Diving with a Crocodile in a Cenote

After a year, a hundred dives and more money than I want to admit, I’ve finally achieved complete and stunning mediocrity! I hit 100 dives on this trip and also got really good improved at scuba diving. I can now say with pride that I am a solidly average diver!

I know it doesn't sound impressive to become average, but it's a huge step up from the flailing incompetence I've been demonstrating for most of the time I've been scuba diving. Anyway it’s a big accomplishment. I got a tattoo about it.

In addition to celebrating my hard won mediocrity, I've been able to add to my personal mythology by jumping into a sacred Mexican cenote containing a crocodile. I know it was a crocodile because it said “crocodile” on the warning sign. I still read the sign in Spanish like croc-a-deel-a because I think I am bilingual (I'm not) and I am definitely extra.

So it was a crocodile for sure and not an alligator, but I think alligators live there too? There are also caimans, which I believe means alligator in Spanish but they may be a completely different breed of chaos lizard. Like different by science even though they all look the same. I don't know, I’m not a herpetologist.

That’s not racist. I don’t hate reptiles, I have tons of iguana friends.

An Iguana I Did Not Like

I like iguanas except one I knew named Hector. He lived in a piano in my foster mom's house when I was 16. (Yes, I was in foster care. Yes, it's because I was a delinquent. And yes, that explains a lot about why I'm like this.)

Hector only emerged from his piano every few weeks to whip people with his tail and just generally act super aggressive. The foster care system is wild like that.

They also had an aggressive goat named Thelma who lived outside and rammed me. I bet you didn't know I've been rammed by a goat and attacked by a murder lizard. I have so many magnificent life experiences, what an elite resume of trauma.

How is the Piano?

When I told my BFF this story about Hector, her question wasn’t even about the iguana or my trauma. It was “How is the piano?” She has a music degree, so naturally her concern was for this majestic instrument.

Girl, that piano is wrecked. Absolutely fucked up beyond repair. Hector destroyed it as you would expect when a prehistoric dragon moves into your Steinway to terrorize teenage girls. Obviously.

The Crocodile

Anyway back to Cenote Aerolito. There was a crocodile in it and he was there. Where we could see him. Just existing and looking menacing. We all knew this prior to entering the water and chose to do so anyway because of our deeply problematic life preservation instincts.

Sure, I've seen documentaries about crocodile death rolls, but I'm fairly certain most of those victims drown before they bled out. I had a regulator so I could have been death rolled for up to an hour as long as I managed my air properly during the attack.

I can also afford to lose a little blood, it's mostly tequila anyway. It wouldn't be the most unhealthy detox I've ever tried.

Our dive guide, The Moist Messiah of the Mexican Underworld, was all “he’s only 3 or 4 feet, just don’t splash around a whole bunch or anything.” That guy was so cool and he had awesome hair. What a chill attitude to have about a child sized death machine. Jose is a wet fucking legend!

This is the kind of mythological dangerous shit my friends and co-workers expect of me.

Of course Hilary cannonballed into a cenote right on top of a crocodile in Mexico and got death rolled for 40 minutes, that bitch is always doing crazy shit.

The crocodile did not approach, but there was a bunch of plant life algae type stuff touching my bare skin. This was more upsetting. I remained calm but internally I was screaming louder than I would have if the crocodile bit my foot off. Gross!

An Honest Review about Getting Wet in Mexico

The rest of the dives were epic.

Jose, The Wet Legend of the Yucatán, has not yet responded to the glowing 5 star review I wrote on Trip Advisor entitled Get Wet with the Moist Messiah of the Mexican Underworld. In my opinion, this review is an unhinged literary masterpiece.

It's almost like I wrote an epic poem about him and he's completely ignoring it.

It's a tale so grand and so soaked in glory that it deserves to be optioned into a television saga with a budget rivaling Game of Thrones. Instead of dragons, there will be one meancing crocodile (pronounced croc-a-deel-a) and the dive master could be played by Aquaman himself. Because Jose might actually be Aquaman.

The Mexican Police Assault Everyone but Me

Jose may not have loved that I mentioned getting pulled over by the Mexican police driving from Tulum to Playa Del Carmen. During that stop, we were all invited by the police to exit the vehicle.

The men endured a police search so thorough that I started to feel bad. Men aren't used to any kind of uninvited exploration of their personal spaces. They looked confused, unmoored and violated. It's not like they're women, they're not used to being groped on a regular basis.

I think those guys may need to like... talk to someone about this. Although I am not sure if they were more offended by the uninvited touching or the customary bribe they were forced to pay.

Maybe the only way to truly assault a man is to take his money.

I do know that it brought me immense joy. I didn't get searched but I looked like a butch lesbian so maybe it's the men's fault for looking too attractive after a dive. I love Mexico, that was the most hilarious sexual assault I've ever heard about.

Wrapping This Wet Dream Up

Many men were harmed during the time I spent in Playa Del Carmen this month. Emotionally, financially, egotistically. But no one died and we all remain physically intact.

Most importantly, none of this was the crocodile's fault. He is completely innocent. All atrocities were committed by man, not reptile.

Hmm, maybe I am a herpetologist.