morning we got up early, packed food and water, slathered on the
sunblock, and got into a private bus that we had contracted the night
before. The driver took us all the way in to the park and then came back
for us at the scheduled time. Totally worth the $US38.50.
(That dog bite must’ve affected her more than we thought.)
knew the children were excited to go to Tikal—we’ve been prepping for
this adventure for six months now—but I didn’t realize how excited they
were until we got there. They were like a pack of espresso-fueled
squirrels. It was all we
could do to keep up with them.
In fact, we didn’t.
They zipped up and
down those temples like they were on a mission. It didn’t matter one wit to them that hundreds of tourists parade
through these grounds every week. To them, it was like they were the
discoverers. They claimed those ruins.
was early morning—the best time for seeing wildlife—and my husband and I were quite aware of the other tourists, all adults, all composed, all
without children (though later we spied a few young’uns), so we did our
best to get our kids to talk in quiet voices. But it was hopeless. The
thrill was too much. (They did do fairly well—perhaps we were a little hyper-vigilant.)
And then I
realized, “Everyone is excited to be here. Some people express that by
sitting quietly and looking around. Others (eh-hem, yours truly) take
insane numbers of photos. Others do complicated poses to commemorate the
moment. Still others read all the signs and charts in an effort to
absorb as much information as possible. And some—my children, for
example—express their delight by running around and up and down and
shouting with glee over every tunnel, staircase, and hidey-hole. It
takes all sorts of people and children are people, too, so there.”
No temple was too high, no crevice too small—all of it had to be investigated.
Even the ants were fascinating.
Within an hour, the kids’ faces were flushed bright red.
We paused for granola bars, water, and beef jerky on the plaza.
Later there were apples on a park bench.
Still later, when we had run out of water and I had a headache and my
vision had gone all wavy, there were Milky Way bars and expensively purchased, and
carefully divided out, bottled water. I had to force
myself to finish my chocolate (I don’t think I’ve ever eaten an entire candy bar
in one go), but then I started to perk up.
If you think you have enough water, you don’t. Also, high-calorie
snacks are the way to go. We ate every hour and that was enough, but
At one point, a park ranger came up to express concern that
the kids might get hurt. This was kind of funny, because in Guatemala,
kids ride helmet-less, carseat-less, and seatbelt-less. They play in the
road. They handle machetes. But I guess Tikal has been North
American-ized. Probably, they’ve been sued for deaths and such.
It’s not like bad things don’t happen at ruins. I overheard
one of the guards explaining that the main plaza temples had been roped
off (they were open for the climbing when I last visited 18 years ago)
because there were too many accidental sacrifices. Plus, the last time I
was at some ruins (in Honduras), one of my friends leaped a stonewall-lined
ravine, didn’t quite make it to the other side, and knocked her foot
almost clean off the bottom of her leg (it was still attached, but not
by much). So the night before we went to Tikal, I fretted. What were we
doing taking our children to such a place? One slip and SMASH.
(There was the time when we went up a particular mound to catch up with the children and there, on the other side where
my kids were running back and forth like clumsy mountain goats, was a
fifty-foot drop, good grief, let’s go around to the other side RIGHT NOW PLEASE.)
no one went bang-crash-smash and my husband made friends with the ranger who gave
my children water from his own stash, bless his heart, and then gave us
our own private little tour.
My husband liked to pretend he was a tour guide.
Upon seeing this stone door thing, he commenced a-quoting from The Hobbit, his voice all deep and quavery:
Stand by the grey stone where the thrush knocks. The last light of the setting sun will shine upon a keyhole…
he was pretty convincing, because on our way back when we passed by it
again, my younger daughter went over, knocked on it to find the spot,
and then starting yelling that she found it. She was ecstatic.
climbing a wooden staircase, my husband waxed
eloquent about how the Mayans used inferior wood for their other
structures, but for this one, they used the best wood and look how well
We climbed to the top of Temple IV.
It was so high that it made me slightly dizzy (or maybe that was the lack of water).
put the fear of death into my fearless 7-year-old. He was so paralyzed
with fright that he could only inch around on his behind.
We kissed, trying to center the smooch over the temple.
OVER the temple, dingbat son!
It took a lot of tries, but we finally got it almost right. (Tourists are so weird.)
We tried to call the States, but couldn’t remember the correct country code.
Back down on the solid ground, we took the obligatory child sacrifice photo…
then headed back to the central plaza. The kids ran around for the last
little bit and then it was time to head back. If it weren’t for the
heat and the lack of water and more food, we could’ve stayed for hours.
The place is pure magic.
To be continued….