A tropical island full of women sounds like Hell on Earth to a man of my tastes, so it would take something special to lure me towards México’s Isla Mujeres. That something special arrived in the shape of an enormous iguana – named, creatively, Iguana – and so off I popped to the sultry Island of Women.
Isla Mujeres rests a few kilometres off the golden shores of Cancún, where sunburnt American tourists spend their days crowding around Clawdia the Crab and their evenings stuffing overpriced tacos into their faces. Ultramar run regular ferries to the island from Puerto Juarez, and if you’re lucky you might be entertained by a chubby Mexicán Elvis impersonator during the half-hour trip.
Juan Méndez say
El Vis Pérez, Cancún’s third-chubbiest Elvis impersonator
Only fajitas rush in
But I can’t help eating nachos with you!
The ferry, shockingly, doesn’t head straight to the Iguana, instead docking in a far less interesting part of the island. I couldn’t find a limousine, so had to jump on an overcrowded party bus like a filthy commoner.
There I was, surrounded by a gang of liquored-up British hooligans (who showed little interest in the cultural importance of oversized roadside attractions), with a voluptuous Latina perched upon my lap, her melon-heavy breasts suffocating me as she attempted to pour tequila down my unwilling gullet. Lo siento, Maria, but those aren’t the sort of Big Things I’m aroused by!
By the time I plunged sweatily from the bus at Punta Sur, my curvy admirer declaring her undying love for me, I was both physically and emotionally drained. I honestly didn’t know if I had the willpower to show the Iguana the reverence she deserved. I shouldn’t have worried, because what I found on that island filled me with a newfound respect for Mexíco and her people.
Hang around for a rep-while and I’ll tell you all about it!
I wish I was in Tijuana, kissing a giant iguana!
Iguanas have long been the symbol of the Yucatan Peninsula and, fortunately, the legions of drug-obsessed tourists haven’t managed to snort or smoke them all yet. The sociable sauropods slither over every scrap of Isla Mujeres, seemingly making a pilgrimage, like me, to the statue of their leader.
The Big Iguana sashayed into this sun-kissed spot in 2001, taking pride of place at the entrance to the island’s popular Sculpture Garden. ‘Iggy’ has changed colours and patterns many times over the years, so maybe she’s part chameleon!
She was all I could skink about as I followed a cluster of cold-blooded critters along the carbuncled coastline. And then there she was, standing proudly over the her kingdom, with the baying brine churning behind her. Queen Iguana, the Monarch of Mujeres.
Iggy’s spines are at once menacing and motherly. Her scales are shockingly lifelike, her eyes deep and regal, as though she knows more than the rest of us ever shall. This is a Big built not simply to attract tourists, but to pay homage to the rich local culture. Falling to my knees to nuzzle her noble nails, I came to realise that women aren’t so bad after all.
But I didn’t let Maria know that!
By the time the tangerine sun dropped into the turquoise sea, my fear of the fairer sex had quelled enough for me to pose not only with Iguana, but with a nearby statue of the shapely Mayan goddess Ixchel. One afternoon with this sublime squamate had done more to cure my fear of gynophobia than years of electroshock therapy ever did.
I love you, Iguana!
Iguana see more!
Has this scaly scamp left you hungry for more? Then scurry along to exotic Taree to see Joanna the Goanna, or spend a frilling afternoon with Frilly the Lizard in beautiful Somersby. There’s also Dirrawuhn, The Big Thorny Devil and The Big Water Dragon. For something closer to Méxicó, stroll over to Costa Rica for an unforgettable encounter with La Iguana. Yes, there’s more than iguana of them!
Honestly, if I had a peso for every Big Lizard I’ve visited, I’d be a chemeleonaire!
