Mexico: Day Three - On to Chichén Itzá, Part 2

It’s strange not knowing what time it is.  There’s no clock or phone in my room, and it’s a long walk to the front-desk building just to find out.  But I guess that’s what a real vacation is like.  Still, some things are time-dependent.  For instance the sound-and-light show tonight.  I still have time for a swim and a shower - and laundry in the sink - before the evening.  And I’m not hungry, so...
       The driver comes for me at 6:30.  (There’s a private direct entrance to the ruins from the days when the hotel owner owned the entire monument, but it closes at 4.)  I kiddingly ask if he wants to drive me to Uxmal on Friday and he says yes.  (Later he says it will be his relative, Netto.)  He drops me off at the entrance of the ruins and will be back to pick me up when the show’s over.

The show costs 510 pesos ($27) and there are audioguides for the walk-around before the show, but I don’t take one because you have to leave ID and I am not leaving my passport!  Besides, I’ll see all this tomorrow morning, complete with the guide’s explanations, so it doesn’t matter.  I enjoy just seeing the buildings lit up and sometimes I can hear someone else’s audioguide, in English or Spanish.  We all roam around the main pyramid, some sides of which seem not to have been restored.  And on one side the wind whips up and I hear a sort of lamentation from the stones.  It’s very gripping in the dark.  (My guide next day says not everyone hears it, and the spirits were talking to me.)
       Fate can often be kind.  It’s not a week-end, so there are still tickets available... and one seat free in the front row when I arrive.  The young man on my left is from Portugal and doing a grand tour of pyramids, like me, but in reverse.  He tells me about Uxmal - my next stop - and I tell him about Tulum.  I never ask his name, but he says he’ll send me some photos of this amazing show (although too loud by far).  With the pyramid/temple as a backdrop, we’re told the story of Kukulkan the flying snake god, the Maya version of Quetzalcoatl, the Nahuatl feathered serpent deity.  It’s in Spanish, but I get almost all of it.  I don’t understand how they do the 3-D touches, or how an image can appear flat when projected on a very 3-D building of steps, but who cares.  The colors pop, the explosions scintillate.  It’s a feast for the eyes.

My driver, Josué is just pulling up as I come down the steps.  Perfect timing.  A short ride home for 160 pesos (about $8), a short talk with the man at the desk, a short walk under the sliver of moon to my Mayan bungalow, and it’s time for bed.  4:30 will come very early.

Mexico: Day Three - On to Chichén Itzá

In spite of traveling alone, the concierge has convinced me it’s safe to take the bus to Chichén Itzá.  It’s a direct route - no need to change buses - and a lot cheaper:  only 25 pesos for Adrian, the taxi driver, to take me to the bus station, and then just 380 pesos for the ticket.  That’s about $23 U.S. in all.
       The bus station is laid out like any bus station elsewhere, but it’s hotter and there aren’t any bums.  One surprising detail is the Subway shop in the waiting area.  Cancun is decidedly American territory for businesses.  The wait in the ticket line is long - because I’m afraid to miss the bus and there’s only one a day.  When you buy your ticket, you pick your seat, and I’m lucky that one front seat is free so I’ll be able to see out the huge front window as we drive along.

       When our bus arrives, it’s a fancy new Mercedes, equipped with a movie screen above the front windshield.  The movie today?  “Penguins of Madagascar” in Spanish, followed by episodes of  “How I Met Your Mother”.  I watch off and on because most of the road is straight as an arrow through trees waiting hopefully for the rainy season to begin.  The only people we pass are a crew cleaning up litter, two separate bikers and one man crossing the highway pushing his bike, appearing seemingly out of nowhere.  I learn a new phrase in Spanish to go with topes:  maneje con precaución - drive carefully.
       The bus is full of young people studying lessons as we travel; they all get off in Valladolid, probably for special regional schools.  After that, we’re only a handful of tourists passing through small, rather rundown towns with police booths at either city limit, and strange names:  Cuncunel, Kaua, Ycakacoiop.  How are you supposed to pronounce those?!

My room, at least the section on the left

The two and a half hour trip (cab + bus + cab + hotel golfcart) deposits me at The Lodge, a fancy hotel with bungalows and much greenery.  Photos on the walls boast of illustrious past guests:  Pavarotti, Elton John, Jackie O, Grace Kelly, etc. etc.   And there’s even a resident pavo real (peacock) named Pancho, whose wife died two years ago, as did his five children, so he cuts a lonely figure.

       The entire ruins of Chichén Itzá were private property for 500 years, the owners of The Lodge, and it was only in 2010 that the Yucatán government bought all 200 acres from the Barbachano family for $17.6 million.  I see old photos of cars driving around the pyramid and among the ruins in the 20's and 30's; before that the hacienda grazed its cattle there.  It’s mind-boggling.  But you must remember that, in a past life, Chichén Itzá was the first capital of Yucatán, and a very busy place, even before the archaeologists and tourists arrived.  Now the ruins have been voted one of the Seven Wonders of the Modern World.
       The day is a bit cloudy.  It rained heavily here overnight (but just a bit in Cancun).  I settle in, passing on the National Geographic magazine I’ve finished to the front desk staff.  (I’ll see them thumbing through it later.)  My room isn’t ready yet - it’s only noon, so I take refuge in the bar, where the bartender teaches me how to say “thank you” in Maya:  Yom bo’otik (pronounced you’m beau teak).  Another employee on the lunch patio teaches me “you’re welcome”:   Mish bah.  All this digested with a good lunch of Maya fried things with veggies & chicken plus a glass of French wine.  And then a short but well-needed nap.

Caracol:  ancient Mayan observatory,
seen from the hotel entrance

Mexico - Day Two - Tulum & the ocean (part 2)

Ana drops me off at the Maya Museum halfway up The Strip, which is open today.  Inaugurated in 2012, it’s small but with a wealth of artifacts from all the cultures of the region, classified by era.  All the big explanatory signs are in Spanish and English, but the smaller ones are only in Spanish.  The first section focuses on the period from 250 BCE to 600 A.D.  Some of my favorites were a tiny jade head of a man (or god), a collection of Dzibanché necklaces, and an Oxtankan ceramic dish with a fish decoration.
       The second section takes over at 600 to 850 A.D. and includes a small statue of a Kelha noblewoman that looks surprisingly Chinese.  (Remember:  the most common name in Yucatán is... Chan!)  There’s also a large stone stela from the island of Cozumel, and more jewelry from the Dzibanché near the Belize border.  The artifacts are accompanied by two videos, one on Tulum, and a photo exhibit about the War of Castes when the Maya rose up against their subjugation by Mexicans descended from Europeans.
        One amazing display was the skeleton of  La Mujer de las Palmas (The Woman of the Palms), still wearing her jade and malachite jewelry.  She is thought to have lived in Yucatán 10,000-12,000 years ago and was found in the Las Palmas cenote near Tulum, probably offered up to assuage the gods.

Around the museum winds the San Miguelito archaeological site with small pyramids and several buildings, one for Chaac, the rain god.  And a huge tree whose roots stretch out like fingers only half underground.  It’s a world apart - in many ways - from the strip of hotels on either side.

It’s time for me to catch a taxi back to the hotel.  Tomorrow I’m off to the next site:  Chichén Itzá.
       After a swim in the ocean, and a shower now that the water’s back on, I change and go back down to the oceanside bar for a mojito from the bartender, Jorge.  Cuba comes up in the conversation and I tell him about the bartender René in Cienfuegos who taught me that a Cuba Libre without rum is called a Habana Libre (that's Spanish for free Havana, the capital).  He likes the story so much that he says “Let me do something for you” and gives me a mojito refill... the best mojito of the entire trip!
       After a conversation with an Air Canada crew from Calgary, where it’s far below freezing, I have a quick bite on the terrace while the sky slowly clouds over for a second night.  Then it’s off to bed.

Mexico - Day Two - Tulum & the ocean

Tulum

First wake-up in Mexico.  The water’s back on, which is a plus, but there’ll be no breakfast (offered free for the inconvenience) for Sandy because the tour will pick me up downstairs at 7.
       We head north to collect other tourists along The Strip that is Cancun-by-the-Sea (my name).  Although I’ve never been there, I imagine this is a bit like Miami Beach as compared to Miami proper, hotel after hotel built on what was once a narrow, sandy shoal 14 miles long (22 km) between lagoon and ocean.  Our guide is Ana, our driver, Ernesto.  After all are collected, we head down the main drag south toward Tulum.
       Along this road we see evidence of the war against the drug culture that invaded Cancun after the arrival of the tourists.  The policía militár are stopping cars, searching for drugs.  (Along the way, I will see the policía federál and the policía municipál as well.) Throughout my travels here, I’m told that Cancun is about the only place drugs are such a problem.  Cancun, in Maya, means “serpent’s nest”, which I guess is fitting then.  As a tourist destination, it’s only 49 years old really, growing from a mere 200 people then to 1.5 million now.  That’s enough to turn any town into a serpent’s nest!

       Along the road there are also topes, something I will experience a lot of in Mexico, rural or urban.  Topes are speed bumps used to slow traffic without all the infrastructure needed for stoplights.  The word makes me laugh because a tope looks like the raised furrow made by moles in my lawn back home, or as the French call them taupes.  Ah, the joys of being multilingual!
       We make a pit stop, to use the facilities, which is where signs tell me not to put the toilet paper in the toilet but rather in a wastebasket conveniently located next to the john (called an inodoro here, because it flushes away odorous matter, I guess).  That was also the case in Cuba as well... and maybe in Peru and Jordan (I don’t remember).  The sanitation system here isn’t built to handle toilet paper.  As a Yankee, it’s something you have to get used to.
       On either side of the road I see signs of American economic colonialism:  Sam’s Club, Office Depot, even Krispi Kreme.  There are also Circle K gas stations (a Canadian company) and some of them have little goodies shops attached with signs announcing them to be Ty-Coz... which is a term from France’s Brittany region.  (Ty in Breton means house and coz means old.)  Could some Breton sailor have landed in Cancun and decided never to leave, seduced by some Yucatán siren?
       Houses are either painted in neon pastel colors (if that’s not an oxymoron) or, when neglected, show black mold stigmata running down their walls.  All are small, but with weather like this, you’re probably outdoors anyway much of the time.  Graffiti is a problem here, as it is everywhere, and one tagger has chosen the unflattering moniker SUSYOS.  Again, multilingualism comes in handy because sucio in Spanish means dirty... which is appropriate for what graffiti does to buildings.  But I’m sure there’s more to that moniker.

Tulum on the Gulf

Before we reach Tulum, Ana gives us a bit of background.  The Yucatán Peninsula is a place of great variety, with 68 different ethnic groups in Mexico.  (Or was it in Yucatán alone?)  The Maya are but one of them.
      I chose to visit Tulum because it’s the only Mayan vestige on the ocean, at least in the Yucatán.  It served as the port and trading post for Coba and other Mayan cities farther inland.  Its name means “stone fence”, but its old Maya name was Zama, which means “sunrise”.  An appropriate name, as it faces east, out over the vastness of the Caribbean Sea, with the nearest landfall being Cuba far beyond the horizon.

Honeybee god

       The main problem in Tulum has always been water.  Elsewhere in this dry region, there’s water in underground rivers and the many cenotes, deep natural wells or sinkholes formed by the collapse of surface limestone to expose the groundwater below.  Here there are none, so the Maya carved cisterns out of the limestone to catch the meager rainfall.  Being a porous stone, the cisterns had to be lined with a sort of waterproof stucco, an ingenious invention that involved honey as a binder, a new use of honey to me!  The water was for human use almost exclusively because the soil here is only 12 inches deep (30 cm), making it useless for most farm crops that would need to be irrigated.
       In addition to the use of honey to make stucco, the Maya invented many things during the Splendor Period, Ana proudly tells us (and I’m assuming she’s at least part Maya herself, judging from her facial features).  The Maya were astronomers, mathematicians, agronomists, philosophers, artists, architects, sculptors and warriors... a rich, complex society.  They were the first to cultivate chocolate, chili peppers, vanilla, papayas and pineapples.  They built causeways to connect cities.  They developed highly accurate calendars.  Their artists carved amazing jade masks and wove colorful textiles.  They invented the zero, and devised a binary system like the one used in today’s computers.  They also had the only writing in America.  All this while Europe remained in the Dark Ages.
       But Tulum was already abandoned when the Conquistadors arrived.  I can just imagine what they wondered when they saw the buildings, probably not yet ruins, from the sea.  The town remained “lost” from 1550 until 1841.

Veladores

       Everywhere among the ruins are what Ana calls jacaranda trees, or flamboyants in the French West Indies.  These orange-flowered trees have leaves so rough they were used by the natives for scouring.  The original Brillo pad.
       And then there are the buildings themselves, with their sculptures.  On several are depictions of the jaguar, the god of the underworld here.  There’s also Ixchel, or Lady Rainbow, the goddess of love according to Ana, but also known for childbirth and by extension for medicine in general... but what an off-putting old woman face she has for a goddess of love!  And then there’s the honeybee god, very important because there was no sugar cane in the Yucatán and the only sweetener the Mayas had was honey.
       Ana sets us loose to poke around as we want.  Her warning to us is adorable:  “Always take your values with you.”  Meaning “valuables”, but I like her version better.  I poke all around the ruins, and especially near the coast, and catch a glimpse of fishing boats off the coast and a family of bathers almost hidden directly below the cliffs.
       On the way back to meet up with the others, I watch the velador dancers.  Those are four men, one for each season, who climb up a tall pole with nothing to keep them from falling.  Once up there, they attach themselves by the ankles to ropes and then launch themselves into the void, circling down slowly to the ground, as if they were flying (which accounts for the name).  It’s quite spectacular.  After that, it’s lunch on our own and then back to Cancun.

Mexico: Day 1: Arrival in Cancun

The Strip at Cancun

My good friends George and Kari, both early risers like me, are kind enough to face the iffy weather and rush hour traffic to drive me to the airport.  They’ve always been there for me.
       After de-icing - an appropriate metaphor for this trip - my plane zigzags the 1,475 miles (2,374 km) into blue skies and a whole other climate.

My first cultural surprise comes on paperwork before landing.  I see Estados-Unidos (United States), but not of America, rather of Mexico:  Estados-Unidos de México.  Mexico has 31 states, plus one federal entity (Mexico City being their equivalent of Washington, D.C.).  I guess I once knew that but forgot.  I will end up traveling through five of those states:  Yucatán, Quintana Roo, Campeche, Chiapas and Tabasco, plus the capital.
       Also on the paperwork we’ve all been given, something that makes me giggle.  The customs papers indicate that I have the right to bring into Mexico three pets:  “cats, dogs, canaries, hamsters, guinea pigs [which were lunch in Peru], Australian parakeet, cockatiel, ferret [!], turtles, small size birds (exc. birds of prey).”

The lagoon, complete with alligators

Things aren’t too auspicious upon arrival.  There’s no car from the hotel as I’d requested, no one holding up my name.  But there are taxis and shuttles outside, I discover.  Once at the hotel, I have to wait a fair moment behind other guests to check in.  And the concierge is only semi-helpful, although very cheerful.  She tells me the museum down the road, which was on my dance-card, is closed today... and admits she hasn’t seen it herself, which seems like something she should be familiar with as a concierge.  She does arrange for a place for me in the tour of Tulum tomorrow, although the tour to Tulum-plus-Coba is unfortunately full.  (Coba would have been an extra to my list.)  And there are problems making reservations for the flight I’ll need to take in a few days to get to the capital city.  All this has taken time, and the yellow flags that were flying on the beach have been changed to red, which means no swimming in the ocean for me tonight.  (No one swims in the lagoon, because of the
alligators.)

Tulum

       I decide to just roll with the punches and channel my Scarlett O’Hara (“tomorrow is another day”).  Somehow it’s already dinner time, especially if you slept poorly, got up early and traveled for hours, so I settle in on the hotel’s terrace for a piña colada and a tuna risotto with mushrooms, both delicious.
       As I take the elevator up to my room, my doggy bag in hand, a man - visibly American - gets on with a Domino’s Pizza box.  Must be the fatigue, but I blurt out, “You came all the way to Mexico to eat Domino’s pizza?!”  The woman next to him, probably his wife, responds, “That’s that I told him.”
       When I reach my room, the big problem of the day arises:  no water.  The faucets were working when I checked in, but evidently there have been developments while I was piña colada-ing.  And a note slipped under the door says there won’t be any water until tomorrow.  So no shower to wash away the miles... and no flushing.
       Time to close my eyes and dream of Things To Come.

Mexico - Preface

Chichen Itza

I’m on my way to Mexico.  Well, to the Yucatán, specifically.

Machu Picchu

     I’ve always been interested in architecture and archeology.  And the Yucatán has some of the most fascinating architectural ruins in the Western Hemisphere.

Easter Island

     Yes, of course there’s Machu Picchu, and I’ve been there.  In fact it’s the first place I ever covered on this Bucket List blog of mine.  And I’ve seen the moais of Easter Island, which are not anywhere near as old, but even more shrouded in mystery.  Both are farther south of Mexico by a lot.  These ruins I’m headed off to see are in my backyard, so to speak.
     I’m talking about the pyramids built by the Mayans long before Columbus - or even the Vikings - ever set foot in the New World.  Pyramids that startled the Spanish conquistadors, who smugly thought only Europeans could build such monumental structures.
     As I’ve seen the pyramids in Egypt, it will be interesting to compare them all.

Egypt

Malta

I’m a bit less carefree about this solo trip than I have been about others:  Prague, Malta, St. Petersburg in Russia, even Petra in Jordan.  Not because of the American president’s warnings about caravans on the southern border, but because of Mexico’s recent reputation in some regions.  The news carries stories of drug cartels, some kidnappings of tourists, and some murders.

Petra

     And then there’s my somewhat hectic itinerary, which will entail finding a way to get from Point A to Points B, C, D, E and F.  I am not driving myself around on roads that are pretty much off the grid, and for which I have no reliable roadmap.
     My touristic fate will depend on how good the concierges are in the hotels where I stay.  I’ve tried to book myself as near as possible to the ruins I want to see, so that I can just stroll over.  But getting from one hotel to the next, from one town to the next, will involve buses or drivers.  As for guides, there will surely be a plethora to choose from at the ruins themselves, like  Gloria at Machu Picchu or Abdullah at Petra or Hugo on Easter Island, all of whom were phenomenal.

Prague

     Another point is the language.  I had two years of Spanish in high school, four at the University of Michigan, and one at the Sorbonne, but that was about half a century ago.  How good will my linguistic memory be?
     I’ll be off the grid - no computer, no phone, not even a watch... only a camera for technology, and my two eyes to take in all the beauty.
     As usual, I’m traveling light, a fact that will be helped by the warm climate in the Yucatán at this time of the year.
     Without regret, I leave behind the snow and cloudy grey skies of Michigan for ten days.  I look forward to warmth, sun and blue skies.  And hopefully not too much noise and craziness, because it appears it’s spring break for U.S. universities and those birds fly south to revel.
     In short, this will be interesting.  And amazing, I’m sure.

St. Petersburg, Russia

Prague: Day Five - Cramming in the Rest

In spite of one last Pantagruelesque buffet breakfast and a second day of vividly blue sky, the day gets off to a bad, or at least inauspicious, start.  These are my final hours in Prague, and there’s still quite a bit on my dance card before the taxi picks me up at noon for the ride out to the airport and the flight back to Paris.
       I rush to Old Town Hall to be there for the astronomical clock’s show on the hour.  Only to learn that it starts as of 9 am.  At least I’m not the only naive one staring up at the tower.
       So I decide to do a quick tour of the Decorative Arts Museum, which is fairly nearby.  Had I checked it out yesterday as I passed on the way to the boat dock, I would have found that it’s undergoing renovation - like half of Prague, it seems - and is totally closed to the public until November.
       So it’s on to buy that gift for my neighbor back home who has kindly watered my plants and taken in my mail (which is supposed to be held at the post office, but isn’t).  I thought perhaps a glass cat for her, as she has two pet cats and loves them dearly, and glass is something Prague is known for.  But the shop that has been recommended to me is no longer there.  I do stumble upon a shop that makes absinthe though, so I buy a small bottle for another friend back home.
      All that has taken up almost an hour, so I head back to the astronomical clock.  This time I’m lucky:  early enough to get a front row place for photo-taking.  While I’m waiting, I admire the resolve of a street sweeper who is diligently trying to sweep up cigarette butts from between the cobblestones.  When the clock hands are finally on 9:00, strangely enough the clock strikes only eight times, but I imagine the lack of an archaic mechanism to account for daylight savings time may be the culprit.  The little doors open, the apostles parade out one by one, Death turns his hourglass over, the Turk shakes his head, Vanity admires himself in a mirror, the rooster crows... and the show’s over.  It was wonderful!
       I head toward the Basilica of St. James, where there is a mummified arm said to have belonged to a thief who tried to steal the jewels from the Madonna statue on the high altar.  On the way I find Tynska Street where the glassware shop is supposed to be - the other street was Tyn; my mistake - but the shop is still gone.  However, there is a Freemasonic Club, if you’re a Freemason.
       I’m not sure I understand Prague churches.  They don’t open until 9:30 or 10 am, they charge entrance fees and then they complain there are no “Faithful” among their congregation.  It seems they tend to be rather pick-and-choose about why they’re open at all.  Must be all those years under atheist Communist rule; bad habits were acquired.  I spend the time admiring the oyster bar across from St. James, but its doors are resolutely closed.  When the Basilica finally does open, only the center aisle is navigable and all the pews except both back ones are roped off.  This is obviously just a photo op and not a functioning, praying church.  But the crowning blow is that, after all the waiting... the arm is gone!  Perhaps someone stole it.
       By 10:00, the street actors are out on the town square - two gold men and one angel.  I see them because I go back to actually see the astronomical clock work this time, instead of taking photos of it.

Then it’s off to my last cultural appointment:  the St. Agnes of Bohemia Convent.  And when I get there, it’s free... except for the art collection upstairs, which I don’t have time to see anyway.  And besides, I’ve seen more religious art this trip than I’ve seen in any one place ever before, provided you don’t view ancient Egyptian monuments as an expression of religion.
       In addition to being free, this convent has an
area - not in use right now - for children to play.  There’s a miniature toolbench that looks well used.  And there are small tables with ink pads and square wooden blocks with Gothic letters and many of the shapes I’ve been seeing all over Prague:  stars, flowers, crosses...  It’s a much happier display than the sculptures in the hallway, which include the tombstone, complete with a skull and crossbones, of Poor Clare Antonie de Novelin, who died May 22nd, 1716, at the too early age of 36.  Others are hauntingly beautiful, and I wonder who were these lovely women who lived and died here so very long ago.

       Surrounding the ruined 14th c cloister, the world is all greenery, including vines which once hid the ladies of the convent from the outside world.  Today there are benches to sit on and talk among modern sculptures in the pre-garden.
       The way back to the hotel is through tiny lanes, a world apart from the bustle of the hotel.
       I arrive in plenty of time to use the Czech facilities one last time, grab my suitcase and head down to the lobby to wait for my ride.  The concierge who has been so kind, is there.  Her name is Michaela Roubalova, and to thank me for the roses the other day, she gives me some etchings by... Mucha!  She remembered that was my first stop, and that I told her I loved it when I got back afterwards.  A very thoughtful gift, which I really wasn’t expecting.  The etchings will remind me of my visit to Prague, a work in progress.
       And a truly beautiful city.