Where Wonder Meets Wander

Perched atop the cliffs rising out of the azure sea, these magnificent ruins are home to the temple of the Descending God. There is a stillness here that belies the churning energy of the waves. We arrived early and wandered on the old roads peeking into dark chambers and through falling archways. Iguanas ignored us and allowed our approach as if they owned the ancient site and maybe were its guardians, unchanged after all these years. We wandered up to the edge of the cliff and looked down into the foamy spray cutting away at the limestone below. Out in the waves kite boarders hung from brightly colored fabric, defying gravity as they lept and spun thirty feet or more in the air. We climbed down a spiraling wooden staircase to the white sandy beach and played tag with the surf while trying to gain access to a secluded part of the beach where caves cut into the side of the cliff. We gazed back up at the fortess above and wondered what it must have been like a thousand years ago.

I dismounted my dilapidated bicycle and stashed it in the underbrush. Just beyond, an ancient Mayan pyramid rose from the forest floor. I could see its rough hewn stone steps through the trees, its templed top stretching into the clear blue sky. As I walked into the clearing I could see how the jungle encroached, hiding the structure's massive backside from view. A long rope, anchored securely into the rock offered support for those brave enough to scale its height. I felt I were walking in a dream. Here I stood at the base of the second tallest pyramid in the Americas. Fifteen hundred years ago, it held a sacred place in a thriving community of 50,000 people. No one knows why they left. Know one knows the extent of their secrets that were lost in the leaving. And here I stood gazing up, feeling drawn, somehow connecting to another place and time. With Darryl at my side, we hurried to its base, anxious to test our metal on its dizzying heights. Its steps were shallow and not

We met a man named George of the Jungle. We met him at Rosie's Juice Bar in Puerto Morelos, Mexico. We followed him out into the jungle, away from the coast, away from civilization, out into the jungle. I would never have done such a thing in the US, but hey, this is Mexico. We drove 20 minutes down a straight paved road and turned onto a narrow dirt one. Twenty minutes later we turned down a single lane jungle track. We drove over limestone rocks and giant potholes. We kept wondering how far out into the jungle we must go and what would happen if our can broke down. Finally we came to a ranch. White limestone littered the ground. I am jot sure what the animals ate, I could not see grass anywhere. Two young golden skinned men met us. We paid them $5 for each of us and they led us to a hole in the ground. The Yucatan Peninsula is crisscrossed by underground rivers. It is the largest underground cave system in the world and most of it is still not mapped. Every once in a while, the e

No, this image has not been edited. It is the real thing. We were laying on a rickety little dock at the edge of a fresh water lake near the Coba Ruins in Quintana Roo, Mexico. Underneath the dock stretched this 10-12 foot North American Crocodile. He was hiding from the heat of the noonday sun. We paid 10 pesos each (which is about 80 cents American) to a family that lived across the street and they let us out on the dock to see Raoul (that's his name) up close and personal. He was beautiful, although I am not sure how smart it was on our part to lay belly down and hang over the edge of the dock. They can jump, you know. Five to six feet straight up. The young Mayan girl who lived across the street brought a plastic bag with some kind of raw meat in it (I think it was chicken) She was about 12, dark hair, dark eyes and a happy smile. She dropped bits of meat into the water and the croc lazily caught them in his massive jaws. The little bits that were left over were quickly devou