Yaxchilan & Bonampak
October 5th, 2007
To understand why we went to Bonampak, I must first tell you about Luis. He came as a package deal with the Tikal sunrise-tour, which was the only way into the site at that hour. He was a good guide, at least this is what we thought at the time, though a little pretentious repeatedly telling us what page we could find his name on in the Lonely Planet guidebook, and how indispensable he was to the producers of Survivor-Guatemala. However, he seemed to know where to find monkeys, tarantulas, and the best angles for the shot. I even felt bad for the other guide (who in his turn seemed to loathe Luis when his back was turned). “Monkeys Ricardo?” Luis would ask, purposefully in English, with his whole group in tow. “No?” he sighed loudly. “Tarantulas? No?! Eh Ricardo, Ricardo…” and Luis would turn back to us, his group, flawlessly reciting the next chapter of his speech.
As part of the narration, Luis told us about Tikal’s frescoes. Blindingly beautiful, they were no longer open for public view as people kept writing their names on the antique paint or, better yet, scratching in it phrases like “Juan + Maria = Amor”. Understandably enough, I only shook my head in resentment of the vandals, and, when the tour was over, approached Luis who has just finished his “And if you would like to tip thank the guide, I’ll be right here” speech. “May I help you with anything else?” asked Luis as he kept receiving bill after bill and nodding in thanks, his left eye counting the loot, his right fixed now on me. “I only wanted to say thanks. It was great,” and I shook his outstretched hand. “I only wish we could see those frescoes.” I was sincere, and, as I often do, simply verbalized my thought out loud, but to my surprise Luis jumped at the opportunity. “It is possible,” he said in a low voice that was not exactly a whisper. “Come. Let’s talk. Let me see… I will find out.” And he set out for the site’s gates with us four trotting behind, all giddy and excited.
“Of course,” Luis said dramatically as we practically ran down the steps, “It will not be free”. “Aha,” I replied as no better response came to my mind at the moment. We reached the gate, and in the comedor (eatery) Luis left us and went to check with the Jefe. “It will be twenty-five dollars per person,” he said when he came back. “Sit. Eat. Think. I will be right there.” He left before we could respond.
We sat there in silence a few seconds. “Twenty-five bucks is a lot,” I said. Shurik seemed to feel the same. “But to see something others don’t get too…” said Rita, “I think I want to do it. Gadik?” Gadik was with Rita. “Wait,” I said, “maybe I can get him to lower the price,” got up from the table and departed for negotiations. Nobody stopped me. Maybe they should have.
“Luis. Can we talk?” His food hasn’t arrived yet, and we stepped outside. “$25 is too much,” I explained. Couldn’t he see that we were not from the usual “money bag” countries? I decided to fabricate. And why not? It worked last time. Here, though, I would have to apply to his sense of adventure and greed, unlike with that manager in Cancun, I couldn’t see anything else that could have worked. I still went with the undying dream story of the writers. “Our friends”, I pointed to Gadi and Rita, “are just visiting, but I and my husband are writing a travel book that will be appealing to the high-end residents of the former Soviet Union. The Petroleum and Gas people. You know.” I probably shouldn’t have, but I told him how those people have more money then they can spend together with their dozen mistresses, and that places like South and Central America are an unknown and alluring endeavor where they would only be looking for such ventures where they could “tip” well, a well known guide, to see an artifact others rarely hear about. My tale was not too far from the truth. Have you any idea how hard is it to get a discount on a guided trek in the Amazonian jungle, using us being from the former USSR as a leverage, when only a few weeks before, the same person you are talking to was arranging a private helicopter for one such “New Russian” as we call them, who came in, throwing money, and left with what in his eyes was the “best souvenir ever” – a Piranha bite. To write this travel book, to get it to the right people, and have the right people’s names in it (wink-wink), we first need to experience it ourselves – I explained to Luis, and if we spent such amounts on each item we write about, we will run out of money for research sooner then we could publish. It’s as simple as that. If you ask me, Luis bought it. But what do I know?! I’m the dim-wit that spent the two days after that conversation calling some Señora that was either not there or trying to get it through my thick head that “No, Luis es NO aqui.” I could comfort myself with the thought that in all the excitement about Russian tycoons Luis has given me the wrong number by mistake, but in any case, this is how my plans to see Tikal’s frescoes have miserably failed, and I will carry the shame to my grave.
There was nothing left but to forget about Luis. The frescoes though, oh the frescoes, we could not forget about. We now all had a craving, nay – yearning, to see frescoes, and to our luck Rita was ready with an alternative. Bonampak wasn’t too far away. Just a few hours of driving to the Mexican border where we didn’t even need a stamp in our passports to get in and out to see that site, and the site of Yaxchilan with its wrinkly-nosed bats that observe you as you examine them in the narrow maze of tunnels, the bas-reliefs which still have traces of ancient paint, and though the figure on the top of the main pyramid is missing a leg, it is still very impressive and unlike anything you’ve seen before.
The border crossing can only be done by small boat, and we had to leave GreenGo behind, in the front yard of a river side home where they promised to look after him for a few Quetzales. Still, Shurik did remove the distributor rotor just in case. You can cross the river from the town of Bethel, on the Guatemalan side, but they wanted about thirty bucks for the four of us, so we traveled a few more kilometers to the village of La Tecnica where it was only under two bucks per person.
On the other side of the river we found some of the ugliest turkeys I’ve ever seen in my life, and, after making an all inclusive (bed and transport) deal with a local tavern, rooms, and truck owner, we finally managed to subject Gadi and Rita to some road side cuisine. They were skeptical at first, to say the least, but then gobbled up all the salbutes (with our help) until there were none left. Our amazement at them actually liking the food was only overwhelmed by the look on the face of the woman who was selling the salbutes. Her niece explained that she was from a small village far way from here and it was her first time working like this.
Finally, came morning, and we were at the ruins. The Yaxchilan excursion went very smoothly. We were driven by boat, there and back, by one (out of seven) of our tavern owner’s sons, who then made room for his fourteen year old brother to drive us by truck to Bonampak. This too could have gone smoothly, if not only for us being stopped about nine kilometer away from the site’s gates by members of Lacandones tribe, who only recently decided to emerge and form contacts with the rest of Mexico. We were informed that the rest of the road is Lacandones’ property and no other car, but theirs, is allowed on it. And, oh yeah, the nine kilometer ride in their car is going to cost us 70 peso (aprox. $7) per person. Outraged, we tried to make sense of it all, but the natives wouldn’t budge. The only way to pay less (half price), they said, is to show student ID. Well, I had mine. It was expired, but nonetheless a student ID, and for Shurik we pulled out his diving card. As the longhaired tribesman in jeans and a collared shirt was examining the cards, I was ready with a story to explain the presence of dolphins on Shurik’s card, but he never asked for an explanation, and after we paid two full and two student fees, he drove us to the coveted frescoes that we were allowed to witness only under the watchful eye of a guard who made sure we took our photos without flash.
Tags: pretrip, ruins
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Places»North America»Mexico |
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