La Isla Bonita

By Dean Borok

COZUMEL, MEXICO

"Thank God for the Queen of Spain!" exalted the taxi driver as he sped us down the modern autoroute leading to the south of Cozumel Island. It was a clear, dry day and the temperature was climbing into the high 80's. On either side of the highway the mangrove forests soaked up the life-giving energy of the sun, striving to regenerate themselves months after the devastating assault by Hurricane Wilma had denuded the trees, leaving a barren tableau reminiscent of the devastation visited upon the Vietnamese jungle after an Agent Orange deforestation campaign.

Above us the hawks glided on currents of hot, rising air, their job of locating prey on the ground made infinitely easier by the total absence of vegetation.

The driver continued his litany of thanksgiving: "The Queen of Spain called the state governor, and when she heard the magnitude of our suffering, she immediately dispatched three military cargo aircraft filled with water and food. Otherwise, we surely would have perished, because all our water was contaminated.

"The hurricane lasted two days," he continued. "By the second day our houses were flooded, and the water was up to our chest. We had to go on the roof in the wind and rain with our children, who were all crying. We thought we were all going to die, and we prayed to Jesus for our salvation.

"Finally, by the grace of God, the storm moved away. If it had lasted two hours more, all the people in my barrio would have been swept away and killed.

"There was a great wailing of relief and thanks to God that we had survived. We sat on our roofs and waited for help, because we had no water or food. When at last we saw the Spanish Air Force planes circling above us, those of us who could ran to the airfield to await their landing, and when they landed we went inside the airplanes and emptied them by hand, passing the cartons out in a chain until all the supplies were stacked on the tarmac.

"And so, because of the benevolence of the Queen of Spain all the people survived.

"After came the Canadians and the Americans. Then the Mexican Navy ships docked in the harbor. They brought soldiers with trucks and helicopters, and the soldiers and police patrolled the streets to keep order.

"By the grace of God, all the people survived. Not one person died. Unfortunately, nobody was able to save the poor animals, and they all perished. All the dogs and cats, the horses and donkeys, the chickens and roosters. All dead! The only animals that survived were those birds that knew how to survive in the water, and when the water receded from the town, the streets were filled with the corpses of the dead animals.

"This highway we're driving on now, when the water receded, was strewn with thousands of dead fish all the way to the southern end of the island, as far as the eye could see.

"For two months we had no work, and we only lived on what we received from the government. They gave us water, food and ice every day, but no alcohol or beer. Let me tell you, that was the worst of it! I can live without seeing a woman for two months, but two months without beer in this heat, and nothing to do — that was the worst. A black market developed where you could buy a bottle of tequila for five hundred pesos, but nobody had any money, and if the police caught you they sent you to jail."

He reiterated, "I don't care if I don't see a woman for two months, but no beer — that's the worst!"

My girlfriend Magpie and I had taken an efficiency apartment in the center of San Miguel, on the malecün, or oceanfront boulevard, just a couple of blocks from the ferry terminal. For whatever reason, the downtown business district and central plaza, with its lush tropical foliage, appeared untouched by the devastation, but that might be because the authorities determined that it be beautifully appointed for the needs of the tourist business, which is the island's only source of income. This central plaza was a far cry from when I first visited Cozumel twenty years ago. Then, it was a devastatingly ugly patch of dirt right out of a Sergio Leone spaghetti western, a lazy, filthy unshaded mound of barren soil surrounding a concrete bandshell, fit only for "borrachos" and the North American dropouts that inhabited the surrounding flea bag hotels.

At that time Cozumel was only visited by a few hard-core divers and by small groups of day travelers from the mainland, attracted for snorkeling excursions into its wonderfully rich coral reefs. The town had one rickety dock, a T-shirt store and a store selling silver jewelry. The rest of the place was a real dive, with pigs and chickens free-ranging down the middle of its shabby side streets.

Each time I came back, the island had incrementally improved, and when the cruise lines finally glommed onto its exotic tropical beauty, a gold rush soon followed, with government and private investment pouring in, followed by an exodus of migrants from all over Mexico, seeking opportunity, as well as rich Mexicans and Spaniards who established oceanfront residences. A new ferry terminal, the muelle fiscal, was constructed directly in front of the town square. A gigantic port built to process cruise ship passengers was built a few kilometers to the south. Shopping centers housing boutiques for Cartier jewelry and Rolex watches sprang up in formerly desolate lots overgrown with weeds. Luxury resorts sprung up like jalapeño peppers. Restaurants and bars charging New York prices spread into the side streets like kudzu vines overtaking an abandoned jungle shack. Now the town, with its miniature malecón, or oceanfront boulevard, resembles nothing so much as a tiny Havana or San Juan, much more charming than Cancún, and with a distinctly Mexican and Mayan personality.