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
