It was time for the real adventure to
begin.
We all had a chance to get to our
luggage before we left, exchange sandals for hiking shoes and stuff
in anything we were sure not to need until we arrived at El Tintal,
our destination for the day, before it was wrapped in plastic bags
and loaded onto the mules and horses. Different than on the hike to the
Ciudad Perdida every group has its own set of mules that carries
supplies for the group only, which is possible because way fewer
people make this trek. Only two companies are allowed to take people
to El Mirador, with groups leaving no more than three times a week
for each one; in Colombia easily sixty or seventy people were on the trail
at any given time even in low season.
 |
| Farm yard in Carmelita |
Santiago took us to a fenced-in site
shaded by a huge Ceiba tree, the sacred tree of the Maya people,
where a big table showed the layout of El Mirador, the biggest Maya
site of all. He explained the course the trek would take, and then we
were on our way. We crossed the soccer field where mules and horses
were grazing, neither fenced nor tethered, passed a yard with
chickens and turkeys, the house and outbuildings in the traditional
building style, made of wood with a palm-leaf roof, and then left
Carmelita, the last outpost of contemporary life. It was ten-thirty,
and it was hot!
We started out on a road wide enough
for a vehicle, the sun blazing down on us, but after no more than
twenty minutes Santiago took us on a narrow path into the dense
jungle. Soon a pattern developed for the group: Santiago at the
front, followed by Erica, then by Johann and me and some of the young
people. Mirna and Sabdy were last, and Rodolfo brought up the rear,
making sure nobody got lost. We walked at a rather fast pace: we had
to cover seventeen kilometres that day and wanted to reach El Tintal for
sunset.
The road had been dry to begin with,
but soon it got very muddy, which made it necessary to make detours:
that was the reason why we were now mostly walking on narrow, winding
paths. Here, too, muddy portions were frequent, not helped by the
fact that the mules were using the same trail, but obviously it was
still better than the road. The mud had firmed up a bit after rain
some days ago, so most of the time it was not bad to walk on. With
every step our shoes made a smacking sound. We only had to worry
about mud coming in over their tops at particularly wet areas. There,
we carefully stepped where Santiago had stepped, teetering on the
brink of slipping in, looking for handholds – branches, trees,
lianas – to get us around or across. Santiago warned us, 'don't
grab that one!': a slender tree with spikes facing downward like
shark teeth, but by then some of us had made acquaintance with it
already, including Johann and me. It drew blood immediately, and to
be on the safe side we sucked on it as if it had been a snake bite.
Nothing followed, however; it hurt for a day or two and was gone
again.
We rarely saw the sky, only glimpsed it
through the dense canopy from time to time, which made the heat
bearable. Still, I was bathed in sweat most of the time, just like I
had been in Colombia. Apart from that, however, the hiking was a lot
easier for me: most of this first day the trail was completely flat,
the altitude of about 300m meant I had no trouble catching my breath
even at a relatively fast pace.
At about two we came to a resting
place with benches and a table. The cooks, one walking like us, the
other one riding one of the mules, had arrived a bit ahead of us and
prepared sandwiches with ham, cheese, tomato and onion, juice boxes
and water, plus fruit for dessert, all set up on a tablecloth, like
all the meals we were about to be served during the trek.
Now we were able to follow the main
road instead of weaving our way through the swampy jungle, which made
walking considerably easier, even if we still hit some mud from time
to time. The sun was no longer high, and it cooled down a bit. Around
4:30 pm the road widened into an almost open area with few trees: we
had arrived at the ball court of El Tintal. Ball games – pelotas
– were played all over
Mesoamerica. The aim of the game was to keep the ball in the air,
which is thought to have been achieved by hitting it with the
hips and shoulders. Santiago pointed out the slanted walls from which the ball
was bounced off. When we visited Chichen Itza in Mexico seven years
ago we heard that the pelota
game was also connected with human sacrifice. It felt strange to be
at a place where people had gathered to play ball two thousand years
ago or more. Why, we
wondered, hadn't more trees grown in this place? It still was emptier
than the surrounding area, the court still distinguishable. A ceiba
tree grew in the middle, and, like a few of the others, I hugged it,
the short, thick spikes on its trunk pressing into my skin. For a
moment I was almost able to hear the cheering of the crowds, could
feel their presence.
The
ball court was a sure sign that we were nearing our destination, but
even before that Santiago had pointed out features that stemmed from
pre-Colombian times: here and there we saw perfectly round holes in
the ground, entrances to underground storage rooms the Maya had built
to keep produce and water. Some, Santiago explained, were much bigger
and widened into rooms big enough to hold several people; these were
thought to have served as places for rituals. Only slowly we grasped
the fact that so many of the little bumps and hills beside the road
were nothing less than buildings, covered by trees and shrubs. It was
so hard to imagine that all this forest had once been teeming with people!
We
were all tired, our feet hurting, longing to finally 'be there', but
when we reached the sign 'Henequén'
at the foot of a higher hill with stairs we forgot all of that: we
had reached El Tintal's highest pyramid, and the sunset was only a
short time away. We gathered our strength and climbed up the uneven
steps, the exclamations from the ones who had reached the top first
encouraging the ones following. What a view we had arrived to! Jungle
stretched out in all directions, the dense canopy hiding the ground –
an ocean of trees! Santiago pointed out a small hill to the north: El
Mirador. The thought that we needed to walk there the next day, 23 km
through the jungle, was a bit disheartening just then, our feet
hurting, bodies aching, but it didn't take away from the awe we felt
gazing out over what had been the Maya empire.
The
sun was low on the horizon already when we arrived at the top, touching the green with gold. Howler monkeys roared not far away,
birds were singing their evening song. A hummingbird darted between
spikes of small red blossoms. Suddenly the air was filled with
dragonflies, their bodies glittering in the last rays of the sun. A
moment longer, and the red disk of the sun disappeared. Another day
was done.
Slowly,
carefully we climbed down the steps in the quickly fading light.
Already we needed to use our headlamps. Suddenly Santiago stopped,
about half way down where a big branch extended over the steps: a
wild turkey had come to roost on it and graciously posed for
pictures. These birds have little resemblance to the ones that are
raised for Thanksgiving meals: their plumage looks more like that of
a peacock, glittering in different colours, especially when hit by
light, the head and neck sky blue, the head small, without the flap
of skin.
Five
minutes later, all of them downhill, we reached our camp. Our bags
were already waiting for us in the spacious open building that
contained our tents. The guides quickly provided sheets and blankets,
and we could move in. The kitchen building with a long table on one
side and the cooking area on the other was part of the setup, too, as
well as two showers – well working, with cold water, of course –
and a well maintained outhouse a short distance away. The tents of
the guides, cooks and mule handler stood in another plastic covered
space. Solar power provided some light for the cooks to prepare the
meals on a stove heated with wood and for us to eat the delicious
meal they had cooked for us.
We
were dead tired – and it was not even seven pm! We could impossibly
go to bed then and expect to stay asleep till morning. Markus had
brought cards, and we played a game he taught us until eight-thirty,
which still sounded early. In no time at all, though, I was asleep.
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