Thirty Day LA

We waited at Mayawalk for half an hour until everyone was ready to go. Our guide for the day was Runan, a stout Mestizo man in his 40’s with a strong lisp. We had no idea what happened to Martin. Another tourist joined our party – a middle-aged white man named John who was traveling through Central America by himself. He offered us lollipops when we got on the bus, and then hurled them full force at each of us. The drive to ATM was just as bumpy and difficult, but at least we had a real bus instead of the Van of Death. At one point, we had to cross what looked like a shallow river, but it was actually a small bridge submerged in water. The scenery was even more beautiful than what we saw in the Mountain Pine Ridge. There were large expansive plains adjacent to tree-covered mountains stretching towards the horizon. When we reached our destination – an open area of gravel lined with towering trees – we got out and saw the same Indian couple from yesterday there with their own guide. Runan took all of our gear and stuffed it into a giant waterproof bag that was almost two-thirds his height. Slinging it over his shoulder, he led us into the jungle.

Immediately I knew I should have worn my hiking shoes instead. Traversing a narrow trail covered with tree roots, leaves, and mud, I was constantly slipping and soon fell behind the rest of the group. After I caught up and then almost fell on my face, Runan pointed out the pink woman’s tennis shoes he was wearing and said he didn’t care how they looked because they had great traction. After ten minutes, the path seemed to come to an end at a clear, shallow river that snaked through the jungle. Runan jumped right in and waded through the water, and we hastily followed suit. Brandon and Randy stood in the middle of the river for a while taking pictures. After forty more minutes of constant slipping and another two river crossings, we made it to an opening in the jungle. There were several tables and benches underneath thatched canopies, much leakier than the ones at Caracol. We sat down to take a break, and Runan spent the next hour telling us about the history of Actun Tunichil Muknal.

First of all – the pronunciation. It is pronounced Awk-toon Toon-each-EEL Mook-nal. Emphasis on the EEL. As a Mestizo, Runan began working tours for the cave almost ten years ago when it was first opened to tourists. He had no idea about what the cave meant to the Mayan people, he was just doing his job. Sometimes he would see some local Mayans working nearby the cave entrance, and he would greet them in passing while fully aware of their accusing eyes. After a while, one of the Mayans asked him why he always went inside the cave. They had lived there their whole lives and never once entered the cave. According to Mayan tradition, to enter the cave one had to spend months preparing offerings for their gods. The Mayans believed in human sacrifice, and one of the highlights of entering Actun Tunichil Muknal is seeing a well-preserved human skeleton. To the Mayans working nearby, the constant flood of tourists entering the cave was tantamount to the desecration of a sacred church. While Runan didn’t believe in their gods, he acknowledged the unfortunate reality that he was making a living off the religious holy place of their ancestors. He told us this so that we would have a greater appreciation and understanding of Actun Tunichil Muknal as more than just another tourist spot.

He led us to the entrance of the cave, and it was just as beautiful as he had described. From the mouth of the cave flowed the river that we had crossed several times on the path through the jungle. The cave entrance was about 40 feet tall, in a symmetrical shape that faintly resembled the shape of a canine skull. The water was cold, and we were reluctant to get back in after having already dried off. Runan led the swim into the gaping maw of Actun Tunichil Muknal. There were about 3 people in our high school who failed the swim test, and Daniel and I were two of them. With vampire bats flitting overhead, we did our best not to drown and swam 30 yards through the 10-feet deep pool onto a small rock shore inside the cave. Runan had us look back at the gorgeous view of the river flowing into the jungle, bordered by the silhouette of the cave entrance. Then we turned forward and headed into the darkness.

Nearly an hour later, after half-swimming and half-crawling through narrow limestone passageways, trying to avoid touching the sacred stalactites and stalagmites, occasionally looking up in awe to the towering heights of the cavern roofs where our shadows could barely reach, we reached a stopping point.

“0.3 miles,” Runan said. We had only explored one-tenth of the cave’s interior, already bewildered by the amount of obstacles we had to traverse to make it to this point. “We are not allowed to go any deeper into the cave. Now, we go up.”

Runan hopped on top of a large boulder with sharp crags, pulled himself over a small ledge and disappeared above us. Daniel, who had been steadily in the lead the entire time, climbed up after him. We followed closely behind. There was a small bank in the limestone that lead to what looked like a large opening in the cave with sweeping ceilings. Runan had us take off our shoes. We were entering the area where the Mayans brought their offerings to their gods. We would have to tread carefully to avoid damaging any artifacts.

We climbed up into an enormous chamber. We were stunned by its size – as large as one of the numerous cathedrals Brandon and I had visited in Europe a few years ago. Unlike the courteous silence we adopted when we entered those cathedrals, the silence we shared here was out of sheer awe. Curved lines flowed through the rock floor to form a pattern that resembled limestone intestines, and stalactites glistened in the ceiling. I imagined the absurd image of small Mayan children running through this chamber with delighted shrieks, easily hopping from one floor segment to the next. Pieces of pottery, tools, and weapons littered the floor, some of them even half submerged into the stone. As we carefully walked through the chamber in our socks, Runan stopped us and pointed out the partial remains of a human skeleton.

“An offering,” he said.

I wanted to stay in this chamber and let my imagination run wild. Runan had a handheld floodlight that he would use to point out objects of interest. I saw the outlines of predators, mountains, waterfalls, food, and Mayan people in the shadows that flickered across the walls. However, we soon had to move on, as this wasn’t the highlight of the trip.

After a shaky climb up a rickety ladder and several more minutes of hiking, we had come to the end of our trip. Lying on the floor before us was the complete skeleton of a 20 year-old Mayan girl, sacrificed to the gods, her arms at her side and her legs slightly askew. She looked particularly vulnerable in that position, and as fate would have it, she would forever remain that way. I wondered why they would choose to sacrifice a young girl at the prime of her life. She could have been someone’s devoted wife, a mother even. Everyone took out their cameras and snapped pictures of the skeleton. For the first time inside the cave, I was glad that I didn’t have my camera with me.

The trip back out was no less exhilarating. I had foolishly jumped down from a ledge into the water, thinking it was shallower than it actually was, and smacked my hip against a rock. At one point, I didn’t recognize the landmarks that we were passing, and got excited at the possibility that we took a wrong turn. Randy was smiling the entire way back. Brandon looked around at the complex lines of the cave walls. Daniel followed closely behind Runan, never falling more than a few feet behind him. We passed by several more tour groups going in the opposite direction, and Runan asked all the guides in rapid-fires Spanish if they knew who had left all the garbage at the tables outside the entrance. Finally, we reached the small stone shore at the entrance of the cave. We had made it through Actun Tunichil Muknal, the Cave of the Crystal Sepulcher, and back. As we jumped into the water one-by-one, I felt a pang of disappointment. I wished that our trip wasn’t over. But all good things must come to an end, no matter how hard we try to make it last.

We ate lunch, thoroughly exhausted but thrilled with the awe-inspiring journey. John had many questions for Runan, surprised that a place so sacred to the Mayans would be so accessible to tourists. Runan told us that Belize was undergoing dramatic change through the expansion of the tourist industry. In just a few years, Runan predicted, there would be a steady stream of tourists entering the cave, every day of the week. While the economy of Belize might flourish, the intimate isolation of the land would undoubtedly be tarnished. Places like Actun Tunichil Muknal would likely become what Runan had spent an hour earlier trying to prevent, at least in our minds - another tourist spot to be taken for granted.

As we hiked back, I realized that the bug repellant we had applied in the morning had washed off when we were swimming through the cave. Mosquitos were feasting on my sleeveless arms. I had a red, swollen welt on my left arm the circumference of a golf ball. Along with the constant slipping in the mud, it was a miserable hike back to the bus.

After a quick change behind the bus, we got on board and headed home. The sun was setting on the valley before us. Brandon put his head between the headrests and went to sleep, despite the bouncy road. The rest of us fell asleep shortly after.

Back at Mayawalk, we dropped off our gear. Randy expressed our sentiments best when he smiled from ear to ear, shook Runan’s hands and exclaimed loudly that the trip to ATM was amazing, one of the best things he’s ever done. Runan had set the bar for tour guides even higher than David had, and it wouldn’t be reached again.

One of the reasons people like to go away on vacation is for the scenery. Scenery not in the traditional sense of the word, like sunsets and beaches and clear blue skies, but in terms of people. Specifically, good looking people. Inhibitions fly away while on vacation, and as such the urge to hookup runs rampant among tourists. Not only is the best thinking done away from home, so is the best recreational sex. Partners can be found oftentimes in other tourists, sometimes prostitutes, possibly even locals. Normally, a group of five mostly single guys going away on vacation would be included in the classification of horny tourists. However, coming from a culture where pale white Anglo-European beauty is the gold standard, we thought we might be conditioned against appreciating the scenery in Belize, except in the traditional sense of the word. So it came as a great surprise to Daniel, when we finished dropping our gear off at Mayawalk, when a young, well-proportioned, attractive Belizean girl hopped out of a van right in front of us.

“Ohhh nice!” Daniel said, out loud.

We all gave him a look. It didn’t seem to register to him that he had said it aloud. The girl didn’t seem to hear Daniel and she walked into Faya Wata Bar and Grill next door. We quickly walked off in the opposite direction, back to our hotel.

Later that night, at around 9PM, we were in the mood for post-adventure beers, so we decided to check out Faya Wata. Daniel could possibly run into Miss Oh Nice again and run some game while we relaxed with some ice-cold, napkin-wrapped Belikins. When you order beers in Belize, they will serve it to you with a carefully folded napkin around the bottle opening, instead of just taking the cap off like lazy American bartenders. We sat down at the corner table near the front of the place. It was mostly empty. There were soccer games on the televisions and a couple pool tables in the back. The big bartender talked in low tones with the two white customers seated at the bar.

We spent an hour relaxing with our beers. Brandon, Randy, and I could not stop talking excitedly about our trip to ATM earlier that day. We agreed it was one of the most awesome things we had ever done. Daniel, however, didn’t care to join in the conversation. He seemed preoccupied, sitting in prime viewing position of Miss Oh Nice, who he had spotted on the back balcony. Unfortunately, she wasn’t alone – she was getting cozy with her boyfriend. Daniel sat there quietly for the rest of the night.