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.

Ciudad de los Gatos

Panama City is a vibrant clash of old and new. Towering skyscrapers, stretching out to sea on filled-in land, glass reflecting back the blue of the midday sky; while in the slums and old sections, building facades crumble and decay, dilapidated history. Everywhere construction clogs and clangs, the revamping of a prospering metropolis.

Casco Viejo, a small oceanfront quarter, was once the entirety of Panama City. Now practically falling down, the old city contains hollowed-out shells of former buildings, empty windows staring blindly on narrow streets, weeds overgrowing windows. Bordering on being a slum, its roots in history.

And everywhere, mixed in among the rubble, stalking pigeons, relaxing in the parks and churches, were cats. As we walked about the old city, taking in the history and seeking shelter from the daily rains, more cats. Outnumbering stray dogs, Casco Viejo’s cats were more numerous than we had previously encountered.

As a cat lover, I find this to be a good sign for things to come in Panama. Just as the presence of a handful of boutique hotels and restaurants in Casco Viejo speaks to a bright (expensive) future for the historic area, so too the presence of cats speaks well for our future, however short, in Panama. If the cats are sticking around, the Panamanians must be doing something right. 

Ancient Cities: Anuradahpura

From Trinco, we took the long bus ride to Anuradahpura. The road no more a single lane wide at any time, rust-colored dirt spilling onto the street from the shoulder, we bumped and lurched over varying degrees of pavement. The country was flat and dry, the sun stifling in the cramped bus full of tangled bodies. On either side of the road, crops and sparse groupings of trees slipped past our windows.

The last of the ancient cities on our list, Anuradahpura was billed as not only the largest grouping of the Unesco-backed ruins, but also the most historically significant for Buddhism in Sri Lanka. With history dating back to the 4^th century BC, ancient Anuradahpura was Sri Lanka’s first big capital city (although the palace ruins turned out to be an unimpressive pile of bricks) and the original landing place of the Buddha’s teachings on the island. We thought we might even need more than a full day to see all of the ruins.

Anuradahpura’s biggest religious draw is the Sri Bodhi, its holy bodhi tree. A branch from the bodhi tree, under which the Buddha achieved Enlightenment, was brought from India to be planted in Sri Lanka, a deathbed request from the Buddha himself (or so the story goes). Not only is the tree of religious significance and a major pilgrimage site, it is also the oldest historically verified tree on earth. Many other trees have been planted in the same area, all direct descendants of the famed Sri Bodhi, which reaches and stretches, supported by poles and cordoned-off from the public. Lankans trampled through hot sand and gravel, prayer flags fluttered, and stray dogs dozed in the shade.

In addition to the Sri Bodhi and its accompanying temple, an assortment of dagobas dot the old city, spread out at random. At each dagoba we removed our shoes to circumambulate the bulbous structures painted such a blinding white they reflect the blue of the sky. We watched the religious make their offerings of flowers and incense, offered lotus flowers ourselves at the busiest of dagobas. Variations on a theme, the dagobas ranged in height and shrine style, but little else.

We did not need more than a day; we did not need more than a morning. Aside from the hushed reverence that surrounds Buddhist temples and provides a nice break from honking buses and shouting tuk-tuk drivers, Anuradahpura was lacking in the experience department. The sun was scorching, the air dry and dust-filled, a thin layer sticking to our sweaty flesh. The dagobas very much in the same style as those we see in Thailand, we were templed-out. Even a snake charmer turned out to be a dud, more grabbing than charming it, the snake de-poisoned anyhow. We were ready to abandon central Sri Lanka’s temple ruins and head to the cooler, greener Hill Country.

Ancient Cities: Sigirya

 The ruins of Sigirya, claimed by locals to be the remains of an ancient palace but archeologically verified as a former Buddhist monastery, are almost assuredly the highest of all Sri Lanka’s ancient cities. The climb to the top involves over one thousand stairs.

At the ground level, there is a moat, as well as various supposed terraces, gardens and ponds, most of which amount to little more than shallow remnants of brick walls. Among outcroppings of trees at the mesa’s base, we began the laborious ascent. Brick stairs gave way to steps carved directly into the stone as we rose steadily (or in my case, sweating and taking frequent breaks) above the land.

A spiral stairwell, nearly rusted-through in places and shuddering in the strong winds, led us to Sigirya’s famous frescoes (read: a cave full of paintings of topless ladies). And another series of stone steps dumped us onto a high plateau on the left side of the mesa and an incredible view across the Lankan countryside.

Since it was still morning, we had spent the entire climb shaded by the gargantuan mesa. Before us, yet more stairs, framed by an enormous pair of stone lion paws, gave way to even more rickety iron stairs, all of which had to be climbed in the blazing sun before we reached the top.

If I haven’t said it before, let me state now, for the record, I hate climbing stairs. Give me a difficult hike and I’ll tough it out, but the repetitive nature of climbing endless steps is abysmal, daunting, and just flat-out, the worst. And to top it all off, there were signs everywhere warning that loud noise would awake swarms of wasps, and several families had screaming children.

I reached the top, sweaty, thirsty, and terrified of a wasp attack, but triumphant. The ruins themselves amounted to little more than tiered squares of foot-high brick walls, but the view was stunning and the breeze refreshing. 

Historic Pit Stop

Ayuthaya was the capital of Thailand from the mid 1300s until the late 1700s, when, in line with the Thai historic trends, it was sacked by the Burmese. After all, the Burmese chased the Thais from capital to capital, forcing them downward to modern Bangkok. All that remains is the ruins of the old city, an ever-popular Unesco World Heritage Site. And during their trip out here Jenny and Ansel requested a trip to ruins of some sort, so a stop off in Ayuthaya was the quick, simple solution.

We took a night train from the north, and arrived, sleepy-eyed, bright and early at the Ayuthaya train station. Having both been to Ayuthaya before (Win on his first trip to Thailand, and then both of us as a respite from the clamor of Bangkok our first weekend after arriving from America), we knew that the entire Historical Park could be done in a matter of hours.

Turning down many a tuk-tuk driver, we opted to walk around and hit several of the main structures. The main area of Ayuthaya’s ruins lies on an island created by several rivers flowing in and around the city. Towering, and eroded down to their brick innards, the palace grounds and temples of the old city spring up in patches.  

All of the seated Buddha statues, big and small, have been left headless after years of abandonment, destruction, and pillaging. But, most are garlanded with vibrant yellow sashes and flowers, incense and candles burned before them. Seemingly, the only Buddha head left in the place, and the most famous to boot, is entwined and suspended in the roots of a banyan tree.

Checking off another item from their Thailand To Do List, Jenny and Ansel took a quick ride on an elephant. Two hundred baht and ten minutes later, they arrived back at the elephant corral, safe and sound. Having successfully completed our historic interlude, we made our way back to the train station to continue on our journey south to Bangkok.  

Yet Another Empowering Experience Brought to You by Your Loving Boyfriend

Win takes incredible photographs. Before coming to Thailand, we made a joint investment in a digital SLR. It wasn’t the most expensive one on the market, but it has proven itself to be a worthy purchase. It is wonderful traveling with a boyfriend who not only loves taking pictures, but also has such a remarkable eye for it. It is, in a word, intimidating. I love playing with the camera, but I never feel like my pictures are up to snuff. (Although in the past couple month, more and more of my pictures have snuck their way into Win’s albums.)

Win is always encouraging me to go ahead and take over on camera duty, but sometimes I feel that it’s best to just leave it to him. However, since he had not only been to Angkor Wat before, but already has numerous pictures of it, I was given three days of full camera privileges. 

And what a three days it was. We scampered, climbed, and explored ruins overrun by the ferocity of mother nature. Trees, vines, and roots pushed and pulled at the temple walls, greenery making the most of any foothold. When all was said and done, we ended up with almost 1500 pictures (digital is such a blessing), which we whittled down to 200. And I’d say that my pictures aren’t half bad. Now we just have to decide who gets to play with the camera when we go out.

 

Indonesia Stew

Given its proximity to two active volcanoes and its tendency to be earthquake-ridden, Yogyakarta was a city with a warm, positive outlook. Lounging about on benches, motorbikes, and rickshaws, the people were all smiles and hellos. So, after seeing the requisite temples, we decided to hang around and enjoy the atmosphere. The people were friendly. There were three book stores, and several restaurants had chess boards. Our guesthouse had a balcony and cheap beer; cigarettes were less than a dollar. What more could we ask for?

Periodically throughout the day the Islamic call to prayer would rise above the rooftops, a cacophony coming from a hundred places, beautiful and syncopated, washing over the buildings. In the afternoons came the rain, like bowls of water being poured over the head of the city, squelching the midday heat. Geckos clung to walls, searching for insect snacks. Indonesians sprawled in the heat.

We lounged on the guesthouse balcony, reading or napping, cigarette smoke circling lazily above us.  I traded for more books and used toothpicks as makeshift bobbypins when the heat became stifling. Win and Mikal played chess for hours with the rickshaw drivers who lazily attempted to lure passengers. All in all, it was three days completely lacking in productivity: just the break we needed in the middle of all that traveling.