Thirty Day LA

Not only was the drive to Caracol as long as the trip to San Ignacio, but it was even more insufferable. The Van of Death was the scariest part – it had no starter, there was a towel in place of the gearbox cover, and fumes would occasionally fill the cabin. The road through Mountain Pine Ridge, past countless acres of beetle-denuded pine trees, was one of the bumpiest I had ever been on. At first, it seemed like the weather would clear, but then the clouds started rolling in. The rain from the night before had hollowed out some serious potholes in the dirt road. Without any seat belts, I was able to get a couple inches of air on some of the bigger bumps. At one point, Evril stopped the van, opened the hood and went outside, then came back in.

“OK guys, I checked the engine and everything looks good,” Evril informed us. “If we make it past this next hill, we’ll make it to Caracol.” I didn’t want to ask what would happen if we didn’t make it.

Evril kick-started the van on the downslope and gunned it as we approached the massive hill that stood before us. As we went up the hill and our speed started to decrease, Evril began spinning the steering wheel back and forth in order to gain traction in the muddy road. We started sliding through the mud. Brandon and I looked at each other with huge grins. Even if we weren’t going to make it, having a random Belizean driver attempt to drift upwards through a muddy mountain road was unexpectedly exciting. We kept sliding and Evril continued to calmly spin the steering wheel back and forth. The van was decelerating quickly, and just when it seemed we wouldn’t make it, we reached a dry spot near the peak of the hill. Evril accelerated over it and into the clear.

When we reached a rest stop near Caracol, we had to wait for a military escort to take us the rest of the way. Apparently the local bandits are fond of ambushing tour vans along the road to Caracol. Luckily for us, the British army still has training grounds in Belize, only a few hundred yards from the rest stop. However, it was the Belizean army that would accompany us for the rest of the trip. For some reason, having soldiers with M-16 assault rifles around just so we could visit some Mayan ruins didn’t concern us too much. We were more interested in the colony of large leaf ants that appeared to be constructing a bridge across a shallow pool of rainwater.

An young Indian-American guy who was part of another tour group came by and told us that the ants were gathering leaves to take underground so fungus would grow on them and they would eat the fungus for food. When he left, Randy and I agreed that he was full of shit - the ants were making a bridge.

After we reluctantly got back into the Van of Death, we made it to Caracol without further incident.

Evril informed us that another tour guide, David, would be taking us through the grounds of Caracol. I ditched my heavy camera bag and brought my rain jacket, hoping we wouldn’t get caught in some heavy downpour. Evril went inside the visitor center and brought out a giant rainbow colored umbrella for us to use. I claimed it first so I could use it as a walking stick. Warning us to stay on the trail to avoid deadly poisonous snakes, David then led us, along with the Indian-American guy and his wife, into the entrance of Caracol to witness our first ever Mayan ruin site.

Caracol is the largest Mayan archaeological site in Belize. It lies at the foothills of the Maya Mountains at an elevation of 1500 feet above sea level. At around AD 250, during the Classic Era, Caracol was an urban epicenter with a population of over 140,000, which is a greater population than modern-day Belize City. To support this many people, the city architects of Caracol built an immense agricultural field system and laid out numerous living and work structures in a radial pattern over 65 square miles. Caracol was considered to be one of the most powerful lowland Mayan cities because they were constantly engaged – and successful - in war. They defeated neighboring Tikal in AD 562 and Naranjo in AD 631, experiencing an unprecedented explosion of productivity and development in the years that followed. Caracol was discovered in 1938, and subsequent excavations in 1951 and 1953 were conducted by the University of Pennsylvania. Today, the majority of Caracol still remains unexcavated under a millennium and a half of forest undergrowth.

A few minutes after David had led us into the entrance of Caracol, we caught site of the remains of what used to be Mayan residential buildings. There were four of them facing each other around an open square, their relatively low height demonstrating that they were reserved for the middle class. Trees grew out of the center of each one. David pointed us to the hole in one – it was a grave. This was one of many middle class ruin sites throughout Caracol. The Maya of Caracol had an egalitarian system of distributing wealth, as evidenced by the vaulted masonry tombs throughout the city and the presence of luxury items in the residential units like the ones we were looking at. We continued on through the jungle and encountered a towering tree with large, distinctive roots.

It was considered by the Mayans to be a Tree of Life, otherwise known as a ceiba tree. The Mayans believed that the branches of the Trees of Life formed the forest canopy and pointed in each cardinal direction to reach to the heavens, while its roots descended into the underworld and formed stalactites in the caves below. Soon we passed a frond-covered lake that the Mayans used as a reservoir.

This was the entryway into the upper class residences. These buildings were completely excavated and we were able to climb in, through, and around them. David took us to a tree and showed us the cohune nuts that it produced. He cut one open with his knife and milky white fluid oozed out, which was so sticky that young art students used it for glue. Squeezing the white meat out of the nut produced a cooking oil, while its hard husk could be used for jewelry. He also pointed out a line of leaf ants scurrying across the path. They were taking leaves underground so they could feed off the fungus that grew on the leaves. Randy and I shared a good laugh to the confusion of the rest of the group. Then David showed us a replica of a five-foot tall stone tablet with Mayan inscriptions on it. The original had been stolen by the University of Pennsylvania for display in their museum.

Unlike the Aztecs who believed in their sun gods, Mayans believed in gods of rain. Sacrifices were made during times of drought in order to bring life back into the earth. Elaborate ceremonies and lengthy wars were conducted in the name of rain, many within the grounds of where we were standing.

As it started to drizzle, we made it into the main square of Caracol, the palatial residences. There were several large temples, in addition to a ball court where competitors would decide who would win and who would be sacrificed and a work building with a multipurpose sundial room. The tallest structure in all of Belize, the temple of Canaa, imposed its massive presence in front of us. David told us that we could explore the temples on our own, and he’d be waiting for us back at the visitor center. He told us to avoid the little mounds of dirt that were occupied by fire ants. If we stepped in one on accident, our legs would immediately be covered by nasty, stinging fire ants. Their bites would leave painful welts for weeks. With the haste of youngsters, we raced off in separate directions to storm up the steps of each temple. We joined each other at the top of the 136-feet high Canaa, where could see the forest canopy of Guatemala in one direction and in another, the entire main square and the archaeological research area behind it. Daniel and I soaked in the views for a while, as well as the rain, before it was time to head back to the park entrance. We had reached the end of tour of our first Mayan ruin site, and it was spectacular.

Under a thatched canopy that leaked less than our wooden roof at Martha’s Guesthouse, we ate lunch and harassed a local boa constrictor one of the guides had found along the entrance pathway just a few minutes before we returned. A nice American who was traveling with his family offered all of us - military escort, guides, locals, and tourists alike - some watermelon. We eagerly accepted and tore into our one slice with ravenous thirst. Soon it was time to go, and we hastily said goodbye to David, not realizing that he would be one of our best guides on the whole trip.

The drive back was no easier. We made a stop at the Rio On Pools and took some pictures before heading back.

Evril informed us that sometimes whole fleet of trucks get stuck on that big hill we barely made it over and bigger trucks have to come and haul them over. As Evril drove us home, with the late afternoon sun starting to cast long orange shadows over the lush landscape, he seemed to relax and open up more. He pointed out the lychee farm that was owned by a Texan. When some workers in the back of a truck full of wooden logs passed us slowly, glaring in our direction, I thought they might be hijackers. Instead they cussed playfully at Evril and he cussed at them back. I noticed how often he would raise a finger in acknowledgement of the drivers going the opposite direction. It seemed like living in a small town, or maybe just in Belize in general, makes it more conducive for people to actually get to know each other. This was very apparent when we made it back in town as well. People stood around in the streets talking with each other, with nowhere to rush off to. Work and leisure seemed to be more closely intertwined in the intimacy of a small town in a small country.

While we scoured the streets that night for our next culinary destination, we ran into Martin, the enthusiastic tour guide, at the taco stand in front of the Cantonese-owned grocery store. He gave his thumbs up in recommendation of the food – delicious and cheap at $1US each. I foolishly dumped a big load of habanero salsa on my tacos, thinking it was regular salsa. This would lead to my first encounter with Montezuma’s Revenge later that evening. We brought our food back to our balcony and sat around the table, enjoying the food and company. Unfortunately, we experienced another setback – Brandon’s expensive work laptop, which he used to edit and store all his digital photos, had been on the table under the roof’s leaky spot, and now it wouldn’t turn on. Brandon was surprisingly calm – I would have thrown a fit and worried about the computer for the rest of the trip. We spent the rest of the night watching Sportscenter in English, maintaining some connection with our usual habits back home. I looked up information in the back of my guidebook about the local bugs. I read aloud to myself some of the more startling information – mosquitoes in Belize may carry malaria and even dengue fever, which can lead to death. The others didn’t seem concerned. I went to sleep hoping for another good day with sunnier weather tomorrow, and that I wouldn’t wake up with a massive fever or a cold spell.