¡Viva Mexico!

It was while on a weeklong visit to a Cancun resort in the district of Quintana Roo, my sister and I decided to take an excursion one hundred miles inland to Chichén Itzá. The trip to the Mayan city was not my sister’s first, but it was mine, so I was excited. The day of the planned excursion, we climbed into a van with six other tourists at sunrise around 6:30 that morning, each of us sleepy but eager for the sights to be seen. Within moments, we drove away, leaving behind the comfort of a plush, comfortable hotel and luxurious beach. I, for one, was unaware of what I would see in Chichén Itzá - or even on the trip along the way.

Chichén Itzá looms large. The ancient, pre-Columbian Mayan city invades the southern peninsula of Mexico, based inland in the Tinúm Municipality. One glance at the enormous El Castillo pyramid standing guard at the city’s entrance ensures the visitor is overwhelmed with a foreboding sense of history detailing toil, and brutal rituals carried out by the Mayan people long ago. The Mayans, unlike the Aztecs, had been an indigenous group who sacrificed other humans.

I remember it was a hot, humid day - nearly 100 degrees Fahrenheit - when I made the visit to Chichén Itzá. The heat added to my exhaustion as well as the overwhelming sense of gloomy practices which seemed embedded in stone edifices, as though the smell of blood emanated from them. The result was an unsettling emotion that permeated my being and left a long-lasting impression of something unfathomable despite the magnificence of the city or the age in which it had occurred.

We began the long trek along a highway, but eventually pulled off and made our way through smaller cities and green overgrown areas. Looking out the van’s window, I was struck by the poor nature of what housing I saw along the roadside. Having visited Mexico years earlier, I was aware of its poverty level, but still, the sight of such sad housing was disappointing and heartbreaking. It had been over thirty years since I’d been to Mexico City, so I my hope had been change would have occurred at a higher level. What I saw assured me it had not, at least not in the smaller, more rural areas of the country.

Stopping at a roadside strip housing a bathroom, convenient store, and Subway, I was further disheartened as I spotted what I assumed were several stray dogs languidly laying in the shade and along the cooler, concrete walkways. Protruding ribs assured me my assumptions were correct. Still, despite an obvious need for food, the dogs seemed oblivious to us. The locals who stood around paid them no mind as though immune to their everyday presence. Whether the dogs were too hot and tired or had simply given up any prospect of a decent meal (especially from a tourist) was not answered before we were seated back in the van and headed to our destination again. I think I must have been in a state of shock for I didn’t take any photos of the roadside strip or dogs. More than likely, I did not want to immortalize such a dismal sight.

To this day I am able to vividly recall how what had begun as sleep riddled excitement early in the morning evolved into sadness and heartache along those rural Mexican roads to Chichén Itzá. Most of what I saw along the way was marked by the face of poverty, even in larger areas or cities.

Once we arrived at Chichén Itzá, though physically drained by the heat and history of the ancient grounds, I was glad I had seen it all. Our guide, both in the van and along the way, was knowledgeable and lent some enlightenment and understanding to much of what was seen. Near the end of the visit, we were left to wander the grounds of Chichén Itzá on our own and visit local vendors’ tables of goods for purchase. From a woman who spoke no English and stood just beyond the Cenote Sagrado, or the Sacred Water Hole, I was able to buy several handsewn handkerchiefs, stitched with flowers, El Castillo, and the words, “Recuerdo de Chichén Itzá”. “Remember Chichén Itzá”. Indeed, I knew it was likely I would never forget what I had seen that day. Regardless, it gave me a small measure of comfort to offer the woman triple what she was asking, knowing the funds contributed to the support of her family.

Hours later, after making the long trip back to the resort and sitting at the bar enjoying a much needed drink, I was struck by the stark contrast I'd seen in the rural, outlying parts of Mexico and the lush beauty of the hotel in the heart of the Cancun's resort area. It had become abundantly clear why the employees at the resort valued the American dollar so highly, as did so many others. I knew many of the resort workers lived in outlying, rural areas, and it was obvious to all these were hard workers, striving daily to earn funds to support families and a sustainable standard of life they could enjoy. More importantly, I was struck by the warmth the Mexican people exuded even when faced with serving tourists from countries embroiled in political strife with their homeland.

No, I will never forget the trip to Chichén Itzá or its haunting, lingering effect. More lasting, however, is the memory of the beauty found in Mexico’s culture: the art, language, music, folklore, food, and welcoming warmth exhibited by the Mexican people for those who visit their lush land. Yes, for me, such is the embodiment of Mexico that propels an enduring love for all things Mexico in my heart.

¡Viva Mexico!

** All Pictures Taken By the Author (2018)