Rooftops in the Jungle

Alone at Calakmul, the Mayan mega-city

Soaking wet heat, unforgiving sun, potholed roads. We remind ourselves mantra-like that we are on vacation. Looking up (never, ever looking down) we cling to the side of another massive pyramid. Each one seems to be higher, hotter, and scarier than the last one. We inch our way up steps that had to have been built for giants. Even Eric must climb on all fours, like a supplicant, up through the tree-lined levels, to the top where we find ourselves eye level with birds and monkeys as we take in a (literally) breathtaking panorama of lowland jungle. Here and there, small mountains break up the flat forest and we realize once again that these are not mountains at all but even more pyramids that have yet to be exposed. It hits us all at once: we are on top of  ancient skyscrapers looking down on a cities that once held thousands upon thousands of people.

Lynn in the serpent's mouth at Chicanna Rio Bec temple - can you see the face & teeth?

By now, at the southernmost tip of our exploration of the Yucatan Peninsula, we have seen twelve temples, twelve Mayan cities, at least twelve centuries of history. We can barely keep it all straight. Architectural styles from Peten to Rio Bec to Chene to Puuc crowd our memories. We are on a fast track history train. We say one place is stunning and another pushes it to the side. Each discovery is a piece of a story that is a whole civilization.  It is not a matter of “seeing one, seeing them all” – far from it. It is more a matter of “seeing all in the one”.  This is the Mayan world. We can feel it, touch it, and begin, though just barely, to comprehend it.

Find the wild turkey

Along the way, we’ve encountered fascinating people living in the jungle as though it were a city neighborhood, complete with wild pigs, snakes, lizards, monkeys and thousands of birds. 

Often, our urban eyes don’t allow us to see all that is there. 

Javelina crossing near Calakmul

When that happens, someone typically lends us another set of eyes. A basura (garbage) man’s wife waits for her husband outside the entrance to a ruin, and when monkeys appear, she points them out and shows Lynn how to spot them swinging from the treetops. The jungle has enfolded us in an environment that is both alien and awe-inspiring.

Looking toward Belize from our Chetumal hotel window

When we left Campeche for Chetumal, we knew we would soon be slipping off the grid of relatively easy bus connections, Internet access, and multitudes of nearby attractions. Although Chetumal itself is a relatively modern and comfortable city, it is at the bottom of a tiny strip of coastal communities that cater to tourists. A side trip to Laguna Bacalar, the lake of seven colors, was a cool respite before we returned to the jungle.

Hotel Laguna Bacalar welcomed serious alcohol consumers 

Our best tourist smiles were easy to access at Bacalar

Eric swims in the lake of seven colors

 But a few kilometers to the west, the roads turn to dirt, Spanish becomes a second language to Mayan, and massive cities are often buried right under your feet. Reluctantly, we accepted the idea that we would have to rent a car, or horses, if we were going to see anything at all. The distances from one archeological zone to another are too extensive for reasonable cab rides and way, way too far to walk to. Because the available cars were too small for Eric to drive, Lynn became the jungle chauffeur and quickly adapted to dodging potholes and an assortment of wild animals as we wound our way to the Mayan sites we wanted to see.

Quiet refuge cabana at Rio Bec Dreams

Luckily for us, we found an excellent jungle hotel, Rio Bec Dreams from which to plan our temple-climbing excursions. The owners, Rick and Diane, had even created a book that gave chapter and verse on what ruins to see and how to safely access them, including a detailed self-tour of the granddaddy ruin, Calakmul. Even better, they had a dipping pool for cooling off after excursions and a fantastic dining area complete with candlelit table and fully stocked bar. They were very thoughtful hosts, even providing a special Valentine’s Day dinner that included roses for the ladies. So, in a day, it was possible to go from gritty, dust-covered, overheated jungle misery to the lap of luxury.

Millions of bats emerge from Calakmul cave

They were so knowledgeable about the area around Calakmul. For example, they steered us to a bat cave that disgorged thousands upon thousands of bats right at sundown. The bats are harmless to humans but, even so, it is a singular experience to have hundreds of them flying within inches of your head as they swirl out of a foreboding cave and dart about devouring insects. Some of the other close by ruins, such as Balamku and Chicanna were little jewels of Mayan architectural design. The statuary at Balamku and the elaborate building entrances at Chicanna would have been worth the trip - even without the stunning colossus of Calakmul with its jaw-dropping jungle panoramas lying 60 kilometers to the east over very, very rough roads.

Eric alone and in awe at Calakmul

One of the special virtues of visiting jungle ruins so far off the beaten path is that it is not unusual to have the place to ourselves.  On the day we visited Calakmul, for example, we saw only a few tourists distributed throughout the ancient city. It adds such an element of gravitas to study these incredible structures top to bottom with only the natural sounds of the jungle in the background. Even the more visited ruin, up the road at Coba, was relatively unpopulated before the tour buses showed up later in the day. Coba, in particular, was massive (6,500 buildings at last count with about 5% of them uncovered). The best way to see all of it, we found, was to rent a rickshaw affair, pedaled by a sturdy Mayan fellow who somehow managed to provide a guided tour between gasps for air (imagine lugging Eric around on the handlebars of your bike). We felt so guilty at times that we offered to get out and walk, but he would have none of it. Thanks to his efforts, we were able to see all of Coba without succumbing to the heat.

Eric discovers strawberry and Nutella marquesitas

The days spent at Rio Bec Dreams flew away and, before we knew it, we were back in Chetumal with its vibrant city life. We spent another couple of days walking along the crocodile-infested Rio Hondo, which separates Mexico from Belize and sampling the joyous nightlife that included marquesitas (a uniquely Mexican treat) and diversions of music and impromptu street fair rides. Finally, we turned our attention to the last leg of our trip up the so-called Mayan Riviera. Stay tuned…

Paseo and fun every night in Chetumal

Pirates of the Caribbean

Onward! We left Izamal aboard yet another bus, though this time one of the ADO comfy buses with blessed air conditioning, and settled in for the voyage to the coastal city of Campeche. We weren’t entirely sure what to expect from this historic city other than it was warm, sunny, full of colorful old buildings, and once had a lot of trouble with pirates.

The trip seemed short, aided by a few dubbed American movies. It was interesting to hear Liam Neeson, for example, do his rage bit in Spanish with a touch of brogue in the background. Oddly, Antonio Banderas’s voice was dubbed too. Probably speaks lousy Spanish. Quien sabe? Another Mexican mystery.

Our hosts, the irrepressible Lali and patient Manuel

Helado in the hood

We arrived at our Airbnb via taxi and met our hosts Manuel and Lali who conducted us to a great little garden apartment behind their very modern home. They spoke no English and we tried our best to acquaint them, Lali especially, with our very basic language skills. Manuel took notice and spoke slowly and minimally. Lali, as her son Ernesto warned us, did not have a pause button. She employed what might be called the “cannon blast” approach to conversation. Her strategy was to pepper us with a 500-word monologue. Then, based on our replies, she would take a deep breath and start over again, somewhere near the “gaps” in our understanding. As it turned out, after about five or six such repetitions, we could pretty much piece together what she was trying to tell us. Fortunately, she was as charming and patient as she was undeterred – an elegant and completely lovable person who treated us like family.

Another visit to our favorite seafood restaurant 

We had shown up without having had a meal so we struck out to find a restaurant down by the sea wall. It was only 7:30 pm so, being used to the Merida mealtime routine, we figured we would have an early dinner. Little did we know that Campeche rolls up its sidewalks by 8:00 pm or so. We turned out to be the last couple in the restaurant, so we had the chance to talk at length to our mesero who was a very friendly fellow who also turned out to be a new recruit for the local police department. We liked him so much that we came back to the restaurant a few days later, where we continued our chat between his table waiting duties. We were both touched that he waved goodbye to us a few nights later as we took a final beachfront stroll before heading to points south.

Fisherman returning at the end of the day

Based on what Lali told us, we quickly got the lay of Campeche. It is a big place, made wealthy in modern times as a result of the oil business. It boasts a beautiful, walled historic center, designated a World Heritage site, and a traditional central mercado ringed by a city that has a very modern feel to it. The Malecon, a long walkway that runs along the sea, could have been lifted out of a San Diego brochure – except for the fishermen and their abandoned, pelican-covered ghost fleet of fishing boats anchored just offshore 

City wall separates the new from old city

Eric as Henry the Mulatto

The heart and soul of Campeche is the fortified historic center. Even though Campeche is named for its Mayan founders, its prominence in history relates more to the era of Spanish Conquest, circa early 1500s and the not always successful struggles to keep the city’s treasury (and its citizens) out of the hands of murderous pirates. These troubles went on for more than three centuries (shows how well walls work, by the way, but that’s another story). Because Campeche was situated at the end of a Spanish trade route, many famous pirates and privateers e.g. Henry Morgan, Jean Lafitte, Francis Drake, Henry the Mulatto, took their shot at the “Big ChaChing”. In one notorious attack in 1685, for example, nearly one third of the population was slaughtered by one such pirate attack. The city tended to take the attacks poorly and over the years devised all sorts of deterrents, including hanging, beheading, immolating and, literally, peeling the hide off of the brigands they managed to apprehend.

Traditional Campeche dress modified for added discomfort by the Spanish

Fine metalsmithing on a pirate gun

All this we learned at several excellent museums in the historic section, during our “hot day” excursions. The restored walls of the fort house some particularly fascinating displays of weapons and clothing and day-to-day life activities in the old city. At the Baluarte San Francisco museum you enter the hold of a ship that is a replica of a typical Spanish trade ship. The doors are closed and suddenly you are bounding along on a ride across the Atlantic from the coast of Spain to Campeche. The walls of the space are moving pictures of different phases of the voyage, complete with all the sound and fury. You pitch about and are slammed around and feeling seasick in a very realistic way. The climax of the voyage is a pirate attack with the sound of cannon balls striking the deck and the shouts of sailors barking commands as they returned fire. When it’s over, it takes a minute to get your bearings and your land legs under you again.

We finished a day of museum hopping by taking a tram tour of the historic section. Like the Wah Wah bus in Merida, the recorrida of the city was a fantastic way to see centuries of development under the Spaniards in about an hour. The guide spoke excellent English, so we felt like we were in a moving classroom – but with no final exam to study for.  We were especially intrigued by the black Jesus, beautifully hewn out of mahogany that occupied the altar in a small chapel just inside the old fort walls. On several occasions, the oldest crucifix in Mexico had served as a refuge for the townsfolk seeking protection from marauding sea dogs.  

A romantic dinner complete with power outage

After all that, we were pretty hungry so we sought out the restaurant recommended by Lord Harrumph (the Antigua) and found a great table on the balcony that let us watch the early evening goings on in the center of town. Our timing was perfect. Just as our meal was brought to the table, the rain gods struck. The square was curtained by gouts of water backlit by lightning. At one point, the restaurant lost power. The meseros brought out candles and pulled the tables back from the edge of the balcony. We sat, sipping our margaritas, and watched the street turn into a fast flowing river within minutes. In the windows of the Catedral de Nuestra Senora de la Purisima Concepcion just across the square from us, there were candles and a few emergency lights framing the structure in a soft glow, giving it a sorrowful yet grand aspect. Muy romantico!

Sculpture showing path of the sun blends art and astronomy

Other days, other city sights and museums, including one of the best Mayan museums we’ve ever been to, the Museo de la Arquitectura Maya. Other great museums, the Museo de la Ciudad and the Museo and Galeria de Arte Popular dealt with more recent periods, including various styles of clothing and artifacts from daily life throughout the city’s history - so there was plenty to do on the days that were just too hot to handle.

Fishermen & families clean fish and celebrate at Freedom Shores

Eventually, Lali seemed to take notice of our reluctance to be outside in the middle of the day. She decided that what we needed was a quick trip out of the city and down the coast to cool Isla Aguada. They were going that way to a baptism in Ciudad del Carmen, so they piled us in the car and took us to a truly unique resort that had been built by a disabled American vet and his Mexican wife, Thelma. The place, Freedom Shores, is in the small fishing village of Isla Aguadas and is totally accessible. Lali arranged a room for us there and then turned us loose for an overnight stay. It was a joy to watch people of all abilities dining alfresco, swimming, and collecting memories of Mexico. Eric was especially happy with the room as it had a huge walk-in shower and handicap accessible furnishing designed to accommodate wheelchairs. Because these were a tad larger, wider, and higher, Eric said he finally understood what it was like to be a normal-sized person.

Lali and proud young Mexican officer

Rather than having us catch a bus back to Campeche, Lali and Manuel insisted upon picking us up and driving us back to the city the following day. Lali is truly a people person so, on the return trip, she managed through charm and guile to get us a personal tour of a naval training base that is also a fully restored hacienda. The young officer who was detailed to us was clearly very proud, and deservedly so, of the careful work that had been done to return the hacienda/naval training base to its full glory. He was equally proud of the fact that he had trained with American officers in an exchange program. His unit had served in Syria alongside our own troops. We wondered if he was one of those “bad hombres” that seem to be so upsetting to some. Anyway…

Marine training entrance says "welcome to hell" in Mayan

The time flew away in Campeche and before we knew it, we were saying goodbye to Lali over a home-cooked chicken mole lunch. She let us know that she could not abide us taking a long bus ride without proper nourishment.

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.

Chac and Awe

We are sitting atop an ancient Mayan structure looking down on the Nuns Quadrangle at Uxmal.  It is already a deep, dark night with the moon and Saturn midway above the horizon. Orion gleams over our heads and except for muted jungle sounds, everything is still. The park is empty of daytime tourists. Only a few of us have come early for the sound and light show later in the evening. Flashlights flicker as people find places to sit, but otherwise the buildings around us are washed only with moonlight. Behind the quadrangle looms the huge and forbidding Temple of the Sorcerer, said, in Maya legend, to have been the home of the Dwarf King who built the structure in a single day and night.

It takes very little imagination to place lighted torches at the entrances of the buildings and to watch a slow-moving procession of Mayan high priests and city officials dressed in rich textiles and tall, feathered crowns as they cross the square below to booming drums, bird-like flutes, wailing calls and prayers. For us, the show has already begun.

Two headed snake during light show

Later, lights and sound from the nightly show reverberate through the square, by that time there are many more people, but still a small crowd compared to other ruins we have visited so far on this trip. It is a lively group, not particularly quiet, especially with children about.  Nevertheless, the magic remains. At one point in the show, the crowd began to chant “Chac”, “Chac”, “CHAC” calling for the rain god to unleash the water and grant the Mayan people abundance once again. All through the evening, one has the feeling that ghosts were still here, watching us.

Uxmal, though much smaller than Chichen Itza, somehow seems to take up more space, possibly because all of the buildings seem to crowd in on one another. It feels like an abandoned megacity, complete with skyscrapers towering overhead. Like so many other Mayan ruins, though, this was not a city per se. It was a religious center. The buildings are adorned with dramatic, interwoven symbology, almost all of which is devoted to Chac, the rain god, and Kukulkan , the principle diety in the Mayan pantheon who is usually depicted as a serpent with a bird-like head.

Governor's Palace shows Puuc style architecture

Clearly, though, Chac, as bringer of the rain, was the main focus of this place. Rain was vital to the Mayans, so you see his masks adorning most of the buildings. The temples themselves are entirely different than those at Chichen. The corners are rounded and the largest structures are built like huge cakes on progressively smaller and smaller ovals up to a crowning “house” or temple. Uniquely, these buildings were plastered over and brilliantly painted. They must have literally gleamed in the jungle light.

Two-headed snake in daylight

On purpose, we saw the sound and light show before we visited Uxmal in the daytime. We felt this would give us a much deeper experience of the place. Also, we were ready for a mini-vacation from the heat of Merida, so we made the Uxmal trip an overnighter.

By sheer luck, we booked ourselves into a hotel – the Hacienda Uxmal and Plantation, which turned out to be stunning. It was a throwback to an earlier, more luxurious idea of what a “jungle hotel” could be. Long, tiled corridors, polished wood rocking chairs and sofas, iron-framed beds. Some years back, it had hosted the likes of Jackie O, Queen Elizabeth II, King Faisal, and the Shah of Iran. An elegant ambience permeated the place. You could easily imagine Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall strolling arm in arm around the grounds as men in white suits hunched over hand drawn maps planning expeditions. In fact, there had been a number of such Yucatan explorers who had stayed in the original hacienda, including Frederick Catherwood and his partner John Lloyd Stephens, who were the first to discover and accurately describe the Uxmal ruins in text and pictures.

Even better, there was a swimming pool! Right in the middle of all the luxury was a cold, clear plunge that instantly took away all the day’s heat. As we swam, we noticed iguana sentries posted on the hacienda roof. They looked down up us with an air of haughty tolerance as they chewed quietly on palm fronds. Even the weather was exceptional. There was a cool breeze blowing through the corridors most of the afternoon keeping the temperature perfect and the bugs nonexistent. In the morning we awoke to a bird concerto -layers upon layers of bird sounds: hummingbirds, some sort of warbler, possibly some Peruvian oropendola, little brown birds (LBBs) and big, noisy birds (BNBs) and on and on There were far too many to keep track of. We gave up and chose to just listen to the music. All together, a perfect respite from the busy hustle of Merida.

The hotel was not particularly crowded, but there was an interesting international mix of characters – a French couple, clattering their steamer trunk-sized suitcases over the tile floors and sniffing the air for complaints. A German fellow who could not leave his technology for a single second - now and then spinning around and around shouting something in German - as he showed the hotel grounds to yet another person he’d Skyped. A British couple, who we came to refer to (affectionately) as Lord Harumpf and Lady Overtan-Hyde, who apparently did and did not live in England, who were apparently well off, but not so well off that they could leave the management of affairs to someone else, and who seemed rather restless yet a trifle weary. Lord H, on our first encounter, did not deign to speak directly to us. Lady O, however, was quite cordial and gave us the broad strokes of their itinerary as she translated the sotto voce mutterings that erupted from his Lordship now and then. As is so often the case in the synchronous world of travel, we would meet up again down the road. One especially helpful guy was Luis Chen, an employee hotel who gave us loads of information about Uxmal, including all the sites worth visiting in the area. He spoke excellent English, Spanish, and (as far as we know) Mayan and gave us thoughtful reflections on the state of Mexico now and his hopes for the future.

After a good night’s rest in our huge room, we packed up to return to Merida. The cries of “Chac” from the night before must have propitiated the rain god. We were drenched in a downpour that followed us back to Merida.

Dona Ofelia (retired flamenco maestro) & Eric at Hotel Mucuy

The next morning, we packed for our next destination, Itzamal, and said goodbye to Ophelia and Lilly (who we discovered was actually named Lena) and the staff folks we had befriended at the Hotel Mucuy.

The younger Ofelia (current flamenco maestro) and her husband at the Hotel Mucuy