It’s always fascinating to see how people react to my camera. In this case, all but the second from the left were obviously eager to be photographed. Their smiles are great and the food was pretty good, too.
Those of my generation know that the title for this post is also the title for the title track of the Doors third album “Waiting for the Sun.” They sing
At first flash of Eden, we race down to the sea.
Standing there on Freedom’s Shore.
Waiting for the Sun, etc. etc. etc.
And, this photo does little to reflect those lyrics. But I did take this photo early in the morning one day, well before the crowds arrived on the beach and a little before the sun came out from behind the bank of clouds that typically hovers over the eastern horizon off the shores of the Yucatan Peninsula.
The coati is a relative of the raccoon, an animal we are familiar with in South Dakota. These coati were part of a band of 15 or so and they were pretty good at working the residents of the resort we stayed at recently. They look cute and innocent but they could be aggressive, as my brother-in-law found out. One of them climbed right up his leg looking for a handout and leaving bleeding claw marks. All of the signs on the resort said “Don’t feed the animals.” That was probably good advice.
About a mile down the coast from the resort we stayed at recently in Mexico was a ruined resort once known as the Robinson Club. The story is that it was hit with two hurricanes. Apparently, it also had ecological issues and the resort was ultimately closed.
To our family, the Robinson Club isn’t just a ruined resort – it was the first resort we stayed at 15 years ago. And all of us have fond memories of the place. The resort was beautiful, the beach was perfect and the mostly German and generally zany staff made people feel like old friends.
Scott, my brother-in-law, my nephew Matt and I ventured on to the property one afternoon and explored and reminisced. Our explorations were cut short by two young men wielding machetes. Though they didn’t speak English, they made it clear that we weren’t welcome and so we made a quick exit. (Though I did go back early a couple mornings later.)
The last several photos are of the sauna area, which also turned out to be the “clothing optional” compound. The Germans staying at the resort the week we were there liked their freedom!
I should know what kind of bird this is. But I don’t. I’m not really equipped for bird photography but this guy was pretty close to me when he/she took flight.
Added 2-2-12: Jim Klinger tells me this bird is a Great Blue Heron. Since he took the time to identify my bird, you should take some time and check out Jim’s excellent photo blog.
Canon 5DIII 1/640s f/10.0 ISO200 102mm
It occurs to me that I should be posting something a little more seasonal, given that is is Christmas Day. But instead I give you young love, as seen from the inside of an abandoned building.
It also occurs to me that the photographer can be a bit of a voyeur at times and that the camera is a willing accomplice.
This piece of coral was lying on a beach in Mexico that was covered with pieces of coral. I’m not sure what causes coral to wash up, or even what coral like this looked like when it was thriving in it’s undersea world. But I do know that the many small structure make for good macro subjects – especially in low, angular light.
“The wine-dark sea” is an epithet that Homer used to describe the Aegean Sea. I doubt that Homer’s Odysseus ever sailed the waters off of the Yucatan Peninsula, but if he had, would he have heard the sirens’ song as I have? Or the mermaids singing?
And now, because I can’t stop the chain of consciousness that wells up from my distant college past from time to time, I am compelled to quote “The Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock” by TS Eliot:
“I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.”
But I am not Prufrock, nor was meant to be. . . .