There is More to See: Days 32-36. Campeche, Merida, Chichen Itza, Valladolid, Chetumal

Day 32: Hacienda Uayamon Wedding Day: This is so romantic!

While checking the Ourmexico Forum website in October I was intrigued by a request. An English couple was planning their wedding, getting married at a hacienda in Campeche. They requested a photographer, but not a professional package deal. They asked if someone casual, a traveler, might be in the area December 15th and would like to photograph their nuptials.

I emailed Sabrina and Jaime, mentioning that I had experience taking wedding photos since the 60's when outdoor hippie weddings were in vogue, at least among my friends. I said, "I'm an amateur with experience, and my price is free."

Sabrina thought it over; we exchanged emails. I told them that Campeche was on my Bus Across Mexico itinerary and that I had a special interest in restored haciendas.

Sabrina and Jaime accepted my offer, and I advanced my planned trip from January to December.

I arrived in Campeche December 13, two days before the wedding. Sabrina and Jaime were already in Campeche, staying at the Sir Francis Drake Hotel. I asked for a room at Sir Francis, but they were booked solid for the weekend and I could only stay 3 nights. I asked, "Could you suggest another hotel?" The bellman immediately volunteered, "Hotel Lopez, one block." He pointed to the right. "It's very good and economical," he said. He was right.

Hotel Lopez was a perfect recommendation. I saved 30% and I was the first guest in a completely remodeled room. The bath was newly retiled, and in Mexico that means floor, walls and ceiling. The fixtures were new. The bedroom smelled lightly of fresh paint, and the bedroom floor was also new tile. The room still lacked pictures and wall decorations, but I was thrilled when I climbed into bed that night between brand new crackling sheets. I'd forgotten was a pleasure new sheets could be.

I contacted Sabrina and Jaime and next morning we met for breakfast. They were a delightful couple, committed and loving. Sabrina was a social worker and Jaime a computer graphics designer. After the wedding they were moving to Italy.

They explained that the wedding would be at 5 p.m. Jaime had an unusual camera, a Lomo, which had a special lens. Colors would be saturated in the center and the edges of the photos tended to fade to dark. Jaime said, "The Lomo prints appear magical, like a dream."

I would be taking pictures without a flash, using a mechanical focus setting, snap and wind camera. That sounded like fun, but I was concerned that I might spoil the photos because of being inexperienced with the camera. I said, "I'll use two cameras." My Fuji is low light with an auto focus.

We discussed the travails of getting married in Mexico. "A blood test is a must," said Sabrina. "And there always seems to be another piece of necessary paperwork." They also hired a translator. I said, "The ceremony will be repeated." I felt good about that. I'd have a chance to snap each picture twice.

Saturday we met at the Sir Francis Drake Hotel at 2 p.m. Sabrina would have her hair done at the hacienda. She wanted a 50s' look and her hair stylist had volunteered to drive us.

We arrived at Uayamon Hacienda, a Starwood resort boutique. There were only 12 rooms; most were cottages, very private, on the grounds of a partially restored hacienda.

The weather had taken a turn. There was light drizzle. Umbrellas greeted us. Wolfgang Kresse, hotel manager, introduced the staff and offered us champagne. Sabrina and Jaime checked in and were escorted to separate cottages. Sabrina went to shower and to have her hair styled. Jaime was shown the bridal suite.

The cottages were once hacienda workers' homes, but now they were luxury units with spacious baths and dual vanities.

Roses were set out everywhere. They decorated the bath, added a touch of red to the tissue box, gave a soft presence to the wash cloths, accented the silver tray on the coffee table, and were sprinkled across the white bed spread.

The rain stopped and I walked the grounds. An abandoned stone storage building, now roofless, had been converted into to a swimming pool with stone columns. Paths led through peaceful gardens. This was a place for quiet relaxation.

I met the gardener, Rosendo. He showed me the abandoned chapel and took me to the old hospital, now converted into hotel suites, where the wedding would be held under the archway.

I asked Rosendo how long he had worked at Hacienda Uayamon. "I was born here," he said. "I've worked the hacienda all my life. Now it's a hotel. I planted the ceiba tree in the courtyard when I was only 12. That was 66 years ago."

"May I see the tree?" I asked. "You've seen it!" Rosendo said. I knew the ceiba tree was important to the Mayans, but my book learning lacked practical experience. The ceiba is often called "the silk-cotton tree" and its fiber, kapok, is used in sleeping bags.

Rosendo took me back to the entrance. The ceiba tree, with its huge trunk, towered over the hacienda. From its size I would have guessed it to be three times its age. Rosendo stood dwarfed in front of the massive tree, and I took his picture.

Mayans used five cardinal points, north, south, east, west and center. The ceiba tree represented the center and its trunk was mystically connected to the different planes of existence.

The wedding was classic, elegantly simple. There were no guests, only a few members of the hotel staff, the hair stylist and her husband, the judge, the translator and me.

With daylight ebbing, the ceremony began. Slowly, like a blessing and a new beginning, light faded. Yellow-red flames of torches, symbols of love and desire, broke the darkness.

The judge spoke. The words were translated. Sabrina and Jaime repeated the vows. Rings were exchanged. There was joy and smiles and love and happiness.

And then they kissed.

Expenses: Meals $34, Hotel Lopez $38, Total: $72.

Day 33: Camino Real (Royal Highway), Uxmal Mayan Center, Franciscan Missions, Ruta de Conventos (Route of Convents)

When I mention that I was going to Campeche to my friend Bernardo, he said, "I have friends in Campeche. I'll send an email, maybe they can be your guide."

When I reached Campeche, Alberto and Lirio offered to be my guides and to drive me to Merida. I told Alberto, "I'm interested in haciendas, Mayan ruins and Franciscan missions, especially the largest, the convent at Mani where Bishop Landa burned the Mayan codices."

Albert said, "We can make a tour, part Camino Real, stop at Hacienda Blanca Flor, breakfast in Hecelchakán, then cut over to Uxmal, the Mayan ceremonial center, and continue to Mani which is on the Ruta de Conventos."

It was an excellent plan. It took us through traditional Mayan areas with thatched huts, and into the towns of Santa Elena and Ticul with their plain fortress churches with few windows, built to withstand Mayan attacks.

We first stopped at Hacienda Blanca Flor, built in the 17th century and used as a stronghold during the War of the Castes in 1843. It was well maintained, owned by a doctor in Campeche and opened for tourists and business meetings.

Across the road, a haunting church skeleton overshadowed Blanca Flor. Black crows strutted on the roofless walls looking like animated gargoyles.

I took pictures of the abandoned church, its rookery an Edgar Allen Poe scene, the only part of the hacienda now neglected.

Octavio, the manager, guided us around the property. He pointed out the Mayan glyph, the god that brings a plentiful harvest, chiseled in stone above the archway that led to the fields. Next to the entrance were two statutes, St. Francis and Chac-Mool, the Mayan god of rain. Fresh produce was growing in the hacienda garden. Workers were pulling radishes and cleaning lettuce.

Saddles were lined up in the corridor, ready for a mount. An ancient Ford flivver set on blocks added to the sense of antiquity. Tourists were encourage to stay in the hacienda and take side trips to Mayan ruins, Campeche the Fortress Walled City, Isla Arena (Sand Island) and Gurtas de Loltun (Loltun Grotto).

We got back into Alberto's truck. "Time for breakfast, he said." We had left Campeche before 7 a.m., and we were hungry. This was part of Alberto's plan. He had a special place in mind, the outdoor restaurant on the plaza in Hecelchakán. Albert recommended "torta cochinita (thin sliced pork sandwich)."

In Hecelchakán the sidewalk was jammed with diners. "This is a popular place," I said. Albert said, "People drive all the way from Campeche just for a torta cochinita." We order cochinita, marinated sliced pork, folded in a tortilla. I generally have coffee for breakfast, but this savory sandwich called for a beer.

In front of the restaurant, parked side-by-side at the curb, were three-wheel bicycle-taxis. A standard bike frame and back wheel was attached to a two-wheel front cart with a shade roof. Two people could sit together. Shoppers could carry their purchases home.

A taxi pulled out. A lady with a grocery bag at her feet sat upright. She held a tray of 30 eggs and appeared unconcerned about her fragile cargo.

On the streets, these taxis were busy. I wanted a ride.

While we waited for our tortas, I asked, "How much for a quick ride to the church and back?" The driver said, "10 pesos ($1)." I hopped in and Alberto took my picture enjoying the brief pedal powered ride.

Back in the truck, we left the Camino Real and drove to Uxmal. I had visited Uxmal in 1975 with my family. Uxmal was nearly deserted then and archeologists were working on the site. Today Uxmal is on the tourist circuit. There are good roads, excellent service, a nearby hotel and restaurants. Much has been restored since 1975, but visitors are no longer allowed to climb the steep steps to the top of the Pyramid of the Magician.

"Too many accidents, " I was told.

The Pyramid of the Magician (legend says it was conjured up in 3 days) is my favorite Mayan monument. It leaves me with a sense of awe. It's sheer, stone, curved-sided, bulk rises dramatically from the flat plain and towers over the jungle canopy as a testament to a once powerful Mayan city-state.

We drove to Mani and passed through Ticul. Life sized Mayan heroes and gods, statutes looking like kings, stood guard on nearly every corner. In the plaza, stood a plain church. The upper façade, looked like a brooding, stylized Mayan face glaring from the Catholic fortress.

When we arrived in Mani it was afternoon and the convent was closed until 4 p.m. This once principal town and seat of power, was quiet and nearly deserted.

Under Mani's City Hall arches there were two eye-catching displays. The brightest, with red flames, was a mural showing Bishop Landa putting the torch to the Mayan idols and codices in 1562. The bishop, interested in saving souls, believed he was destroying the works of the devil.

Mayans seemingly had converted to Christ and Catholicism, but syncretism was the reality. Mayans accepted Christian saints and the Catholic mass as extensions of pre-Hispanic rites and beliefs. Mayan statues were found secreted in altars and even in the cross itself.

Concerned for Mayan souls, Bishop Landa set an immense bonfire. He incinerated 5000 idols, 197 ceremonial vases and 27 deerskin codex scrolls in an effort to halt Mayan heresy. Mayan history was lost in the conflagration, and today historians deeply regret this act.

The second eye-catcher, next to the mural of Landa's bonfire, was a group of 5 recent photos. They pictured step-by-step the annual Mayan ritual ceremony asking Chac-Mool to bring rain for an abundant harvest.

Ironically after 4 centuries, Catholic worshipers pray to Chac-Mool. Bishop Landa destroyed the physical, but never fully converted the Mayan heart.

In Mani, we lunched at Tutul-Xiu a giant thatched roofed restaurant with open sides. Shade and breeze are important in this hot, humid climate. I let Alberto order for me. "The specialty of the house," he said. I was served an attractive plate of thin sliced, small pieces of pork with tomatoes and onions. I ordered Montejo beer, named for the Conquistador of Yucatan.

The huge stone walled Franciscan mission dominated Mani. It was once a fortress, a church, a self-sufficient community, and a seat of government. It has suffered numerous violations, often stripped, and the interior was quite plain. It has been partially restored and there were attractive retablos in the church. The open chapel, walled up for centuries, has been reopened. In the garden an ancient water mill was present, but a modern pump was used to draw the water.

It was after 4 p.m. and it would be dark in an hour. Alberto drove me to Merida, dropped me off on Calle 60, just off the center plaza, where I had my pick of a dozen hotels. I chose modest Hotel San Juan, $35 a night with pool and air-conditioning. But for $80 I could have stayed at Hotel Mission Merida in real luxury setting, with a superb pool.

I opted for a drink in Hotel Mission Merida's patio bar and listened to Jaime play the piano and sing soft romantic ballads.

Expenses: (Alberto and Lirio were my guests, as I was theirs. Of course, I had no transportation cost.) Meals $56, Fees $26, Hotel San Juan $35, Total: $117.

Day 34: Merida: Sunday: A Day of Rest

No taxis, no buses, no traveling, today is Sunday. I'm taking a day of rest, a calm, walk and gawk day, see the people, the kids, the street entertainers, and check my email.

Every Sunday, downtown Merida becomes a pedestrian mall. Barricades are set up tables set out, stages erected and families come for music, street performers, outdoor dining, and to see clowns entertaining children on the circular stage in the park.

Today is my day for an outdoor table, guacamole, topos (chips), a cold Montejo beer and people watching. The weather is warm, and the morning fog morphed into a bright blue sky by 10 a.m.

Later in the day, I'll have my choice of a children's choir singing Christmas carols in the plaza near my hotel, a symphony in the Teatro Merida, or a contemporary art show.

I prefer to walk rather than to sit and choose the art show. On my way I hear part of the children's choir singing, young voices, sweet, sopranos and high tenors. Then as I pass the theater, I poke my nose into the lobby. The theater was built in 1949, but it has the grace and style of a movie palace designed in the '30s. It must be one of the last Art Deco styled buildings ever built.

The Museo Contemporaneo houses the art show. The museum itself has a traditional styled colonial arched interior and a central patio with rooms on four sides. A security guard stands at the door in front of each room.

As I approach the first door, the guard opens the door. It's warm in the patio, but the room is air-conditioned. The guard is stationed not only to protect the exhibitions but also to see that the air conditioning is not wasted.

In the second room, the current featured exhibit, starts on the left with a photo of a rust-red colored bison, a drawing from the cave wall at Alta Mira, Spain. A second photo is of a similar cave drawing from Central Baja California discovered in the '50s. The show is a timeline of art, a record of man's creative expression. Photographs march along the walls and up to a second floor and downstairs again. The centerpiece is Michelangelo's God Giving the Spark of Life to Adam. Photographs of the world's great art masterpieces are featured in sequence, from the cave drawings, to Greek statues, to Roman mosaics reclaimed from Pompeii, to flat Byzantheum iconography, to three-dimensional perspective European Renaissance Classics, Dutch and Spanish. As you look and walk you are retracing histories, yet moving ahead, era by era. Modern art adds Picasso, Dalí, Miró and the final last featured piece is by Frida Kalo. Thus the exhibit starts with a Mexican cave painting and ends with a Mexican artist.

I felt like student who had just prepared for the final exam in Art History 1A.

It was time for another cold Montejo beer in the park.

Expenses: Meals $22, Hotel San Juan $35, Total: $57

Day 35: Chichen Itza-Valladolid-Chetumal

Buses run day and night. I'm up early, it's 5 a.m. and it's hard to find a taxi in Merida in this pre-dawn dark. I walk the 10 blocks to the bus station. The ADO bus for Chichen Itza leaves at 6:30.

Two hours later I arrive in Chicken Itza. I'm ahead of the vanguard of tourist buses and European Tour groups. Shops and restaurants aren't open yet, but the gate to archeological site is open. Tickets are 95 pesos. "Where can I leave my bag?" I ask. The ticket clerk has to track down security. I'm the first to store a bag. In fact, I empty of my shoulder bag into another plastic bag to reduce weight and bulk as I visit Chichen Itza.

I was here with my family 1975. Cancun was under construction; tourism was a hope. We had the site mostly to ourselves in 1975. I don't even recall souvenir vendors.

In 1975 we scaled El Castillo the famous four-sided, 91-step pyramid. (91 x 4= 364, and the platform made it 365.) We climbed every monument and went inside the observatory. Today, hundreds of tour buses, thousands of tourists, visit daily. The parking lot is large enough for tailgating at the Super Bowl. Major monuments are roped off. El Castillo is off limits. With so many visitors, wear and tear and accidents had to be prevented.

Mayan merchants are arriving with their merchandise stacked high on their backs, looking like old photos from a B. Traven novel of overburdened human cargo carriers. Loads extend above their heads and the carriers use headbands for support and balance. Vendors pick their place in the shade along the trails of Chichen Itza. Blankets and tarps are laid out and define the boundaries of their store. Hammocks, masks, carved wood and mosaic stone, jewelry, silver and beads of jade and amber are for sale. Pottery, plates and sarapes, all in brilliant colors, are displayed. There is even a large carved Mayan jaguar for sale. I admire a mask. I'm impressed by the quality; in fact, most of the handcrafts are attractive and well made.

I ask an artisan, "Do you have to have a license to sell inside the park?" He says, "No, it's a tradition and we have a right. But we are under protest." "Protest?" I ask. "We object to the construction of the palapas (large thatched roofed buildings). They are stealing our business." "How many merchants are there?" I ask. "We are 500." Amazing, I thought, 500 small businesses lining the footpaths of Chichen Itza and threatened by store sales.

Having arrived early I was able to see Chichen Itza with few tourists. Tour groups were just arriving. Because climbing the monuments was now forbidden, the visit went quickly. I read the posted explanations, took photos, and completed the circuit in 2 hours, just in time to catch the bus for Valladolid.

When I went for a bus ticket, the clerk said, "The bus is just leaving, pay the driver." I raced. No one was in the secure baggage locker room. I grabbed my soft-sided suitcase and the plastic bag in which I had placed a number of items. I ran with three bundles, the small suitcase, the plastic garbage bag and my shoulder bag. I rushed. The bus had just left the yellow zone. It was maybe 50 yards ahead and headed for the gate. I shouted. The Oriente Bus security man put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. His shrill whistle caught the driver's attention. I ran, my three bags swinging. I must have looked like a panicky St. Nick running after his sleigh. The bus stopped at the gate. I arrived huffing and puffing. The door opened and I got on. It was air-conditioned. What a pleasure. "20 pesos," the driver said.

In less than an hour we arrived in Valladolid. The bus station was only 3 blocks form the colonial town's square. I checked the bus schedule.

I had 3 hours, time for lunch, visit the city, see San Bernadino de Sisal Convent, and the Zaci grotto-cenote.

The main plaza looked attractive and I ate lunch under the arches next to the City Hall. I ordered a cold beer and "comida" (the meal of the day), breaded beef, rice, beans, tomato and lettuce. (I left the lettuce out of habit.)

In the City Hall I found murals depicting the Mayan conquest, enslavement and ultimate liberation. They were educational, vividly colorful and dramatic, but not fine art.

I hailed a taxi and we agreed on $10 for one hour, just enough time to visit the convent, the grotto-cenote and to drop me at the Oriente Bus Depot. Both sites were within walking distance, but in opposite directions, and I was tired of feeling like a mule with a pack.

The cabbie drove down Calzada de Los Frailes to the giant, high-walled San Bernardino de Sisal convent. Like Mani, it was imposing, built to be a church, a convent and self-sufficient. It appeared unchanged since its founding in 1552. My first thought was, "This is a fortress." Its façade was a checkerboard pattern devoid of any religious symbols or art. The church was closed. In the rear, there is an ancient once mule-powered water wheel where if you look down you can see an underground stream.

San Bernardino is one of the examples where Spanish exploitation and Franciscan ministry collided. Franciscans purposely founded their convent away from the Spanish settlers. (This was also true in San Francisco, California, where the mission and the presidio were built miles apart.) Spanish hacenderos needed labor and resented the Franciscans.

The taxi crossed town and took me to the Zaci Grotto-cenote. I entered a cavern, followed a trail a short distance and found the still water cenote. Cenotes are natural wells, sink holes that have fallen in and exposed underground rivers, a main source of water for the Mayans.

This cenote was a natural beauty, not exposed as a deep, giant vertical well as the cenote at Chichen Itza, but part of a cavern complex, with an overhanging ledge and a worn trail down to the water's edge.

I passed a number of signs saying, "No Swimming." But at the foot of the cenote, I found 5 happy bathers. "This water is cool," one bather said. It looked like the perfect refresher for a hot day.

I took pictures and then walked back to my waiting cab. In no time I was back on the bus. It was 2:30 and I'd reach Chetumal before 8 p.m.

Expenses: Bus $8 to Chichen, $2 to Valladolid, $14 to Chetumal, Taxis $12, Meals $10, Hotel $39, Entrance fees $11. Total: $96.

Day 36: Chetumal

The Valladolid bus pulled into Chetumal. I stood in the taxi line and it moved quickly. I told the driver, "Take me to the center of town," thinking there would be a traditional center.

The driver pulled up in front of Holiday Inns on Avenida Heroes across from the Museo Maya and the Tourist Office. The Center for the Arts was around the corner.

The "center" of Chetumal was a Mercado, a vast commercial shopping mall. It was active, but without charm, and Holiday Inns is not exactly my idea of Mexico.

I checked in at the reception desk. The clerk was very helpful when I asked, "Could you suggest an economical hotel?" Immediately, he recommended a nearby hotel. "Hotel Arges is three blocks toward the bay, on a side street. It's newly remodeled."

Hotel Arges was 1/3 the price of Holiday Inns, modest, clean, comfortable and quiet until my neighbor in the next room turned on the TV at 5 a.m. Noise is tolerated and ignored in Mexico and how it's transmitted and amplified by cement walls is a Mexican mystery.

So, I got an early start.

Shops were already opening. Sidewalk vendors were unpacking boxes and setting up displays. There was little traffic on the street. I walked down Avenida Heroes, which took me directly to the bay port and the Centenario Plaza where an obelisk honored the fallen heroes of the 1919-1920 Revolution. Off to the side, band members were gathering under a thatched roof bandstand for a practice session.

I had arrived at Chetumal Bay and I could see into the Caribbean. I spied Belize in the distance. I had bused across Mexico's extremes, from Tijuana to Chetumal, from north to south, west to east, from the Pacific to the Atlantic. I'd made it from California to Guatemala, and soon I'd claim, from Tijuana to Cancun as I would travel along the Mayan coast and visit Bacalar, Tulum, Playa del Carmen, and fly home from Cancun. I'd explored a vast Mexican mosaic, and I felt a real joy in having accomplished the journey by bus.

I gazed out over the calm sea shimmering in the morning light and put on my sunglasses. The horizon was a bright blue. It was hot and humid; my cap was damp with sweat.

This was once pirate country. I walked the palm and magnolia tree-lined bayside paseo. In the early morning, a young couple sat under the shade of a palm tree, he leaning against the sea wall, she against him. A yellow rowboat was beached, turned upside down as if pirates had just landed.

The Palacio Presidential faced the bay. Each story of this three-floor building had a bay view veranda, and the design reminded my of Queen Kamehameha's Iolani Palace in Honolulu.

A sign on the paseo read: Parque Renacimiento (Renaissance Park). I walked a few blocks and found a new Sam's Club and El Poton Restaurant, also owned by Wal-Mart.

I breakfasted at El Fenico (The Phoenician) with ancient sailboats painted on the walls. The restaurant windows were open to the gentle breeze.

It was now nearly 10 a.m. and the Mayan Museum was opened. I was greeted with air-conditioning, nearly too cold. There was a Mayan thatched hut exhibit in the patio, completely furnished. I joked, "How much to stay the night?"

The Mayan Museum was a combination of Mayan artifacts, models of major sites, Palenque and Tikal, mural reproductions in vivid colors from Bonampak, Yaxchilán and Caxcala and excellent descriptions of Mayan society, their calendar, numerical system and rituals.

The model of Palenque was in the basement, but viewed through the glass first floor. I didn't walk on the glass, didn't want to smudge the view for others. It was a unique, effective display.

It was the perfect educational review after having visited Yaxchilán, Edzna, Palenque, Uxmal and Chichen Itza. The museum was a survey of all I had seen.

Expenses: Taxi $2, Meals $14, Hotel Los Arges $39, Museum fees $5, Total: $60.