Xocen

Monday, July 07, 2008

After a breakfast consisting of a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich and black tea, which tasted more like coffee, I said goodbye to Cherylie and Joe for the day and waited with my peers on the steps of the Meson for our transportation to Xocen. Garrett has become weaker with each day since our arrival in Santa Elena, so Sharon thought it best to see a doctor in Valladolid, leaving only six to venture to our first field experience in Xocen. Two prearranged taxis arrived and we climbed inside the musty, hot interiors nervous to meet our new host families. Though the ride to Xocen was short along winding roads, the open windows combined with the high velocity of the vehicle created a cyclone within the small interior. By the time we arrived most had undergone a drastic transformation in their appearances – for some hair was blown into a faux mohawk as I smiled at my peers crazy do’s. I was so thankful for my hair band and ribbon restraining my thick locks into a ponytail at the base of my neck.

Upon our arrival we waited for Don Teodoro and the other members of our host families before we embarked on a walking tour of Xocen. From a glance, the village of Xocen appears quite different from Santa Elena, quieter and more private. The glances and stares from the children made it all the more obvious that tourists are a very infrequent occurrence here. Walking along the small roads it was hard not to compare the nonperishable structures of Santa Elena to the sticks and thatched roof abodes of Xocen and I knew that family time here would not be sitting around a wooden kitchen table but in a very different setting.

After visiting the school, library, and church, I was greeted by Donna Venustiana with her welcoming smile. We walked side-by-side until we arrived at her home along with Donna Gregoria who rushed out into the yard to meet us and impart a warm hug, her eyes sparkling with delight through her large glasses. It broke my heart to meet the two young girls, identical twins, dressed in their matching huipils. It has been nearly six weeks since I have been with my twin, and seeing their smiling faces and arms around each other’s shoulders weakened my already uncertain emotional state. Thankfully I had two of my best friends waiting for me back at the Meson. Their home is comprised of a thatched hut with two worn hammocks, a hearth for cooking, two permanent one-roomed buildings for sleeping and religious worship, a small garden, and a pig pen for their two enormous pigs, and eight piglets.

We spent the day resting in the shade of the hut while getting to know each other and practice our Maya. The first few hours were spent making tortillas, while the two ladies asked me about myself. They complimented me on my tortilla-making skills, so I was quite pleased with the techniques that Donna Francisca had taught me in Santa Elena. Since I had been warned by Sharon, it was not a shock when Donna Gregoria asked if I had a boyfriend. Her response to my status in the dating department indicated that being single was the worst sin imaginable. But she proudly said, “You are too pretty not to have a boyfriend.” I was even more surprised by the ladies candidness when a tortilla placed on the griddle carelessly with a raised peak elicited much laughter. Donna Gregoria said in Maya, “like your boyfriend.” I suppose the largely separate life of men and women here makes for some interesting antics from the women as they spend hours around the hearth preparing the daily meals.

The afternoon was spent lounging in the hammocks until Donna Venustiana brought out her sewing to show us the huipils she was working on. It was amazing to watch her stitch the delicate flowers. When Donna Gregoria retrieved her own sewing I thought I was in for a very quiet and relaxing last hour until she passed me her stitching and commanded me to finish a brightly colored flower. I was extremely nervous and did not want to destroy the beautiful huipil with my poor craftsmanship, but it actually turned out quite well with Donna Gregoria’s direction. After saying goodbye to my new family and a short, hot walk back to Don Teodoro’s to get the taxis, I arrived back in Valladolid where I spent a short time by the pool soaking in the cool water with Cherylie and Joe. We took a quick walk outside the Meson to select a second huipil from the hundreds for sale before another wonderful dinner in the courtyard. Cherylie ordered Caribbean chicken which was prepared tableside, while I enjoyed chicken tacos, and Joe, not surprisingly choose pomodoro chicken.

Overall it was a pretty amazing day and I felt so comfortable with my new host family. I even felt like a small light bulb had been turned on in my brain as speaking and comprehending Maya became easier and easier. Even stitching a flower freehand on a Mexican huipil was exciting and I cannot wait to see what tomorrow will bring.

Ek Balam

Sunday, July 06, 2008

The morning began once again with the incessantly loud calls of the alarm clock screaming in my right ear from its spot on the nightstand. I enjoyed three fluffy pancakes for breakfast, as had already become my routine at the Meson in comparison to the egg omelet at the Flycatcher in Santa Elena. It was less of a shock today to see our dilapidated jalopy waiting for us at the entrance to the Meson. Unfortunately, it was with much hesitation that I crawled into the back of the taxi trying to avoid the most questionable stains on the upholstery since I had foolishly worn khaki Bermuda shorts.

It was a short ride to Ek Balam, where once again we were joined by an English speaking tour guide, who seemed no more than a teenager versed in the basics of Maya art, mythology, and daily life. Our tour guide spoke quickly though without certainty as to the meaning of his words as we whisked by the four sided arch and the small ball court to the main temple. Just like yesterday at the Nojoch Múul, Joe assumed the role of the official photographer as Cherylie began her ascent and I dashed to the top in a barely recognizable blur of khaki and blue. As we made our ascent, Cherylie discovered the fossilized remains of seashells within the stone steps and so she felt quite like the archaeologist making a grand discovery. I was actually surprised to see them myself and amazed at her perceptiveness.

Reaching the first platform I whirled around to face the vista of bright green and cerulean blue for my photo shoot with the world famous photographer at the base of the pyramid. Nearly a hundred frames later, at least that’s what it felt like, Cherylie finally arrived and we stood in awe of the stucco masks adorning the façade. It was quite different from anything I have seen on this trip and likewise it is hard to believe that something so intricate was preserved so well. From the top we saw an ancient chultun used to collect water with a gorgeous blue and green bird perched on the edge of the stone well, its tail feathers moving from side to side like the hand of a clock – tick, tock, tick.

On our return to the entrance we stopped to see a building undergoing excavation and restoration with many portions covered in a vinyl blue tarp and piles of stones waiting patiently for a place to call their own in the once crumbled temple. Everyone was physically drained, but I decided to climb one last temple solo before leaving Ek Balam behind. It was a quick task to climb the mid-sized temple for a wonderful view of the main pyramid across the plaza and Cherylie and Joe standing at the bottom like small ants.

Upon my return to the Meson, I ordered a cream of corn soup before retiring to our comfortable accommodations to work on my homework for class tomorrow. Cherylie and Joe decided to go on a walk to purchase more Xtabentun as gifts since Cherylie and I had sampled it yesterday during our outing. As we stood in the souvenir shop, the vendor presented us with a shot glass and a sip of Xtabentun, Cherylie’s face scrunched in a look of consternation as she thought, “Where did you get that glass, boy?” and “How many people have used this glass before me?” I could not help but bubble over with laughter, and I was sure Joe would get the same treatment with a shot glass whisked off the shelf and a cold bottle of Xtabentun produced for the delight of his taste buds.

Feeling less stressed about my homework, especially since the waiters are quite familiar with me already and are more than happy to help me practice my Maya, Cherylie and I finally got the opportunity to enjoy the sparkling pool just feet from the entrance to our room. It was so refreshing to soak in the water without a care in the world for once on this trip. As the afternoon progressed I heard the familiar sound of Leah’s voice and looked over my shoulder to see her smiling face standing on a balcony overlooking the pool. I was so excited to learn that Leah and I would be rooming together at the Meson since we both enjoy a room as a cold as an icebox.
With Joe feeling under the weather Cherylie and I went to dinner alone where we ordered a bottle of white wine to celebrate the wonderful memories we have experienced the last few days. I ordered pasta carbonara and was so eager to enjoy something as far from Mexican cuisine as possible, which was extremely light and extremely satisfying.

After finishing our meal I reunited with my classmates for a quick meeting to discuss the upcoming week. Garrett has finally succumbed to some illness, which would eventually affect all but me and one other student before the end of our adventure. I took a quick peek at my new accommodations, which barely compare to the luxury of the suite I currently reside in. I feel overwhelmed by the final week of my trip and worried about the stark difference in the two rooms I will occupy here at the Meson. All in all, I am anxious and nervous about tomorrows excursion to Xocen, especially since I will be sharing a host family with Christa.

Coba

Saturday, July 05, 2008


At seven o’clock the alarm screamed obnoxiously from its resting place on the wooden nightstand. This is the second morning of my weekend with Cherylie and Joe and so far I have learned one thing. Joe likes to pick one song to sing each morning over, and over, and over, and did I mention over again. Yesterday was a particularly good rendition of a song by Oliver Mtukudzi. Today, we were blessed with a performance of the lime in the coconut verse followed by another particular fruity number, the banana boat song. Just wait until tomorrow! Once again we enjoyed breakfast in our peaceful courtyard before beginning our tour to Coba. It was quite a shock as we climbed into the back of a taxi with a Spanish speaking driver for our short journey to the ruins. The taxi was like an ancient, dilapidated relic, which left me shocked that a travel agency would provide such a lousy means of transportation. The seats were covered in a worn, threadbare, dirty material, juxtaposed against the comfortable interior of the grand marquis that had taken us to Chichen Itza yesterday. I am sure that the three of us were all wondering what kind of travel agency we were dealing with here in Mexico. Our ride and driver to Chichen was extremely nice, so I was confused by the presence of a Spanish driver, as if they were not really prepared for our arrival. When we specified a private car and English speaking driver we never had this in mind. It certainly felt as if we had been misled. Regardless, we still had to get to Coba somehow, so we took the dingy taxi and sat in semi-silence as our driver did not speak English.

When we arrived at Coba an English speaking guide joined us for a forty five minute tour of the site. There were only a handful of structures restored in the main group, so we stood in the shade of a tree listening to the tour guide ramble off the most basic facts about Maya life, art, and architecture. A group of vultures were perched at the zenith of the principal pyramid, their wings opened in a strange dance with the sun silhouetting their strange profiles against the gray and black ruins. I felt as if our guide talked far too long and was only too happy to duck into an interior chamber with the sun pouring in through a small opening in the roof. I gave Joe my camera to take a picture of me in the small chamber. “The pictures all black,” he said. Only then did I realize I had given him the camera with the lens cap attached and so we had to repeat the process with tourists pushing their way in impatiently.

The Nojoch Múul, or big mound in Maya, was located quite a distance from the main group, thus we decided to pay for two rickshaws to the pyramid instead of walking the distance in the blazing heat. Joe’s rickshaw started with a lurch and soon was so far in front of us that he was a small dot in the landscape of green trees and brown dirt path winding through the overgrowth. Though my own rickshaw began at a much slower pace, we gradually picked up speed and even came within arms distance of Joe on his rickshaw like a royal throne carrying the king to the temple. We were even more satisfied when we reached the Nojoch Múul with our decision to purchase the rickshaws given the distance and the time allotted for our small excursion. I know that we would never have made it to the mound in time to climb the forty two meters to the top and return to the entrance in time for our departure.

As I changed from my worn black flip flops, thanks to small, sharp stones piercing through the sole at Chichen, into my sassy Privo shoes for climbing, Cherylie darted for the base of the mound and began her ascent placing each step carefully one after the other. And while her climb was not speedy, in any way imaginable, I did manage to switch views rather quickly from her backside as she ascended to her face in heavy concentration as I watched from the top. I wanted to laugh when she said, “If you’re waiting for me, you should go on ahead.” Well, in all fairness, I am younger and have climbed my fair share of pyramids. Joking aside, she made it to the top, both of us out of breath and sore from the climb. We waved to our official photographer at the bottom who had captured our arrival at the summit, since he had decided, based on our labored progress to wait at the bottom. We both spent several minutes catching our breath and rehydrating while appreciating the vista of green with occasional temples peaking a glimpse through the canopy of trees. I knew we had overstayed our welcome when a large dragon beetle flew out from the nearest treetop and hovered over our heads. It was perhaps the largest bug I have ever seen in my life! Fortunately m y prayers were answered and the beetle did not land on my head as I imagined it would, so we began our descent, which was more exhausting given our already weakened limbs.

Of course, once we had reached the bottom, feeling much like a bowl of jello, we had lost Joe and so we began our search for the third member of our party while wiping sweat from our faces with biodegradable wipes and drinking as much water as possible. Near the end of the plaza we found our photographer resting under a thatched roof and so we soon began our ride back to the main gate in our hired rickshaws. The breeze was extremely pleasant as we soared past tourists on foot making the long walk to Nojoch Múul. And our driver wasn’t about to let Joe win the race back either.

Upon our return to the Meson in Valladolid, Joe exited the taxi, tipped the driver, and began a marching band parade with his cane held high, raising his knees higher and higher with each step. Of course this talented display came to a screeching halt with the highly astounded sing-song “Jo-ey,” echoing from Cherylie directly over my shoulder, followed by laughter from all three of us. After a delicious lunch in our courtyard we decided to browse the nearby shops, visit the Yalat gallery where I would soon make my most expensive purchase, and try, being the key word, to pick a huipil from the hundred displayed along the square.

I began my search for the perfect huipil by pointing to one that showcased bright pink, yellow, and turquoise hues. “Mas grande,” said the vendor. “No, ma,” I replied. Both Cherylie and I motioned with our hands to represent a smaller huipil, at which point every lady lining the street began to present us with the smallest huipils. They must have been eager to make a sale, and so after debating over colors and patterns I finally settled on the very first small huipil that had been presented to me. In fact, it actually fits me quite perfectly. The rest of the evening was spent in quiet relaxation, no songs from Joe, and a wonderful shower in the largest shower I have ever seen. Dinner was equally as wonderful, at least until I was threatened bodily injury if I did not stop scratching my seventy mosquito bites. So far, four mosquito repellant brands later, and I am still too sweet for any of them to actually work. But we knew that already.