The Puuc Route Deep in Maya Country

In Santa Elena, only 8.7 miles (14 kilometers) east of the Uxmal Archeological site, I met a young man named Miguel. When he said his last name I wasn’t sure if I had heard it correctly so repeated it as “Ulk.”

He corrected me by saying, “‘Ooc,’ spelled ‘U-c.’ It is a Maya name.”

A Maya name. I felt excited because I was looking for genuine Maya people.

“Do you speak Mayan?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “But my mother speaks better.”

However, his mother was too shy to speak on camera so she stayed in the background and added suggestions in Spanish and Mayan as he spoke in an accented English.

We were on the Puuc Route deep in Maya country in the State of Yucatan. The Uc family owned a restaurant and gift shop where they sold wood carvings of Maya dieties.

I felt excited. If Miguel’s surname was Uc, his family must be original inhabitants of whole Puuc region since their name was part of the name of the region. I also felt grateful to learn how to pronounce Puuc correctly. I had been pronouncing it as “Puke.” Now I knew it was pronounced “Pook.”

Carol Chapman —

UFOs, OBEs and the U.S.

Yesterday I said that it made sense that Russia would have a Chief Scientist of UFOlogy because I remembered, from the 1971 book Psychic Discoveries Behind the Iron Curtain, that the Russian people had studied psychic phenomenon taking for granted it was real rather than the U.S. which has to prove whether or not it exists before the U.S. studies psychic development.

Today, I remembered that certain aspects of the U.S., not necessarily academic America, takes psychic phenomenon seriously. I have a girlfriend who used to be a trainer at Robert Monroe’s The Monroe Institute (TMI) in Faber, Virginia. She told me that many of the people who came to TMI for Out of Body Experience (OBE) training were members of the American secret intelligence service.

Carol Chapman —

Psychic Discoveries in Russia

Yesterday I said: 

here’s some interesting possibly true information on Russia’s Chief Scientist in UFOlogy

Carol Chapman —

saying that I take such reports with a grain of salt – that Russia would have a department of UFOlogy. However, I remember the 1971 book by Sheila Ostrander and Lynn Schroeder, Psychic Discoveries Behind the Iron Curtain and in so doing remember that Russia took the psychic realm very seriously.

Russia Has a Chief Scientist of UFOlogy???

I tend to take these kinds of announcements with a grain of salt, nonetheless, here’s some interesting possibly true information on Russia’s Chief Scientist in UFOlogy: 

The president of the Academy for Applied Ufology, Academician Vladimir Azhazha, is considered to be the founding father of the Russian ufology. He shared his knowledge of aliens with Mikhail Gorbachev and Boris Yeltsin, who subsequently confirmed his status as the nation’s chief scientist in ufology. The academician has recently marked his 80th birthday and is currently working on an extensive collection of books (ten volumes) devoted to UFOs. It goes without saying that the traditional science does not treat ufology seriously.

Are Extraterrestrials harvesting human sperm and ovules? | Psychic|clairvoyant|psychic reading

Was the Roswell NM UFO Crash Actually in Arizona?

I’ve copied the following excerpt in its entirety because I found it entertaining, humorous and also thought-provoking.

Having lived in Phoenix for over six years, and having plied the Arizona highways to the high country every weekend in search of cooler weather during the stifling summer months, I can attest that there are endless stretches of totally barren countryside in this desert state.

If I was an alien in a spacecraft looking for a place to hide out unobtrusively, I think I’d choose the Arizona wilderness. If aliens truly did crash, I’m willing to consider that they went down in Arizona rather than in New Mexico.

This excerpt is from the Arizona Republic newspaper.

In 1947, just three weeks after the supposed UFO crash in Roswell, N.M., a flying saucer was reported to have crashed in the Dreamy Draw.

The Roswell aliens were supposedly taken to a secret government location in Nevada called “Area 51.” The Dreamy Draw is traversed by a highway called Arizona 51. Coincidence? As Mulder and Scully might say, “There are no coincidences.”

The story was first written about in 1952 in Behind the Flying Saucers, by author Frank Scully. Yes, Scully. Again, there are no coincidences.

According to the tale, the flying saucer crashed, leaving the dead bodies of two aliens, each about 4 1/2 feet tall, sprawled in the desert outside the craft. A local resident collected the bodies and kept them in his meat freezer until the men in black showed up to quiet any rumors and took the remains.

A second version of the tale has the saucer careening off the Dreamy Draw and coming to a halt in Cave Creek, where a local resident collected the remains and kept them in his freezer until the men in black – well, you get the picture.

Supposedly, the 455-foot Dreamy Draw Dam was built over the wreckage to prevent curious eyes from prying.

What rings true about the story is that the saucer crashed in 1947 and the dam was built in 1974 and we all know horror stories about government inefficiency. So it could be true.

Or, if you are a real paranoid conspiracy theorist, you might note that 74 is 47 reversed. There are no coincidences.

Lore of Dreamy Draw: Madmen, green men and lots of great hikes

Orbs and Film Not Digital Cameras

Here’s an excerpt from a blog written by a person in the United Kingdom. The internet information I’ve seen on orbs refers to them as being a phenomenon of small-format compact digital cameras. I’ve already written to say that orbs have appeared on photographs taken by my regular format digital camera and a reader who is a professional photographer has also said they have appeared in her photographs taken by her professional format cameras. They appear most often for her when people are celebrating and having a good time such as at a party. The following excerpt says that orbs have appeared on photographs taken with film in 1989.

I did not possess a digital camera in those days, and once home, after having had the film developed, I saw strange balls messing up the photos I took of my kids.

Orbs | SunnyBank Centre/Geomancy Blog

U.S. Customs Computers Go Berserk!

Too tired to write much – missed our connecting flight in Charlotte, SC, because the U.S. customs computers were down and we had to be rerouted on a much later flight – but happy about our trip to Yucatan, pleased with the video footage I shot, grateful for the wonderful Maya people we talked with and thrilled that I got to see and videotape real life, in-the-wild, pink flamingos feeding in shallow marshlands next to evaporating pools where sea salt is being made!!! More later.

Carol Chapman —

Deep Into Maya Land

Today we leave Campeche for the hilly Puuc region, home of the Maya. The ruins here include Uxmal with its intriguing oval-sided pyramid, the Pyramid of the Sorcerer. This is the place where I found the carving of the feathered serpent with the man in its mouth flying over Venus. This image confirmed my memories of Atlantis and formed the basis of the conclusion of my first book, When We Were Gods.

We will also be touring the less-visited Maya sites of Sayil, home of the Descending God that dives headfirst into a doorway which I believe represents the serpents mouth, again, a representation of my Atlantean memories. I included photographs of the Descending God in When We Were Gods and also my latest book, Arrival of the Gods in Egypt. Now, I wanted to videotape the images for inclusion in my movie about spiritual destinations in the Yucatan.

I have emailed Kristine Ellingson at Flycatcher Inn Bed and Breakfast where we have a reservation to stay the night. She is married to the Maya man, Santiago Dominguez, who related his family’s handed down tradition of the origin of Uxmal as well as their prophecies of the end of the world. This time, I hope that Santiago will go with me into Uxmal’s Archeological Site because I want to be sure that I videotape the correct carvings when he describes the legend about the sorcerer dwarf who built Uxmal in a night.

These legends are very important to me because they parallel the Creation Story and my memories of Atlantis. Unfortunately, unless things have been significantly upgraded, there will be no internet or computers to use in the area so I am writing this morning, before we leave Campeche for Uxmal.

Carol Chapman

Banditos, Engine Oil Near-Disasters and Parades

Woke up feeling happy and refreshed. John is also in a better mood. He slept 11 hours, I, more than 9. Everything looks rosey today even though it’s still raining in Palenque. This morning, the tropical foliage no longer feels powerful and overwhelming but vibrant and beautiful.

We eat a delicious desayuno at our Hotel, which is called Xibalba. I discover that Xibalba means “the underworld.” What a strange name for a hotel. By the way, “X” is pronounced as “Sh” – “Shibalba.”

We’re on the road early, ready for the long haul from Palenque to Campeche. A reader wrote to recommend that we visit the ancient relatively undeveloped ruins at Calukmul. She says they are magnificent and have not become commercialized like Chichen Itza. Calukmul has the tallest pyramid in the Yucatan Peninsula. On a clear day you can see the Tikal pyramid from its summit. But, today, it’s raining, not a good day for climbing pyramids. John and I talk about making a change in plans but Calukmul is so far out of the way that we would have to forego some of the plans we have already made. Calakmul will have to wait for our next trip to Yucatan.

The road to Campeche will be through relatively isolated rural countryside and extend the whole day. We hope to make Campeche before nightfall. We decide our goal is to photograph and videotape clearly and definitely the young people running and bicycling along the side of the road wearing t-shirts with the Virgin Mary of Guadalupe’s photo held as a banner or plastered on the back of the truck that accompanies them. We still don’t really know what this is about – had, at first, thought it had only to do with Izamal but have seen devoted young people in every state we have visited – Yucatan, Tabasco and Chiapas.

Our other goal is to record at least one of the many men we have seen riding horses. They’ve been riding beside the road or we saw one sitting respendantly in his saddle with cowboy hat in the cement bus waiting area along the side of the road (waiting for a loved one to arrive on the bus to ride them on the horses back home?) or riding through a field with Brahma cows (a Mexican gaucho cowboy?)

Fears of banditos are out of our minds because we have read they mainly bother travelers at night and mainly in the state of Chiapas south of Palenque. We are NORTH of Palenque and even though it is gray and spitting rain, it is daylight. We drive through Chiapas and Tabasco without incident.

However, in the state of Campeche, we are hounded by a truck from which a man in the passenger seat keeps waving for us to stop. The truck rides beside us on the road, pulls ahead, pulls behind, comes to the side, all the time the passenger waving at us. At one time, he points to our tires and makes motions as if our rear tire is flat. We have read that this is a ploy to get unsuspecting travelers to stop so we keep going in spite of the harrassment. Finally they give up and drive ahead and away from us.

By late afternoon, we are less than 100 kilometres from Campeche, our goal. John makes a worrisome sound. I ask, “What is it?” He says, “The oil light is on.” We’re in the middle of nowhere and the light is fading. John tells me that the oil light blinks on and off. He’s been unsettled the whole trip because the car has smelled of oil ever since we stopped at a Pemex station, also in the middle of nowhere, and added a quart of oil on the advice of the attendant.

He decides to push for Campeche instead of stopping by the side of the road surrounded by deserted wilderness and rolling limestone hills. There isn’t even a ranch or rows of crops growing. He says that the light goes off whenever he accelerates, which, to him, is a good sign. I don’t understand enough about cars to know why but trust him.

We drive tensely trying not to indulge too much in worst case scenarios like that the engine is going to seize up and we’ll be stranded with only snakes, jaguars and banditos for friends.

Finally, the outskirts of Campeche come into view. Like most city outskirts, it contains rows of automobile dealerships. Heaven! We stop at the appropriate dealership and open the hood of the car. The cap to the oil tank is missing . . . and they do not have a replacement. There is much discussion in Spanish and attempts on our part to understand and communicate. There is no oil on the stick. The engine comparment is drenched in oil. We realize that the fellow who added a quart of oil did not put the cap properly back on the valve cover. During the discussion, one young mechanic takes a good look into the open engine compartment. A miracle! The cap is there, wedged between some tubes. It has remained on the engine over hundreds of kilometers of bumpy roads and endless topes or speed bumps. We are ecstatic. We are saved! We all guffaw, slap our thighs and exclaim delight. They add three quarts of oil, we pay them and we all wave good-bye smiling.

Inside the walled historical part of Campeche, where our hotel is, we are surprised by the snarl of traffic bumper to bumper on the narrow cobble-stoned one-way streets. We have to park the car far from they hotel. As we walk to our hotel, loud booming sounds begin ahead of us. It is a night-time pre-Carnival parade right down the street where our hotel is. No wonder we could not find a parking space. I whip out my camcorder, attach it to my extendable mini-tripod and get some dynamic footage of lovely young ladies and youngsters waving balloons. A great and happy ending to a stressful day. It’s good to be in Campeche!

Carol Chapman

Wasted in Palenque

Today I´m sitting in front of a computer that greated me with ´Bienvenido´ and that has the stickiest mouse I´ve ever encountered, even stickier and slower that the mouse on the computer in my hometown library which I am occassionally forced to use when my home computer is not well. I´m not sure how long I can last.

Rain pours in huge noisy splashes throughout the open inner courtyard of this hotel where John and I are staying in Palenque. The computer is also outside but protected by a roof. It is dark outside and surprisingly cool. The torrential rain pours over a huge lighted cement representation of the intriguing lid on the sarcophagus of Lord Pacal just outside our hotel room window.

A cat has just arrived to keep me company. It must be the hotel cat because he or she is not very wet.

Palenque. So many expectations. Afraid of being disappointed. So many people have told me this is their favorite Mayan archeological site. Will I like it? I feel afraid it will vie for my affections with my favorite sites of Uxmal and Izamal in the same way a mother fears her newborn baby will vie for her love of her existing children.

Palenque. After a number of days without many tourists in Izamal, Campeche and Villahermosa, the torrent of buses lumbering along the narrow road into Palenque are slightly disturbing. Along the road we pass many young people with rings in various places on their anatomy, dredlocks, sauntering with loose relaxed strides, by their facial characteristics, clothing and different skin colors, obviously from many different countries. Unlike any other place we have visited in Mexico so far, it is evidently not low season in Palenque. This is a major destination for many year-round.

When I get out of the car in the Palenque archeological site, I am immediately accosted by a young woman wearing a satin blouse and a black skirt with colorful folded cloths on her head, which I assume must be a local but different local Maya dress than the white embroidered huiptil dresses of the northern Yucatan Peninsula. She has bags, scarves, woven bracelets and beaded necklaces. I am impressed with her two silver front teeth. Her name is Anita.

A young boy wants me to buy calendar necklaces. He calls out the months in Spanish, then stops and asks if I am Allemande or Engish. He calls out the months in English. John is engulfed by men who insist on washing our rental car for 50 pesos or they will only watch the car for consideraby less. People crowd around us with wares to sell. I only want a bathroom, ¨sanitarios¨ in this part of Mexico not ¨banos¨ as they are called further north. I push through the crowd toward the oasis I seek. Anita is there too. Fortunately, she has not brought her wares, only needs to use the facility. She feels more like a normal fellow human being in the sanitarios than out in the parking lot with her cloth tied bags of wares hanging on her small frame.

At the archeological site it is late in the day, two hours before closing at 5 pm. Long shadows cover this hilly green site which is covered with verdant grass and is surrounded by lush tropical foliage. I remind myself to stay on paths and be careful where I put my hands and feet. This is the first Maya archeological site I have ever visited where I did not need a sun hat. Because of the deep shade from the high hills surrounding the site, I am also, for the first time, not sweating.

We climb steep stairs and enter a tomb called ¨The Red Queen¨ because the room has traces of red paint in it. Unlike the dry desert lands of the north, this tomb is dripping with water. The walls glisten with wetness. The Red Queen´s sarcophagus looks strangely similar to the ¨sarcophagus¨ in the Great Pyramid. One of the rooms has a corbelled arch niche similar to the Queen´s Chamber in the Great Pyramid. Strange coincides.

Outside, I am disappinted to learn that no one can enter Lord Pacal´s tomb and that, in fact, the whole Temple of Inscriptions is out of bounds to tourists because it is undergoing renovations. There is scaffolding on one side and plastic tarps draped over one corner.

John and I argue over the best way to photograph a temple sitting on a distant hill. I say it is my camera and I want it now. He says we have to wait unti the sun breaks through a cloud so the surrounding jungle with look green like an emerald. I hate it when he is right!

I concentrate on videotaping the palace that sprawls as big as a modern city block and feel sorry for myself because a guide I have asked tells me there is no image of Itamna at Palenque. When I find a view halfway up the Palace that is gorgeous to photograph I begin to feel better.

Amazingly, a stream gurgles through the site. John says to stop lingering so long because it is late in the day and they are going to close the site before we can see it all. It drives me nuts when he is right. I don´t care and linger over my next couple of photos.

Something is bothering me and it has nothing to do with John. The place feels different almost eerie compared to other sites I have visited. There is a restlessness here. I feel uneasy. Mist seeps over the treetops at the tops of the surrounding hills.

Suddenly, an unearthly roar thunders through the air. It comes from the tops of the trees. Another roar bellows as if to make the dead stones quiver. The sound is deep, dark and piercing.

Howler monkeys. The king of the hower monkeys bellows out his dominance over the Palenque Archeological site. I hope my videotaping of the site will pick up his roars.

A guard lightly blows a whistle. It is time to leave. As we go down stairs to the exit, more men and women accost us with wares to sell. I give a little boy five pesos because I took his picture. He is pleased.

Anita is also pleased. I buy the handbag and a lovely black and gold scarf.

Thank goodness we get to the hotel before the rain starts.

Carol Chapman