Watch Everything

Group Email: 25/07/07

Dear Friends,

Today is a lazy day on Caye Caulker (Belize), as is every day in Caye Caulker, if I interpret it correctly. A good beach town is a well-engineered tourist machine, designed to squeeze money out at every opportunity, and creating a strange otherworldly feel at the same time; the sky is too blue, the water too clear, the sand too... Caye Caulker is not a good beach town.

It is shabby and though every business has a patch of sand (and our shoes and showers are filled with the stuff) there is no real beach. The multitude of lost-looking tourists content themselves with hanging out at a bar called the Lazy Lizard (which has a swimming pool) and sitting on a row of deck chairs on the concrete dock.

We met up with M. yesterday (you may recall I described her last minute decision to stay in Central America in my last email) who has been here for 6 days; I think I would go mad. Most of the group today has gone snorkeling, but I am staying in "town", partly to conserve funds (as I know I will be seeking out every ruin between here and Mexico City, of which there are many), and partly because I am 400 pages into a phenomenal book*, and for once curling up in a deck chair, reading and being soaked by that restless wind seems like the best alternative.

I could talk about Tikal. Could I ever talk about Tikal-- about climbing rickety ladders up several stories to stand with my back pressed to the wall and gape at the stone structures peeking out from the trees far far below. About walking with a guide who had worked on the excavation of the place for 14 years, and continually stopped the tour to howl at the monkeys or call to "rare" birds that none of us could see. Of the death-defying stair case up to Temple 5 where we would watch the sunset; of the lightning storm that lit the forest around us --us, the highest point, above the trees, surrounded by metal scaffolding-- and sent us scrambling back down again. Of blinding sun and age and meditations on graffiti:

how could anyone, ever, think it was alright to scratch their name or dates onto such incredible buildings? We stand in temples that have lasted, will last thousands of years and our contribution is to leave our mark on top of it "Look, here-- I was here too, once." And yet is "vandalizing" great works of others not an internationally time-honoured tradition? How many pyramids, palaces or temples were covered up and repainted by conquerors, or by the next generations; placing their own history and achievements over top of the original? How does SARAH, 05, XO compare to this? Just thoughts.


But what I really want to share with you is my day at the caves. We move now to San Ignacio, Belize. I had been looking forward to this particular destination since the start of the trip (not for the sake of the town, believe me), as I have always been a great lover of caves and I had heard from several sources that this was a trip not to be missed. The main attraction for the area is the Actun Tunichil Muknal (also known as ATM) cave, named after the 20 year old female sacrifice at the heart of that seemingly endless darkness. The Maya believed that such caves were the entrance to the underworld, and having spent only a few hours inside it is not hard to see why.

We got picked up at our hotel at 7 AM sharp, and then puttered around town for a while so the tour operators could pick up some groceries (?). We drove for an hour and a half in almost complete silence (we are at that stage of group life where the less we have to do with each other the better, with a few notable exceptions), and I watched the clouds and wondered what the odds were of getting caught in a flash flood while underground. When we stopped in a parking lot in the middle of nowhere one of the two guide´s (Orlando and Juan-Carlos) told us to leave everything but our water bottles in the van, as we would need the dry clothes when we got back. Reluctantly I handed over my camera, which he promised would be kept in a dry bag until we were in the main chamber; did I mention that for 3/4 of this trip we were in the water?

The hike to the cave involved 3 river-crossing (literally crossing the same river 3 times) and as the clouds rolled in it was almost chilly, which is not something I often have the chance to say. Orlando said we "must not touch the vegetation", and as we raced after him along the fern covered path (not even stealing time to take photos) I assured myself that that didn't apply to the vegetation directly in our way. When we arrived at the camp site half of the group was ready to sit down and have lunch (at 10:30) and the other half was ready to get away from the first half, so K, A, R, and I (plus two random American girls from another hotel) put on our hard-hats and started down a slippery hill to the key-hole shaped mouth of the cave.

I should have known what to expect, as the long-winded tour operator had come to the Trek Stop (our hotel/cabins) the night before and given us a slide show, but even as I waded into the river, hopped from rock to rock til I was looking directly into the darkness of the cavern did it really hit me I was going in. I stood there, hypnotized for just a moment until Juan-Carlos said "Jump in now!" and I heard K leap into the icy neck-deep water. Now I am a good swimmer, and not afraid of the dark, but the shock of that first impact, paddling into nothingness was so striking I could feel my heart racing in my throat, and only when I got far enough in and found my feet again did I let out all the air I had been holding.

That first hour in ATM, walking in single-file, following the shuddering pool of light from our headlamps, I think (and thought at the time) was one of the most staggering extended periods of sheer terror I have ever experienced ** But what a wonderful terror it was! I was frightened, disoriented, wet, and frequently forgetting to breathe for longer than advisable, focusing every bit of my will into each footfall. We walked in a line and every few minutes a message would be passed down between us "Rock to the left! Rock to the right, big drop, watch your knees, watch your shins, watch your head!" which I occasionally shortened to "Watch everything!" which seemed far more logical.

The water level rose and fell drastically from chamber to chamber, so sometimes it was only our feet covered and the stony bottom was clearly visible, and other times it came out to my chest and I could see nothing at all, and held tight to the wall until our guide stopped suddenly to point out some new wonder, and we crashed into each other like soggy dominos. At that point the cave seemed like any other, littered with stalactites and stalagmites, multi-coloured rock and formations that glittered like underground stars. Every few minutes the rooms narrowed, and we had to clamber up and over and around whatever obstacle was in our way. Time and time again I shook my head thinking "No way, no way can I get through that", not in the dark with my dripping clothes and slippery shoes, and then over I'd go, calling "Watch everything" to R who was walking behind me.

Somewhere in the midst of that silent walk (silent but for the swish swish slosh over our bodies through the thick cold water) the fear died down to a faint crackling in my ears, and left behind it mostly joy and disbelief. It couldn't be real. I couldn't really be here. I look for a shelf, a hand hold in the sharp cliff wall and pull myself up and up into the dry chamber-- a great echoing space where our shadows creep and dance along the ceiling til it seems alive. We take off our shoes (cave regulation, to minimize damage) and get our cameras out and wonder what sort of picture would even begin to capture this wondrous place.

ATM is famous not just for "adventure caving", but because it is also an archaeological site. As I said, the Maya believed caves to be the entrance to the Underworld, and many of their religious ceremonies were performed in them. In ATM alone there are 15 human remains, as well as several hundred pots and jars, ranging from shards to complete, carefully arranged place settings (for feasting with the dead). We were careful to walk only in the guide's footsteps, as every time we stopped he would call out "Look behind you please!" and we would see another piece of pottery within crushing distance.

The skeletons (some partial, or partially buried and some, like Actun herself, fully exposed) were sacrifices offered to the gods to bring rain or fertility. Most of them, according to our archaeologist guide, were hit over the head, with their hands tied-- unwilling sacrifice. We climbed a (very out of place) metal ladder up to see Actun's skeleton, for whom the cave was named (because there is no evidence the Maya went in any farther in than where she was found) and Juan-Carlos proved he had led the National Geographic photographers in by doing some really terrifying lighting affects that made it look as if her skull was glowing.

We were moving quite slowly, as we asked so many questions, and the other half of our group (who had left about 20 minutes after us) passed by us, on their way out; they were chatting very loudly about something on TV and the guide made a rather (unfair) scathing comment about the English. Apparently Canada has helped to fund most of the work in ATM, so I was alright.

K, A and I were on the verge of bribing the guide to take us in farther, but it had already been in for 4 hours, and still had to get out again. The water seemed colder the second time around, and even more so when he told us to turn off our lamps and walk hand and hand behind him through the dark. K claimed she could see, but I sure couldn't, and the giddy racing sensation returned, though not the fear. It wasn't until the lights came back on that K slipped off one of the large rocks and twisted her ankle, which left me crouching with my lowered head pressed against the ceiling til she had her strength back (luckily it wasn't serious) and I was able to slide down after her. The light at the entrance was blinding, and as we swam out into the pool in front it started to rain, so even after the 45 minute trek to the parking lot we were still soaking wet. As we took turns changing clothes behind a blue tarp, the rest of us stood and ate thick slices of pineapple, with our eyes on the rain.

Oops, I have already passed the 2 hour mark at this (extortionist) internet cafe, and I really must sign off. Love to all!

Nel

*Ahab's Wife, by Sena Jeter Naslund. Read it!

**Topped of course by the fire at Enkosini, which lasted 3 days-- for those of you who don't go back that far in the narrative.

--
"If we could see the miracle of a single flower clearly, our whole life would change." Buddha