Childhood - The Genesis of Fear 8-9-10

Durham, North Carolina

One of the great delights of traveling alone is the opportunity to revisit childhood, that period of time when we discover the universe and become enchanted with all manner of things. So it was while traveling alone today I found myself curious about a Museum of Life sign on the Interstate; wanting a break from long-distance driving in 105 degree heat. A drive of barely one mile in a shady neighborhood brought me to a place obviously designed to tantalize small boys. The tiniest sniff of discomfiture wafted over me as I walked from a shady spot on the far side of an incendiary asphalt parking lot with a battalion of young mothers pushing strollers and yelling at pre-school children to ‘Stay by me!’. After all, what is a guy like me doing alone in a place like this, unsupervised?

So popular is this oasis of pediatric enchantment; I had to wait fifteen minutes to get a surprisingly expensive admission ticket. Conducting the barest amount of field anthropology, I noticed the large air-conditioned carpeted admissions hall gave the young mothers significant angst. Interesting exhibits in this hall give children things to look at while waiting through the maze typical of amusement parks. Mothers continually barked at would be explorers to ‘stay close.’ Mothers have instincts about dangerous wildlife nearby. After all, what is a guy like me doing alone in a place like this, unsupervised?

Did I really want to give two gold doubloons to feel like part of the edgy wildlife exhibit? Figuring I had already invested my energy to find this place and wait in line I proceeded with an electronic wire transfer from my bank and was admitted into another world. De rigueur in childhood is enchantment with bugs of every type. Sometimes I think the insect kingdom was invented just to give smalls boys something to be utterly fascinated with. The keepers of this life kingdom know this. Three buildings are given to the weirdness, beauty, and impossibilities of the six-legged kingdom. At least in this amazing display of the meanest six-legged eating machines young at-risk children were totally preoccupied with these astounding critters.

A boy still too young to have been taught free-floating fear was absolutely taken with a large plate-glass window containing thousands of Harvester ants, busy building a subterranean city of a hundred levels. My nameless little friend just had to show this below-ground wonder to someone. I happened to be nearby photographing the giant hissing cockroaches from Madagascar. No less than four or five times this young explorer insisted I leave the cockroaches and jump into the ant kingdom. No less than four or five times a hyper vigilant parent insisted this young explorer really wanted to look at something besides ants. After all, what is a guy like me doing alone in a place like this, unsupervised?

A large glassed conservatory contains a magnificent collection of tropical plants and clouds of tropical butterflies. One can almost reach out and sweep up clouds of color into one’s face. Beauty can be such an immersion experience. While trying to catch up on the childhood I never had myself, I noticed a very large Blue Morpho butterfly flitting about. Never being able to successfully photograph one in the Amazon, I was elated when it settled down on a large leaf and allowed me several minutes to take images with impunity. Several small children were fascinated with it and wanted to know its name. Happily, I told these fearless entomologists about Blue Morphos – how their brilliant blue is really a structural color and not a pigment. Alas, hyper-vigilant mothers hurriedly jerked them away. The lepidopteran colors lost just a bit of their brilliance for me. After all, what is a guy like me doing alone in a place like this, unsupervised?

Walking through life-size exhibits of dinosaurs in the forest, I felt a bit more at home. After all the exhibit was designed to display the giant, weird, and very dangerous forms of life that existed in the steamy Cretaceous Period. Torrid heat made the displays very realistic and perhaps mothers were slightly less vigilant out here. On the far side of the Cretaceous Period in the children’s interactive play area I knew better than to stop, loiter, or take pictures of kids living out their childhood dreams as paleontologists; digging for giant bones of the Alamosaurus. For certain, museum curators and zoo keepers do not want newspaper articles describing incidents of unplanned ‘wildlife’ being found in the predator exhibits. It would be disastrous for revenues and delay my journey home. After all, what is a guy like me doing alone in a place like this, unsupervised?

After several hours, feeling like it might be to the museum’s advantage to include me in their exhibits of dangerous predators, I wondered about something much more dangerous than big teeth, stingers, or claws – fear. Our culture has become infected with pervasive fear for personal safety. A single incident with a child is aired five hundred and thirty seven times on Fox News and all the young mothers in the YMCAs see it while exercising on the safety of exercise machines in controlled environments. Fear detonates in these mothers and the minute they get their children out of monitored childcare rooms their children learn a new way of living.

Young mothers do spread the word about danger to each other. Soon an epidemic has taken over the land. No long available are the sublime gifts of smiles given to strangers who want nothing more than to visit a childhood lost to alcoholism and drug addiction, to be enchanted by the wonder of life.

The most oft-repeated admonition in all of scripture is, “Be not fearful.” I once was told this admonition is given some 489 times. I’m not certain if this is an accurate count or not, but the point is well taken. As early as Genesis 15, scriptures admonish us to not be fearful. At the very end in Revelation 21, the fearful are cast in a pejorative light. Fear will steal far more from all of us than I could ever do, even if alone in a place like this, unsupervised.

Be careful for nothing; but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things. Those things, which ye have both learned, and received, and heard, and seen in me, do: and the God of peace shall be with you.

The World at Exit 79 7-29-10

Spencer, North Carolina

Having long since learned to compress a day’s drive into a week, there are many grand surprises to be found when one leaves the interstate prematurely. Places once nothing more than notations on highways signs become four-dimensional universes, full of life, memories, history, and time. So it was when I exited at #76, curious about a town that once had a profoundly vibrant and prosperous history; now just one more piece of Americana trying to stay afloat with its memories.

Leaving at Exit 76, one soon comes into the center of Salisbury, a surprisingly handsome town that has decided to feel good about itself and put its best foot forward. Downtown has a robust collection of finely restored and maintained early 20th century buildings, perhaps seasoned with a few 19th century ones as well. Several museums and many street banners give clear evidence of a town that has decided to mine diamonds in its own backyard. Being on a mission, I fought off the urge to stop and pursue the several interesting museums and instead headed east out of town on Main Street.

About three miles out one finds a city limit sign for Spencer; hardly the stuff of spine-tingling travelogues, but indicative I was headed into an interesting era of history. Earlier in the day I had garnered the intelligence that told me I would indeed find a mother lode of Americana on the right, indeed the physical evidence of a world nearly lost to time. A mile down Salisbury St, on the right, one notices a curious collection of ancient locomotives, Pullman cars, water towers, and the massive brick structures associated with the Golden Age of Railroads.

As it turns out Spencer was home to the Spencer Shops that provided maintenance and machine shop services for the extensive Southern Railroad system. Railroads maintained immense ‘Back Shops’ for extensive repairs of rolling stock. At one time the Railroad’s Back Shop provided high paying jobs to as many as 3,500 people working in a town of 2,500, founded by the Southern Railroad. Generations of families worked in these vast shops. The shop floor in the Back Shop alone covered more than 100,000 square feet and fueled prosperity for thousands. The Back Shop was once the largest industrial building in North Carolina. Even the lowest wage earner was making twice what he would have made working in the textile industry. Not only did railroads provide a convenient stress-free way to travel, they also provided economic life blood for many towns across America.

Here in the almost forgotten town of Spencer one can wander around in the largest roundhouse still standing in America. A 100-foot turn table enabled the placement of heavy locomotives in one of thirty seven stalls in this vast round house. There inspections and routine maintenance were performed. Locomotives needing more extensive repairs were taken over to the adjacent Back Shop where a complete rebuild could be accomplished in a mere thirty days. Standing in the center of the yard reminds me a bit of standing in the Palace Square in St. Petersburg, Russia. There is a vast regal sensibility to these yards that once kept America moving and employed. As one does mental archeology in the round house, clambering on these iron horses of another century, one can’t but wonder why we have allowed something so precious to be lost to the American collective.

Spencer Shops and the town of the same name were victims of technological advances. The development of electric diesel locomotives made steam driven iron horses obsolete. Diesels could travel much further at much lower cost. The maintenance and machine services required for diesel locomotives differ greatly from that of steam engines. Despite a highly skilled stable work force, corporate decisions resulted in the eventual death of the vast yards. The round house, the immense Back Shop, and a dozen other facilities went dark. Public policy decisions eventually caused the demise of most passenger train service in America. Interstate passenger service is only available on a skeleton network operated by a quasi-public entity. The advent of Eisenhower’s 44,000 mile Interstate system and fuel-efficient tractor-trailer rigs nearly did in railroad freight for finished goods.

What Spencer has not lost is a hospitality that stunned me. For a town that has lost so much, one wonders how it has kept the heart to be gracious to curious strangers such as myself who come along to do archeology in the ruins of their memories. Employees working to make a museum of these relics from the Golden Age and other pilgrims of the Steam Age were gracious in a refreshing way. Without fail I was greeted often and with hearty sincerity. I am reminded of the great hospitality I found thousands of miles away in another world, lost in time. One of the greatest sources of beauty I find in my travels is the warmth and hospitality of those who have come to see the treasures they have in their own backyard, be it pyramids buried beneath mounds for fifteen centuries, or in this case a gigantic industrial wonder that used to move the world.

As I wondered for weeks recently at how the Mayans managed to lose track of a few hundred of their cities in a short time, I wonder how we in America are losing track of so many important things ourselves. Is there perhaps something we can learn from places like Yaxchilan and Spencer, before it is too late?

Spencer is mining diamonds in its own backyard, restoring this railroad maintenance yard as an epic indoor-outdoor museum. The Back Shop is nearing the end of a massive restoration and will clearly display just how impressive early 20th century industrial architecture could be. The Power house is under renovation as well. Perhaps we can learn from the citizens of Spencer that our histories are worth remembering and preserving. The greatest treasures are usually found right at home under our feet. There is truly no place like home.

The Color of Conquest 7-8-10

Merida, Yucatan

After days of swatting mosquitoes, wondering just how hungry the crocs really are , and if our little boats are stable, assuming a more traditional tourist mode, roaming the streets of user-friendly cities made very good sense. Well, we did not exactly roam the streets at first. With no pyramidal stair work planned for the day, we basked in a planned gathering time of 9:30 AM for the sole purpose of a short drive across the splendid Colonial city of Merida for what proved to be a destination meal of the highest order. A life-long friend of Paul’s from Bolivia lives here in Merida with her upper class family. Having enjoyed a fine dinner with Sonja last night in a downtown restaurant, she decided to spend a good part of the night with her household help organizing a vast feed, presented in elegant fashion on her formal dining room table that seats about twelve. Sonja could easily be working with the State Department or federal tourism bureau. We greatly enjoyed her elegant style and class. Certainly Merida is friendlier for her residence here.

Mérida was founded in 1542 by Francisco de Montejo "el Mozo" and built on the site of the Maya city of T'ho (known as Ichcaanzihó or "city of the five hills", referring to five pyramids), once a center of Mayan culture and activity for centuries. Mérida may be the oldest continually occupied city in the Americas.
Maya stones from ancient T'ho were widely used to build Spanish colonial buildings that are plentiful in downtown Mérida, even visible in the walls of the Cathedral. Much of Mérida's architecture from the colonial period through the 18th century and 19th century is still standing in the centro historico of the city. From colonial times through the mid 19th century, Mérida was a walled city intended to protect residents from periodic revolts by indigenous Maya. The Spanish did give strong reason for the Maya to be ill-tempered. Several of old city gates survive, but modern Mérida has expanded well beyond the old city walls, now an urban center of close to a million residents.

Juan, our Mayan expert and guide is from Merida and he walked us about the colonial center and shared much interesting information about the city’s origins. Our wanderings about the centro included visits to the Governor’s Palace, the Cathedral, a university, several plazas, and number of other historical structures. The Governor’s Palace is a spacious structure surrounding a fine three-level courtyard. Huge paintings depicting the history of Mexico are on permanent display here. Many of the curious from the plaza and street wandered in for thirty minutes or more and roamed all three floors. I took about thirty photos myself. The University of Yucatan is in a building dating from 1624. This very colonial structure also was open to the street and we curious again wandered in. I found the Moorish influence in the courtyard material for pleasing photos. A beautifully painted vaulted ceiling is enjoyed in the well air-conditioned reading rooms of the library. Mayan relief work is to be found in the walls of the Cathedral – a form of recycling of dubious value to archeologists.

Walking about Merida one realizes the city has a gentle aspect to it and feels very civilized. There is a comfortable well-fitting sensibility with little pretense. The plazas and sense of openness is refreshing and a great delight. So often while travelling in Europe, I find a sense of many places being closed off to the street and some countries keep police and guards posted to insure the curious don’t wander off the street. Privacy is insisted on in much of Europe and America. Yucatan has an open inviting demeanor to it. Government buildings, theaters, the university, and other places had their doors not only unlocked, but propped open. One could wander most anywhere with impunity. For curious photographers, Merida is heaven. We were invited into several homes.

Despite a somewhat testy history with the Mayan culture, today one finds a city painted with vibrant colors and there seems to be a splendid sense of people getting along easily. There is no evidence of the pain and drug violence that is being widely reported in the American media about Mexico. As has been our experience everywhere thus far, we have felt absolutely safe and secure at all times. We feel most blessed to be enjoying Mexico on very good behavior.

During the evening after a splendid dining experience in Juan’s house, we wandered over to Santa Lucia Park where a Thursday night block party has convened for fifty years. A thousand people or more enjoyed their city to the max, and ice cream vendors sold their cooling wares on a hot summer night. Merida is no longer a black dot in my atlas.

Beauty is everywhere, even in the rocks reused in someone else’s walls.

Is the Paint Dry? 7-7-10

Campeche, Campeche

After roaming around places encrusted in time and thick moss for more than a thousand years; weighted down by their burdens of war, famine, drought, one wonders what there is to be found in a ‘new’ city founded only 480 years ago. It probably was needful to come out of the jungle and get my sense of time and age readjusted. Campeche proved a very fine place to do this.

Founded in 1540 by Spanish conquistadors on top of the abandoned Mayan city of Kimpech, this distinctive Colonial city retains its original city walls and fortifications. Despite 160 years of pirate attacks and other challenges, Campeche has retained more than one thousand buildings of historical significance, many in fine repair. Unafraid of color, the city boasts a fine palette of facades in a wide range of brilliant colors, making for grand photographic images. Original churches and the Cathedral have survived and many remain in use. One downtown church has been made over into a music venue. One gets a positive upbeat sensibility in Campeche. As in many Latin cities, people seem to be skilled at embracing life.

After visiting the fortifications, and walking the colorful streets, we sought refuge in a large air conditioned restaurant where we enjoyed a mid-day feast after building up an appetite on the pyramids of Edzna. We also enjoyed the semi-finals of the world Cup in a pleasantly boisterous atmosphere. Refueled and refreshed, we wandered the plaza and explored the Cathedral Church.

Some notes on the history of the church are useful:

“On December 8, 1526, Emperor Carlos V granted Don Francisco de Montejo el Adelantado authorization to conquer and to populate the county of Yucatan. To commemorate this fact, in 1540 Francisco de Montejo junior, ordered a small church built in the City of Campeche in honor of the Purísima Concepción, which is celebrated Dec 8. This church was made with lime and pebble, with a palm roof. Toward 1650 the first works of amplification of the parish began.

On August 4, 1758, by initiative of the priest's Manuel José Nájera, the amplification works and remodeling of the church were restarted, and concluded on October 22, 1760 with the construction of Jesús Nazareno's chapel and of the tower on the side of the sea, "La Española" (The Spaniard), where the first public clock was placed, as well as a Spanish coat of arms worked in stone which occupied the center; the coat of arms was destroyed after the independence of Mexico.

In 1833 the Yucatan bishop Don José María Guerra consecrated the parish and in 1895 the Pope León VIII erected the bishopric in Campeche, raising the status of the parish of Nuestra Señora de la Concepción, to Cathedral.

Between 1849 and 1850 the tower of the land side was built, well-known as "La Campechana". The clock of 4 luminous masks, still working in this tower, was installed in 1916.”

An easy drive found us back in our opulent accommodations at Sihoplaya. Dinner of octopus and shark followed lunch of crab and breakfast of shrimp. Life is generous.

Edzna - Late Classic Theater 7-6-10

Tucan Sihoplaya, Campeche

Arriving at Edzna is a bit like arriving at Yaxchilan – a bit of theater. One passes through dense tropical growth - swatting at blizzards of mosquitoes, climbs a series of very time-worn stairs, walks around a walk, and is then stunned by the panorama spread out below. It turns out one has ascended the northwest corner of the Great Acropolis and has a view of both the Great Plaza and the Acropolis with its most imposing five-level pyramid and House of the Moon to the south. I had enough good sense to make a sixty second panoramic video of these regal spaces before getting lost in the process of ‘collecting’ them with hundred of still images.

The Late Classic Period site that is Edzna contains some of the best preserved stucco masks to be found in any of the Mayan sites. Stucco makes a fine base material for artistic enhancement but it has the fiendish property of being very fragile, especially after subjection to the vicissitudes of time for ten or fifteen centuries. A visit to the Temple of the Masks is precarious, the air scintillating with darkening clouds of mosquitoes, in no less than three species.

Retreating to the safer heights of the Great Acropolis, one is above those vicious clouds and can enjoy the strong sense of enclosure provided by the 360 foot Nohol Na Temple that bounds the western aspect of the Great Plaza. As has been our experience thus far, we have the city essentially to ourselves. There were perhaps a dozen other visitors in the expanses with us. Making a photo survey was effortless. Importantly, when a place is essentially devoid of kinetic tourists who speak loudly and scratch their names into the ancient stuccoes, one is able to become almost as a pilgrim, listening and feeling for messages coming from the cobwebs of time. Somehow a cloud of adolescent girls snapping images of each other on a temple platform with their cell phones is far more disruptive to an ancient experience than clouds of Dengue-bearing mosquitoes.

One of the unexpected pleasant benefits of visiting these sites is the opportunity to view neo-tropical birds and play games trying to catch images of them. Alas, birds are designed for fast movement and catching them with cameras can be a particular challenge. Edzna provided opportunities to catch Royal Toucans and Motmot birds with cameras after a good bit of work. The ancient Late Classic stones certainly provide a fine stage set for these magnificent denizens of the air.

We did not settle down on dusty camp cots another night, flicking scorpions, instead finding air conditioned refuge in a splendid seaside resort in Sihoplaya to the west. There is a curious, almost ominous lack of tourists in the places we are visiting. Inn keepers, hotel managers, and assorted shop keepers mention a huge drop in tourism and trade. We had the Sihoplaya resort to ourselves. Easily accommodating two hundred guests or more, our group of eight was it. We certainly had consistent attentive service in the dining room.

There is a pleasant low-level sense of esprit des corps that can arise in a small group travelling in sometimes very challenging environments. Our group continues to get along famously and thus far, no one seems worse for the lack of down time. We have maintained quite a fast pace in our itinerary and we have been having about ninety minutes some days to turn around before dinner – happily an event spread out over the rest of the evening. We have had no conflicts of any sort. Our members seem to greatly enjoy this shared experience. Happily, not a one has evidenced the first bit of interest in shopping. There are no plastic bags of stuff for next year’s garage sale accreting under the seats of the van.

The sunset that detonated over the water tonight provided one of the best light shows I’ve ever encountered on my journeys. It certainly was an inspiring backdrop to our grand meal.

The Color of Time - Uxmal 7-7-10

Merida, Yucatan

There is something that happens to colors over very long periods of time. Varnish on High Renaissance paintings tends to turn brown and darken the images, once brilliant. Varnish on ancient wood tends to turn brown and give wood a prized lustrous patina. Ancient stones in the tropics become cloaked in iridescent green moss. Yaxchilan is a mystical place that is shrouded in emerald – known as the place of green stones.

A thousand years before Italian painters were putting protective varnish on their panels Mayan artisans were putting polychrome on their plaster edifices. One can only speculate that the result of polychrome on deep bas relief covering the entirety of a nine-terraced pyramid must be overwhelming. For weeks I have been haunted by the artists’ renditions of what these ceremonial cities must have once looked like. There certainly is no equivalent in the historical record.

One enters the ancient city of Uxmal through a modern white and orange portal created in Mayan style; the effect is rather pleasing. As one passes through the portal, directly ahead is the vastness of the Pyramid of the Magician, the largest most recognized structure in Uxmal. One is quite taken with how pristine the restorations of the pyramids and temples are. A warm pink hue emanates from much of the stone work.

Visiting “The Nunnery” is perhaps one of the most breath-taking of experiences in any of these vast ceremonial cities. One enters a large quadrangle surrounded by large edifices on all four sides, elaborately decorated in the most complex of stone carving and relief work. Time has worn away all the polychrome that once encrusted the magnificent friezes and panels. The bare stone is compelling in its beauty. It seems time has not stripped Uxmal of its grandeur. The regal sensibility one has on this quadrangle or the high platform before the Governors Palace reminds one of the bearing to be experienced on the Palace Square in St. Petersburg.

I wonder how it is I can keep going to more and more of these cities and finding each of them so profoundly distinctive. Those who say, “Once you have seen one cathedral, you have seen them all” might say the same for these ancient cities. Certainly, one would not say “Once you have seen one person, you have seen them all.” The personality and physical characteristics of Uxmal make it as distinctive as the face of a dear friend or lover.

Beauty is everywhere, even in the rocks, worn by time.

The Weight of Time 7-5-10

Tucan Sihoplaya, Campeche

In archeology or engineering one often encounters the term ‘subsidence,’ a label for what happens when the weight of centuries and troubled history press down on a structure built on a soft foundation. Perhaps the most celebrated example of subsidence can be found in the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Over a span of five centuries, this elegant tower listed twenty-two degrees out of vertical. Millions of dollars were spent to save this architectural icon from an ignominious ‘whump’ on the ground.

The vast Caerphilly Castle in southeast Wales was built on a spit of sand in the Nant Gledyr River in 1268-71 AD. Standing under the listing central tower, one wonders when the ignominious ‘whump’ is going to occur. The protective outer walls and buttresses of Caerphilly are textured with ominous fractures and gaps, caused by building on soft sand. Yet, to the best of my knowledge, the central keep and curtain walls of Caerphilly still stand.

Fourteen centuries before Gilbert ‘the Red’ de Clare decided to build Caerphilly; Mayan engineers were planning and constructing the great ceremonial city at Palenque, a majestic setting on the eastern edge of the Tumbala Mountains in what is now known as Chiapas State. The mid-Classic ceremonial wonder that is Palenque is now enfolded in an arboreal canopy, offering welcome relief from the torrid tropical sun. Gratifying is knowing that those now living in the region value Palenque enough to have invested heavily in its future. The pristine condition of the site and the tastefully designed infrastructure make the site far more accessible and user friendly than many.

For twenty years a dear friend has kept a photograph of the Temple of the Crosses on the wall in her hallway. For twenty years we have made quips about needing to go see this together. This haunting image from another dimension became our reality today. We stood in the complex of the Temple of the Crosses, amazed at the sense of time and place, the endurance of this city for thousands of years. Two thousand years before Columbus showed up in the Americas, the grand plazas in these cities were venues for great celebrations of conquest and spiritual advancement. Today we had our own quiet unseen celebration of friendship on the same plaza five hundred fifty years after Columbus showed up.

Unlike ancient temples and pyramids which succumb to the effects of subsidence, good friendship provides a firm foundation for life. Our friendship feels unweighted by time, even weightless. Twenty years has given us strength rather than compression. It seems our central keep and curtain walls are without fissures, our foundations unbroken.

After fulfilling dreams on the platforms of the temple, we descended the mountainside, enfolded in a wonderland of forest, waterfalls, and aquamarine pools. Traveling north for six hours, we alighted at Sihoplaya, an isolated town on the eastern shore of the vast gulf. Dinner at sunset with long-time friends in paradise is indeed something to celebrate.

Silent Storms of Color - 7-4-10

Palenque, Chiapas

From the way it was described, I expected little more than a very long day, sequestered in the back of a van; driving across remote challenging terrain. As it was, as the very unofficial group photographer I garnered a seat in the first row, able to ‘collect’ bits of the world moving by.

While in The Netherlands doing a pilgrimage during Holy Week several years ago I was reading one of Philip Yancey’s inspiring books, Soul Survivors. He provided fifteen biographies of people who lived very large lives that made the world feel smaller, safer, and more intimate. I have often been reminded of his citation of GK Chesterton’s wonderful belief that flecks of paradise could wash up onto the shores of our lives at any time – sometimes it could even happen twice.

I have often felt like I this has happened to me countless times. For decades I have been allowed to see the colors of our world up close and intensely. I recall while on that Dutch pilgrimage wandering into a small town and being caught up in a wondrous pink blizzard. Flowering cherry trees were caught in a sudden breeze and the result was clouds of pink petals swirling all about me. There was a profound sense of awe and enfolding that inspired me to write an essay called “Pink blizzards.” Today it happened again, not once but multiple times.

Shortly after packing up and snagging the front seat once again, we set off on a ‘highway’ into some really remote jungle lowlands this side of Chiapas, still in the Department of Petén. The small town of Las Cruces was offered as a place for visiting nature. While the group found solace in a small turquoise facility shrouded by lavender crepe myrtle, I suddenly realized I was in an explosion of color. In the space of fifteen minutes I took more than sixty images of a town painted in every possible color of the rainbow in a morning atmosphere of stunning clarity. Photographers know that stunning semi-aureate clarity that comes on rare mornings. One can do no wrong with a camera. So it was just now.

A very short time later we came to the end of the road, literally. The pavement just stopped, cut off as a grand opening ribbon would be. Over time the road became little more than a packed earth strand in the jungle. On one side a city of the dead appeared. Out here in the green landscape appeared sarcophagi, mausoleums, and tombs in every conceivable color. Our driver has quickly developed the blessed reflex of coming to a stop the minute I lift my camera. I can shoot through the window or hop out. Hopping out I was able to scamper through this chromatic wonderland and capture the remembrances of lives departed, in every conceivable color of the rainbow.

As money became scarcer and more remote, the road became narrower, in places a single track of dirt. We were advised that we would be approaching the Usamacinta River in about an hour where we would cross the border from Guatemala into Mexico in a long boat. Having driven into Mexico many times I expected a non-descript cement building, not unlike those I have sat in for as long as five days in years past when trying to import medical equipment. We came upon two small thatched buildings on one side of the river, set in a lake of color. These two buildings were in a field of zinnias and other shimmering summer flowers. I became aware of scintillating movement under the cerulean tropical sky. Suddenly, I was back in Holland. Clouds of color were moving everywhere around me. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of butterflies of many types were dancing in the torrid air. Not even in the great apiaries of the London zoo or the Calloway Gardens in south Georgia have I seen such clouds of enchantment. I could do no wrong with my cameras.

The group picked up on the number of photos I was taking and we were still a ways from our pyramid climbs of the day. It became a footnote that the most incredible palette of color was unfolding for us today. Clearing Guatemalan Customs proved magical and we soon found ourselves on the shore of the Usamacinta River where porters loaded our gear into a long boat – essentially a vast canoe with thatched top. There are no bridges between Mexico and Guatemala along this river which forms a true natural boundary. It turns out these long boats are painted in a surreal palette of intense colors. Ours was painted in alizarin and cobalt, making for the most sublime foreground composition of dozen of grand images of the swift river. As we travelled this crocodile filled river we saw no less than four of these giants from a lost world. Collecting images of these giant beasts became a bit of a game – snagging images before the sound of our outboard gave them cause to slither into the murky waters. Any urge to go for a swim soon abated. Moving down on the food chain was not on my itinerary for the day.

After an hour, perhaps ninety minutes in blessed breeze from our rapid forward movement, we found ourselves at a single set of unmarked cement stairs twenty miles upriver, going up into the dense jungle. One definitely needed to know where one was going.

Yaxchilan is one of those places straight out of Harrison Ford’s Temple of Doom, one of the adrenalin-pumping archeological thrillers describing the adventures of Indiana Jones. Temples encrusted in time and green moss hidden away in dense jungle gave forth a sense of remoteness of great magnitude. Even in the Amazon I never encountered clouds of mosquitoes such as we found here. We had this archeological treasure to ourselves. I can’t but wonder if the mosquito here might not have once been the Mayan state bird – except there were far grander birds to be found in the vast tree canopy overhead. Billed toucans, red crested wood peckers, cormorants, egrets, parrots, orioles, and others populated the upper world.

Uncrowded, actually deserted, I was able to lie down on fifteen centuries of time to take images of magnificent door lentils carved with picto-glyphs. Few cities have been found with these as most cities made use of wood lentils in order to gain wider spans at a trade off in long-term permanence. It was splendid to be able to complete a video and still photo survey of this lost emerald world.

The silhouetted mountains with crimson, cadmium red, and alizarin framed our sunset entry into Palenque, where we plan to spend the night. In the morning we will visit the ancient mountain city of Palenque.

My thanks to GK Chesterton for his observations. A chromatic tsunami washed over my life today. Beauty is an infinitely renewable resource. The odds are 100% you will find it, if you but look for it.

Ascendant Dreams 7-3-10

Sta. Elena, Guatemala

For several weeks people have expressed fear about my coming down into this part of the world. I have found no sense of danger whatever. What I have found, as have those I am traveling with, is a wondrous sense of beauty, of entrancement with how very large life can be. As I write, I have had an utterly expansive day; just finishing dinner at a magnificent lakeside resort here in St. Elena with some of my favorite friends, friends of twenty years duration now. I have not often found a group of people so simply easy and comfortable to be with. Fine jazz music is playing here in our grand lakeside resort restaurant. My fellow diners have all spread out to link to their own worlds. Lush tropical night sounds provide counter point to the jazz strands of Brian Culbertson. Across the lake in two venues I can hear hard driving fusion bands fueling the night dreams of those living here.

Our abode is a hybrid of Mayan temple, botanical garden, and all-inclusive resort sensibilities. Those of you that know me know that I don’t take pictures of places I stay. I have taken no less than two hundred of this one in less than twenty four hours. I would like to project the image of staying on a rickety camp cot in a hot tent, flicking off scorpions, and eating dust. Alas, I am sleeping in air conditioned comfort these present days. A botanical treasure trove enfolds us.

With each passing day I am feeling a bit more like Indiana Jones. We give up air-conditioned comfort during the day and get decidedly tired, hot, dehydrated, and defy gravity at every opportunity. To climb the hundreds of steps, sans rails, ropes, or other impediments to gravity, we arrive breathless on top of the world as it was two thousand years ago.

Tikal is simply staggering in its magnitude, coherence, and magnificence, covering fifty square miles with more than 4,000 structures mapped. To walk into the central plaza between the high Temple of the Jaguar and a dozen other temples is a staggering jump to another time and way of life. The Temple of the Jaguar at Tikal is by far the grandest of all the Maya pyramids to be found in four countries. It simply is one of the epic wonders of the ancient world. Somehow climbing to the top these ceremonial pyramids becomes more important that staying grounded and safe. Climbing what amounted to steep ladders this afternoon several of us turned around on top and found ourselves slammed back against the wall of the temple comb by the sheer force of what lay before us.

Having never looked below during the ascent, we were overtaken with the sense of vastness of the space below. Individuals below were as ants – small ones. We had a panoramic vista of endless jungle spreading across the lowlands. It was inconceivable to us that we could have this vantage from a man-made structure. It was as if having summitted a high mountain range on the ice. While catching our breath up there, we wondered if cell phones could be used to summon helicopter pick-up from a two foot ledge in the sky. A thunder cell clearly visible a mile away, moving our way while dropping its load of life giving substance on the rain forest, prompted our descent. We had no interest in finding out how slippery those narrow steps might be in a tropical down pour.

About 3 PM we were back on earth, having climbed on the best stair climbers in the universe. I never have had such joy at getting serious aerobic exercise. Joyous as it was, we were majorly hungry when we landed on terra firma. Our little group followed Juan, our guide through the jungle on a narrow little path to a very large thatched structure with no walls. Wandering inside we found a long table set with white linen, cut flowers in vases, and an attentive and affable wait staff who plied us with a magnificent hot meal served on china. I wondered if I had just fallen off one of the highest pyramids and gone to the ninth level of heaven in Mayan cosmology. I drank over half a gallon of juice and water with what amounted to an expansive early supper.

Life is so very large and generous. As the affable British theologian GK Chesterton liked to note, some very large flecks of paradise have washed up on my shores of late. I am definitely on bonus time. Tomorrow promises twelve hours of hard travel with a stop at a site a couple hours boat journey from the road and new wonders to behold.

Beauty is an infinitely renewable resource. The odds are 100% you will find it, if you but look for it.

Wisps of Civilization 7-2-10

Sta. Elena, Guatemala

There is a delicious anticipation that comes with venturing into places new to our experience, in this case very old places, places active and vibrant fifteen centuries before Christopher Columbus ‘discovered’ the Americas. The reality is civilization had already advanced far beyond Europe more than two millennia earlier. The Mayan developed the most advanced and precise calendar known, capitalizing on well developed mathematics.

After a rather opulent breakfast across the street we made our way from San Ignacio to the border where we ‘abandoned’ our driver and van in Belize and acquired a new Mercedes coach and driver just inside Guatemala. Bureaucracy in Guatemala does not allow us to bring our own drivers and guides into the country. We kept our guide Juan with us as a Mexican tourist and instructed Axle to meet us in Chiapas a few days hence with his van. It was known ahead of time this was to happen so it did not constitute an unpleasant surprise. After but a few minutes in immigration Stuart fired up the coach and we were on our way to the ceremonial city to be found at Yaxha. After what seemed like a very long time on jaw-numbing gravel and ruts we arrived at the remote site of Yaxha. As was our experience previously at Lamanai and Chacchoben, we had this wondrous well restored city to ourselves.

There is almost a sense of being on pilgrimage when visiting these heritage sites in quietness and reflection. Our group of eight is rather tuned into exploring the Mayan mysteries and consensus of motivation makes the group very easy and enjoyable to be with. No one has been the least bit interested in shopping or behaving like an intrusive tourist.

Climbing the Temple of the Red Hands is a vertical experience, not for the faint of heart or those with height issues. Climbing this immense pyramid with sides pitched at 75-80 degrees is a bit like a fly climbing up the wall. The main difference is we had to come back down rather than simply fly off. The ascent is well worth any relapse of acrophobia – the view of the adjacent lake and emerald expanses of the Guatemalan jungle is overwhelming. The religious imagery intended in the original construction of these vast temples was not lost on us. We left no stair un-trodden and fully surveyed the whole of the excavated sites.

It is beyond imagination to visualize what these cities looked like when plastered and poly-chromed in intense color; with the structures in perfect alignment and order. Even harder to visualize is the exodus that took place when hundreds of these grand cities were simply abandoned, given over to the certain strangulation and death the jungle offered. It is tantalizing to realize virtually every hill and hummock around us constituted and un-excavated structure. It is one of the great mysteries of history as to what caused the abandonment and collapse of one of the greatest civilizations.

After an aerobic morning we were provided with a nicely prepared hot luncheon of seasoned chicken, rice, tropical fruits and vegetables, and drinks. This was offered to us in a fine al fresco setting under a thatched roof. Someone has been paying very careful attention to the details of our journey. Refueled and hydrated, we boarded a small boat to visit the lost city of Topoxte on an island in the lake. A rain squall came up during the journey across the lake and we scrambled to keep our cameras and clothing dry; knowing things which get wet hear stay wet for the duration. On shore we found a city clocked in jungle growth with just enough excavation to prove that a magnificent ceremonial site was underneath all the roots giving life to verdant green canopies over us. I found a compelling urge to get a shovel, dig out everything, re-mortar it all together and restore the splendor that was lost more than a thousand years ago.

Evening found us in a botanical paradise alongside Lago Peten Itza. Life is spectacular. Nothing could be more expansive that sitting with historians, linguists, and behavioral scientists pondering the great mysteries of distant eras. Archeology must be one of the most interesting disciplines in the world. One gets to go on a great search for beauty of a special kind. We have found it in great abundance.

Beauty is an infinitely renewable resource. The odds are 100% you will find it, if you but look for it.

Beyond the Emerald Door 7-1-10

St Ignatio, Belize

Somehow I have managed to clip onto a stray Wi-Fi signal here in a small town called St Ignacio on the western border of Belize. We are staying in a little guest house that does not have things like Wi-Fi or Ethernet but it appears to be available in the general atmosphere.

We lived ten life times today. After a rather grand repast in a fine marble and tile dining room next to the pool in Chetumal, we loaded up and headed south, crossing into Belize at 9:30 AM with little difficulty, other than modest ego-strutting by border officials trying to remind themselves of their importance in the universe. They are, in fact, all important if you want to enter their universe.

We passed a few flooded roads as a consequence of hurricane Alice that blew through here three days ago; storm waves are still breaking over seawalls. Mid morning we stopped in a little town called Orange Walk; the former British Honduras retains a number of British language sensibilities. In Orange Walk we took a short break and photo ops in a colorful produce market on the plaza. An hour later we pulled off a road that felt progressively more remote, alighting under a highway bridge at a small marina consisting of about four or five outboard boats and two tiny wood shacks under palm trees.

From there I felt a bit like Marlin Perkins on one of his Mutual of Omaha adventures into the wilds. It’s difficult to describe the sensibility of traveling at high speed in an open boat across thirty miles of river rainforest. It’s very different than jet travel or even driving on the inside lane on the Autobahn. Speed seems more organic, more enfolding. A serpentine river forming nearly complete oxbows made for an experience far exceeding amusement park rides. There’s magic in travelling through ‘forests’ of twelve-inch stalks capped with luminous water lilies. Carpets of huge lily pads covered most of those thirty miles. Walls of emerald canopy enclosed the ever bifurcating rivers. Expansive beauty was to be embraced in abundance. Jesus Christ birds walked across the lily pads and water, defying gravity and thus earning their name. Cormorants and white egrets arced over us.

After traversing this most amazing watery arboreal realm we decelerated at an ignominious dock. For ninety minutes I wondered how anyone would ever find his way through a maze of river channels walled in by canopies of unbroken forest.

Along the way a monkey was spotted swinging through the tree canopy. Before I could almost set up a camera, this female spider monkey jumped down on the bow of our open boat and was right next to me. How human-like its mannerisms were, giving me a vague unsettling question about human origins. This monkey was smart enough to hit us up for snacks of granola bar, nuts, and whatever little bits of snacks we had with us. Staying just long enough for photo ops, she soon headed back into the trees, meeting up with a retiring male.

To enter the ceremonial city of Lamanai is to take a time machine back two thousand years into the early Classic Period of a far advanced civilization that has slipped into oblivion, leaving behind a haunting collection of vast cities, now cloaked in dense jungle. Lamanai is unknown even to many Maya experts, despite magnificent efforts to restore some of the 732 structures that once made up this inconceivably beautiful ceremonial city.

I am often ribbed by friends at the Y for spending so much time on the stair climber as my exercise of choice. They often chide me for never getting to the top. Last week I was telling them I would be getting to the top in a few days. So it was today that I climbed to the top of the grandest of pyramids, known simply as 10-43 on archeological maps. This spectacular structure was built one hundred years before Jesus showed up in Palestine. Climbing a 70 degree stair is akin to climbing a cliff face. Reaching the top must be a bit like summiting a great mountain. We had a breathless view of the world encompassing three countries.

In a day and a half I have already amassed some six hundred images of a long lost world. I can only hope to add a bit of persistence to its memory.

Back on earth we retraced our way across thirty miles of lily pads, finding fine accommodation in a guest house in St Ignacio known simply as Casa Blanca, painted pink and white. At last light we ‘collected’ sunset images of a town painted in lime green, chartreuse, purple, and most any other brilliant color an artist might put on an impressionist palette. Across the street in what is little more than a shack, we had an astonishingly fine Asian dinner in a Thai flavor; curried chicken with coconut milk and lime. Amazing this finely presented meal emerged from a seven foot wood kitchen on the back end of this small cosmopolitan eatery filled with the kind of people that like being off the grid.

Sleep came easily.

Beauty is an infinitely renewable resource. The odds are 100% you will find it, if you but look for it.