When you’re trekking in 40C heat, there’s nothing more welcome than a swimming hole. This particular oasis was a perfect circle of inky, deliciously cold-looking water. Only problem was, it was 10 metres below the trail. I took a deep breath and channelled my inner Tom Daley. One, two, three – go! I leapt into the void and plummeted like a stone – points deducted for the huge splash as I hit the water.
When I came up for air, I had the cenote, or sinkhole, to myself, barring the birds nesting in the craggy rocks that formed it. I floated on my back and watched as a black vulture tried to coax her fluffy chick to take its first flight. Who knew carrion-eaters were so cute?
