Ancient Wisdom

When I moved to Bolivia in 1990, words like scrolling and apps and social media were yet to be conjured up. There were no notifications buzzing in my pocket and if I wanted to know how to get somewhere I had to ask a stranger in my broken Spanish.

News traveled slowly. I wrote handwritten letters and received them, too, though they sometimes arrived months after they were sent. I counted on the weekly edition of Time International to catch up on US and world events, reading it from cover to cover.

My recent weeks in Mexico have taught me more than ever how things have changed. There is no escaping the onslaught of information coming from north of the border.

But every now and then there are moments when I can feel like I’m back in Bolivia in 1990. When I feel more disconnected from the torrent of bad news and can, for a brief time, forget about the world beyond the moment I am experiencing.

A Healing Lake

I was about to get on the back of Jorge’s motorcycle when he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Instead of taking me down the street in search of a tour boat full of people, he would take me on a private tour for just 600 pesos ($30).

The signs at the shore of the lake said private tours should cost 1500 pesos, so it sounded like a great deal. There was still a little voice in my head wondering if I would be disappointed, if he was really going to deliver, if I would miss being with a group.

Deciding to go with Jorge turned out to be the best decision I could have made.

It was just the two of us in his boat that had at least 20 seats. As we gently motored away from shore, Jorge started speaking in a slow and clear Spanish that made me even forget I was listening to him in a foreign language.

The day before, when I arrived in Catemaco on a five-hour nausea-inducing bus ride, I was almost regretting coming here. After a month in the refreshing mountain air, it was jarring to arrive in this small town by the lake that was a steam bath. The air was still and oppressive and there was a stench that seemed to be coming from everywhere. I wondered if two nights here would be too many.

The heat remained the next day, but the air was clearer and once we were on the lake there was a light and steady breeze. I was completely content.

Jorge introduced me to so much about the lake, the mountains, the people of the region, and more. He was an expert, having grown up here. As he spoke about the importance of the natural world and the spiritual benefits we get from it, he became my own personal shaman.

I learned of the practices of black magic and white magic that the area is known for, being called the witchcraft capital of Mexico. Our conversation was indeed magical. It was not a lecture, but a true conversation, and I felt that there was no other place I’d rather be at that moment.

At one point, we stopped at a remote part of the shore to pick up a father and daughter who were on a motorcycle journey across Mexico. We learned more about the healing powers provided by the natural world from a small community of practitioners of white and black magic. And we received a mud cleansing which left me feeling refreshed and peaceful!

Mostly, we learned that the natural world has everything we need. It is our job to protect it. Catemaco has no resorts or large hotels or even jet-skis or water sports on this beautiful lake. It remains as it has been for thousands of years because the people here live in harmony with the natural world. The ancient wisdom passed down through generations teaches them not to oppose nature but to respect it and to share their wisdom with those who venture into this paradise.

Gulf of Harmony

In another town a few days later, three long bus rides from Catemaco, I found myself waiting for an hour on a remote road for a taxi to pass by when I decided to start walking. The late afternoon sun glowed across the green fields in every direction. I could still hear the waves from the Gulf of Mexico and the remote beach where I swam earlier without seeing another soul.

I wasn’t worried about finding a ride back to the city of Papantla, an hour away. I knew that things would work out one way or another. There are no buses in this countryside. People share taxis, sometimes cramming 6, 7, or 8 people in a small sedan designed for no more than five.

A man on a bike approached from behind and greeted me warmly, asking where I was going. He assured me a taxi would come and suggested we wait in the shade.

For another hour, Miguel and I talked and eventually continued to walk, getting to know each other. He worked in the fields and knew everyone in the area. He spoke of how important it is to welcome others and treat them with respect. “We’re all human,” he said. He was a true ambassador who would not leave a traveler alone on a remote road until a taxi came by with space for one more person.

Indigenous Wisdom

The following day, when I arrived in the busy metropolis of Mexico City after yet another long bus ride, I was wondering if I should have spent more time in the greenery of Veracruz. Was I missing opportunities to experience more natural wonders and meet warm and welcoming people?

My Uber driver from the bus station convinced me otherwise. For an hour, despite what must have been the chaotic city and traffic outside our car, Gerardo and I were immersed in a deep conversation, oblivious to the world passing by.

Once again, this conversation with a stranger turned to the importance of truly living in harmony with the natural world and the wisdom of indigenous cultures.

I told Gerardo about my visit to the ruins of El Tajin outside of Papantla, with its massive pyramids and ball courts, including the Pyramid of the Niches that contains 365 niches making it a solar calendar.

Gerardo, a former blues musician, spoke of how religion and science can work in harmony and that the ancient cultures knew this best. And more than once, he stated, “We are of the earth and we shall return to the earth,” signifying our place in the natural world.

I recalled the custom I learned in Bolivia so many years ago of always making an offering to Pachamama, Mother Earth, before taking your first sip of a drink. How strange, I thought at the time, to pour some of your beer on the ground. It felt awkward for me to partake in this custom and I usually did so without much thought about the meaning behind it.

Now more than ever I realize the importance of respecting the earth and honoring the traditions of indigenous cultures who carry the secrets of living in harmony with Pachamama and are willing to share this knowledge with those who will listen.

Here are a few more scenes from recent encounters in the state of Veracuz, Mexico, including El Tajin, the famous “Voladores de Papantla,” a meeting with a fellow solo traveler from France, dancing in the plaza, a youth ballet performance, and a visit to the mountain town of Orizaba.

Finally, here’s what happened when the tourist kiosk workers found me in the plaza of Papantla!