Coba

I´m writing this in the shadow of the Cathedral de San Gervasio in Valladolid, where I arrived this morning even more sunburnt than before, and with sore feet. I think when I last wrote I was about to leave Tulum after three days gathering sand in improbable places and getting trapped in hammocks. I got a bus from there to Coba, which promised unexplored ruins in a jungle setting, complete with crocodiles. I booked into a hotel and set off straight away in the midday sun - like the Englishman and mad dog that I am. Because it was so hot I thought I´d be better off without my shoes, so with a mincing gait I trotted off over the hot tarmack to the site entrance. When I first got into the jungle I was glad of my decision - the path was soft and mossy and I felt at one with the catterpillars and toads, who obligingly posed for photographs, I suppose in gratitude for not being trodden on. (I´ll post all my pictures as soon as I can find a helpful nerd) All seemed tickety-boo until I arrived at the site proper to find that all the paths had been spread with gravel. Now, this wasn´t your softly crunching no-turning-private-drive gravel, but vicious shards of igneous rock seemingly positioned to cause maximum pain at every step. I decided to steel myself and press on, even though a sign by the path said the first temple was still two kilometres away. (I´ve conceived of a notion that I want to walk from the Atlantic to the Pacific barefooted, so I thought it would be as well to begin the thoughening-up process before I arrive at the thinnest bit of the Continent, wherever that may be.) And then I got lost. Anyway, enough of all that, suffice to say that by the time I´d got round all the temples I was in a world of pain, having walked about ten miles. The ruins themselves were impressive, but not so spectacular as I expected (and bloody miles apart from each other). I found the ball courts interesting. They are made up of two opposing sloping walls, each with a Polo shaped goal in the top centre and with a narrow playing area running along the middle. Nobody knows exactly how the game worked, but it´s thought the players had to propel the ball through the hole using their hips - it must have been terribly difficult, but with the threat of execution hanging over the losers I´m sure they rose to the challenge. There is a theory that the games were only played as a form of divination - the priests would observe the course of play and the outcome to predict the future. This makes sense to me because I can´t see where any spectators would stand. All this is still a mystery, as although the Conquistadors saw the game being played they never recorded any details. Their main preoccupation was the movement of the rubber ball (something they had never seen before) which they believed was demonically possessed. My guidebook tells me that the Great Pyramid at 42 metres is the tallest Mayan structure on the Yucatan Peninsula, but I find this hard to believe. It was big, no doubt about it, but it was only 120 steps to the top and far from overwhelming. The view though was spectacular, miles and miles of jungle with the occassional temple top peeping through the canopy. I should say that referring to ´the jungle´makes it sound a lot more exotic than it was. It could almost have been an English woodland with the odd conservatory plant tucked away here and there. I even saw a bird that was exactly like a magpie, until it opened its beak and hooted. I did come across a line of leaf-cutter ants, which I´ve always wanted to see, and although I´ve watched them on telly I was amazed by the size of the leaves they were carrying. I also noticed that they work together and help each other when they get stuck. I didn´t see any crocodiles, but with my maximum hobbling speed down to about half a mile and hour, it was probably just as well. I was asleep by eight and up early this morning ready for the bus to here, Valladolid. The day got off to a portentious start when I opened the door of my room to find the most beautiful and enormous hawk moth flapping around on his back just outside. I took him to a shrub and placed him on a leaf, but he just shivered a bit, waved his antennae and died. I´m sure I remember a superstition about dying moths, I hope it isn´t a bad omen. Whatever it is, it didn´t stop me getting here OK and booking into a very nice hotel right in the central square, or the Parque Francisco Canton Rosado as it´s known. Valladolid is a really charming little colonial town, a grid of brightly-painted houses and shops. It´s also an important centre for the Mayan people, apparently, but in my experience the whole of the Yucatan is totally indigenous. I remember reading about the Conquest of Mexico and I always had the impression that the native people were totally wiped out by Spanish steel and smallpox. One phrase I remember is that "the survivors retreated to the lice-infested jungle to live out their miserable existences in the most wretched of conditions." But not true - the little tinkers are everywhere! I can count on one hand the number of Hispanic or African locals I´ve seen since I arrived - everyone but everyone is Mayan here. It´s so easy to recognise their features from the art of the old civilisation. The only thing that´s changed is that they don´t bind the heads of their babies anymore to make their skulls more pointed. Which is a pity - it would be quite jolly to see them all pottering about with comical conical heads. Since arriving here I´ve had a wander around, got a haircut and bought some sandals. The haircut was great, a real old-fashioned clip joint - just like you find all over the world. There´s always that same smell, the same tattered magazines, the same accoutrements in front of the cracked mirror and the bald old men who just sit there for the company. I particularly enjoyed not having to answer any stupid questions about ´feathering´or ´layering´or clipper attachments, he just got on with the job like a barber should. My only concern was when he got the cut-throat razor out to tidy up the back of my neck. Throughout the process he was being hailed by people walking past the shop and as he waved back I could hear the cold steel whooshing past my ear. My sandals were a bargain, but they´re leather and need wearing in. So now I´ve got a set of blisters on top of my feet to go with the depredations beneath. Tomorrow I´m going to visit Chichen Itza, which while it is one of the best preserved Mayan sites is also one of the most over developed. Apparently you should get up at the crack of dawn to avoid the heat and crowds of American tourists. Personally I´m going to have a leisurely breakfast and take my chances.