Tag: #walking

The noisy path

Pierce, Sally and Cheryl naturally got up and walked off together. Agua Azul were rapids and water falls on the Rio Xanil. Aqua colored water flowed rapidly over pinkish round rocks. The Maya worshipped water, and rivers represented the underworld to them.

They walked for awhile and soon Cheryl realized she wanted to putter around by herself and take photos. She could feel she was holding them up.

“Hey, you guys can carry on, I’d like to stay here and take some arty shots. I’m not interested in seeing the end. I’d like to go slow.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll meet you back at the bus.”

With a wave, they walked on and Cheryl enjoyed being alone as she meandered along the path that traveled beside the water; it was covered in vines and what looked like cacao pods. Three young girls were seen eating the seeds out of one of the pods. Cheryl forgot herself and nearly asked them if she could try one too.

By herself she took some photographs and then tried to soak in the environment. Unlike Canadian forests, life in this jungle along the river and waterfalls was not peaceful. Above the sound of the rushing water was the high pitched whine of the insects, cicadas mostly. Cheryl assumed they were cicadas, as well as other buzzing insects. The cicadas sounded like little engines getting ready for take off: chucka, chucka, chucka, chucka,  chuk chuk chuk chu….whine…..whyrrrr whine.

Cheryl wondered if she ever lived here would she get used to it.

She popped into the merchant areas that were on the opposite side of the path from the water and there were many T-shirts available, but she was beginning to get the idea that the T-shirts were the same no matter what city or site they were in. They weren’t unique to the area.

It was the uniqueness of the textiles that got her attention. Hanging on the dark canvas walls of a store she saw some blouses with a cream-colored cotton bottom, but a cross stitched top. The cross-stitched section had a dark green background with large fuchsia pink, peony flowers. Cheryl had seen women along the road wearing this exact blouse so she decided to get one.

The Maya woman who ran the little shop was attentive and offered to bring down any shirt Cheryl looked at on her wall. There must have been living space on the other side of the dark brown canvas, as a little boy kept peeking his head underneath. His Maya mother kept gently pushing his head back with her hand along with a torrent of words Cheryl didn’t understand, but the meaning she could guess.