March 04, 2004cancun [th/f]THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 26
CHICKEN PIZZA - or - THOSE MAYANS WERE SOME DAMN FIT PEOPLESix. Fifteen. Wakeup call. And it wasn't even a mere wakeup call. It was more a wakeup knock. You had to drag your exhausted ass to the door, answer it, and coordinate a mind more intent on crawling back into bed enough to sign your name on the appropriate line in order to verify they kept their end of the bargain and woke you up. I.... think.... I signed on the correct line.
I was seriously feeling that western saddle from the day before. Even more than the 1:30 bedtime. Prompt for another shower, I tellya. Steaming hot water soaking away the aches and pains from places they seriously should not be. I forgot horseback riding made you hurt in those places! Most of the people that were going on the excursion with us did not believe I'd make it to breakfast at 6:45, much less the 7:15 bus departure. I showed them all up by being the first one at breakfast.
Now they believe this is what I do practically every day to go to work. Hell, the wakeup and departure times were the same. Only differences were lack of a snooze alarm, having to scrawl my name half-asleep, and that I normally didn't get the pleasure of a buffet breakfast.
It was a two-and-a-half hour busride to the Chichen Itza ruins. Yes, straight to the back of the bus, and, after being assured by the guide there was nothing spectacular about the jungle we'd pass, and that it was a good time to catch up on sleep; discman went on, I was out. cold. Woken up by the tour guide a short time before arrival, our little group of nearby seats began to trade stories of just how many nicknames we'd come up with for the ruins. Chicken Pizza. Itchy Feetza. The list went on.
Translation: Chi = mouth, chen = well, Izta = Itza, the family in power at the time. Mouth of the Well of the Itza.
The ruins were simply breathtaking. I could feel the haunting energy of the place. The lingering phenomenon that clung to the jungle and buildings from such a passionate culture. I lay my hands on the stone platform leading to the jump point from the Sacrificial Well and could see the solemn procession culminating in such a devoutly great honor of giving life to Quetzocoatl. Two sacrifices a year of three pure people, virgins and children that knew they were chosen from the day they were born. I wandered through the cemetary, running my fingers over the skulls carved into the Wall of Souls, and when my eyes were closed, in the wind I could hear the cheers following the winning team to the heavens from the nearby Game Field. Standing on the field, the resonating energy was still so strong it could make your breath catch and send icy chills to surround your heart. The wind growled through the Judge's platform on the exhale of ancient Balam that prowled on padded feet through the night.
And yes, I was taking pictures like a madman. Up until my camera DIED on me. I was so pissed. Just about threw it into the Sacrificial Well. Would have, it there wasn't a roll of film in there only half rewound. Hoped it was just the batteries. Hoped I remembered correctly packing a spare.
In an act of sheer masochism, I climbed the main pyramid: El Castil. Ninety-one steps on each side, adding up to 364 steps. The final step of the top platform circled the entire pyramid, and made 365 steps. Damn nifty mathematicians, these Mayans. Damn fit people, too. Even if they were itty bitty steps, it wasn't just a fear of heights that had me leaning against the wall of the top chambers, knees weak and legs feeling like lead. Nevertheless, I crept (inched, slinked, all but crawled) to the edge so Lynn could get a picture of Larry and I flexing our muscles up at the top.
Here was the picture I wanted to take. At the Wallace Monument in Scotland, I bucked it up and climbed the spiraling staircase to the top with my mom, and even though I was terrified feeling the building sway with each gust of wind, I took panoramic pictures of the entire view over rolling hills. Here, I caught the same view, save it was over about four square kilometers of what ruins had been uncovered so far and Mexican jungle. I had wanted to get pictures to match. I was tempted to toss the camera off the top in an act of punishing its insubordination... yet refrained by sole reason of that roll of film.
Made it back to the ground without tumbling down the stairs to my death. Rather proud of that. So what if I went down a single step at a time because I was sitting on them, death grip on the guide rope, and scooching forward the few inches it took to make the next one. I survived!
This was not the end of my masochism! I trotted around the side to go climb all 62 steps of the inner pyramid, too. There is a cycle of 52 years, and at the beginning the Mayans simple built on top of existing structures. The inner pyramid was, you guessed it, inside El Castil. They excavated a narrow stairwell in order to preserve the integrity of the large pyramid. At the top was a sacred chamber containing a jaguar and the little reclining warrior figure which I've totally forgotten the name of.
Man, I thought my legs were dead after the first climb. When Patrick and Tami went for their climb, I just sprawled on the grass and tried to ignore the pain.
This is when I picked up what is probably the most meaningful of any souvenir. They were selling Mayan calendars in order to support the cultural center and fund education to teach native children about their history. Hand painted in the traditional way on bark paper, including a little handout presentation folder that explained how the dates were constructed and interpreted from the beginning of the Mayan era in 3113. I ordered one for the date my wife and I began seeing each other. See? Proof I didn't completely forget about her on the trip.
Two stops on the busride back. Well, three if you count lunch at the Club Med satellite site just outside the ruins. The first (er... second) was at a little flea market where they taught tourists how to bargain with the natives. I was already a reasonable pro from haggling in Singapore, but my knowledge of Spanish is considerable compared to what I know in Malay. Next we stopped in Valladolid to see the convent, walk through the city to get a taste of traditional Mexican life, and toured the paintings of Frida's husband.... another name I have completely forgotten. My art profs would spit, I'm sure.
It seems my acts of masochism were still not yet over. Even though I was sure my legs would disown me, when we got back to the Village, I signed up for the Xcaret excursion the next day because I had not yet had my fill of Mayan culture. Grabbed a shower, and booked it to the cooking lesson for the night which was how to make the white chocolate bread we'd all been gorging on.
Back to La Palapa for dinner, this time with the entire group save Erin and Angel. They were supposed to be there, but we later found they rented a car to go into downtown Cancun and got lost on the way back.We had to practically fight to get a reservation for 20. We got two tables of 10, and were refused service when we tried to move them together. Before DC went and reamed whomever may have been in charge, Bobby played PR and found that they were set up to only serve parties of 4-10, and simply could not handle having so many plates to set down at once. It mucked up their system. We did, however, have excellent service after that, even if we made up for the separate tables by not letting that get in the way of a group conversation. Luckily we were placed in a separate part of the restaurant that only held those two tables. Maybe they knew....
Having sampled the fair the night before, and being presented with the same menu, I made up for lost time - and got two plates of just about each course. Something had to soak up the mango margaritas.
This time the nightly show was karaoke. I refused to go on stage to sing anything less than something that would completely embarrass anyone that I was up there with - my choice was Belafonte's "Day-O" vs. their penchance for Elvis or Sinatra - so their endless contemplation resulted in the show ending before we picked a song. Got some use out of that psychology degree, didn't I.
Back to the disco. Tami, Patrick and I were intending to go there, meet up with the gang, have a drink, listen to a song to say we got there, and then crawl back to our rooms to pass out.
Riiiiiight. That one song lasted until 2am.
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 27
LITTLE MAYAN DANCERAll bless the excursion planners that didn't have the tour leaving until 1:15pm allowing us Chicken Pizza faithful to sleep the hell in. Found out the batteries I had for the camera weren't the ones that fit, so I was screwed picture-wise. On a whim I threw what film I had left into my backpack and set off with the intention of seeing if anyone had an extra camera I could borrow since many of our group brought both a digital and regular 35mm.
Xcaret (she-cah-ret) is something like a theme park, without the rides. Centered on the Mayan culture, they have exhibits which allow you to experience what the old villages looked like along with botanical gardens, endless zoo-esque animal enclosures, swimming with dolphins, and various places to swim in the ocean at the beaches that line one side of the park. The main draw is the underground river with caves which you can swim through from one end of the park to the other, and the nightly show they put on.
They also, heh, had a lovely gift shop within which I bought an el-cheapo camera so that I could use up the rest of my film.
After horseback riding and Chicken Pizza, I was in no shape to go swimming through an underground river. Plus, I didn't have my own snorkeling equipment, wasn't about to rent some (ew), and pretty much figured that once you've seen some underground caves, there's only so much you can see when you're bobbing along in a neon strippa pink lifejacket. Bobby had his digital and it's underwater case, so would take any and all pictures I would ever want to see. So Bobby, Penny, Neal, Sarah, Tanny, Brit, and Yan went swimming in the river while I wandered through the park to meet them at the other side.
First stop, the birdpark. It didn't take as long a I expected, because the majority of the birders were scarlet macaws (one of which I lived with for awhile in college, so they weren't incredibly fascinating) and military macaws among various toucans and japanese quail. Seems it should have been a bird and reptile park, because they had exhibits of many turtles and tortises and, get this, crocodiles. It doesn't take any stretch of imagination to know that I was right up front volunteering to play with the baby crocs.
Wound my way through the park and saw the deer, tapir, monkey, puma, and jaguar exhibits. Sort've got an orientation where everything was so the group could make their way back to our meeting point for the night's show and still see everything they wanted to. After about 15 minutes waiting on the beach, I was beginning to get worried that I had missed the group. It was only supposed to take about 30 minutes to swim through the caverns and it had been 45 since we parted ways. But then I saw Tanny, Brit and Yan and learned they were ahead of the others.
There were some hammocks strung between palm trees on the beach, and you can bet I wasted no time in claiming one as my own and partaking of the local culture with a little siesta. Tanny amused herself by taking a picture of a punked out kid passed out in a hammock when one SHOULD have linens or other beachware with the sparkling blue water and sky as a background.
Post swimming, lunch was the first order of the day. We went to the Peninsula, which was the restaurant on the little, well, peninsula that hooked around the dolphin pens with the sea on the other side. So during lunch we got to watch the sea-going tourists, and those that had paid an arm and leg to swim with the captive dolphins. Was nice to see how thrilled the people were to be up close with animals that frolicked around in the pen with liquid grace. I? Was more intent on my big pineapple drink. Some slushy mixture of fruit juices all blended up and served in a HUGE pineapple, complete with goofy face.
With two hours between lunch and our meeting time for the night show, I became leader of our tribe and guided them through all the exhibits they wanted to see before congregating with the rest of the excursion group. Apparently I'm the only one that could read the map and figure out what route took us through everything and ended up closest to the appointed place.
So, in double time:
The bat cave: Here we learned that my $5 Wal*Mart special watch with the neon blue light up face served as a lovely beacon lighting our way through about 40 feet of pitch black tunnels. We also learned that, unlike the states, these are wild bats on exhibit, and there is nothing between where they roost and the cave mouth opening onto a small cove except precisely were you were standing to gawk at the bats. Watch your heads, kids.
The manatee and sea turtle pools: Bobby and I were the only ones that actually knew what manatees were. But they were the docile creatures reputation purported. Sea turtles? Hungry little bastards. As I was sitting on one of the walkways that lead around the pool, feet dangling over the edge... you know, just above the water with a dozen or so turtles swimming about a foot below.... one enormous fellow of about 6 or 7 feet in length surface and tried to take my toes for lunch. Boy was I glad I was paying attention. Those are steel toed boots. Turtles are also not shot. We got a surprise yet uninhibited view of turtle sex. Discovery channel eat your heart out.
Jaguar and puma enclosures: This time they were more cooperative for the camera. Hanging out at the edge of the enclosures, close enough to get some really nice shots. Neal brought up that he thought the cats could probably clear the distance across the moat to where the tourists were gathering as a buffet. I told him he was right, but look down. The moats were about 30 feet deep, and if you looked carefully.... you could see the crocodiles housed within.
Butterfly garden: Lots. And lots. Of huge. Butterflies.
The night show was phenomenal. Even before you got to the show it was phenomenal. The winding paths to the theater were filled with people in primitive dress - body paint, spectacular headdresses (I want one), masks, totem poles, incense, whole 9000 yards - both on the paths and in various raised platforms, on the walls, in the structure above the walkway... just everywhere.
It began with everyone gathering into a replication of the ball field at Chichen Itza. We were all given candles, and before the show, all the candles were lit and the theater darkened. It was simply breathtaking to see about 5000 little beacons of light. They explained that now was a moment of silence, and each flame was to represent the warmth of good feelings and things we experienced throughout the day.
Then a procession of the kings and gods in offering preparation for the ball game. You know, the one where they can only hit a 12 pound ball with thier hips and have to sink it through a tiny little stone circle that's only ten or so feet off the ground and the winning team gets decapitated? That one. They played to about six points (normally, it was only played until 1, back in the day). Then there was an exhibition of what we called "fireball." Since the show was in Spanish, we only caught about half of what they were saying. But they literally lit a ball on fire and played field hockey with it under blacklights. Talk about being in total awe. Next came an interpretive dance sorta number depicting the history of the Mayan civlization, its homage to Kulkulkan, and the arrival of and ensuing Spanish invasion with Catholicism which lead to destruction and dessication of said civilization.
After a breif intermission, the second part of the show was an exhibition highlighting each Mexican state and their traditional dances and costume, and showing how things evolved since the arrivial of the Spanish. Lots of song. Lots of dance.
Now. Since we came with Club Med, we got special seats. Right up front so that we'd miss nothing. Apparently, this all inclusive package also included complete and total immersion in the native culture. Guess who they picked out of the second row to go join in the Veracruz number. Out of several. thousand. people. I had avoided being in every single show so far, and of ALL the people there, I got drug into the number. Well, maybe not drug. Can you call leaping out of your seat to go join in being "drug"? Heh. So at first I got to attempt learning their little dance up on the slanted side of the ballcourt. Then I was lead down to the very bloody center of the area and pulled into a circle of dancers celebrating.... something I have yet to actually figure out but enjoyed every minute of being the star of Club Med's show.
Dance Machine became the Little Mayan Dancer.
My dancing numbers were not over yet! I had hoped my acts of masochism would have ended with returning to the Village, but in true form we went to the disco again that night so I could really make my legs plan on disconnecting themselves when I finally gave in and passed out. Again we planned on a short night, then laughed at ourselves because we knew it wouldn't happen. Tami pointed out this guy that had a style much like mine... and, oddly enough, 45 minutes later we were trapped in a duel on the floor. The entire population of the disco backed away and formed a circle around us and cheered on as we kept throwing moves back and forth. Twisted my ankle during a misstep, but, heh, that didn't stop me.
Twice in the same freakin' night I become the center of attention on the dance floor. WTF is up with that?? And, get this, he ends up being from the South of France. WTF is up with me and vacations and running into guys from the South of France??
This guy also turned out to be the guy reputed to have just arrived and been "on fire" spending money like there was no tomorrow. Neal sold his Panama hat to the guy for $100 - a hat he had bought for about $20. Almost sold his underwear for $1000 but the guy's wife had stopped him. Lucky sumbitch.
And I will go down in infamy as the one person of our group that did not moon the camera.
We wanted to call it a night around 2:30, but Tami had requested "Baby Got Back" and it didn't get played until 3am. Once more I get drug onto the dance floor, twisted ankle and all (gotta love them boots and tight laces), and threw my .02 in on the song. Like I've got any "back" to stick out and shake.
Posted by Wolf at March 04, 2004 12:21 AM
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