The Yellow City

Izamal tour busses

Once upon a time in Izamal, The Captain Who Trained with Eight Thousand Flints lived in a palatial home just around the corner from Jumping Rabbit and up the road a short distance from the Temple of the Fire Macaw. A couple of neighbors, Habuk and Kabul, were across the main square and probably crossed paths now and then. All in all, it was your basic, quiet warrior-class Mayan neighborhood somewhere between the third and sixth century A.D.

David and Panchita take us on a tour

We’re clip-clopping through the narrow and ancient streets in a convertible horse-drawn carriage listening to our driver, David as he narrates the story of the city. Panchita, his horse, snorts and whinnies as she hauls us along at a leisurely pace. She knows it’s too hot to hurry anyway.

As time went on, David continues, the Mayan town’s fortunes took a turn for the worse. Deforestation brought on climate change. Harvests began to dwindle, and deferred maintenance wreaked havoc on the grand temples and houses. Diseases flared. Political alliances so carefully stitched together completely unraveled. Other cities, such as Uxmal and Tikal, seemed to be more favored by the gods as places to live, work, and worship. The Captain, the Rabbit, their neighbors, and soon the Mayan population as a whole, began to disperse. Eventually and inevitably, the jungle repossessed the place. The sound of human voices almost vanished even before the Spanish brought both disease and religion.    

Convento de San Antonia de Padua

Magdelena in her gift shop

And then, after a while, a long while, one small church appeared, then another and another. The stones that were once the sides and capstones of the grand Mayan temples now are repurposed to serve as walls and walkways for the Convento de San Antonia de Padua, completed in the mid-1500s. Now, though somewhat worse for the wear, the Convento is a home to shy Magdalena and a small group Francesan sisters. 

Candles of rememberence

The huge grassy atrium, enclosed by the 70-plus arches of the convent, is second only in size to the Vatican, although Magdelena’s small, lonely gift shop and an alter of burned candles for the lost or sickly children of the village are now the only evidence of religious life.  The Mayan spirit, however, was never lost. It was, and still is, deliberately commemorated by the rich yellow paint that covers every single home, store, or iglesia in Izamal, the Yellow City, the color of corn, the manifestation of the Mayan body, mind and soul.

We came into the glowing city after a long ride from Merida. It was mad dog hot. We couldn’t wait to get to the cool confines of our hotel, Posada Ya’ ax Ich, and the little blue swimming pool in the garden. The town is very walkable – even the Mayan ruins can be accessed by short neighborhood walks - but we elected right away to do our exploring on an early morning/later evening schedule, saving the middle of the day for a museum crawl and cold drinks.

Mayan women dressed for success in Izamal

How families ride in this town

We discovered that the town had a definite rhythm. In the morning, the townsfolk hustle about making ready for the few tourist vans that show up in the hottest part of the afternoon (go figure). After about two hours each day, the clattering, chattering, photo-clicking tourists melt into the heat of the day. Then the town slides into a torpid afternoon and then into an easy evening. Entire families strategically arrange themselves on put-putts, elderly motorcycles, or they pile themselves into 60s-era VWs and venture into the cool evening. A constant, but not unpleasant, buzz of vehicles of all shapes and sizes slowly spins around and around the central zocalo as the horses are unhitched from their buggies and led off to food, water and rest. Townspeople sit on park benches and talk and watch, probably a lot like they did in Jumping Rabbit’s day.

Eventually, we give up our bench spot and take a walk to a recommended restaurant with the aid of a villager who has clearly been hitting the cactus juice (Eric sure knows how to pick ‘em). Apparently, he is under the impression that he is providing a guide service, albeit for about three blocks, and shakes us down for a couple of pesos. Once at the restaurant, we’re a tad disappointed to see that it is inhabited solely by gringos who are being hovered over by squadrons of waiters. The place feels dark and grey, much like the food. It was so unlike the lunch we’d had earlier at Conchitas – a noisy, bustling place with card tables and folding chairs and elbow-to-elbow diners crammed into the middle of  the central market. 

Conchita's crazy mercado restaurant

Round little Conchita, about 4 and a half feet of steely-eyed ornery, basically told us what to eat and then proceeded to pile the table with delicious fare. It was quite clear that our only job was to eat and enjoy, no questions, no lip.

The house of Fire Macaw

The next day we wake with grim resolve and face the blistering, early-rising heat in order to hike to and climb the suburban pyramid, Kinich Kakmo (Fire Macaw). It is an enormous structure, the largest in the Yucatan, but it is not as photogenic as Chichen Itza, or Uxmal. Still, from the heights, it is possible to see many miles of the jungle interior of the state. Supposedly, one can see Chichen Itza from the upper level, but we have no luck spotting it in the morning light. As the heat begins to really grab hold, we slip back down the ancient stairways and, as planned, seek out the cool of the town artisian museum.

Fridas at the Artisian museo

What a place! Clever art, full of color and humor is distributed throughout the building and is truly delightful. We spend the hottest part of the day gawking at the work of local artists, which include truly fine textiles, sculptures, carvings and paintings.

Our last day, we head off to the local hotel for desayuno and, lo and behold, Lord Harumf and Lady Overtan-Hyde are there at breakfast. Eric says hello to Lord H and he responds with a “Have we met?” Eric says he was sorely tempted to say, “Why yes old boy, don’t you recall? India? That spot of nasty business… mounting elephants…fleeing for our lives, what, what?” But he chickens out and simply reminds his Lordship of our Uxmal encounter. Lord O is effusive this morning and does give us what turns out to be good advice on places to eat in Campeche before he returns to tea and toast.