01 December 2007
30 November 2007
So, are we going to the jungle or what?
Are you happy now?: After many visits to archaelogical sites in Mexico, I had pretty much decided that I'd seen enough ruins and pyramids to last my lifetime. So when we arrived to Tikal, in the middle of the Peten jungle of northern Guatemala, and discovered that the price had risen from $6.50 USD to $20, I really wasn't too upset that I didn't have enough money to get in. Instead, I sat down with my book to wait for Abby and Johanna for the day and tried not to think in the wasted money spent on transport. But, as luck (as usual) would have it, after about 20 minutes a young European approached me, offering to sell his already purchased ticket as he was leaving the park. "Well, I'm sure I can get more for it, but it's no problem," he said and walked me to the entrance so that I was certain that the ticket was valid.
After paying him the only 50 quetzales I had to my name, I was confronted with a choice of 3 paths that led into the jungle, with no clear indicators of where I should head. Without thinking much, I took the one to the left and found myself walking for 40 minutes or more though pure, thick jungle without seeing another human being the entire time. All around me the jungle exploded with noises, tree branches falling, screaming monkeys, crying birds, and a constant chirrr, whirrr of insects above and below. The air was dark and damp, the path muddy and slippery and I stepped along contentedly, feeling quite safe despite being in such a wild place.
Eventually I came upon a partially restored, partially crumbling pyramid rising out of a moss-covered hill. I was completely alone, I felt, and in awe of these ancient stones. I know little about the actual history, so I let my imagination roam wild a bit and then continued on. Another 20 minutes of walking in solitude before I took a few turns and came across the main plaza, where the most prominent pyramids are. All of a sudden, people were on all sides of me, climbing up and down pyramids and stone structures, taking pictures wildly, laughing and shouting in a variety of languages, children skipped around and older folks rested on wooden benches- it appeared to me as a playground, a big, archaelogical playground, although they probably don't sell beer at many playgrounds, and at this one they do. It was a little disorienting after being by myself most of the morning, so I found myself trying to step politely away when an entire family ascended the structure I was one, and rather than ask anyone to take my picture, I instead got very aquainted with my camera timer (I'm quite good at it now).
By the time I found Johanna and Abby sitting on the top of one of the temples, though, I was ready for company. We did some exploring in the Mundo Perdido, found the Bat Palace and were looking around in the main plaza again before the entire sky tore itself open and a torrential rain forced us to go running through the jungle. For 15 minutes, we ran as the paths quickly converted into muddy, rushing streams of waters and as great puddles welled up in front of us. The trees did little to protect us and the mud made going too fast a precarious situation. Just as we arrived to the van, the jungle rain dissipated and the sun returned. Typical- we all knew that tropical rains are intense and brief, but perhaps subconsciously we all needed a run through warm rain.
After returning to Flores, a dark, creamy, delicious Moza beer was perfect. The darkest beer we've had in awhile, and worth every quetzal.
After paying him the only 50 quetzales I had to my name, I was confronted with a choice of 3 paths that led into the jungle, with no clear indicators of where I should head. Without thinking much, I took the one to the left and found myself walking for 40 minutes or more though pure, thick jungle without seeing another human being the entire time. All around me the jungle exploded with noises, tree branches falling, screaming monkeys, crying birds, and a constant chirrr, whirrr of insects above and below. The air was dark and damp, the path muddy and slippery and I stepped along contentedly, feeling quite safe despite being in such a wild place.
Eventually I came upon a partially restored, partially crumbling pyramid rising out of a moss-covered hill. I was completely alone, I felt, and in awe of these ancient stones. I know little about the actual history, so I let my imagination roam wild a bit and then continued on. Another 20 minutes of walking in solitude before I took a few turns and came across the main plaza, where the most prominent pyramids are. All of a sudden, people were on all sides of me, climbing up and down pyramids and stone structures, taking pictures wildly, laughing and shouting in a variety of languages, children skipped around and older folks rested on wooden benches- it appeared to me as a playground, a big, archaelogical playground, although they probably don't sell beer at many playgrounds, and at this one they do. It was a little disorienting after being by myself most of the morning, so I found myself trying to step politely away when an entire family ascended the structure I was one, and rather than ask anyone to take my picture, I instead got very aquainted with my camera timer (I'm quite good at it now).
By the time I found Johanna and Abby sitting on the top of one of the temples, though, I was ready for company. We did some exploring in the Mundo Perdido, found the Bat Palace and were looking around in the main plaza again before the entire sky tore itself open and a torrential rain forced us to go running through the jungle. For 15 minutes, we ran as the paths quickly converted into muddy, rushing streams of waters and as great puddles welled up in front of us. The trees did little to protect us and the mud made going too fast a precarious situation. Just as we arrived to the van, the jungle rain dissipated and the sun returned. Typical- we all knew that tropical rains are intense and brief, but perhaps subconsciously we all needed a run through warm rain.
After returning to Flores, a dark, creamy, delicious Moza beer was perfect. The darkest beer we've had in awhile, and worth every quetzal.
28 November 2007
Haze and water
Squint: Finally we made it to Guatemala, one long, dark night of driving and flat tire later. As hard as I tried I couldn't fulfill my duties as the driverside passenger, though I did try feebly to make small talk with Vladimir for a short while before the mountain curves and the darkness lulled me to sleep like a baby. We slept on the border and in the morning boarded a small, wooden boat across the Usumacinta River. At the top of the muddy stone stairs awaiting us on the other side, we jumped right on a bus, made a quick and painless stop at immigration, and we were off on a long, bumpy, dirt road for many hours before reaching the island of Flores. Along the way the streets are filled with chickens and pigs and children who rush to the ends of paths to watch the bus go past. The land is green but the signs of destructive deforestation are all around us- mainly in freshly burnt palm remnants, rows of freshly planted corn, and acres upon acres of cattle farms. Guatemala is also filled with fog, rising up from lakes and valleys, covering the road at times and at others, the sky. Figuring out how much Quetzales are actually worth is making our brains ache and the amount of English on walls and stores is confusing. Maybe for the first time in a few months I feel that I am somewhere very unfamiliar.
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