Our 4,000 Mile Drive Home from the Yucatan Peninsula - In Song, Poem and Photographs, Part 1
Yan Ten - Photo by J. Sharland
We sing the Blues as we leave the warmth, the sea, and the tropical hues,
But we’ll be back in the Fall to enjoy our house that has few walls, and
we’ll see our friends we leave behind, start Happy Hours to relieve the grind
of what to do, where to go, to dine in, or out or see a show.
Whatever we plan you can be sure that what we do will be pure
of joy and sun that will abound along with birds of which will sound
like music to my ears.
But now we drive through familiar walls, of jungle so thick they feel like halls
of green and brown with the occasional town to chop up the monotony.
We sing along with musical choices, putting songs-to-views as we blend our voices
while I snap my camera to each blurring scene, I hope that some will come out really clean
and clear enough in which to see the people, places, and all that She, or He, created.
This jungle so full of mystery, is undoubtedly full of misery, death, and history that we may never know, but I will be forever astounded by its beauty.
Moonrise - Photo by J. Sharland
We stopped for the night at a place never been, away from Escárcega’s, hustle and din, with a pool, a stillness, and full moon to shine and reflect on the waters as we immerse and recline. We hummed along with Peter Bradley Adams’ “Full Moon Song” as our way to say ‘thanks,’ goodbye, and ‘so-long!’ We will miss our abode where we felt not so old and could sing an ode to the sea. Our summer house will have trees of pine and fruits like apples and cherries sublime. Though beautiful on their own, I will miss our winter home, the way the banyan trees played with the wind and would sing their very own song, but mostly I will miss the sway and the kiss of the beauty of the coconut palms.
Parrot - Photo by J. Sharland
Our second stop for the night at an elevation with height, much cooler than what we just left, was nestled between, green mountains and streams, and was beautiful in all its lushness. As we sat by the pool, even though way too cool, to swim we still hoped for some hushness from the traffic nearby, soon we’re excited to spy a parrot on a pole above bushes. Ah, who but Jimmy Buffet came to mind when we wanted to be kind with voices that sang about Christmas. Inappropriate for sure, but Buffet’s one line was pure, that brought giggles easy and free and we both started out, wanting to shout about ‘A Purple Parrot in a Palm Tree’.
Accident - Photo by J. Sharland
As we climbed in increments, seeing an unfortunate accident, I wondered if Dave Dudley’s “Six Days on the Road” was a cause. It was very sad that this looked so bad but hoped the man’s life was not paused.
Shrine - Photo by J. Sharland
As we passed this memorial, larger than many we so often see, I thought of the drivers, the reasons for these to be. “Tears in Heaven” by Eric Clapton came to mind, and I thought about the many tears fallen for sadness of this kind.
Fog - Photo by J. Sharland
Up and up the mountain road we went, leaving sunshine and blue skies for fog that we rent as we passed through the cloud that would shift and swirl, looking to be the color of mother-of-pearl. I remembered the song, "Foggy Road” a reggae group sang. Their name was Burning Spear and had quite a twang. It would be a fun beat to dance to, and even to drive, this kind of cadence has a cool jive.
Field - Photo by J. Sharland
From the canyon to the plateau, we passed green to brown, as fields appeared of furrowed ground. Farmers driving horses that were pulling carts, an old-fashioned custom that seems quite an art. “Farmer’s Blues” came to mind by Stuart and Haggard, and I wondered if these crops are yearly or staggard.
Truck - Photo by J. Sharland
A familiar scene south of the border of Mexicans piling up in the back of the truck-bed without much order. That’s what pick-ups used to be for, in my days when trucks had only two doors. Joe Diffie’s “Pickup Man” rang in my ears, as I watched this truck driver shifting his gears.
Suburbs - Photo by J. Sharland
Seeing this sight, I could not help but name Malvina Reynolds when she sang, about:
“Little Boxes, on the hillside, little boxes made of ticky tacky, little boxes, little boxes, little boxes all the same. There’s a green one, and a pink one, and a blue one and a yellow one, and they’re all made out of ticky tacky and they all look just the same.”
Roadside Attraction - Photo by J. Sharland
This “Roadside Attraction” isn’t exactly like the one sung by Marcia Ball, but an attraction that made us stop and purchase a copper bowl. The place is shiny and colorful, a tug to want to spend a few pesos here, a few pesos there, but it soon had to end.
Ready to cross the border after our five days of travel, we wondered if it would be arduously long, and our cargo to come unraveled, but when we met the border man, it was a great big shock, as there was not a single car within that station block. We were out of there in minutes and kept our pace for home, making us feel safe to travel where we’d want to roam.
As this part of our journey slows, we remember with relief, that there were not many woes, and nary a thief. But our trip is only half over, and soon we will see, what is ahead for us that we might not want to be. We felt safe in that country, but one thing’s for sure, to be back state-side, will bring us ease a bit more. “Adios amigos,” we want to say, and then “Hello Americans” we’re coming your way!
** Read about our crossing back into America and the trip back north to Oregon is NEXT in Part 2.