Spring sprang while I was in Cuba. The cool rainy nights were replaced by thick heat, replete with the buzzing whine of Mr. Mosquito. The “Indian” peoples here love it; when the days are perfect and crisp by our standards they complain and catch colds. The blossoms are out on the sugar cane and the trees that have survived the coconut-cancer here on the Quintana Roo coast are proudly showing the green of their new fruits. And that’s quite a melancholy situation as coconut water had been a staple drink for thousands of years and now is near impossible to find.
As I back-track down through the “Mayan Riviera” (they’ve settled on this name after trying: “Gold Coast”, “Turquoise Coast”, and a couple of others…) and Chetumal, I wonder how my old VW will respond to the new heat.
I find out on the worst stretch of ‘em all a couple of days later. The Chetumal-to-Palenque run is some 500 kilometers of 2-lane, hot, scrub-tree lined, most boring piece of highway I’ve seen in Mexico.
There’s almost nowhere to pull off. No siding and very few side roads. So I was lucky when that wire melted, stopping my engine, to find a 12 foot wide driveway to pull in to. Barely. I had a good 3 inches to spare as huge trucks barked and frowned at me as they sped by. Four hours in the tropical sun trying to flag down unresponsive drivers, fiddling with mysterious oily wires, squealing and leaping from the red ant bites left me beat and unhappy.
Finally, the “Green Angel” (Mexico’s answer to broken-down tourist vehicles; these trucks with mechanics driving them roam the highways, though with less and less frequency as budgets dry up) appeared and fiddled with the same wires for awhile. He finally admitted defeat and direct-wired my coil to the battery and I limped down another 100 k’s and into Palenque.
This charming little town (10 k’s from the famous ruins of the same name) hasn’t changed much in the last 20 years. When I was here then the 5 main streets stretched out for the same 12 blocks. They’re still filled with small hotels and curio shops though tour operators have joined them now, offering daily excursions to the waterfalls of Agua Azules and to the more distant pyramid sites of Bonampak and Yaxchilan.
Staying a few weeks here this time I discover (after a fruitless search on the “Mayan Riviera”) that I can easily get fresh fish for dinner! Funny, to be in the rainforest and be able to do that. On the tourist coast of Quintana Roo, with a million mouths to feed every day, I found only frozen “fillets of something”. I eat fresh “Mojarra” here nearly every day…(we’re actually only 30 kilometers from the huge river, Usamacinta and the tourists aren’t here looking for fish.)
I’d guess some 90 per cent of the population are full-blooded “Indian” and their friendly, chubby-faced smiles are a welcome relief from the tourist-exhausted ones of the Yucatecs on the coast. Most everyone I meet tries out a joke or two and eventually gets a chuckle or a guffaw from the effort.
If you’re in to “rainforests” this is where it’s at. Gorgeous and lush, we’re at the edge of what WAS a huge jungle stretching for hundreds of kilometers in 3 directions. Of course, like on most of the planet, this resource has been mutated into timber and boards for ticky-tacky houses in California and Rhode-Island. The tourist areas are protected though, so this pyramid-rich area is almost the pristine region of old. But I watch through my window the Indian with machete and hatchet cutting the 300 ft. high mahogany tree back for his boss. A doll-sized figure midst the giant, body-sized branches of this 200 hundred year old beauty, he brings down the whole gorgeous monster in 5 days;he loves his job and the hotel will be able to expand…
Chiapas is a veritable mystery all right; revolution and mysticism rolled in to one of the most popular tourist packages in the world.
Many have read of the charismatic Comandante Marcos who leads the dozen-year old rebellion here (he even has a web site and allegedly carries a satellite-connected laptop aboard his horse!) This Zorro-Che Gueverra styled figure wears a black mask and seemingly can’t be found or caught. Mexican newspapers engage in endless chat over how to end this “conflict”. Foreign reporters ruminate endlessly but aren’t allowed to spend time in the area. For locals and we lingering tourists the only evidence of this “movie” is the military. Supposedly some 60 percent of the Mexican army is here and minutes never go by without seeing trucks full of special troops pass.
Last weekend we spent the day in fiesta with a local landowner. His friend, the general of all the armies in Chiapas was there with his attache-colonel and their driver-bodyguard, a huge, dark Indian corporal who drove their “desert-storm” jeep through the small stream right up to our camp-site. Later in the evening I ventured to pry some tidbit from the general about the rebellion.
“Do you think Commandante Marcos might be a Cuban?” I ask in my naive Iowa drawl.
“He’s just an internet!” replied the general. “He doesn’t even exist, just flotsam and pieces of cyber-propaganda from the media…!”
There’s certainly more to this story than meets the eye and I’ll return to it if ever I find out some details. The only other tidbits of this melodrama are the innumerable t-shirts with Commandante Marcos’ photo, with ski mask, on the front being sold on the main street; also ski masks are available in this 100 degree heat…
A lingering image from that jungle picnic is of the monster, storm-troop-attired bodyguard holding a long tree branch, trying to retrieve the large purple ball that the don’s grandson had kicked into the stream, all to music of 50′s Elvis Presley…
The mystic aspect is nearly as elusive as is the understanding of the “revolution”. In recent years of this “new age”, increasing numbers of folk world-wide believe there are certain places focusing special energies into the cosmos. “Power points” are said to exist at the Giza pyramids, Stonehenge, Chaco Canyon, Tikal, many other sites…and at Palenque. For some, the special feeling here is palpable, a resonance, a hum, a state of being more peaceful than other places. I admit, that as insensitive to subtle vibrations as I am I still find the mood and tranquility here to be captivating. I was going to spend a day here but now it’s been a month…
The famous ruins of King Pacal sit a few miles away into the forest. He was the guy in the discovered hieroglyph-sculpture who appears to be reclining in a high-tech pilots seat operating what seem to be very complicated space-craft controls. Stories abound here of his other accomplishments among which is one where he journeys to upstate New York.
It is, of course more than 1000 years ago, and he’s there only to bury a special power-object in a designated place. As picture-writing history revealed, this crystal sphere and tablets were destined to be found much later by Joseph Smith, founder of the church of Jesus Christ of the latter day Saints! And, as the Mormons of today regard Palenque as one of the holiest of sites, this all makes me think: “very strange…”.
I didn’t visit the ruins in the month I was there since in past years I’d spent a lot of time there and couldn’t bear to see them covered with camera-clicking tourists.
My VW finally, almost, fixed I plan out my next journey in to the heart of Chiapas. San Cristobal will be next, but just overnight, I think, then up the mountain range to the heights. If the army lets me…
