martes, 10 de julio de 2007

Jungle Ruins


The Guatemalan jungle is packed full of biting insects. But, to be fair, I had no right to expect any peace. Two days into a five-day trek through the rainforest, I would be lucky to escape at least the following potentially deadly illnesses: Malaria, Yellow Fever, Tick Bite Typhus, West Nile Virus, AIDS… actually I was probably safe on the AIDS front. But they all crossed my mind as I delicately removed a large tick that was expanding on my left calf as it drank my blood. Also occupying my thoughts was the fact that if extricated incorrectly, the contents of its stomach would be flushed into my bloodstream through the hole where its head would have been ripped off.

Once the offender had been sliced in half with a penknife, ending its short reign of epidemiological terror, I scratched my newest mosquito bite, and considered for the first time the possible implications of contracting Dengue two days hard trekking from civilization.

Well, civilization is a generous term. I wasn’t likely to get any treatment more reliable than a splash of iodine in the village of Carmelita, deep in the Petén forests. I shook out my boots once I’d swung from my hammock. Tarantulas hide in boots, and if I stood on one, Dengue was the least of my worries. My guide sheathed his machete and slapped a horse-fly that had had the poor foresight to land on his shoulder, removing one of its wings in brutal but satisfying retribution. It struggled on the dirt floor of our cabaña.

The purpose of this journey was to see a much older – and more developed – civilization than Carmelita; a city which, at its peak, would have had the populous edge on almost anything in modern-day Guatemala barring the capital itself and a couple of major cities. Known to many archaeologists as the cradle of the Pre-Classic Maya, El Mirador had its zenith around 100BC. It may have been home to 100,000 people. But these days it’s tough to get to. It’s not even easy to see, having accumulated 1100 years of tropical flora.

These guys built some seriously impressive buildings, but La Danta (The Tapir) is the biggest (that archaeologists and temple-robbers have yet discovered), climbing 77m from the forest floor. Only 20m or so is visible, the rest all but obscured by a thick layer of foliage. I scrambled up the jungle-clad, crumbling steps, feeling that with every step I was eroding the fragile remnants of an important archaeological record. Even at the top there was no rest from the insects, but the view was incredible. Far across the perfectly flat canopy, perhaps 30km away, the ruins of an outpost, Nakbé, rose from the vegetation. 20km to the south, a dark storm cloud shadowed the ruins of El Tintal. The rain was visible, blurring the horizon. To the east it was clear, and to the north another pocket of rain was watering another vast part of the Peten garden.

Looking up from my hammock, later on, I met the gaze of a howler monkey. It roared, as is their wont. Doubtless its thoughts ran along the lines of: ‘this idiot isn’t going to last five minutes in this insect-infested place. His mate over there isn't even doing him the courtesy of picking the bastards from his fur and eating them’. But I was lost in thought, oblivious to the plentiful fauna whose noise filled the tranquil quiet of the jungle. If it rained tonight, our makeshift shelter wasn’t really going to stand up to it. We’d have to find something sturdier. But then, the only real man-made cover for miles was El Templo de la Muerta, excavated by archaeologists some years previously. I didn’t fancy it. It was dark, claustrophobic, and to top it off, la Muerta refers to the remains of the dead woman they found when they dug the tunnel.

Tikal, 80km south of El Mirador and much more easily accessible from the island-town of Flores, is somewhat different. The majority of the larger temples have been cleared, revealing an impressive complex of ancient limestone structures. I watched the sun rise from the top of Structure IV. The surrounding forest was bathed in a dense mist, which occasionally thinned enough to glimpse the outlines of the other gargantuan temples that protruded above the canopy. Toucans, mot-mots, howler monkeys, and various other locals provided the soundtrack.

It was easier to picture Mayan society here than around the jungle-choked mounds of El Mirador. The rocky, 60m-high stairs down which captured enemies were thrown, their legs tied to their arms behind their backs, were there for all to climb. The engraved altar, at which the Gods were honoured with the sacrifice of the most beautiful virgins, stood exposed at the foot of the tallest temple. These elements of everyday Mayan life probably exist at El Mirador. But they're buried under a millennium’s worth of soil and vegetation.

In common with Tikal, the Honduran site of Copán, which boasts the most detailed glyphic record in the ancient Mesoamerican world, is a fully excavated, tourist-friendly journey into Mayan culture. Tame Scarlet Macaw parrots patrol the wire fences which form the city’s circumference. An on-site museum houses the original carved stelae, the limestone totems on which rulers such as ‘Smoke Monkey’ and ’18 Rabbit’ commissioned the description of the city’s history. But the hordes of small Latino school-trip attendees clambering around the Mayan ball-court detracted somewhat from my attempts to mentally re-create the ancient sport, the winners of whose matches were rewarded with the honour of being sacrificed. Even with the incentive of becoming a God myself upon my ritual death, I can’t imagine I would have been the most committed of players.

No hay comentarios: