Warning: These are my first attempts at video, so please bear with the occasional bobbles and shakes.
These videos were taken in Xcaret, an eco-park outside Cancun, Mexico. This beautiful place is dedicated to preserving and sharing Mexican history and culture through archaeological finds, lush gardens, and performances portraying Mayan dances and traditions.
My favorite event of the day was when five men in brilliantly colored traditional garb came bowing and dancing into the dusty arena.
Aren’t their headdresses fabulous?! As their dance came to an end, they took turns clambering up a towering pole with no ropes, harnesses or nets to keep them from plummeting to the ground.
If that wasn’t enough, one chap stood on top of the pole as it began to spin, playing an instrument as his companions did this:
Needless to say, I was agog. I am scared spitless of heights, and can imagine few more terrifying prospects than leaping headfirst from a lofty perch held only by a rope lashed around my waist. Yipes!
They went on to amaze us even further by their intricate dance steps and this little number:
Heavens!
Those fellows deserved every clap, whoop and holler they got. It was a jolly treat from my hosts at Royal Holiday and I loved every minute of it. If you’d like to see more video from my trip to Cancun and Xcaret, click here to subscribe to my YouTube channel.
So what scares you? Heights? Small spaces? Sharks?
When I traveled to Cancun this past September, I had no idea what to expect. Driving to my hotel from the airport I stared at the miles of shopping malls, ritzy resorts, and glossy billboards and confess I was a bit disappointed. I know all those things can be fun, but I was hoping for a bit of “real” Mexico, something that didn’t feel like I was still in America.
Much to my delight, our hosts from Royal Holiday took my fellow bloggers and I to such a place a mere 60 minutes from Cancun: Xcaret.
The 12-acre site in the Mayan Riviera was originally intended to be the home of architect Miguel Quintana Pali. But as he began clearing the land he discovered natural sinkholes known as cenotes and beautiful underground rivers. Pali then decided to create a park where everyone could enjoy the natural wonders and learn about the history and culture of Mexico.
Xcaret was opened in December 1990 as an eco-archeological park and is a place of exquisite beauty and stunning history. I couldn’t stop smiling all day as I ambled past tropical flowers, clambered over Mayan ruins, and gasped in wonder at the brilliant performances of Mayan dancers and historical re-enactors.
Our first adventure was taking a boat ride down this gorgeous turquoise river. It led us between towering cliffs, by cascading waterfalls, and lingered by the river-side homes of black wild boar and graceful deer.
We bobbed along through dark caves and stared up at the thick canopy of trees blotting out the sky, listening to the chatter of hundreds of birds and the patter of warm rain trickling down through the leaves.
I loved it. 🙂
When our boat tour was over we made a pit stop at the most stunning bathroom I’ve ever seen.
It was so magnificent you wanted to keep guzzling water just to have an excuse to see it again. What especially delighted me were the hand washing facilities. How marvelously Swiss Family Robinson are those seashell faucets?!
In Part Two I’ll tell you more about this wonderful place, and hopefully figure out how to share some video I took of some crazy brave Mayan performers. 🙂
Do prefer “bright lights, big city” or do you like getting out into nature? Or maybe a bit of both?
Mornin!! Brrr, I don’t think I’ve ever experienced cold this intense during my sojourn in Washington State. In Canada, yes. Russia, sure. But here? No way!
So this morning as icy winds shriek outside my windows, I’m taking a vicarious jaunt south of the border to bask in the tropical beauties of Xcaret, a gorgeous eco-park about an hour from Cancun. I can’t wait to tell you more about this fabulous place, but for now I hope you will enjoy these stunning colors. To view Part I, click here.
It was a cold, blustery day in Amsterdam last fall as my friend Amy and I bundled up and happily wandered the streets and canals. We had a map, but rarely used it, a sketchy plan, and didn’t follow it. We’d already explored an old canal house, discovered a fabulous flea market full of all sorts of odd and marvelous treasures, and as we crossed a bustling intersection filled with people, bicycles, cars, and trams, we found theBloemenmarkt – the world’s only floating flower market.
From the back it is nothing special, but inside the floating barges hold a myriad of delights.
Bright bouquets, handmade wreaths, and seeds by the thousands made even me wish I had inherited my mother’s green thumb.
There’s something so wonderful about a flower market on a cold day, rounding a corner expecting gray stones and drab buildings and instead seeing a rainbow of colors, brilliant and alive, filling the air with the scent of roses and greenery. I loved the tiny cacti housed in protective cases like beautifully decorated confections.
After our day of wandering we went to my brother’s girlfriends place where we were welcomed with hugs, glasses of wine, and a platter of delectable cheeses and sausage.
After bowls of my brother Ryan’s fabulous chili, we all gathered on the couches under cozy afghans for an old movie night with dear friends, lots of popcorn, and Old Dutch potato chips I brought over from Canada. It felt just like home.
Storm clouds billowed up looking dark, menacing and absolutely beautiful one Fall afternoon in Paris last year. Undaunted by the impending storm, I tossed a red scarf about my neck and walked briskly through the crowded city streets and into the Jardin des Tuileries.
How I love Parisian gardens, be they small, tidy ones tucked away at the back of an old church, or grand, sprawling ones like the Tuileries or Luxembourg. The Tuileries was my favorite that trip. It was a five minute walk from my brother’s apartment, and the perfect escape from honking horns and yelling passersby.
It was a source of never-ending delight for me since I never knew what I’d find there. Fully expecting marble or stone statues in classic poses, I was highly amused by this fellow and his compatriots dotting the landscape for some sort of exhibit.
I strolled past amorous lovers, watched children shrieking with laughter as they played tag in the trees, smiled at finely dressed elderly couples walking slowly along hand in hand.
The massive gates of the gardens always make me feel special, like I’ve been granted access to a place normally reserved for royalty. I smile as I walk through them, suddenly feeling more confident and not caring one bit that I may be the only woman in the park not wearing heels.
It was a beautiful morning, made all the more lovely by a stop at a cafe for luscious Crème caramel and a hot, strong cup of espresso.
My friend Tuula has a great post up today featuring 17 Ideas for An Afternoon in Paris. It’s perfect for a bit of armchair traveling on this cold, Fall day.
What would be your ideal dessert on a wander through Paris?
Every time I’ve visited my brother Ryan in Amsterdam he’s taken me to breakfast at Hiene for the best French toast I’ve ever had in my life. It’s the sort of French toast you dream of on chilly, Fall days or cool, Spring mornings: thick, fluffy, crisp on the outside, tender-but-not-mushy on the inside. Slicked with butter and drizzled with keukenstroop (a molasses/treacle syrup), it is the perfect accompaniment to a tiny cup of espresso.
I always looked forward to dressing warmly and walking down the Prinsengracht, admiring the canal boats with their rooftop gardens, wondering what it would be like to live in one.
We’d check both ways for bicycles whizzing past, then cross the bridge and find a table for two on the red brick sidewalk where we could people-watch while we ate.
If we were especially ravenous we might try their Eggs With Everything – scrambled eggs piled with anything they felt like: salad, leftover ham, a bit of sauce – or a big bowl of steaming Dutch pea soup. But no matter what else we ordered, we inevitably got French toast.
The same older woman always waited on us: whisper thin, platinum blond hair, dressed all in black with a voice steeped in cigarette smoke. She was lovely and adored my brother, her lined face creasing in a smile at his approach, knowing exactly what he would order.
When Ryan sent me a ticket to join him and my family in Europe for Christmas this year, one of the many things I was looking forward to was our traditional breakfast at Hiene. I was heartbroken when he told me Hiene had closed.
I know it’s a very little thing, hardly worth mentioning, but Hiene was such a special place to me. A spot of delicious food and hours of great conversation with my brother and assorted friends who joined us over the years. I shall miss it.
Ryan assures me he has found a few new places that are really good. As long as he’s there to tease me dreadfully, make me laugh, and regale me with outlandish tales, I know they will be.
