Other states, other lives, other souls

“With Cultural Diversity and National Solidarity We Move Towards the 21^st Century.”  That noble slogan greeted us at a bus stop along the way from Belize City to San Ignacio in 1997, our last plunge into Mayan territory and culture.  Another signpost paints a less utopian picture of the new country at a literal crossroads. 

Belize has a storied history dating back as far as 2500 BC, when Mayans are said to have reached the area. While a small country, its diversity in ecological zones, peoples, and political struggles makes it a splendid place to visit if you are a traveler who lusts after crossroads. 

My husband Phil, myself and my then 14-year-old son rented a Suzuki 4-wheel drive to spend 12 days touring the country in mid-March.  We had a friend who had been there before and was so taken by its pristine beauty he wanted to buy some land.  Once again, we made our own travel plans, rather than plugging into Trip Advisor (which didn’t start until 2000) or group tours.  We did use a Frommer’s Guide to help us find places to stay. 

We chose to sample three different ecosystems:  the western Maya Mountains area, next to Guatemala, the southern jungle area near Placencia, and the Ambergris Caye island chain, home of the famous Belize coral reef.  These areas include Mayans, European Mennonites, Garifuna, Mestizos, English-speaking retirees from the north, Creoles and Chinese.  In 1997 we learned about the Chinese compound established outside Belize City. The story at the time was that wealthy capitalist Chinese living in Taiwan had been encouraged to bring their wealth to Belize, in fear of Taiwan being swallowed by communist China. Prior to that Chinese indentured workers had come to the Caribbean in the mid-1800’s and settled in what was then British Honduras. Hispanic immigration from Central America since we visited has shifted the balance from a protestant Afro-Caribbean English-speaking majority to a Mestizo Spanish-speaking Catholic one.

Since this post is the last in a series on my Mayan obsession, I will stick with our first stop at the Windy Hill Resort in the western highlands near San Ignacio.  In 2020 it is now called Cassia Hill Resort. The first morning we got an early start on a bus tour over the border into Guatemala and to Mayan city El Tikal two hours away in Petén province.  As soon as we crossed the border the area became populated and culturally Mayan.  I was struck by how orderly, colorful and tidy the many simple houses and surroundings were, despite the obvious lack of modernity.  The houses were clapboard siding with thatched roofs, and brightly colored carved hardwood doors.  There were cement sinks outside each house and white beehive ovens for cooking.  Small pigs, chickens, horses and goats roamed in the yards. I spotted no vehicles except the occasional big truck to carry laborers and buses for school children. Horses were used for everyday transport, besides walking.  To get a current picture of traditional Mayan life I recommend watching the fourth episode of Netflix Chef’s Table BBQ: Rosalia Chay Chuc. The painstaking process of preparing cochonita pibil reminded me that the pollo pibil we had in the Yucatan was one of the best things I ever ate. 

The road past the village was washboard and covered in limestone powder that made all the foliage within ten feet look like it was covered in hoarfrost.  It reminded me of the time in Minneapolis in April when our Linden Hills neighborhood became a scene for the making of the Arnold Schwarzenegger movie Jingle all the Way.  Each day for a week or more, when I would happily ride my bike home from work, my bicycle high would crash when I saw all the fake snow along the sidewalks.

As we jostled along, we saw women and children washing their laundry on rocks on the river, lots of people lying in hammocks, looking out at the road and waving to passersby.  The pace seemed leisurely, though the work was hard. The relaxed feeling was belied by the hired pickup following close behind our bus, with a group of armed men in the back ready to defend us from the bandits known to frequent the roads, looking for tourists to rob. A hitchhiker we picked up on a later drive told us that while the political battles in Guatemala had subsided by then, poor young men were left with a lot of weapons and no cause to keep them occupied.  But scarier than that thought was the large “welcome” sign to the Guatemalan military base we saw as we passed by. The 6×6 foot sign featured a horrifying gorilla monster (not guerilla) face with a gun and wearing the red beret of the Guatemalan army. 

Our guide was Hugo, a Guatemalan of Mayan and Spanish descent.  He was very thorough and scholarly, giving precise dates, number of items under discussion, and method of calculating dates, translating ancient date markings on stellae to current numbers.  We learned that  = 13, = zero. He cautioned us that 2012 would be when the lunar and solar cycles converge on one day and bad apocalyptic things were predicted. Luckily 2012 was pretty quiet.  Here we are in 2020 and it’s hard to choose between apocalypses. He told us his father still used the lunar cycles for planting and harvesting decisions. The best time for picking roof palms was within three days before or after a full moon. Correctly harvested, thatch roofs would last three times longer.

We arrived at El Tikal and saw it was much more of a working city, than a ceremonial site like Chichen Itza.  An estimated 80,000-90,000 Mayans lived there during the classic period, up to 900 A.D., when most Mayan cities were abandoned mysteriously. The gray stone remains still visible were said to have started as wattle and daub, then covered by limestone blocks, and then stucco.  The stucco may have been very colorful, judging by current Mayan aesthetics.  Mayans were known to sacrifice to their gods there, including human captives.  The views from the highest points included tall trees swaying with the antics of many monkeys, jungle birds galore and a coatimundi or two on the ground.  I have always liked this picture showing groups of modern Mayans strolling about their ancient city, like a scene from a Dr. Who time travel episode.   

The last Mayan-centric place we visited from Windy Hill Resort was the Barton Creek cave. Back in 1997 our guide took us through a Mennonite farm on a bone-jarring ride in the back of a pickup truck. We passed some beautiful children dressed in long dark blue or black clothing, some riding horseback, and a stern-looking, heavy-bearded father dressed in farmer jeans and a classic black hat. We entered the cave in a guided canoe, lighting our way in the dark by means of a battery-operated car headlight.  Plenty of ancient burial items could still be seen, and the famous whited skeleton, up on ledges. Wikipedia says that up to 28 skeletons have been found in this large wet cave.  Plenty of bats too. Only Phil took the bait and swam back to the opening in the dark, while Louis and I stayed in the boat.  Here we are at the finish.  I see now that the Barton Creek cave has become a top tourist spot and official archeological reserve (2002). Complete with a “swingin’ hot spot”(thank you Joni Mitchell)—called Mike‘s Place, the landowner, and a zip line.

Cave entrance The next eight days in Belize were full of adventures, but not of the Mayan sort, so I will end here. Creole lore, howling monkeys, swimming with sharks, looking for jaguars by myself in the jungle, beachside dinners, and wannabe nudist camps will have to wait for another post.