing on leaves for eager cameras to capture their spectacular intricate colours.

On to the hatcheries where we watched hordes of sea turtles separated in pools by age, from tiny hatchlings, to eight-inch yearlings soon to be released into the sea. The nearby aquarium displayed the underwater kingdom of the reef, with informative placards on the creatures from seahorses to stingrays that call it home.

Indigenous fauna were enclosed in the park’s spacious surrounds. The panoply of native plants would excite the most avid botanist. A field of Blue Agave, from which tequila is made, reminded me that a Margarita would be nice (along with a relaxing lunch). Rick concurred, ready to disown me for my accelerated pace.

Piping hot enchiladas and icy mango libation contented, we waddled over to the replicated Mayan village following the rhythm of the steady drum and bold chants just in time to see warriors enact the Dance of Fire. For the ancient Mayans this dance heralded a new life cycle that occurred every 52 years, entailing the burning of all their possessions (clothes, houses, utensils) and replacing them anew.

Near the village we were enthralled by archeological ruins from the post-classical period (1400-1517 AD)—a time when Xcaret was a ceremonial city and thriving trading port with other Mayan cities for commodities such as gold and jade.

The evening extravaganza began as we settled into the 6000-seat theatre. As the lights dimmed, the central stage came alive with performers portraying a glimpse into Mexico’s rich cultural history, from the rise of the great Mayan civilization, to the Spanish Conquest, and ultimate fusion of its various cultures.

Watching an enactment of the ancient Mayan game of Pok-ta-pok (hole to hole) was electrifying. Warriors raced, leaped and skidded to the ground bouncing a nine-pound rubber ball and aiming it toward a stone hoop—somewhat similar to modern basketball except using only their hips! What followed was electrifying! An enactment of the pre-historic version of our favourite national sport in a game of Uarhukua—hockey Aztec-style! We watched in amazement as players passed a flaming wooden ball (i.e. the puck) down the playing field with wooden hockey-like sticks wearing little else than a loin cloth...sure wouldn’t want to be a goalie in this game!

After a whirlwind day, I concluded that the only thing little about this Eco Park that didn’t seem to quite fit is the meaning of its Mayan name, Xcaret: little inlet. This rare gem definitely has a WOW factor of mega proportions. Although our feet wouldn’t agree, we wished we had more time as we ambled from the grounds, filled to overflowing with mirthful memories.

Ghost Hunting In San Antonio

Check the centre of this pic?????

By Irene Butler, pix by Rick

Published in Travellady On Line Magazine

Water drips off his wide-brimmed hat and from the hem of his long black coat, though there is not a cloud in the night sky. Seen through the wrought iron side-gate of the Alamo he stands motionless beside the old church, one of the few remaining original structures. Some say as they looked into his shadowy face their eyes fleetingly connected with his chilling black orbs before he vanished. During the last days of the legendary battle of 1836, in which all 189 defenders were killed, Commander William B. Travis reported relentless heavy rains.

My husband Rick and I were gazing at the Alamo from our ledge-seats at the base of the cenotaph in the defender’s honour in downtown San Antonio. With 20 other “real” people, we were listening to (and I was recording with my handy MP3 player) a Ghost-101 tutorial by Martin Leal, our ghost hunt guide whose haunting history precedes him. He has appeared on TV shows in 30 countries, including the History and Discovery channels, and has performed spectre investigations around the world.

“Where people have died tragic and horrific deaths there is a higher incidence of spirits that have not ‘crossed over’,” said Martin. “Cemeteries and historic buildings are also spirit prone.” The Alamo, which previously was the mission of San Antonio de Valero, is known as a hot-bed of paranormal activity to psychics and ghost investigators. Part of the road and plaza in front of the Alamo was once the mission cemetery. Infrastructure repairs in the area still uncover bones and skulls.

“Keep an eye out for ghosts in transparent whole forms, also smoke-like wisps or vortex streaks. Others are hardly distinguishable from us - until they walk through a wall or suddenly evaporate.” Martin further explained how the lingering-departed often move faster than can be detected by the human eye, which explains why people often glimpse these entities in their peripheral vision, which is more sensitive to movement.

Our tour commenced with Martin leading us to nearby landmark hotels where he filled us in on their ghostly “regulars”.

At the Emily Morgan Hotel, a row of gargoyles with pained expressions stared down at us; a caduceus, the ancient Greek symbol of the medical profession, was above where the door once was. Before being turned into a hotel in 1985, it was a hospital and doctor’s offices between 1926 and 1976. Most of its ghosts hover where the old morgue and operating rooms used to be.

We looked up to where Martin’s laser pointer came to rest. “That’s room 8ll – a male ghost has rattled more guests in this room than any other in the hotel. Not long ago, a frantic woman rushed to the reception desk claiming there was a man in her room. A thorough search found no flesh-and-blood being. When told the likelihood of an unearthly intruder, her reaction was to return to bed for a peaceful sleep - not everyone is afraid of ghosts.”

The St. Anthony Hotel (built in 1909) has a variety of resident ghosts. A 9th floor entity plays hide and seek with people exiting the elevator; disappearing and reappearing through the walls of a room directly to the left. Other uncanny occurrences include the roof garden doors opening by themselves and the sound of footsteps passing without an accompanying visible form.
Although most ghosts are anonymous, some can be identified such as Sally White who haunts The Menger Hotel (opened in1859). After being murdered by a jealous husband in 1876, the hotel covered the funeral costs for this dedicated employee. In her maid’s uniform of the day, a long grey skirt and a bandana tied around her head, she has been seen carrying towels down hallways. Guests think her rude for not answering when spoken to – and then freak when she suddenly disappears.

Back at the Alamo, Martin shared some hair-raising tales. After Mexican General Santa Anna defeated the Alamo, he ordered the burning of the fallen defender’s bodies. Although Santa Anna was subsequently defeated by the Texans, he clandestinely sent soldiers back to the Alamo to raze the remaining structures. These men reported six fiery diablos (devils) barring the doorway waving blazing sabers and shouting “Do not touch this place”. A second attempt by another group of soldiers was thwarted by an apparition rising out of the roof with balls of fire in his outstretched hands.

Martin opened his duffle bag of ghost detection equipment for us to try out – gadgets to search for electromagnetic fields and cold spots (based on the theory that ghosts draw energy from their surroundings) and thermal imaging cameras that produce pictures of what the EMF equipment picks up.

Some people raced over to the barred window of the low barracks, the only other original Alamo structure, where a short man in buckskin is often seen. Others, including myself, ran over to the side-gate in hopes of detecting the man in black. Though the entities remained elusive that night, I felt they were no doubt amused by our antics.

A few days later, I downloaded my MP3 recorder onto my computer. At first I was perplexed by the intermittent static; then realized a bizarre pattern. Whenever Martin was sharing general information, his voice was clear, but when he talked about specific ghosts there was a deafening high-pitched static.

I pounded off an e-mail to Martin. He related being involved in ghost investigations where half a dozen pieces of sophisticated equipment shut down, then when his team left the area, all of the equipment started working perfectly again. I listened to the static patterns again… was it a ghost messing with my recorder?….my recorder that has since worked perfectly?

For more info:
Ghost Hunting with Martin Leal – (210) 348-6640
San Antonio Convention & Visitors Bureauhttp://www.sanantoniocvb.com/
The Alamohttp://www.thealamo.org/
PHOTO CREDIT: Rick Butler
TravelLady Magazine

THE EXOTIC ESSENCE OF ZANZIBAR

By Irene Butler, Pix by Rick

Published in TRAVELLADY and TRAVEL WISE E-Magazines

Zanzibar Photo Gallery

Old Stone Town of Zanzibar Island with its labyrinth of narrow streets and alleyways transported my partner, Rick and I back to ancient Persia – that is, until we were jarred back to the 21st century by vehicles passing with only inches to spare between their fenders and our bodies flattened against a wall. Ornate wooden doors entered crumbling buildings, patched many times during the past 150 years of their existence. Mold and mildew in the rainy season and the blazing sun of summer took turns peeling and loosening layers and chunks of stone and mortar. The interiors seem held together with innumerable coats of bright coloured glossy paint.

Bui bui (black veils from head to toe) or kangas (brightly patterned cloths, one for a skirt and another for a head and shoulder cover) are worn by women young and old. Papasi (“ticks”- the Swahili name for touts) flooded the streets peddling wares or steering visitors to a commission paying hotel or tour company. “Call to prayer” resounded from the many mosques in this 97% Muslim community. A lively market once dealing in slaves bound for Arabia, Persia and India was filled with heaps of clothing, footwear, fresh produce, meat and the unmistakable pong of fish.

Locally called Unguja, Zanzibar Island is but one of many islands in the Zanzibar Archipelago situated off the east coast of Africa. Their common appellation “spice islands” adds another exotic element. Knowing our visit would not be complete without seeing the source of the little packages that season gourmet concoctions the world over, we joined a spice tour.
Our conveyance was a wacky open-sided truck with bars, extending from the bench seats along the back and sides, to the garish Mac-Tac covered roof. Scrunched in, along with ten other people, we bounced along country roads to visit both government and privately owned farms.
Pepper vines spiraled up the trunks of trees in an epiphytical relationship. Our fingers turned scarlet as we squished the seeds of the Cinnabar or “lipstick tree”; the luscious colourant is used in cosmetics, food, and paints. Pinching the leaves of one-hundred-year-old cinnamon trees released the delightfully familiar fragrance. The bark is peeled regularly, with no harm to the cinnamon tree which has the capability to repair the layer within three months; both leaves and bark are dried and ground into powder.
Most awesome were the thirty-foot giants with clumps of cloves dangling from lofty branches. Tall tri-pod ladders are required to do the frantic picking during the two-week window when the cloves will fetch the best price. Strangest were the jackfruit with their mottled green reptilian skin; some up to 24" long and 8" in diameter. An ambrosial combination of pineapple and banana was released as we sampled chunks of its juicy pulp. The “forty-tree”, as it is known by locals, contains quinine used to treat malaria as well as constituents to cure another thirty-nine ailments. Our minds were saturated at the end of pinching, prying, sniffing, tasting and absorbing facts on over thirty plants and trees.

As a part of the spice tour, our guide, Joey, drove to the slave enclosures at Mangapwani. After slavery was abolished in 1897, the profitable business went literally underground. With only low stone roofs with a few air vents protruding above ground, it was almost impossible to detect the cold grey stone pens used to hold captives until they could be clandestinely transported to cargo ships. Descending jagged rock stairs into a dank, moldy 8 ft x 10 ft x 10 ft high room, we noted a row of gouges half way up the walls along each side.
“After the first 50 slaves were forced in,” Joey explained, “poles were slotted into the gouges, then covered with planks so another 50 men could be crammed in on top.” A second bunker held women and children - a chilling, gruesome sight.

The Beit al-Sahel (Palace Museum) in Stone Town holds a chronology of historical events. Some of the highlights were the drawings and charts of dhow ships that chronicle the 12th to 15th century trade-boom of amber, tortoise shells, and slaves. The sultanate era is detailed with intriguing stories of the Oman rulers and their families. Princess Salme (1844-1924) was of particular interest. In the 1850’s this radical daughter of Sultan Sayyid Said taught herself to write by secretly copying verses from the Koran onto a camel shoulder bone and later scandalously eloped with a German trader. Her autobiography is still read today. In 1964 after the last sultan was overthrown, the Zanzibar Archipelago merged with Tanganyika to form the country of Tanzania.

Nungwi beach, on the north shore of the island, was an excellent choice for our last stop; fine white sand, coral reefs, and turquoise seas glistening in the sun. Access to the beach area was down a ramp of bamboo poles tied together. A rooster with attitude commanded the right of way on the path in front of our cozy beach bungalow. Cows grazed out back. Nungwi was both as rustic and as near paradise as one could get. Nearby restaurants served good basic food, though so “polee-polee” (slowly, slowly) we first thought our waiter should be reported as a missing person, but soon went with the flow. Each evening we watched women meet the fishing boats and load up the days catch in bright red and green five-gallon pails. In an amazing feat, they balanced the weighty containers on their heads to walk back to the village behind the beach area; their life unchanged by the passage of time.

Our reminiscences of Zanzibar flow, like the island’s soft breezes, of days wiled away meandering the streets stopping to haggle over carvings or textiles, and sipping a glass of wine as we watched the munificent setting-sun bleed into the Indian Ocean. From the crumbling mystique and rich Islamic culture of Stone Town, to the tropical beaches, it is a place to slip into a mellower existence.

“Memoirs of an Arabian Princess from Zanzibar” by Emily Ruete (Princess Salme), 1888
When to Go: The tropical climate ranges in the mid to high 20’s Celsius all year round, but rains and humidity vary – July to Oct –low humidity; Nov to Mar – short rains and higher humidity; April to June – long monsoons.

Getting there and away: From Dar es Salaam: By Air – ZanAir and Coastal Aviation have daily flights; - Ferry company lists & sailing times obtained at – Tanzania Tourist Board, 1555 Samora Ave. Dar es Salaam Ph: 212-0373

Captivating Cape Town

By Irene Butler, Pix by Rick

Click for South Africa Photo Gallery

Frothing whitecaps of the Atlantic charging the shores, an expanse of rooftops and lush greenery ushered our Boeing 747 into Cape Town at 10:00 a.m. It had been 36 hours since our air carrier had taken off from Vancouver, British Columbia; twenty-five of those hours were spent scrunched into economy class, the remainder in a delightful eleven hour layover in Frankfurt, Germany where taking a sky-train to the city centre for a feed of wiener schnitzel and Bavarian beer was more enticing to us than catching a few z’s.

Although in a fugue of exhaustion we were determined not to let a bright sunny day get away. After securing a room we anxiously made our way to the Victoria & Alfred Waterfront. Tapping sounds and jovial chatter drew us to a fleet of ships in dry-dock undergoing repairs, being de-barnacled and spread with a shiny new coat of paint by crews on scaffolds or draped over the sides in boson chairs. As we neared the wharf jazz musicians, faces glistening with beads ofperspiration, gave “their all” in renditions of old favourites that had folks swaying and tapping. The boardwalks were filled with strollers munching bun wrapped sausages or lapping up a decadent Elmo’s ice-cream from cake cones. More formal diners sat at linen-clad restaurant tables captivatingly facing bays where anchored ships rested from ocean journeys while crews loaded or unloaded goods and looked forward to a little R&R themselves.
We lasted until 3:00 p.m. before wearily heading back to the Carnival Court Backpackers Inn, the only available room we could find in the ‘city bowl’ (as the central area has been dubbed). Nails came through the floor boards of our unheated room and the facilities were waaaaaaay down the hall. But who cared? The bunk beds felt sublime as we lay down for a sleep that lasted 15 hours. Inadvertently we found ourselves on the infamous Long Street where our Inn and numerous turn of the century accommodations are reminiscent of New Orleans hotels with second floor balconies overlooking the lively party scene below.

Snagging a room with both an ensuite bath and a double bed at the nearby Longstreet Inn for the next five days was a stroke of luck. Nicola, Shaun and housekeeper Elizabeth made us feel right at home. Though still unheated, and August being early spring in this part of the world, rolling up in a fluffy comforter after a steaming hot bath feistily combated the chilly nights.

TOWNSHIPS

Thandis, our guide to the townships, started our tour at the District Six Museum for an overview of what we were about to see. The District Six area, inhabited by Xhosa peoples for generations, had become a lively mixed-race suburb when it was declared a ‘white’ district in 1966. Between 1966 and 1982 over 60,000 people were forcibly moved and their homes and shops flattened with bulldozers – though it remained a big empty space, this took care of the uncomfortable proximity of blacks, coloureds and Asians from the ruling whites (politically correct terms in South Africa, “coloured” designating mixed races). Since the end of apartheid in 1991 the new government promised to rebuild the area with multi-family dwellings and relocate the disposed families, but 15 years later only one small section is completed.

The District Six peoples were driven to a barren area that became known as Cape Flats. We visited several sections of the black townships with families living in grim circumstances. Scrap lumber, tin, tarps and most any other material the families could get their hands on were shaped into 8’ x 8’ houses. Sporadic public water pumps and sparse lamp standards and a not frequently emptied line of public toilets (the type we use at construction sites in North America) is their infra-UN- structure. Though the Cape Flats shacks are ever so stagnantly being replaced by new multi-dwellings, this segment of the population is no better off in living conditions than during apartheid, but Thandis says there is one difference – people now have hope. The abject poverty and horrendous living conditions are even worse in rural areas where there is no clean water, no roads, no electricity, no access to education and health care.

There is a strong sense of community in these shanty towns. Children run about laughing and playing, adults bustle about on some mission, lean-to shops are piled high with chickens, vegetables and other commodities. Some resourceful ladies made a business of cooking sheep heads over a barrel of leaping flames and could hardly keep up with customer demands. Stopping at a shanty pub, we had a taste of sorghum beer with a group of mostly old men. Two ladies worked away in the background whipping up the next batch of sorghum and maize which ferments in only three days. The beer sat in half-gallon pails on boards between the imbibers to keep the bottom of the pails off the dirt floor. There is a knack, as my wet shirt front was testimony, to holding the handle in one hand and tilting the vessel upward with precision for a swig of the frothy, slightly fizzy, sour brew.

Next we ventured into a dank, dark cavernous metal shed. Thorny dried branches, thick grasses and twisted roots were stacked waist deep around the entrance. As our eyes adjusted to the weak light, skins of snakes, bats, and other small undistinguishable mammals came into focus; chains of carnivore incisors dangled next to a rip-apart roll of condoms strung above our heads in criss-cross fashion. Dust caked bottles of putrid yellow and mottled fungal green concoctions lined the floor along the sides. This was the domain of the Ix-hwele (herbalist) who as well as curing bodily ailments tends to mental and spiritual maladies as well as the evil caused by witches whose depraved spirits seek people to possess. Though the Ix-hwele had a few patients waiting, he took the time to don his ceremonial fur cap, drape his shoulders with a red shawl, cross his arms across his chest holding feather swatches and chanting words of good fortune upon us.
Crime is low in these townships. Neighbours watch out for one another. Once, upon arriving home, Thandis found his radio missing. He was informed within minutes of the thief’s identity and was able to retrieve the item. For more serious crimes, such as murder or rape, the perpetrator would rather be dealt with by the police than by local justice which still embraces an “eye for an eye” credence.

Across a polluted river the coloureds and Asians fare somewhat better in tenement and small individual homes. Thandis maintains the separation is only due to the comfort of being in one’s own culture; the black townships speak Xhosi and the coloured speak Afrikaans (creolized version of Dutch from colonial settlers and from slaves; made an official language in 1925). Now when blacks marry coloureds they usually choose to live out of both areas and move into a city centre flat.Many such insights were gleaned from Thandis to break down the barriers of misunderstanding and misconceptions.

ROBBENS ISLANDTwenty minutes by boat from the Nelson Mandela Gateway Clock Tower lies 574 hector Robbens Island where thousands of political prisoners were locked away. Their crime - fighting to end the criminal white supremacy laws of apartheid imposed by the Afrikaner National Party in 1948. Just to re-cap the tip-of-the-iceberg in gross injustices against human rights, this legislation allocated eighty-seven percent of the land for use by whites (whites comprising only 16% of the population during apartheid); bans prohibited Africans from obtaining a skilled labour job, and every African and coloured was compelled to carry a pass and obtain a permit if in a white area for more than 72 hours; segregation of schools, health care and even sexual partners.

One side of the island became a caste-away place for lepers, the insane and hard core criminals convicted of murder and rape who were kept in Medium B security. Political prisoners sat rotting on the other side with life sentences in maximum security facilities.

Our guide, Modise, was an X-political prisoner, as are all the guides on the Robbens Island tours. His five year sentence began at the age of seventeen. On his initiation day to the prison, in an attempt to find out his contacts and political activities, he was jolted by electrical prods and beaten until lying in a pool of his own blood he could only blink his eyes at his interrogators for mercy before slipping into the oblivion of unconsciousness. The prison became his university; his teachers the lawyers, professors, doctors and other professionals who were in his cell block and took it upon themselves to educate young prisoners whose education opportunities ended with apartheid. It was a poignant moment when he met the man so instrumental in the fight for freedom - prisoner # 46664 - Nelson Mandela (his assigned number denoted him as the 466th political prisoner followed by the year he was incarcerated). Modise lead us to the cramped 2m x 2.5m cell strewn with the straw mat where Mandela spent 18 of his 27 years of incarceration. As the young Modise sceptically listened to Mandela preach non-violence and to befriend the wardens to improve conditions and treatment in the prison, he thought the great man had been in prison too long, until he saw firsthand this worked in their favour.

At the end of apartheid the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, led by Bishop Desmond Tutu, epitomizes a heroic stance to break the cycle of violence breeding violence. Its purpose was to investigate the gross human rights abuses, awarding reparation to the victims, and granting amnesty to those perpetrators who fully disclosed their actions. I cannot even begin to imagine the spiritual, emotional and physical fortitude it took for victims and their families to re-open the wounds in order to heal. Robbens Island was one of the most moving experiences of our lives.

Waiting patiently for days of overcast weather to dissipate, brilliant morning sunshine afforded us the opportunity to see Table Mountain without the tablecloth of white cloud resting on its flat surface. A three minute cable care ride took us to 1069m above sea level for a spectacular 360 degree view of the coastline, Robbens Island, Lions Head Mt., the 12 Apostles (a group of 18 mountains, none of which bear an apostle’s name), and the city spread directly below. Then hopping on the Capetown Explorer, city tour bus, we saw how “the other half” live along the posh Riviera coastline.

Our Long Street Inn room was only available for five days, so off we trod to the Ashanti Lodge. Three bonuses were: a small heater in the room, leaving the “bar boom” of Long Street behind that lasted into the wee hours, and finding Arnold’s Restaurant on 60 Kloof Street Gardens. In this delightful establishment we were waited on hand and foot by cheery “waitrons” (the old waitress/waiter appellations rendered passé) while partaking in several scrumptious breakfasts and a farewell feast of crocodile ribs, ostrich fillets, gemsbok steak and a complementary bottle of Capell’s Court 2003 Cabernet Sauvignon, a Linton Park Wine.

The promulgated danger on Cape Town streets had been luckily non-consequential for us. In fact, we never felt unsafe walking during the day, and common sense told us not to wander off beaten paths after dark, as in any large city. Security men in black with florescent lime-green vests are everywhere in the city centre and private security stand guard in building doorways. The short “whoop, whoop” of police sirens followed by loudspeaker directives are soon familiar sounds through the night. Iron bars cover windows; many businesses require you to press a buzzer for access. Of course, all these safeguards to thwart off crime undoubtedly confirms its existence.

Our agenda has been decided. We will fly from Cape Town to Nairobi, Kenya and then work our way overland by bus back to South Africa.Meet you in Nairobi!

Recommended Accomodations:
Long Street Inn – 230 Long Street- doubles and dormscontact Nicolette/Shawn tel. 021 424-1660cell. 076 175-8001innlongstreet@ataris.co.za
Ashanti Lodge & Travel Centre11 Haf Streettel. (+27-21) 423-8721fax, (+27-21)423-8790ashanti@iafrica.comhttp://www.ashanti.co.za/