Tikal
September 30th, 2007
It never ceases to amaze me how every slice of Mayan culture, every relic, every ruin that we visit, is a new experience time after time. Maybe, the thing is, we never expect it. It being the thing we end up liking the most. It doesn’t have to be the ruin itself, but perhaps what we find inside aside from the structures themselves. For that reason, as a general rule, I do not enjoy being told what we will be seeing and, if at all possible, where we are going. The idea is if you don’t get your expectations too high, chances are you’ll end up surprised. I, for one, love being surprised.
3am. Flores – a tiny tourist town on an island from which we are to be picked up for the Tikal sun-rise tour, is asleep, but there is a feeling that every local knows they will be awaken in the middle of the night by groggy, impatient travelers, speaking too loudly, while waiting for their tour-vans.
It was supposed to be just yet another ruin. Then again, we’ve never gotten to a site this early, and soon sleepy eyes widened, not at the sight, but at the sound of the jungle waking up.
It was a concert, and we were there, going up the steep steps to the top of the highest pyramid, to take our seats just as the overture was on, and all you can hear were heavy roars that made us shiver at the thought of so many jaguars. But these weren’t jaguars; they were howler-monkeys tuning up their vocal cords, and when we took our seats the fog has drawn a thick curtain on this set of silver shades, and the monkeys fell silent. The unison was perfect.
Everybody in their seats; the jungle ready to start the main act. I looked to my right and saw some blond heads on folded hands – sleeping; missing out. I caught myself thinking the same thing classical music lovers must be thinking at the sight of snoring dates, dragged to the theater against their will: “What a waste…”
To my left I saw my monkey climbing the rickety scaffolding, giving me a heart attack with every step he took on the questionable construction. He was trying to get in position for the best shot, fixing our SLR to the pipes.
A roar sounds. Must be an impatient member of the choir. Green parakeets zooming across the stage with sharp cries to hold the curtain. They must be not ready yet. But the fog is the main puppeteer. He wishes not to wait, and draws back, revealing tops of trees and pyramids, giving the stage a gloomy but astounding feel of a cemetery. Combined with the chill of the dawn the scene is quite believable.
Look away for only a second and you’ve missed it: a whole act. But there were so many you could afford to blink and miss a few. My favorite must have been the one when the fog all gathered on the left, revealing almost as much as you could see of the pyramid tops, and at the same time drowning some low trees to make it look like a misty lake has appeared on stage. The waves of the murky water would sway in the wind, and the sky start smiling a thin pink smile.
Tags: ruins
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