Island of women

Abstract

The fishermen of Isla Mujeres, Mexico, are a cavalier lot. They think nothing of the occasional decompression illness. Diving complications have become a test of manhood to them, a kind of macho thing, and many are as proud of the number of decompressions as a Masai is of his lion scars. You travel to the island on a small ferry, which carves its way slowly through water that has been described as azure and turquoise, but which rightly should be known as Caribbean Blue. The waters contrast incongruously with the winter Olympics on a small television screen rigged up for the passengers.