Journal
arrival
Antigua
Lake Atitlan
school
chicken bus
Copan
Santiago Atitlan
Independence Day
language school
orphanage
election
Irazu
Tela
holidays
Tikal
a
new year
Tegucigalpa
Monterrico
Lima
Semana Santa
Guanacaste
las Americas
Chichicastenango
Machu Picchu
year 2
Santiago
Sacatepequez
lake
weekend
UK
in winter
Comalapa
Caye Caulker
alfombra
Quito
El Salvador
Solola
Uspantan
year 3
mudslides
Panama
potters
devils
Patagonia
Carnival Trinidad
Rio Dulce
endings
Quetzaltenango
Semuc Champey
Galapagos
journey's end
Photos
Tikal
tikal
3
enero
In
October, I had the pleasure to attend a musical concert, a
group called the Rainmaker - el Hacedor de Lluvia, playing music inspired
by the Mayan legends. They created their own clay instruments (one of
the musicians is a well known sculptor) - ocarinas, pots with multiple
openings that rested between or on the legs that were used for percussion
sounds, slapped their bodies, blew a conch shell, patted beads, played
guitar and rainstick, and sang with lovely voices. Most had no real words,
just phonemes patterned after suspected Maya language, although one repeated
the names of Mayan gods. I gave a cd of their joyous sounds to my son
and we listened to the music for several days. With those rhythms and
voices in my head, we left for Tikal.
The early morning flight circled down over Lago (lake) de Peten Itza in the northernmost department (state) of Peten. Small islands shimmered below us each surrounded by a turquoise halo in the clear water. The town of Flores, an island connected to the mainland by a narrow strip of land, wide enough for a highway, held tightly packed in pastel buildings with red roofs.
A
group traveling with an archaeologist shared
our van to the Jungle Lodge, inside Tikal National Park. Our guide, Cesar,
was there to meet us at the airport and begin his informed, animated ramblings
on the hour ride. After a rushed snack of fruit and coffee at the lodge,
we hiked off into the park. The huge stone temples of Tikal loomed above
the rainforest as we made our way to the grand plaza area, a wide courtyard
ringed by structures of stone containing stairways to rooms at various
levels, stone monuments with carvings, some now covered with thatch roofs
for protection, faces and symbols in hidden doorways. We explored the
many structures around the plaza, drifting in and out of tour guide explanations.
Cesar and Travis, the archaeologist,
supplied us with historical stories from the time of King Moon Double
Comb, also called Lord Cacao (Chocolate), the Maya leader most responsible
for the splendor of the temples and city, and information about restoration
efforts. Although the carvings are not as intricate as in Copan, the size
and breadth of the buildings suggested a bustling metropolis, the center
of the Mayan world. Cesar identified trees and spotted brightly colored
birds ("you guys are blind, can’t you see that bird?")
and whipped out his bird bible to show us the detailed drawing and supply
details about the yellow breasted toucan,
blazing red headed woodpeckers, long green tailed trogans with yellow
bellies ("the closest you’ll see here to a quetzal" - the
national bird). Spider monkeys swung high above us in the jungle canopy,
scavenging coatimundi roamed in family packs, iridescent turkeys
grazed looking more like peacocks with their array of color.
Temple IV, the only one that can be climbed now, is only partially excavated. The great stone staircase leading up the high tower is still covered by hillside, but has been fitted with steep wooden stairways. A line of tourists followed each other’s footsteps up and down in a river of people leading up and down the temple. A few from our group went up since they were only there for the day, but Cesar encouraged those of us staying to come with him at 5:30 in the morning for a sunrise hike. In the afternoon, Adam joined a canopy tour, swinging through the trees on a zipline, while I visited the museum, with fascinating commentary by our archaeologist friend.
Eight of us met Cesar at the lodge in the dark, the two young couples went off ahead on their own. With flashlights, we took the trail into the park and found them waiting at the entrance station, unable to get in before the park opened at 6. Cesar chatted with the guards and arranged for our early entry, we were with him. We hiked at a brisk pace to the most direct route and climbed the wooden stairs. At the top, the jungle was heavy with mist. We sat on the uppermost steps for an hour and a half, serenaded by the hoarse breathy sounds of howler monkeys and cacophonous birds calling, as the mist slowly parted and allowed us increasing longer glimpses of the tops of Temples I, II and III in alignment over the canopy in the growing morning light. With no other visible signs of civilization, I could imagine the same view through Mayan eyes almost two thousand years ago. As other hikers began to arrive, we made our way down the stairs and back to the grand plaza, surprisingly empty at this hour of day, a rare opportunity to linger among the quiet stone walls.
We made two more excursions into the park later in the day, finding the more remote temples and other complexes less excavated - some with mysterious names like Mundo Perdido (lost world), and named some of our own - Snake Way, a narrow path covered with curving tree roots.
During discussions in the lodge with fellow travelers over these two days, we found that Eric and Lisa lived in our little Colorado town of Georgetown and enjoyed dinner with them the first night, interesting conversations with a NYC doctor and her Yale professor husband, and a wise-cracking New Zealand teacher ("See those photos on the wall? Those are people who have died here waiting for their breakfast.").
Our flight was not until afternoon, so we joined some others on their trip to the airport, checked our bags early and spent the day exploring Flores. I told a taxi driver he would have to take us to a cajero (ATM) to get paid, so we stopped in the town of Santa Elena along the way. The highlight was a boat trip around the lake with Yoseph, a 14 year old who insisted he had been driving his boat for 2 years and would give us a good tour. He pointed out his village of San Michael de Flores along the shoreline, we circled a fisherman out for his morning catch, and enjoyed the stories of our talkative young driver’s family. After walking around the tiny island at least 4 times, we sampled a restaurant, Internet cafe and coffee shop. Our same taxi driver returned for us later in the day.
The election news was predictable, Oscar Berger is our new presidente. After the turmoil of the civil war that just ended in 1996, most voters are looking for stability and status quo.
15/48 
Photography
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