Sky & Telescope - January 2023 - 84

DAVID CURTIS
FOCAL POINT by Eric Geater
A Surprise
on the
Beach
A solo, wee-hour observing
session suddenly turns
alarming, then charming.
FIVE YEARS AGO this month, my wife
Suanna and I visited the Riviera Maya,
a stretch of Caribbean coastline in
Mexico's Yucatán Peninsula. This was
our second trip to a Spanish-speaking
destination. In fact, it was our 2015
vacation to Puerto Rico that inspired
me a aprender un poco de español, or to
learn a little Spanish - thank goodness,
as it turns out.
I brought along binoculars and a
tripod to Mexico, hoping to peek at
Omega Centauri, Rigil Kentaurus (aka
Alpha Centauri A), and other wonders
of the southern sky that are unavailable
to me in northern Alabama. To
deter mosquitos and avoid airport
security issues with liquid repellents,
I purchased a keffiyeh, the traditional
Arab headdress, to cover my head. Longsleeved
shirts and long pants completed
my observing attire.
We arrived in Tulum, on the northeast
Yucatán shore. After lunch at our
" luxuriously rustic " beachfront resort, I
asked the property manager for permission
to observe from the resort's
beach early the following morning. He
graciously granted my request, noting
my name in the logbook.
Around 3 a.m. the next morning, I
greeted the night manager as I carried
my equipment out onto the beach.
84 JANUARY 2023 * SKY & TELESCOPE
Voluminous but widely dispersed Caribbean
clouds sailed on a warm, easterly
ocean breeze, and all was serene. It
didn't take me long to spot the massive
Omega Centauri cluster.
Suddenly I was surrounded by armed
security guards barking questions in
Spanish. What was I doing there? Why
did I have binoculars? Was I spying on
guests? I struggled to remember useful
responses: " ¡Tengo permiso estar aquí! "
( " I have permission to be here! " ) and
" ¡Yo sólo mirando a las estrellas! " ( " I'm
only looking at the stars! " ). My faulty
Spanish wasn't helped by my keffiyehhidden
face, but eventually I conveyed
that my driver's license could be found
in a pocket. My hands were up, and
they weren't coming down.
One of the guards read my license
over a walkie-talkie. When the reply
confirmed my permission to be there,
tensions instantly eased. The five guards
apologized, explaining their responsibility,
but I was giddy with relief. I
said breathlessly that esas estrellas - I
pointed at the stars Hadar and Rigil
Kentaurus - could not be seen from
where I live in Estados Unidos. " ¿Ustedes
gustaría ver? " ( " Would you like to
see? " ), I said, offering them a look.
Several of the guards lingered and
peered through my binos, their weapons
no longer drawn. I pointed out targets,
at least those I knew of in this unfamiliar
patch of sky. One by one, the guards
bade me polite farewells and returned
to work at the resort. The last remaining
guard seemed fascinated by the
binoculars, though he struggled a bit
with the eye relief. After a few minutes,
he politely asked, " ¿Por qué usted mira? "
- " Why do you look? "
In all my years of observing, I actually
hadn't thought of that before. I
could describe light-years and orbits,
or chemical connections between us
and the stars, but not why I observe.
My ham-fisted translation felt silly to
say, but I replied, " Las estrellas son en mi
corazón, " or " The stars are in my heart. "
Slowly the guard's smile widened into a
grin, and he said, " ¡Ah! ¡Es tu alegría! "
( " Oh! It is your joy! " ) and returned his
eyes to the binoculars.
Later I thought: " Two people limited
by language somehow found a way to
chat about the stars. " That's what I hope
to tell stargazers when I travel to Mazatlán,
Mexico, for the 2024 total solar
eclipse - hopefully in better Spanish.
¢ ERIC GEATER lives in northwest
Alabama, where he works in information
technology. He has been an amateur
astronomer for 14 years.
Sky & Telescope - January 2023

Table of Contents for the Digital Edition of Sky & Telescope - January 2023
