Chichen-Itza and Cancun

Main Temple



This is a spa circa 1000AD



Many columns to support a perishable roof.

We were up and on the road by 7:30, heading for another big Mayan ruin, Chichen-Itza. The drive was uneventful, although we noticed two seemingly contradictory things – the roads continued to be good, as they had been since we drove onto the Yucatan Peninsula, but for some reason there were way fewer PeMex stations. We should have tanked up in Merida on our way through, but we didn’t, and by the time we got to Chichen-Itza we had run the front tank and the auxiliary tank, which feeds the front tank, dry. It wasn’t a big deal because we just switched to the rear tank which we hadn’t yet touched, but it made us appreciate how easy it would be to run out of gas on the Mexican roads.

We pulled into Chichen-Itza around 11:00, and were immediately overwhelmed by all the cars, buses, and people. When we were at Palenque, there had been perhaps 100 people touring the ruins. At Uxmal, there had been maybe 500. At Chichen-Itza, there were thousands, maybe even 10,000 or more, mostly, from what we could tell, bused in from Cancun in the true “Disney” style, get as many people in and out and around the attractions as quickly as possible, hurry, hurry, hurry. There were crowds in the entry area, and crowds of people milling about in the ruins. Our big observation at Chichen-Itza was that in their almost-restored ball court,

we suddenly realized where the idea for quidditch in Harry Potter originated, since the ball court looked just like the quidditch field in the Harry Potter movies. As we walked around the ruins, which are impressive not because of any single tall pyramid or building, but because they just go on and on with some buildings as big as a football field with thousands of columns where a roof had once been, we watched people and listened, and were a little ashamed to be Americans.

We’d walk by groups being led by a tour guide, and there was always some wise ass in the group needling the guide, asking stupid questions, and then laughing too loudly at himself, and getting enough of the rest of the group to laugh just because people are such herd animals. Throughout the site, craftsmen come in and set out blankets and sell their beautiful artwork and crafts – carvings of wood or jade or obsidian, paintings, pottery, blankets, hammocks, embroidery, jewelry and very pretty colorful dresses. The vendors try to pull you in as you pass by and show you things you might find interesting. As we walked by one vendor, there was a man talking AT one of the vendors, in loud American English, saying “I don’t want any of this because I don’t care for this Mayan style.” Well excuse me, sir, but if I’m not mistaken you are touring a Mayan ruin, and exactly what do you expect them to sell?!? Why don’t you just cart your ass off to the nearest Walmart and buy some “American” crap that is made in China???

We also saw a lot of women wearing short shorts or skirts, and string bikini tops. Not halter tops, which might have been okay, but itty-bitty string bikini tops, some of which, like the short shorts and skirts, were a few sizes too small. I know they’re on vacation in the Caribbean, and the sun is beautiful, but I bet these women wouldn’t be caught dead visiting an art museum in one of the big US cities dressed like that, and these ruins are the equivalent of art museums. A little respect wouldn’t hurt. We were also appalled at the number of people jabbering on their cell phones instead of listening to the guides, although from our observations many of these people were speaking French. Who are they talking to and what could be so important that they have to exhibit that level of rudeness to the guide and to the other people in their groups who may have actually wanted to listen to the guide rather than one side of some inane conversation?

We left Chichen-Itza around 2:00, and finally found a Pemex about 30 miles down the road toward Cancun. We pulled into the diesel pump, and there was a big Chevy 3500, diesel, quadcab, dually, just loaded with bling or flash or whatever you want to call it – all the ground effects, light covers, and magnetic stickers proclaiming the driver was a cowboy and who knows what else. When we pulled up, he swaggered around our rig and asked Tom what we were doing and where we were going. I was watching all this from the passenger seat of our truck, pretending to look at the map and read the guide book, and even from a distance I took an instant dislike to the guy. I could tell that Tom also had his back up but he was very civil and just listened to the guy. He was in his early 50’s (our best guess) and had dyed reddish hair, was wearing jeans with a big silver belt buckle, and cowboy boots. He immediately told Tom he was from Tennessee, that he’d been in Mexico for a year, and was managing some nearby power plant, and had bought a great house in town, which he gave Tom directions to so we could go find it and admire it. Throughout his conversation with Tom, he’d occasionally give the guys at the pump some instructions, in pseudo English/Spanish which we’re not sure they even understood, and then say MOOCH-ASS GRASSY-ASS, AH-MEE-GOSE in a loud voice. You’d think after a year in the country, he might have learned a little conversational Spanish, but I guess you don’t need to do that when you’re the king of the redneck world and your emotional development stalled at age 17. He validated our opinion of him when he left, roaring away from the pump, slamming on the brakes as he got to the road, then chirping his tires as he got on the road and zoomed towards town. As we got ready to leave Tom tipped both the gentleman that washed our windows and the one that pumped our gas (which is customary) hoping that the locals wouldn’t think that ALL the people from the USA are such blowhards. Then we elected to take the turnoff to the toll road rather than going through town to admire the American’s “castle”.

The rest of the drive to Cancun was uneventful. The toll road between Merida and Cancun is easy driving. Like the toll road into Campeche, it’s a lot like an American interstate, but with bicycles and pedestrians on the shoulder. We followed the Sanborn’s directions to an RV park just a little north of Cancun, which were frustrating because they were very detailed, with some details wrong, although they were close to correct on the address of the RV park. Driving through Cancun with the truck and trailer was nerve wracking because the road we were on was 3 lanes of city traffic in each direction, but without any lane lines on the road, with construction in odd places popping up with no warning, and the ubiquitous topes which slow the traffic, but which also cause confusion because the people who know the road suddenly swerve to go over the tope at the lowest possible point and leave chaos in their wakes.

When we got to the campground, Mariano, whose family owns the campground, met us at the gate and told us where to park. We went out to park, he followed on foot, and when I got out of truck with the dogs he broke into a big smile and said “You have a borzoi!” I asked him how he knew, since he’s the first person in Mexico, and probably the first person on our trip, who knew the breed, and he explained that his sister breeds Bassett hounds and they travel to dog shows all through Mexico. I asked him what the breed is called in his country, and he said…borzoi. At least we’ve been telling everybody we’ve met the right thing! When I walked the dogs later that evening, he brought his entire family out to meet Mel, who of course loved the attention.

After we parked, we unhooked the truck and headed back out to the SuperChe to get some groceries. We were both exhausted, but when we got back in the truck after stopping Tom started messing with the air conditioner in the truck, making it cooler then warmer then cooler then warmer, which he NEVER does – I’m always the one who can’t find the right temperature. When we got back to the campground, I took the dogs and helped a guy next to us set up his tent in the dark, and Tom moved all the boxes from the floor of the camper where they travel now to the shelf over the bed. When I came back in the camper, Tom was on the bed, curled up and shivering despite the warm breeze blowing off the Caribbean, which is just across the road from the campground. He went to bed, and I brought in the groceries, made myself an egg sandwich, and followed.

By morning, Tom was feeling better, and whatever it is hit me. Getting cereal, orange juice, and tea out was done in three or four stages, because I’d have to lay down every few minutes rather than throw up or pass out. We both choked down some cereal, which Tom said made him feel well enough to drive. We’re not sure what got us – it’s probably not coincidence that we both got sick after eating and drinking out in Mexico the evening after we toured Uxmal, which is the first time we didn’t eat our own food in the camper. Or, it could have been because we spent two days touring ruins in the hot sun and got a little dehydrated. It could be some random 24 hour thing we picked up somewhere along the road. Or, it could be a continuation of whatever we had in Athens where we both got achey and our joints swelled up, which we think is something we got from tick bites in Florida. Whatever it is, if we still have it when we get to Belize, we’ll find a doctor and get some antibiotics.