Chichén Itzá – A wonder of the modern world

As mentioned in my previous post about Mexico, I zipped across the country to Cancun in order to explore the Yucatan Peninsula, not, I repeat, not, to experience the famous Coco Bongo nightclub in Zona Hotelera. I often say to myself, ‘just do it, when are you going to be in this corner of the world again?’, but any backpacker who pays eighty bucks for a ticket (not including drinks), is utterly bongo bonkers in my opinion. I’m not normally negative in my blog posts, but Zona Hotelera is a big, commercial, expensive, hot mess. This wasn’t one of those ‘just do it’ moments.

Outside Coco Bongo

I admit that we weren’t entirely cultural when we arrived in Cancun. Some fellow travellers and I sailed straight to Isla Mujeres for a day trip to the beach. The sun was out to play, and the sea was waving, enticing us with its twinkly surface and clear visibility. A beautiful combination after ten days in the sporadically changing climate of Mexico City, where, by the way, I managed to catch my first hostel-induced cold, so the vitamin D was a welcome change.

Sunset at Isla Mujeres

As lovely as drinking frozen piña coladas on a tropical island was, it was back to the mainland for a decent night of sleep. We had some more important matters to attend to. Visiting Chichén Itzá.

The tiresome four hour bus journey took us across a time zone, so we managed to gain an extra hour inside the ruins, which was definitely needed. The site is doable in a day, but it’s very spread out, and not as shady as some of the other ruins around Mexico, so be prepared. A word of advice: pack sun cream, plenty of water, and some snacks; there are no food stalls inside.

My first impression, as we walked down a path lined with local merchants selling the usual cheap knock-off ceramic Mayan calendars, was that it was a total tourist trap. But picture this – stroll down the middle of the path, ignore the desperate voices of, ‘you like magnets lady? Very cheap, almost one dollar’, and emerge into an open green majestic plaza. Standing proud in the middle of the complex is the the twenty-four meter tall Kukulkan Pyramid, also known as, El Castillo. 

El Castillo at the end of the day – not a tourist in sight

It was granted the status of a Modern Wonder in 2007. And I can see why. In its current 2016 state, the towering temple looks immaculately preserved. With a little internet research, I discovered that, as the result of a tragic accident, the pyramid’s staircase was officially closed to the public in 2006. After years of tourists trudging up and down the monument in their thousands, the inevitable wear and tear of the steps began to take its toll, and eventually, a woman slipped on a smooth stone and fell to her death.

On one hand, I am pleased that the importance of health and safety, and the longevity of the Pyramid, has been taken seriously after this incident. But I can’t help feeling disappointed that I am unable to explore the temple that rests atop the structure, to visit the red jaguar throne inside. However, as someone who likes to practise and encourage eco-tourism, I understand that the earth’s natural elements alone can be enough of an unforgivable force when it comes to the act of preservation, let alone the unnecessary heavy stomps of tourist crowds.

You’ll spot various preserved carvings all over Chichén Itzá

Besides, there’s plenty more to see around this ancient city. My favourite ruin was Gran Juego de Pelota (Great Ball Court), probably because I’m a massive rugby-nut and I love a good stadium. Apparently, (I say this because it was impossible to test the theory with so many people milling around) if you talk at one end of the court, a person stood at the other end will be able to hear you. Many people have attempted to fathom the secrets behind the acoustics of this special sports ground, but to this day, it remains a mystery. The court itself is two hundred and twenty-five feet wide, and five hundred feet long.

The length of the ball court. Photo courtesy of Ben Norris.

Many different games have been played on these grounds over the years, but the aim of the most well-known version, was to shoot a rubber ball into the stone hoops that are carved into each of the longest sides of the court. Competitors were not allowed to use their hands, so it is believed that they passed the ball between their hips, and possibly used their elbows and knees. Did I mention that the hoops were so high that the game was virtually impossible? Although it was played for fun, it was often played for ritualistic purposes. Research indicates that the captain of the losing team would be presented with the task of decapitating the captain of the winning team. Crazy right? Well not to the Mayans, for they believed that winning was the ultimate honour, and so you were rewarded with the pathway to peaceful heaven through a simple sacrificial ceremony.

Oh, the losing team were sacrificed too. Because they lost.

The ‘goal’ hoop and the ‘royal box’ of the ball court. Photo courtesy of Ben Norris.

Beyond the wow factor of El Castillo and the shocking facts of the ball court, Chichén Itzá has so many beautiful ruins to explore. Interestingly, the naturally formed Cenote Sagrado (Sacred Cenote) was also used for sacrificial ceremonies. According to my trusty Lonely Planet Central America on a Shoestring guidebook, archaeological dive expeditions have uncovered human remains of those that were forced to jump into the ‘eternal underworld’.

Cenote Sagrado

These historical sites would not be complete without a carving or two, so if you have the opportunity to visit these sacred grounds, don’t miss the Grupo de las Mil Columnas (Group of a Thousand Columns). Take your time, and look closely at the Mayan handicraft as you wander through the labyrinth of ruins. You should be able to decipher a number of Gods and Mayan warriors within the artistic scars of the stone.

Grupo de las Mil Columnas

I am very fortunate to have been able to experience a modern world wonder, and shall endeavour to visit as many, if not all, in my lifetime. Oh, and I was with two awesome, like-minded travellers, which always makes a day of touring even more rewarding.

Posing outside El Caracol (The Observatory) with Ben Norris, Andrés Home and Morgan Bear. Note: Andrés’ peace sign is not to be confused with the English meaning…

This post was written to the sound of an overly excited Spanish football commentator and the ear-splitting screams of a Costa Rican female supporter, complete with bright yellow football kit.

Adam’s Peak

Oh, hello blog, it’s been a while. Twenty-four to be exact. Since then I’ve been to Singapore, Kuala Lumpur and Thailand. So yes, I’m very behind. I do have some pretty good reasons though:

– Hours of overland travel
– A couple of nights of excessive alcohol (because 3 weeks without it was enough…)
– Learning to dive
– Being hooked on diving

Excuses, excuses, excuses.

So 2380km takes us back to Sri Lanka. I’m going to keep us hidden in the hill country for a little longer.

We got off the train at Hatton, and we were instantly badgered by Sri Lankan transport. “Where you going? Tuktuk? Taxitaxitaxi? I own this hotel, nice hot water and comfortable.” As per our usual, we started asking for the bus station. But of course, ‘no’ buses run to Delhouse, you have to take a tuktuk. So the bartering began. Somehow, we managed to get a ride for four hundred rupees. It probably should have cost us one thousand, perhaps more, but the driver did actually stop several times on the way to pick up various tuktuk essentials; a spare tyre, some fuel, some oil. Oh, we did get to see a lake on the way.

“You want pictures?” The driver was already getting out.
“Okay, what’s the lake called?” I asked.
“Sorry?”
“The lake. It’s name?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“Does it have a name? The lake?”
“Ohhhh. No. No name.”

And off we went, although not before having our photos with Mr Driver and his beloved tuktuk.

After a cold shower and an afternoon of chill time, we tucked ourselves into bed and slept until 3am. Some climbers had been awake for an hour already, but word of mouth informed us that it should only take roughly two hours to reach the summit. Plenty of time before sunrise.

On the way to the base, we stopped by the open stalls to stock up on water and bars of sugar. Energy energy energy. After being badgered into a too-early-to-care donation scam, we found the first step at 3:30am. This is where team Sam and Lauren split up. I can’t walk slow due to a knee condition, and Sam can’t walk fast due to asthma.

As I started to ascend, Sri Lankan men, women and children, were already coming down and finishing their pilgrimage. We often exchanged morning pleasantries, but as my breathing became more shallow and the words ‘good morning’ didn’t feel so good anymore, I plugged myself into my iPod and let Maroon 5’s rhythm carry me forward. It felt like I was running on the beach back home, but this was steps, and I didn’t have my wing-dog, Lenny.

The entire path leading to the summit was lit, so I could roughly judge how far I’d walked by studying the number of lights above and below me. I had a system where I would walk up blocks of steps without stopping, and then allow myself a couple of seconds respite at the top of each block. This worked perfectly. I was able to make progress while admiring the activity around me. I was struck by the number of elderly men and women making the pilgrimage, probably for the hundredth+ time in their life. Bare foot, frail, determined, they took it step by step, many women in their nineties were supporting each other, stopping with each other. Sometimes I’d pause my music, just to listen to their native language. It wouldn’t have surprised me if they were gossiping the whole way. Sri Lankan tea plantation workers are well known for their twitterings.

Besides the couple of seconds of breathing time, I did stop once. Big mistake. I knew as soon as I’d perched myself on a railing, I’d be stuck. I felt the muscles spasm in my legs and the cartilage in my knees started to burn. I’d probably walked up four thousand steps by that point. The top seemed so close, but the lights above me never seemed to reach the summit. I checked my iPod. 4:45am. Determined to make the sunrise, I swigged my water and took a bite of the sugar bar. I must have stopped for five minutes. Too much.

Although, it wasn’t soon before too long (see what I did there?) that I turned a corner and the steps became steeper. There was a set of railings on either side of the path, and one straight through the middle. I picked the right hand side and mimicked the pace of the person in front of me. Eventually, the trail of people ahead started to slow down due to a human traffic jam near the top. Sweating and wobbly, we all waited. I checked my watch. It had been one hour and thirty minutes ago that I’d conquered step one. There were about one hundred left and it took me fifteen minutes. I shouldn’t say I’m dissatisfied that I could have reached the summit quicker, but actually, I kind of am. Personal competition and all that.

Anyway, I edged around the temple that sat at the top of the peak, and joined the Western world that had been waiting around for a couple of hours. The early risers were shivering under blankets and jumpers. This would probably be the coldest place I’d visit in Sri Lanka. On went my own two hoodies and a pair of gloves (thank you, Mum, for making me pack winter-wear).

A quarter of an hour later, Sam joined me at the top; just in time for the sunrise. We watched the sky pinwheel through its colour chart of navys, blues, pinks, reds and yellows. As it rose, the mountains below started to come into focus, triangular shadows pointing to the sky.

If I’m honest, that was pretty much it. Although beautiful, the urge to see the sunrise was quickly replaced by an urge for descent.

I won’t bore you with the details of going down, but I will let you know that it hurt. A couple of times I had to move aside for people to be stretchered down the mountain.

But I made it. Tired, sticky and shaking, ready for a shower and some breakfast.

At the bottom, I turned around and looked up, towards the peak, where we’d left people in peace, praying after their long pilgrimage.

They’d be there for a couple of hours, eating, drinking, praying, socialising. This was their way of life, and they’d let us in. Grateful, I turned around and dragged myself back to the hostel.

As I tucked into my toast and runny jam, I thought about how I would climb Adam’s Peak again if I was ever in the area. It’s definitely cheaper than a gym membership.

Observation Sri Lanka

– DISCLAIMER: this post is slightly out of date due to wi-fi connectivity issues –

My travel partner and I have been mingling with the locals of Sri Lanka for five days, and in that time we’ve visited four areas of the country. Upon arrival, we eased through customs in ten minutes and were soon walking past flat screen televisions, washing machines and other household items. Did this provide an accurate first impression? Well…

…in our sleep deprived state, we caught a taxi (luxury number one) to Colombo Airport Hostel @ Negombo Beach. Naturally, so as not to waste time, we de-backpacked and headed for the capital by bus. The hostel name proved to be slightly deceptive, because an hour and a half later, we arrived in Colombo. Oh, Colombo. Busy, busy Colombo, with your squished markets and rows of shops.

A short walk through a couple of streets and we were done. Everyone has something to sell and each road looks the same. I’m sure if we’d given it more of a chance, we’d have stumbled upon something of interest, but the lure of the trains that would rattle us back to Negombo was too enticing.

This in itself, has to be my most dominant memory of Sri Lanka so far.

Mistake number one of the trip occurred when we hopped (while it was moving) onto a rush hour train. If you’ve ever been subjected to a London tube at five pm on a weekday, multiply the intensity of the journey by ten and you have the experience of the human-cattle-herding train from Colombo to Chilaw. On top of this, the train takes longer than the bus and not all the stations are signposted (apart from Negombo -fortunately). By the end of the ride, I felt like I’d just stepped out of a film. Having just witnessed people hanging out of the train doors and jumping off at non-existent stations, I was ready to say goodnight to Sri Lanka.

With a little healthy traveller debate, map staring and toast munching, we decided to head for Kandy. It was everything you’d expect from a tourist trap, cramped with street sellers, restaurants, tour guides (official and ‘not-so-official’), etc. Initially, I felt more at home than the relaxed life in Negombo, but soon took a dislike to the constant badgering to buy the finest silk in Sri Lanka, or to try my luck at winning a car that I clearly wouldn’t be able to fit in my luggage; backpack or otherwise. Although I did appreciate the peaceful walk around the lake in the centre of the city:

This aside, on the second day, we hired a tuk-tuk to take us around the surrounding area. We visited the Bahiravokanda Vihara Buddha Statue above Kandy (one of the best places to take valley photos so far, but we are yet to visit the hill country), a war cemetery, and a spice plantation where we were treated to a massage (for a tip of course) using their own ingredients.

Oh yeah, we rode an elephant.

On our last day in Kandy, we donned our finest trousers and cover-ups so we could enter The Temple of the Tooth. We were fortunate to be part of it that day due to it being a full moon. These are known as ‘poya days’. Sri Lankans were buying fresh flowers outside and inside the temple as their offering to Buddha. It is prohibited to actively smell the flowers, but you didn’t need to, it smelled like a perfumery in every room, but not in that ‘bathing in aftershave’ kind of way. There were also signs asking visitors to refrain from posing for photographs in front of shrines, so I was a little taken aback when I witnessed two monks taking it in turns to photograph each other with Raja, the body (thank you taxidermy) of the sacred Sri Lankan Tusker elephant.

I will never understand why they broke the temples rules, and I doubt I’ll ever fully understand Sri Lanka. The only people that have been able to give us straight answers to questions like, ‘how long will it take by train?’ are the children on the bus to Nuwara Eliya – a bizarre and confused little town that doesn’t seem entirely Sri Lankan and only partly colonial.

Destination Sri Lanka has so far proven to be a clichéd ‘throw in at the deep end’, but I don’t regret it.

This is why I’m here.