Yucatan: Hacienda San Jose Cholule

     After Celustun and the "ecotour" we left Merida for a hacienda turned lush hotel called San Jose Cholule. My wife works hard during the year. She is materialistic, immersed in the present magazine culture with its wheres and whos, and seems to need the touch of luxury from time to time. I am not sure how to interpret this luxury because to me a 2006 Mercedes 500 SL is not necessarily luxurious,, just another indistinct jellybean. Once you have seen a 1936 Mercedes, well there is just nothing made in this era that can come clos

      Every few years my grandmother would return to Italy,,,,always by boat. I had the opportunity, at the age of eight to see her off once. We boarded the ship. She was in second class but who would have known this. Her room was large and well appointed, the ship and crew spic and span, and to my eyes enormous. I could only imagine the seven day leisurely crossing. Time would have been stretched to accomodate the change of place. Now compare that with an airplane,,,faster but nothing else of note, Once you have read "The Magic Mountain" and experienced, even vicariously, its elegant style of resort experience, with the after dinner cigars, fine wines, conversation,,,,, well the now a-go go type of "secluded" self-indulgent resort appeal is not the same. This was my first reaction to San Jose Cholule.....I had suspicions that I could go crazy there after a few days.
     Mario picked us up in the van and took us the 45 minutes to San Jose, a little south of Merida. It really was what I had anticipated, a mini reserve for the Euorpeans in the know but without that devastating kernal of experience from another epoch. This is a place to leave the world behind. I have no problem leaving the world behind as long as you fill the void with learning. My rejection dander was up and I was prepared to resist,,,but I am getting better,,,or more tired with age.      

     From a hoteliers point of view, that's me, San Jose Cholule is well done. There are details over details. It is an island of preserved architecture amidst a jungle like an island in a sea of deforestation. The trees are large and colorful, the richly plumed tropical birds sing and dart about, and "crazy lizards" with head wings scurry about on hind legs. All the rooms are like separated buildings and very private. Sometimes the stone path entrances are partially hidden by plants. Circe contracted # 1 for us the suite of suites. It was like a whole house. Bill Clinton stayed there. I was captured by the idea of sitting on the same toilet seat as him,,,,,,,I think I even saw his image in the water in the bowl once when I was making pee pee. We had our own private pool, large corridor, manicured back yard. Horses at your disposal. It was lush,,,yet to be trapped there in this hotel island, as if it were the destination, would have driven me crazy,,,if we had not also used it as a point of departure.
      Upon arrival I grabbed two bikes to ride the eight miles to Motul. Circe gave up after a half mile complaining that the seat was like a stone. She was right but I was determined to raise my heartbeat. She left to return and absorb the details of the hacienda grounds and room. I was pedaling on a dirt road that soon left the hacienda grounds and coursed through the lonely countryside of old henequen plantations. It was cloudy but hotter than black leather seats in a Florida mall. The bicycle was flawed,,,  something not exactly San Jose. It was poorly maintained. It had no brakes and I couldn't shift gears and quickly gave up trying lest I break something and be caught out here en media de nada. 

     I came upon another hacienda after a couple of miles. It had been converted into a private home. I could hear lizards scurrying into the brush as I passed. The dry bike chain kissed the shifting bar and zizzzzzed with each turn of the pedals. I passed some decaying old houses,,,casa mayas in stone. They were probobly for the hacienda workers. There were some wells. Being a guy I had to explore the hole. All the stone of the houses was damp, darkened, mossy,,all the colors richly subdued by the cloud cover, and the older larger trees that accompany houses. You can always tell where a house has been in Maine by the large maples, if they are still standing.
      I heard thunder. Soon it followed the rain, first lightly but then more torrential. It was a good rain, warm and tolerable. I encountered a tarred road after seven miles and found a Tulipan tree under which to stand to avoid the heaviest part of the tempest,,,but it eventually penetrated the leafy umbrella. I wondered wetly about the structure of leaves. Has each leaf figure evolved to direct water currents in a certain way down to the ground?.....some direct the water away like an umbrella and others are like canals that direct the water into the plant center. Why I thought. Is this tied to plant need,,root size what??? Many cactus, for example direct the water directly to their center?
     Finally I came to a paved road with no sign. I decided that Motul was in "that" direction for there was no one to ask, so I mounted the tired machine and pedaled off. The macadam stretched out a wet black ribbon before me disappearing into the distant point. Jagged swords of lightning cut the charcoal sky. I passed a few simple houses, their front yards a mucky sea. The aroma of pigs found my nostrils. A rooster ushered his ladies and children into the bushes. There were fresh warm puddles everywhere their surfaces dippled by light rain rings. The fenderless bike tires spun an aura of droplets. At the entrance to the city I passed the Bar de Diablo. It was open and filled with drinking men and "working ladies". Bars in Mexico are usually something else. I have never yet entered one but one day I may and it will follow another story. I zizzzzed past and encountered more evidence of a citylife,,,,intersections. I forgot that I had no brakes and had to stop with my feet to avoid entering the intersection blindly. I did a tour about the large oval zocalo took a photo of the creamy colored church and began to return.
Pedaling back to San Jose the sandy soil in my sandals irritated a bit and the camino was a little muddy but I was happy and content.
The next day we signed up to visit Chichen Itza. That description will follow.