Letters From Matt are letters from my
brother, Matt, from various of his domestic and international travels.
The letters span decades, and I share them on Living Rootless at
intervals, in no particular order.
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| Stingrays. Credit: Wikimedia Commons |
14 July 2003
Tulum, Mexico
Dear Mzuri,
Now I am living on the beach in Tulum. My hut has a thatched
roof, stick walls, a flimsy door, a concrete floor, a dirty bed, but with
washed sheets. This is one of the best huts because it has a concrete floor and
a bed and it is closest to the beach so I get blasted with a fierce ocean
breeze that keeps me cool and eliminates all but a few mosquitoes. I sleep with
the doors open all night feeling the breeze and the ocean glimmering in the
moonlight and framed in palm trees. The ocean is just 150 feet from my door.
Beautiful girls from Europe sunbathe topless
outside my thatched-roof front porch, where I stay in the shade most of the
day.
Yesterday, I was snorkeling … I saw a small manta ray laying
in the sand under water a half kilometer from the shore. I went under to
agitate it just a little to see it wave its winglike body so gracefully like a
butterfly. It wasn’t a manta ray, but a stingray.
His tail stung my hand, leaving it bleeding and paralyzed
with pain. I tried to squeeze out any venomous or infectious stuff or stinger
even though I don’t know if any of these things are a part of a stingray’s
bite. My fingers couldn’t move and the light bleeding wasn’t stopping
immediately so I swam to shore without the use of my left hand. By the time I
got to shore, my hand felt like it was on fire and someone put out the fire by
smashing it with a hammer. Soreness moved up my arm almost up to my shoulder.
This lasted about two hours.
Concerned onlookers offered thoughtful suggestions for
treatment. The first was from a guy who helped around the scuba shack. He
was a tall and thin Mexican man, a heavy drinker and smoker who like others had
found a lifestyle hanging around the beach catching work where he could find
it. He had many tattoos,very muscular, had skin like leather. In previous
conversation I found he knew something about traditional healing. He
earlier mentioned a kind of wood that could be brewed in tea to treat kidney
stones. His suggestion for the treatment of a stingray sting was to allow a
friend to urinate on the wound. The tourists and locals who were standing by
looked at me to see what I would say, then away from me or to the sand as if
realizing I might recruit them. I suggested I would pass on that treatment
A Mexican guy poured alcohol on it and then swabbed it with
merthiolate. His name is Iban. I thought Iban liked me, but after his first
aid, I’m not sure, because that hurt like hell.
A French-Canadian gave me some Bactarin ointment. I guess
this may have helped prevent any chance of infection, but nothing for pain.
An Israeli asked if I wanted something for pain. Damn right
I did. He gave me a little white pill. He couldn’t remember the
over-the-counter name, but said it was good and would work in a few minutes. He
was right. My hand feels fine now. However, people keep melting in front of my
eyes and a palm tree turned into a bird and flew away.
Just kidding about those last two details. I’m fine now and
see the world as a benevolent place. … Anyway, I want to get back to the beach,
now that I know the difference between a manta ray and a stingray.
And now I know why they say don’t touch anything in the
ocean.
Ciao,
Mateo
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