Ruins Among the Ranches

After the manicured lawns, stay-on-the-path attitude, and intrusive presence of handicraft vendors at the ruins of Palenque, not to mention the influx of dreaded, beaded new age hippies from the nearby Rainbow Gathering, Toniná’s ruins were a surprising, but welcome, change.

A hoof-beaten path carried us to the ruins, a high Mexican sun beating down on our shoulders. Perched high atop a hill overlooking ranches and farms, Toniná boasts neither the jungle setting nor the vast throngs of tourists of many neighboring Mayan sites. Had it not been a Sunday, I suspect we would have had the place to ourselves, as the only other tourists present were Mexican. 

Stacked, tier by tier, terrace on top of terrace, the ruins climb up rather than spreading out into multiple buildings and clusters. So upward we went, sometimes on steps jagged, narrow, and uneven. Higher and higher, steep and slow. 

Between the ruins and its museum, a large number of surprisingly intact sculptures and friezes were on display, a great many showing the war-hungry inhabitants decapitating their enemies. It is amazing to see the detail that can remain after so many centuries, stories told in stone, cut and chiseled remnants of an entire culture. 

Stone, Moss, and Vines

Set deep in northern Guatemala’s jungle, Tikal is a gem in the crown that is Central America’s Mayan ruins. With its numerous excavated sites, the complex is a winding affair, worthy of the nine hours we spent roaming and exploring.

Once one of the more important cities of the ancient Mayan world, the now-crumbling walls of Tikal reach back into time, brushing against 400 BCE. It is overwhelming to think about time as being such a vast expanse, to stand next to massive structures, moss-covered tributes to human achievement, and imagine how long they stood silent, waiting to whisper their secrets of another time and place.

Throughout the unearthed complex, many structures still await their exhumation, pyramid-shaped hills that could be nothing but pyramids, temples. Rectangular stones poke through roots and vines here and there, offering but a sample of what the jungle has secreted away.

It is perplexing that creations of such enormity, once abandoned during the Mayan Empire’s decline, could be relegated to relative obscurity. A once-towering city swallowed by fauna, disappearing into the jungle, destined to spend centuries as a thing of myth, of local lore. How do we lose a whole city of such magnitude?

Tikal is at once a feat epitomizing the amazing things of which humans are capable of creating, and an example the incredible force with which nature can swallow those creations whole, bit by bit, until we hardly remember they existed at all.

Old World Ways

Despite years of Spanish influence followed by the rapid changes of modernization, Guatemala’s indigenous population has maintained a strong grip on their traditions. Ever-present in their vibrant choice of clothes, their food, medicine, and religious practices are no less strong. However, when it comes to religion, there is a definite blending of two strong cultures: Catholic and Mayan.

During our stay in the Highland town of Quetzaltenango (commonly known by its Mayan tag, Xela), we were lucky enough to make a day trip to the tiny hillside town of San Andrés Xecul. More fortunate still, we happened to arrive on the day of the town festival, where a marketplace, a fair, and a massive religious buffet swirled together riotously.

It is common in Latin American countries for each city, no matter how small, to have an annual festival, typically lasting a day or two and celebrating the city’s patron saint. San Andrés Xecul is no different on these counts, its patron saint being Saint Andrew the Apostle, whose feast day is November 30^th.

San Andrés Xecul is known primarily for its church, a multicolored Mayan-Catholic-Christian affair, covered in vivid depictions of saints, animals, and agricultural motifs on a bright yellow façade. Inside, neon lights and painted Jesus statues abound. In a country (and faith) of silent, stony cathedral faces with their solemn images, this church is as loud and flashy as they come.

Multihued flags waved over the square in front of their yellow church, a crowd gathered to watch traditional masked dancers. Assorted animals mingled with what we can only assume are conquistadors as they prance about to the music pouring over the audience. Without knowing the meaning of the dance, or possessing adequate Spanish skills to ask, the display was perplexing and delightful.

Corn basked in rooftop sun. Thread of red and blue, green and black, swayed in the breeze, drying, waiting to be crafted into blankets and cloth. Meats and baked goods tempted passersby, rich and sweet. Trinkets and toys waited to be won at carnival games. Old women, skin wrinkled from years of sun, displayed big gummy grins full of gaps. Babies, strapped to the backs of their mothers, napped in the midday heat, happy in their personal hammocks.

And we, as lone tourists, tried to take it all in – the colors, the cacophony, the barrage of scents and sights – all the wonders of Mayan culture colliding with the modern and holding its ground, sharing the limelight.