Maya homes and a drying hammock.If you care, you can make a visit to Coba a journey to both the Maya past and present. Marilyn and I cared, and we tasted the wonder of the ancient Maya and the graciousness of their modern descendents.
Coba is much older than Tulum. The oldest stela is dated AD 684. The setting is in a tangled jungle about 45 minutes inland from Tulum. It is an immense sight and it is best to stay overnight. There is a choice of two hotels--the inexpensive El Bocadito and the Villas Arqueologicas (VA), run as a regular hotel by Club Med. We opted for the latter, preferring air conditioning after a day of stomping through the Yucatan jungle.
The morning of our excursion to the ruins we dressed for war: our enemies were the mosquitioes which patrol the site in wolfpack-like squadrons. Marilyn had the untimate anti-aircraft weapon--95% DEET which she bought at Osco Drugs in Phoenix. With this dapped on our faces and sprayed on our clothes, we were invulnerable.
Our first goal was the Nohoch Mul (Big Hill in Maya) pyramid, the highest in the Yucatan--42 meters and 120 steps high. We hiked along a wide jungle path for nearly two klicks on a clear but muggy morning. It was as though we were lost in time. The only sounds were the crunching of leaves beneath our feet and the buzzing of a few flies (no whining mosquitoes). The jungle canopy permitted sunlight to freckle the path. No tourists, no guides, no T-shirt shops.
The steps to the top of Nohoch Mul appeared imposing, but we knew a great view awaited us. We were ennervated as we climbed past the roof of the forest. A cooling breeze refreshed us and soon than expected Marilyn and I pulled ourseves to the summit. A small temple occupies about half the platform. The fresco above the entrance contains two good examples of the Diving God (also called the Bee God).
But the magic of the platform is not just in the archaeology, but in the view and the sense of peace that overwhelms the visitor. The jungle stretched green to the horizon, with two turquoise lakes, islands in the emerald sea. We leaned against the back of the temple and watched butterflies and dragonflies dance in front of us, the only sound occasional belly rumbles from distant anvil-shaped clouds.
I was cloaked in a sense of well-being. I have retained this essence of calm about me for months now. Whenever stress at work begins to mount, I can retreat back to the Big Hill and recover that serenity. Great therapy.
Ancient Coba must have been a magnificent city. Encompassing 42 square miles, it was an important trading link between the Yucatecan interior and the coast, and possibly the Guatemalan Maya. Modern Coba is tiny, about 1,000 people, most of whom are very poor. However, the serenity I felt at the ruins seems to encompass the locals. Except for one dinner the first night at VA, we took all our meals at small village restaurants--and met the modern Maya, up close and personal.
Breakfast and lunch were taken our first full day at a tiny lakeside cafe by the hotel, Nicte-Ha, "Flower of the Water." Gentle, soft-spoken Irma, the waitress, shyly brought out a guidebook in the morning to whet our appetite for the day ahead. Later, she gave us a spicy gift of balls of a ground pepper called chac, and instructed us in how to enhance our meats with it.
That afternoon, struggling out of the ruins, tired, soaked in sweat and in need of adult beverages, we wandered like lost pilgrims from one to another and then to the last of three five-table restaurants near the site's parking lot. The problem was beer--there wasn't any! At the first restaurant, only paces from the entrance: "Lo siento, I have only one beer." At the second, "Yes, I have beer, but only one." Across the road, near the lake, there was one more chance--the prettiest of the three restaurants. If it didn't have beer, we decided we would return to the first two and drink our cervesas while waving to each other across the expanse of parking lot.
"Oh, yes, I have lots of beer," Antonio Canche said. "Montejo." We sank into our chairs on the patio and soon were quaffing the Yucatecan brew and enjoying a splendid view of Lago Coba, a small flower and reed-lined lake, which we had spied from Nohoch Mul.
Antonio was eager to talk and told us more about other ruins to see locally. He was disappointed when we didn't want lunch, so I asked if he were open for dinner. Antonio said he closed at 5 p.m., but would remain open for us. We brought another couple and dined at 7 p.m. at his Restaurant Flamingo (no sign yet, but one is coming, Antonio reported). We enjoyed a meal (Pollo Maya) as sumptuous as served at the VA hotel and at half the price, with friendlier service.
In the morning, Marilyn and I breakfasted with Antonio, watching the activity of the village swirl around us: children, barefoot or on bikes, bringing corn to the molina to be transformed into masa for tortillas; huipil-clad women laughing happily while herding their children home from Mass; a solitary crocodile cruising the length of the lake.
Marilyn had ordered toast and jungle honey. The golden liquid spread easily--not viscuous like our commercial honey--and it had an exquisite flavor. "From my own hives," Antonio told us proudly. After we ate, he closed up shop and we drove down a paved road into the jungle to view the 8 hives. Apparently, many locals own hives and send much of their product to the United States through the ejido cooperative.
On the way back to the village, we stopped at a primary school where Marilyn presented the teacher with pens, pencils and other goodies she had brought from the US. The three-room school appeared to have little--except happy, giggling children.
We left Coba that day, enchanted with the ancient sight and the wonderful people we had met in such a tranquil setting.
The tranquility remains.
