Mexico - The Origin of Life

I'm continuing my exploration of Mexico, and the more I go, the more I feel like a Mexican (my Spanish is improving rapidly: I went from "hola" to "Buenos días, señorita! Cómo va?" without much stuttering. Plus, I navigate the markets like a pro).

Bacalar, my next destination, is the kind of paradise that comes straight out of a postcard. I arrive, I see the water shifting from turquoise to emerald to the deep blue of a billionaire's swimming pool, and I think to myself: "OK, they went a bit overboard with Photoshop."

Credit: world-evasion.com/post/que-faire-bacalar-lagune-7-couleurs

All this thanks to varying depths and a white limestone seabed that reflects the sun like a giant mirror. The result: seven different hues in a single photo.

This geological marvel, which stretches for 42 km, is fed by several cenotes (natural freshwater sinkholes) connected by the world's largest underground river system.

So, two weeks after arriving in this little tropical paradise, I give in and go full tourist mode: a pontoon boat tour on the Lagoon of Seven Colors.

We set off, and then the capitaine draws our attention to something that looks like mammoth droppings. He starts telling us about stromatolites. YES, STROMATOLITHS. Not ordinary rocks, no: the living ancestors of ALL life on Earth.

Credit: world-evasion.com/post/que-faire-bacalar-lagune-7-couleurs

3.5 billion years ago. Older than the dinosaurs, older than the Mayans, older than the guy who gave me my first kiss. These microscopic critters—cyanobacteria—literally invented photosynthesis and created oxygen so we can breathe today. Without them, we'd still be bacteria suffocating in the primordial soup.

"Living rocks that have been working since the dawn of time!" I look at them and think to myself: "Wow, these tiny bacteria have been working for 3.5 billion years to oxygenate the planet, and I'm struggling to write two posts a month?"

Juan "La Leyenda" (John the Legend), our captain

And the worst part: they're FRAGILE. If you step on them, you can destroy the planet's legacy. Our captain repeats ten times: "No tocar, no pisar, no respirar demasiado fuerte!" (Don't touch, don't step on, don't breathe too hard... I'm barely exaggerating). Imagine: these warrior bacteria survived meteorites, ice ages, the extinction of the dinosaurs... and now they're stressed because of a Quebec immigrant.

So, I disembarked from the dock with an existential revelation: if life began like this—a layer of sticky bacteria trapping limestone to survive—then we're all stromatolites 2.0. We cling to our sediments (our jobs, our possessions, our dramas, our memories), we produce a little oxygen, and we hope to leave a legacy.

Bacalar, thank you. I swam with the origin of life and now I'm drinking a Modelo Negra, feeling tiny. Who wants to come and see?