View from the Pier

Life is a great big canvas,
and you should throw all the paint on it you can.
- Danny Kaye, 1913-1987

Playa del Carmen, Mexico

Playa del Carmen’s Fifth Avenue unfolded before me like a vibrant, splashy mural of colorful characters and many moods. To shouts of “Hey, Paparazzi” I pirouetted, snapped and shutter-bugged my way along Quinta Avenida, happily absorbed in the rich tableau.

A mountain of a man precisely cut a cigar and lit it for a well-heeled customer, clouds of smoke billowing around their lowered heads. A trio of white-garbed musicians, complete with white cowboy hats, strummed a forlorn ballad and looked like they understood sadness. A tuxedoed-waiter stood between two man-size placards that advertised his restaurant, rhythmically folding napkins while he rocked on his heels, his eyes scanning the street for potential customers. A young woman sat outside a dress shop, holding her embroidery hoop up close to her face as she plied her needle. On opposing benches, an angry couple snarled at each other and the legs of a happy pair were intertwined—I knew what it was like to be part of each equation.

Leaving the main drag to go down a block to the beach, I passed a banana-yellow building with a string of gleaming black wet suits draped across the balcony. In the golden light of the photographer’s “magic hour,” hand-woven hammocks in bold hues hung in front of small shops, seemingly glowing. In a serendipitous still life scene, a bag of oranges was propped up against an orange chair. The turquoise tide gently rolled in between rocks bright with lime-green algae.

Playa del Carmen (Xaman Ha’ or Pláaya in Modern Maya) is a small city on the Caribbean coast in the northeast of the Mexican state of Quintana Roo. Originally a tiny fishing town, “Playa” as it is casually called by locals, is the center of the Riviera Maya, which runs from south of Cancún to the Maya ruin of Tulum. Playa is growing rapidly and is now the third largest city in Quintana Roo, after Cancún and Chetumal.

The village was named for Our Lady of Mount Carmel, who is the patron saint of Cancún. The first recorded visitors to what was then called Xaman-Ha, or “waters of the north,” came during the Early Classic Period of the Mayan civilization, which was between 300 – 600 A.D. There is a significant European influence in Playa, with a number of local business proprietors drawn from the European expatriate community.

Born David Daniel Kaminsky to Ukrainian Jewish immigrants in Brooklyn, today’s author Danny Kaye spent his high school years on the comedy circuit in the Catskills. In 1935, he got his start in cinema playing a manic, fast-talking Russian. His feature film debut was in producer Sam Goldwyn’s 1944 comedy Up in Arms. Goldwyn reportedly had issues with Kaye’s ethnic looks and ordered him to undergo a nose job. Kaye refused, and in his efforts to make Kaye look more “All American,” Goldwyn gave him his signature red hair. Kaye went on to a career that spanned movies, radio, and television, demonstrating talent and versatility as a singer, dancer, and comedic and dramatic actor; he was the recipient of two Academy Awards.

True to the ethos espoused in his quote of today, Kaye had many and varied interests. He was an original owner of baseball’s Seattle Mariners from 1977 to 1981. Kaye was an accomplished pilot, rated for airplanes ranging from single engine light aircraft to multi-engine jets. In his later years he entertained at home as chef, specializing in Chinese cooking. The theater and demonstration kitchen underneath the library at the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, New York is named for him. He served as an Ambassador for UNICEF and, said to have perfect pitch, demonstrated his ability to conduct an orchestra during a comical, but technically sound, series of concerts organized for UNICEF fundraising.

I gave a talk tonight, entitled “Visions of the Journey: Dare to Dream.” I was invited to share my experiences dabbling in photography, writing, and blogging since leaving a 25-year corporate career in public relations in 2008. The occasion served as a catalyst to reflect on not only the past two years but earlier events leading up to it.

In 1982, as part of the largest graduating college class in history at the time and with gas lines a recent memory, I just wanted a job, and any job would do, thank you. My father was furious with me for having switched my major from business to psychology “for Christ’s sake, Margaret Ellen!” He darkly predicted he’d have to foot the bill for Katie Gibbs on top of the New England college tuition.

My dad had been deeply affected by growing up during the Depression with an oft-absent father nicknamed “Weasel” who was reportedly a compulsive gambler. The specter of the family living in a cardboard box was routinely bandied about despite the decidedly Middle Class existence my father’s profession as a dentist afforded.  I later learned he had yearned to go into medical research but deemed the economic prospects less promising and the bottom line was more important.

When I was offered a clerical position with the Capital Hilton Hotel after a week of job-hunting, I was so terrified of having to get a cardboard box of my own, I leapt at the prospect. I spent my days in a space the size of a coffin, drawing lines in a huge diary, blocking off which sales person had booked conventions into which meeting rooms. All the while, I plotted my course to prosperity and freedom. My father died a few years later and I worked even harder. By the time I was 30, I was earning double what his salary had been at the time of his death. My mental image of myself is as Rambo, scaling an enormous ladder, knife in teeth, grenade in hand, bandoleers crossing my chest, fighting the good fight to earn a decent wage.

Fast-forward twenty years and my weapons of choice were my cell phone and blackberry, or “crackberry,” as a former colleague called it. Not being able to disengage myself from either appendage or my obsession with all things work-related, I might as well have been living in a cardboard box.  Life was hardly a canvas for me and the lines I was forcing myself to color within had become increasing oppressive.

While in Santa Fe a couple of weeks ago, I met a new friend who commented that in recent years, she finds she is regularly hearing of professions she never knew existed. She said half-jokingly “Why didn’t I know about these jobs when I was growing up?”

Tonight, I was delighted to see a friend of mine arrive for my talk—our paths have diverged and we don’t see each other as often as we used to.  She too is now looking to make a midlife career change.  The icing on the cake is that she brought her nephew, who at a young age is already exploring broad brush strokes.  I’m betting he is a Picasso in the making.

For more images of Playa del Carmen, see Travel Photos