Between Dzibilchaltún and Mérida’s city center sits the strikingly contemporary building of the Gran Museo del Mundo Maya. Built in 2012 in the shape of an abstracted ceiba tree (which in Maya mythology unites the three levels of the world), the museum expertly combines a vast collection of artifacts with up-to-date technology and display techniques, including immersive, multi-channel animations.
The Gran Museo divides its gallery spaces into two physically separated sections. During our visit, the first held an exhibition that was both innovative and straight-up weird. We never did figure out exactly what the thesis of the show was supposed to be (something related to evolution or extinction or how different cultures interpret the natural world?), but it included information on meteors as well as living, imagined, and extinct animals using geological fragments, fossils, European Renaissance prints, replicas of Maya artifacts, and a life-size installation representing the extinction and evolution of dinosaurs. Despite the jumble of ideas apparent throughout this section, most of the actual objects were interesting, while the unusual juxtapositions between seemingly unrelated items kept us engaged as well as confused.
Even so, I will admit to being relieved when we entered the second section, dedicated to Maya history and the museum’s permanent collection of artifacts. These galleries alone are well worth a visit to the Gran Museo, as they include a plethora of fascinating objects, many of which diverge significantly from what you can find in textbooks or even specialist publications on Maya cultures. Also refreshing were the explanatory texts, many of which appear in Spanish, Mayan, and English and reflect a perspective that somehow feels both personal and scholarly.
Highly subjective personal rating: 8.5/10 [strongly recommended]
On the morning of our first full day in Mérida, we hopped back in the car and headed north of the city to Dzibilchaltún.
Located on a hot, dry plain about 22 km south of the coast, Dzibilchaltún has the honor of possessing the least picturesque ruins of the 20-plus Maya sites we visited. However, what the destination lacks in architectural or decorative splendor it makes up for in historical importance and, thanks to its cenote, natural beauty. The on-site museum—which consists of both indoor and outdoor displays of artifacts, stelae, and anthropological installations—is also quite good and added significantly to our appreciation of the site.
First occupied around 800 BCE, Dzibilchaltún was one of the earliest major settlements on the peninsula. As a result, some of the oldest known ceramics of the region come from here. The local economy was based on salt trade, and the relative strangeness of the city’s location—which is both inhospitable and fairly far from the sea—can be understood as a compromise between finding land that was capable of supporting a minimal amount of agricultural cultivation while simultaneously as close to the salt-producing coastal lagoons as possible. Of course, the presence of a cenote, offering fresh water in an otherwise arid environment, would have been a key factor in the choice of locale as well.
At one end of the traversable ruins stands the site’s most iconic building, the Temple of the Dolls. Named for the seven, rough, ceramic figures once buried in front of its altar and now on display in the museum, the temple sits in near isolation at one end of a large, open plaza. Doors located at the center of each of the sanctuary’s four walls heighten the effect of the square building’s rather unusual radial symmetry, while skeletal remnants of Chaac masks sit above these entrances and at the roofline’s four corners. Like many surfaces at the site, the masks (and numerous nearby stelae) were once covered in sculptural, painted stucco. Archaeologists have discovered graffiti inside the temple as well, some of which may date to 1200–1520 CE, when Maya pilgrims reopened and restored the sanctuary. Unfortunately, the building itself is no longer accessible and must be appreciated from a distance.
Running east-west, a long, straight sacbe connects the Temple of the Dolls to Dzibilchaltún’s central square. Visitors can either follow this road to the rest of the site or walk along a parallel (and more shaded) path part of the way. Those who take the sacbe will also pass another, circular trail that leads to very little.
The central plaza consists of a few, spread-out structures, including a small pyramid, an open Franciscan chapel, stone bleachers, and a gateway. On the other side of the gateway lies the Xlacah Cenote, perhaps the site’s greatest highlight.
Swimming is allowed, albeit “at your own risk,” but there is no changing room or shower on the grounds.
As an oasis in an otherwise parched landscape, the water here is teeming with life. During our visit, the pool seemed especially hospitable to lily pads and various fish, the latter of which struck us as a little too eager to swarm a bit of flesh and check it for possible food. We spent the majority of our time at Dzibilchaltún admiring the cenote and its surrounding flora and fauna, but left the swimming for another day.
Although I don’t imagine myself returning to Dzibilchaltún, the cenote and museum alone made it worth a visit. If you go, arrive early to beat the tourist groups bused in from Mérida. There is no escaping the sun, so having a hat, sunblock, and plenty of water is especially important here.
It was already late afternoon by the time we escaped Balankanché, prompting us to once again skip the cenote on the day’s itinerary and drive straight to our next hotel. This time we were headed to Mérida, the capital and largest city of the state of Yucatán.
Driving and parking in central Mérida is not fun—the roads are narrow, mostly one-way, and frequently filled with cars as well as pedestrians spilling over from the equally crowded sidewalks. Many hotels will have special deals worked out with specific lots, and it helps to know ahead of time which parking lot is affiliated with your hotel. Otherwise, look for the estacionamento signs (sometimes simply indicated by an E in a red circle), find one near where you will be staying, and just know that you will pay for an hour or so before you can come back and move your car to the appropriate lot.
Once you’re settled-in, the city will reward your effort to be there. At least for a day or two. Mérida is home to good shopping, numerous restaurants, a few solid museums, and faded glories of colonial architecture. It also lies in proximity to a number of Maya ruins (day trips to the World Heritage sites of Chichén Itzá and Uxmal are available from the city) as well as to the sea. As a result, the city is a popular stop for cruise lines, and during the day many tourists will come ashore to acquire relatively inexpensive, locally made goods, including jewelry, masks, wide-brimmed hats, embroidery, and other textiles. Even Josh and I, who had not planned on shopping at all, ended up contributing a fair amount to the local economy.
I should probably note here that Americans and Europeans often feel taken advantage of in Mexico, especially in larger cities like Cancún and Mérida. Sometimes such feelings are the result of misunderstandings born out of overlapping but ultimately very different cultural economics. Sometimes they are the result of one person actually taking advantage of another. As a foreigner, you are certainly a target for vendors and guides who rely on the money of tourists for their own survival. That can get very old very fast, especially as you hear the same lines again and again. For instance, nearly everyone claims that what they sell is “authentic” and that everything sold everywhere else is “fake.” Without being an expert myself on Maya goods, I can only advise that whatever you hear—from angry tourists and hungry vendors alike—take it with a grain of salt.
After finally checking-in to the hotel, the friendly guy attending the front desk pointed us towards a nearby collective, where, he claimed, proceeds from sales were redistributed to all of the participating artists in an effort to support the local communities as a whole. True? Nope. That is, not according to the many fuming reviews I have since read on TripAdvisor. But at the time, trusting both our hotel and the seemingly sincere man we met at the store itself, we ended up purchasing a few pieces of opal jewelry (mostly as gifts) for decent prices. Were the stones authentic? I fear the answer to that is also nope, despite the certificates accompanying each piece. One of these days I will screw up my courage and have mine appraised, but in the meantime I’ve decided to just enjoy them both as the pretty trinkets they are and as the gentle reminders of the fallibility of my own judgement they have become.
On our second night, we allowed another man to draw us into his store for jipijapas (aka, Panama hats, made from jipijapa palm leaves), hammocks, and clothing woven with sisal. In addition to being light, strong, flexible, and breathable, the fibers of both the palm and sisal are supposed to possess properties of a natural bug repellant—all highly desirable features during a Yucatán spring. Unlike most touristy items, such products are actually popular with locals, and the hats especially were essential wearing for anyone working in the sun.
We chatted with the owner for a while, and as we tried on items he showed us pictures of himself and his associate as a child and young man, respectively, working in the caves where jipijapas are made. He explained that manipulating the fibers requires the damp, warm environment of the caves, just as the finest weaving on the top of the hat requires the small hands of children and women. Because of the poor air quality, hat makers can only remain underground for a few hours a day.
I think he told us all of this to illustrate the communal nature of his store, to convince us of the specialness of the hats, and to illustrate why they were worth the amount he was asking for them (the equivalent of about $40 each). Outwardly, we tried not to disappoint him with our reactions. Inwardly, the actual effect of his story was somewhat different. Having just spent an hour ourselves in a Yucatán cave, the idea of anyone, especially children, working in such conditions was wrenching. The realization that by purchasing the hats we would be supporting such a system was horrifying. And yet, if we didn’t buy anything, those same people would be that much worse off due to the lack of income from their labor.
Intellectually, of course, I know that we all participate in similarly fraught economic situations everyday. But as an American, it is rare to have the system laid so bare before you, to see so clearly how inescapable it is, or to be so close to the people most affected by the terrible dichotomy of life saving/life endangering work. I am still not sure what the right thing to do actually was.
In the moment, however, we chose the easier path of the more immediate good, and are now the (conflicted) owners of two very nice jipi hats.
Since returning home, I have come across a few reviews by scorned tourists challenging the notion that jipijapas are constructed in caves. I would love for that to be true. Unfortunately, as documented here, the practice seems to be alive and well, although in Becal such caverns may be man-made and not nearly so deep as the likes of Balankanché. Perhaps that makes all the difference? Or is that idea just another scam, one we try to sell to ourselves to make our own lives a little more comfortable?
Incensors around a naturally formed column representing the Ceiba, or World Tree, Balankanché. Photo by Renée DeVoe Mertz, May 20, 2015.
Over the course of my various travels, there have been five moments when it occurred to me that I had put myself in a situation where I might die. The first took place in London, during a late night stroll along the bank of the Thames. The second was in Taiwan, sitting at the front of a bus making its way down the winding sliver of a cliffside road inside Taroko Gorge. The third and fourth were both in planes during storms, one while flying through the edge of a typhoon over the Pacific, the other in a much smaller aircraft over the Midwestern United States. And the fifth instance happened this spring, during a tour of Balankanché caves.
Located about 4.5 km southeast of Chichén Itzá off highway 180, the site of Balankanché had been used, off and on, since at least the Late Preclassic (300 BCE—250 CE) until the fall of Chichén. As a sacred site, the many clustered, in situ artifacts consist of implements for rituals. Incense burners—several of which possess semi-abstracted faces—are particularly, and unusually, abundant.
The cave itself is essentially T-shaped, with the central passage culminating in a chamber dominated by a naturally forming column and stalactites that together resemble the trunk and hanging branches of a great, subterranean tree. To the Maya, this formation represented the World Tree, or Ceiba, which connected the three layers of the universe: heaven, the middle (terrestrial) world, and the underworld. The raised ground around the bottom of the “tree” is heavily dotted with incensors and may have been used as an altar.
Having grown up in an area similarly situated on limestone, and thus similarly punctuated by caves and sinkholes, I was particularly excited by the possibility of visiting this site. However, my experiences with the cool environments of caverns in the US colored my expectations of what the Yucatán counterparts would actually be like. Despite having read that the air would be warm and humid, and that the “major danger” archaeologists faced “during the exploration was lack of oxygen,” my brain somehow never accepted what this had to mean for our own visit until we were actually in the tunnels themselves [Coe 2001, 399].
We arrived at the site after spending the morning and early afternoon in the sun at Chichén Itzá. Fortunately, the air conditioning in the car had already provided some much welcome relief from the heat and helped revive our energy for this next adventure. Upon our approach, though, we learned that we were the only people at the welcome center, and the next tour wasn’t scheduled for another 45 minutes. Waiting was a gamble, as the site’s policy is to only take groups of five or more into the caves; if no one else came, we would have wasted our limited time. Spurred on in my enthusiasm by wishful optimism, I assumed more people would show up closer to the time of an actual tour, and so we opted to wait. And then, when the tour time came and went and still no one else had arrived, we waited a little longer. Finally, after almost an hour and a half, we decided to leave and try to salvage the rest of our afternoon by visiting the nearby Ik Kil cenote. As we got up to leave, the man supervising the site stopped us and offered to let us go if we paid for two extra people. We agreed, albeit a little reluctantly, and he called over one of the guides to take us through.
At this point, I was a little annoyed. After all, there were three guys, including our own guide, who had been waiting the whole time we were there to lead people into the caves. Surely, I thought, it was better for them to take two people rather than no one at all. Making us wait and then pay extra felt a lot like getting fleeced. But we had already invested the time, and not going would have been the second major disappointment of the day. So we sucked it up and determined to make the most of the opportunity we had.
Our guide was perfectly pleasant, although he spoke very little and led us quickly through rising and falling tunnels. At first I wished he would slow down so we could better take-in the surroundings; 20 minutes later, I wished we could somehow go even faster. His job was not so much to provide information or guidance (the piped-in dramatic voices near the entrance and installed electrical lighting did that) as it was to occasionally draw our attention to the major points of interest within the caves. It was also, I soon understood, to make sure we didn’t somehow get lost or pass-out.
There is only one entrance into the caves, which means that there is only one source of fresh air. As we made our way further underground and further from this opening, the atmosphere became steadily hotter and more humid. Eventually, it felt as if we were walking through water, and I found myself unable to get enough oxygen into my lungs. Stopping did not help. The only way to get the O2 I so desperately wanted was simply to keep walking until conditions improved. The effect lessened somewhat—although not enough to breathe comfortably—when we reached the Ceiba, and we paused there (for as few minutes as possible) to take pictures. We then went a little further into one of the branches of the “T,” but my memories of what we saw are hazy at best. I do recall, however, my intense relief when I realized we were heading back and my even greater relief when we stumbled out into the open air. There were several moments, both going and coming, when I had to suppress waves of panic, and I was thankful to have both Josh and our guide there. Knowing that they, too, were having trouble breathing reassured me that the issue was environmental and not personal (ie, I was not having a heart attack) and that if we just kept going we would make it through.
Even so, it took several hours after leaving the site for the squeezing sensation in my lungs to go away and for my breathing to return to normal. I’m also embarrassed to say that although we finally appreciated the reasonableness of their five-person minimum policy, in our lightheaded, respiratory desperation and general desire to escape the site, we forgot to tip our guide. This was the worst tipping mistake of our trip, and the one thing I most wish we could go back and change.
Ultimately, although I am glad we went, I don’t foresee ever returning to Balankanché and would only recommend it to the physically sturdy with a strong interest in Maya culture and archaeology.
The Post-Classic Maya city of Chichén Itzá [“beside the well of the Itza”] is not only a UNESCO World Heritage site but also, since 2007, one of the “new” seven wonders of the world. It is also a fairly easy day trip from either Cancún or Mérida, and is thus one of the most visited archaeological sites in Mexico, if not the world.
Although popular descriptions often refer to the city as a Maya-Toltec settlement, the history of Chichén Itzá and its associated architecture is still contested. The more traditional view, and the one presented on the associated UNESCO webpage, is that the original Classic period settlement was conquered by the Toltecs, and that most of the major buildings now associated with the city represent a fusion of the two cultures. This narrative dovetails nicely with a Maya legend of the arrival of a king from Central Mexico, identified as Kukulkan (Feathered Serpent), and goes some way in explaining the predominance of plumed snakes in Chichén Itzá’s architecture, as well as the inclusion of other features more associated with central Mexican cultures, including images of death and sacrifice.
Detail of the relief along Chichén Itzá’s Great Ball Court. The kneeling figure on the left depicts the game’s decapitated loser; the snakes springing from his neck represent blood spurting from the wound. Photo by Renée DeVoe Mertz, May 20, 2015.
There are, however, problems with this theory. The most significant issue is a matter of timing—namely, archaeologists now believe that the buildings once thought to represent Toltec features actually pre-date the civilization which supposedly influenced them [Drew 1999, 371]. If true, this might point to a reversal of influence, in which the Toltecs incorporated imagery from the Maya, not the other way around. Indeed, many of the supposedly “Toltec” aspects of Chichén Itzá are in fact present in other, earlier Maya settlements. The feathered serpent, for instance, was already a common motif in Maya culture centuries before the establishment of the great centers of the Yucatán, and can be traced to even earlier origins within the Olmec civilization. Likewise, clear evidence of the importance of war and the practice of human sacrifice at Classic period settlements, such as the murals of Bonampak, have long since forced archaeologists to set aside more romantic notions of the Maya as an idilic civilization of peaceful scholars corrupted by blood-thirsty outside conquerers.
360-panorama of the Temple of the Warriors and El Castillo, Chichén Itzá, by Joshua Albers, May 20, 2015.
Regardless of who was responsible, the great architecture of Chichén Itzá is both physically imposing and iconographically impressive. Since the site’s inclusion as one of the wonders of the world, however, access has become increasingly restricted. Visitors can no longer climb the stairs of El Castillo or enter its interior chambers, nor can they walk among the many columns of the Temple of the Warriors.
Back in 1999, I had the opportunity to climb the pyramid and chose not to. This time, I promised myself I would brave the heat and precarious steps in order to take a peek at the inner chamber. To this end, we arrived early and made a beeline from the entrance directly to El Castillo. After months of anticipation, it took me a while and multiple laps around the foot of the pyramid to accept the eventual realization that I had forever missed my chance to see the temple interior. Putting aside my personal disappointment, however, these new measures are clearly important precautions for preserving the heavily visited ruins, and ones the government has been wise to undertake.
That being said, missing this opportunity definitely increased the pressure to do everything we could at the subsequent, less regulated, sites we visited.
Artist Efrain Cetz beside his masks and other carvings, Chichén Itzá. Photo by Renée DeVoe Mertz, May 20, 2015.
Another consequence of being a popular tourist destination is the inclusion of many artisans and souvenir sellers scattered amongst the shaded areas of the grounds. This feature is somewhat unique to Chichén Itzá, as other sites either require such stalls be outside of the grounds—as at Tulum—or simply don’t draw enough people to have more than one or two merchants present, if there are any at all.
The wares on offer vary greatly, from mass-produced or poorly made souvenirs to unique objects crafted by skilled artists. If you are interested in making a purchase, it’s probably best not to get the first thing that catches your eye, as many vendors will have similar—and possibly better-constructed—items for sale. But if, after looking around, you do find something you like, buy it. We ended up purchasing a mask by Efrain Cetz there, and although it took at least a half hour and the last of our energy to find him again, I’m glad we did. For while we later saw other, vaguely similar, masks elsewhere, they never appealed as much as the one we already had. In addition, buying directly from the artist allowed us to speak with him about his ideas and practice, which in turn gave us a better appreciation of not only what we were taking home, but of how traditional Maya stories and concepts are being reinterpreted by contemporary people.
Masks of the rain god, Chaac [Chac, Chaahk], adorning the Puuc-style “Church,” Chichén Itzá. Photo by Renée DeVoe Mertz, May 20, 2015.Finally, as a heavily visited, imminently photogenic location, Chichén Itzá is also one of the most photographed places on the planet. There is almost no angle of the extensive grounds that has not already been captured multiple times, and no shortage of images available in publications and on the web. Not that the futility of trying to take an original picture stopped us from spending hours snapping hundreds of our own photos. But because images of the major buildings are so common, we mostly focused on framing our own impressions, using our telephoto lenses to better see the details we couldn’t approach, and documenting the many iguanas chilling at the site like giant, scaly squirrels.
She knows she’s beautiful.
For more on the site’s layout, history, and visiting information, see the INAH website, which has text in both English and Spanish.
Highly subjective personal rating: 9/10 [Bucket-list worthy]
Not surprisingly, the first day of our trip was also the most hectic and least enjoyable period of our vacation. Our travels began in the (far too) early morning as we drove an hour and half to the nearest major airport, arriving two hours early for a 7am flight to Cancún. After a short, bleary-eyed stop-over in Dallas, we finally arrived in Mexico around 1:30pm.
The plan was to pick up our rental car and immediately head towards the Dzitnup cenotes of Xkekén and Samula, located just southwest of Valladolid, before ending up at our Pisté hotel. On paper, it seemed like a fairly modest plan. Nevertheless, it turned out to be a little over-ambitious.
Renting the car
Car rental agencies operating out of the Cancún airport are notoriously bad for springing large hidden fees, required insurance, or other charges on unsuspecting tourists. As a result, we decided to bypass the bigger-name agencies for the local Easy Way, which made all of their costs clear at the time of booking. Make no mistake, though: renting a car in Mexico is expensive, no matter who you rent from.
Know that and come to terms with it before you go.
Even with special discounts, having a manual drive car for two weeks was over $500, not including the price of fuel (and tipping the gas attendants). An automatic would have been even more. A big chunk of this cost is insurance. Mexican law requires drivers purchase local insurance, and this on its own will almost double the cost of the basic rental. Easy Way offered a special on getting the required insurance with additional coverages, and for our own peace of mind we went with this option. You *could* rent a car for slightly less, but what it will save you in money it will cost you in stress and aggravation and probably put a damper on your entire trip. Especially if something else goes wrong along the way. Which it probably will.
Easy Way’s office is actually outside of the airport, which means we didn’t have to pay the hefty “airport fee” that companies like Budget would require. This was nice, but it also added a different stress to the first day when, sleep deprived and disoriented, we had to figure out where to find the shuttle, wait to see if they needed to pick up anyone else, and then be driven to the office. [Likewise, when dropping off the car at the end of the trip, we had to go to the slightly-hard-to-find office and then be shuttled by one of the Easy Way staff back to the airport.] Our driver was very friendly and helpful, however, and these extra steps probably only added 45 minutes or so to the first day.
Once we finally arrived, the staff went over the paperwork and contact information with us, then had us inspect the car for any exterior damage. Having heard this was another area where people incurred large, unexpected charges at the end of the trip, I was extremely careful in my evaluation and noted any tiny ding, chip, or scratch I could find—much to the amusement of the guy working with us.
And then, finally, we were off.
Leaving Cancún
Unfortunately, we were off in the wrong direction. Even more unfortunately, we had already stumbled into the busy, populous area of Cancún proper by the time we realized we were going in the wrong direction. Finding our way out was a bit of a trial-by-fire for Josh, who suddenly found himself driving a stick shift amongst multiple lanes of heavily trafficked roundabouts, but he nonetheless got us turned around and back on track without any loss of property or limb.
We opted to follow the advice of the Easy Way shuttle driver and take the tollway. If we hadn’t, I doubt we would have made it to our hotel before dark.
Because the tollway operates as a kind of express route, with local traffic mostly diverting to other roads, we saw very few other cars on the beautifully paved drive. After the hazards of Cancún, this felt amazing, and the long, straight throughway offered incredible views of the sky.
Unfortunately, it was already late in the afternoon by the time we left the city, which meant we would not have enough time to make it to the cenotes. We comforted ourselves with the idea that we might be able to make it back at the end of the trip (spoiler alert: we didn’t), and instead headed directly to our hotel.
Hotel
I chose the Hotel Dolores Alba Chichén Itzá for four reasons:
1) Its close proximity to Chichén Itzá, Ik Kil cenote, and Balamkanche caves.
2) Its price.
3) Its “natural” pool.
4) Its positive on-line reviews.
Overall, it was indeed perfectly fine, if in slightly rougher shape than expected. Much of the concrete construction, including the more traditional swimming pool near the restaurant, was in need of repair and upkeep, although we were later to learn that this is not unusual for the great quantities of concrete-based domestic architecture in the area. That being said, the same conditions that were obviously so hard on the buildings were quite kind to the native flora and fauna, encouraging iguanas to scamper near (but outside of) our room and birds to join us for dinner. The “natural” pool (made from adding concrete reinforcement and embellishment to a pre-existing, shallow cenote) was open, and we spent our first evening in cooling water surrounded by palm trees, watching silhouettes of swallows and bats picking insects from the sky.
Or we did until I felt the troubling digestive rumblings brought on by our evening meal. After that, it was a quick sprint back to our room—where we stayed for the rest of the night.
Our first iguana, as seen from the hotel room’s back window.
Last spring, Josh and I embarked on a two week road trip around Mexico’s Yucatan Peninsula. We had hoped our travels would fall in the window between high tourist season and the hot, rainy days of summer. In reality, the weather turned out to be unseasonably warm, with temperatures in the 90s (or higher) nearly every day. Despite the fact that neither of us are built to withstand that kind of heat—often to our great, sweaty, fainting embarrassment—we both agreed that this was one of the best trips we have ever taken. The people were friendly; the ruins, fascinating; the cenotes, stunning; the iguanas, hilarious. And we were able to avoid many potential frustrations and pitfalls by following a few basic rules of thumb. Therefore, I thought I’d start this series of posts with tips for anyone interested in making a similar pilgrimage.
1. Do your research.
Anticipation is half the fun of travel, and research allows you to dive into your trip long before you leave home. Just as important, knowing where you want to go and how to get there will save you valuable time and stress during your all-too-brief holiday. Not all of the most interesting sites are covered in your guidebook or are easy to find, and not all of the differences in hotels are evident from their exteriors. I put in months researching what we would see, where we should stay, who we should rent our car from, and what routes we should take. The downside of all this planning is that we couldn’t be terribly flexible. These days, most hotels will not let you cancel without penalty unless you do so weeks or even months in advance. The upside is that we could be confident we were staying in safe, comfortable locations for a good price. And because I did a lot of online reading about the various sites we could visit, we only had one instance in which something new came up that we had to miss out on. Also, reading ahead of time about the history of the places we would see made us less inclined to hire guides, saving us money and freeing us to focus on wandering and looking.
Sources I found most helpful:
Books
DK Eyewitness Travel, Mexico
Andrew Coe, Archaeological Mexico
Even the second edition, published in 2001, is out of date, which means many of the things he recommends to do at the most trafficked locations are no longer accessible. Despite that inevitable disappointment, the book is still worth reading for the detailed insights it provides on many sites.
David Drew, The Lost Chronicles of the Maya Kings
Focuses on Classic period Maya civilization, which was based in or around Guatemala and Chiapas. Includes some information about Calakmul (which is still scarce elsewhere) and the post-Classic sites of the Yucatan. Mostly useful for historical background and context.
Internet
Google
Image searches are especially helpful in discovering places that do not yet appear in guidebooks or may not have otherwise been on your radar. Of course, if you’re here, you probably already know this.
Google Maps
Invaluable for planning routes.
TripAdvisor
A great, centralized source for reviews and images of sites, hotels, restaurants, and rental agencies.
Wikipedia
Most entries for archaeological sites give geographical coordinates that can be copied and pasted into Google Maps. This is extremely helpful for planning your route to more remote locations.
Expedia and Hotels.com
I generally found the best deals on hotels through these two, but as new budget travel sites seem to pop up all the time, something else may work better for you.
2. Travel with a buddy!
Seriously. This is not so much for safety (the Yucatan is a pretty safe place for visitors), but because it makes the logistics of travel significantly easier. Perhaps most importantly, you will need one person to navigate while the other drives. Even if you are using GPS apps, keep in mind that what they say is often less accurate than what they show and that these navigation lags are especially tricky in locations with lots of unnamed roads. You will need one person to keep eyes on the digital map and correct what the electronic voice tells you to do.
3. ALWAYS have plenty of bottled water. Dried fruit and fruit soda are good too.
We each went through a medium bottle of water or more per site (about the equivalent of four small bottles per person, per day). Most hotels will provide a bottle, either free in your room or for purchase at the front desk, and the larger sites will have them for sale as well. Even so, it’s smart to hit a local convenience store and stock up whenever you can.
I also found that being active in the heat meant that the only consumables I wanted before the sun went down were moisture and sugar. We packed one bag of dried fruit and ate it all on our first full day. Another packet of fruit and nuts lasted a little longer. I wish we had brought more, as dried fruit is not a popular snack in the Yucatan. If you decide to bring food with you, remember that it must be in a commercially sealed, prepackaged container when you arrive at customs.
Once we ran out of dried fruit, cold fruit soda became my new favorite thing.
This.
4. Use a GPS map (and have a back-up).
If you are renting a car, it’s probably because you want to hit some of the less traveled destinations. And if you are driving to less traveled destinations, then FOR THE LOVE OF HUMANITY HAVE A GPS! And make sure it doesn’t require you to be on a network. Most rental car agencies have the option of getting a car with GPS, but this extra feature can be expensive. Instead, we used a combination of Google Maps and the “GPS Navigation and Maps Scout” app on our phones. Having a second device was helpful not only to compare accuracy, but as a back-up in case the primary phone died during the day. Keeping a spare battery charger on hand is also never a bad idea.
5. Learn some of the language.
If you don’t already speak Spanish, you should make the effort to learn a little before you go. Most of the time you can survive without it, especially when in the larger cities or major sites, but it’s still useful for road signs, menus, and talking to cops at check-points (and yes, you will get pulled over at at least one checkpoint if you drive around the peninsula). Besides, it’s just polite to at least try to speak to people in their own language in their own country. Even if you’re bad at it (as I am), people usually appreciate the effort.
6. Get to sites when they open and don’t over-schedule yourself.
Roads here are better than they used to be even a decade ago. Still, if you are used to driving on highways, most Yucatan streets will be a shock. On the other hand, if you have done a lot of driving in the rural midwest, you might feel right at home. Either way, keep in mind that going short distances can take a long time, especially when you are off the main thoroughfares. Additionally, the heat is no joke, even for locals. Try to get to places when they open to beat both the crowds and the afternoon sun. Stick to the shade as much as possible. Take a leisurely lunch. Don’t plan to do a lot of sightseeing after mid-day.
Taken shortly after opening. An hour later, this area was covered in fellow tourists.
7. Wear a lightweight, wide-brimmed hat; sunscreen; and bug repellant.
If you are going to Mérida, you will find many wide-brim options available. I brought a cheap hat with me, but eventually replaced it with a far superior, locally made jipihapa. I also recommend Avon’s Skin-So-Soft sunscreen/bug repellent combo. You will need both aspects of this product pretty much everyday, and it works well without making you smell like bug spray. Two adults using it conservatively everyday for two weeks requires a little more than one bottle. Bring two to be safe.
View along the tollway connecting Cancún and Mérida.
8. Take the toll roads.
They are much nicer and will save you a ton of time and aggravation. Make sure you have cash, especially small bills, when you leave Cancún.
9. Tip everyone who does something for you.
Another reason to always have cash on-hand. Many jobs in Mexico are largely or entirely tip-based, including gas station attendants (who you must use), hotel staff, and tour guides. Often, if people don’t get tipped, they don’t get paid. Rules on the appropriate amounts vary, but if you can be generous, be generous. If you can only give half the change in your pocket, give that. One of the most challenging aspects of our trip was making sure we always had change or small bills on us, and we did not always succeed.
10. Do as the locals do (most of the time).
Obviously. But this particularly applies to driving. Here are a few specific things to keep in mind:
•Shoulders on highways are meant to be used. Pay attention to the cars behind you; if they want to pass, move onto the shoulder so they can get by.
•Obey the traffic signs. This is an area where your behavior should probably depart from most of the locals with whom you’ll share the road.
•Reduce speed around towns and look out for road humps. Even if speed limit signs are not present, vehicular speeds are controlled by road humps of variable sizes. The higher the hump, the lower the required speed. If you aren’t paying attention or choose to ignore the signs alerting you to upcoming humps, you will damage your car. And possibly your head.
•Top-up the car with fuel before leaving a city or large town. It may be a while before you come upon another gas station.
•Don’t drive at night, especially in unfamiliar places. We broke this rule three times, and while I don’t regret any of those instances, I also still believe this is an important guideline for safe travel (to avoid collisions with cars parked in the road, stray dogs, significant potholes, etc.).
11. Be respectful. And relax.
As is true almost everywhere, if you are respectful of the places you visit and kind to the people you meet, they will return the favor. And, again, the Yucatan is a fairly safe place for travelers. Be open, enjoy yourself. You’ll be fine.
Discreetly located north of downtown in an elegant lakeside townhouse, the International Museum of Surgical Science is one of Chicago’s more hidden attractions. Although the Gold Coast mansion itself may be enough to draw the casual attention of commuters and tourists making their way along Lake Shore Drive, no large signs or neighborhood flags will alert passersby to the structure’s varied (and variably disturbing) contents. Yet, for those with an interest in medical history, Chicago architecture, museology, or the drily macabre, the museum is worth seeking out.
As befitting its subject matter, the exhibits tend to be object-based, low-tech, and straightforwardly displayed in ways that make clever use of the pre-existing historic space, often utilizing art for both illustrative and dramatic purposes. It’s a fun—or at least fun-ish—destination for a half-day visit, even if the entrance fee ($15 at the time of writing, no AAM membership accepted) felt a little steep.
Our guide at a crypt entrance, St. Michan’s Church.
Surrounded by apartments and industrial buildings north of the Liffey, the modest exterior of St. Michan’s Parish Church belies the historical interest and ghoulish appeal of its more hidden features.
Standing on the site of a late 11th-century Hiberno-Viking church, the current structure mostly dates to 1685. Without the ornate stonework found in cathedrals like St. Patrick’s and Christ Church, the interior decoration is almost exclusively determined by the floral patterns in the plaster ceiling and stained glass windows. This relative austerity serves to highlight, through contrast, the baroque 18th-century organ that dominates one end of the nave. According to the church’s oral history, this is the instrument on which Handel first played his Messiah.
Charming as the nave may be, most travelers visit St. Michan’s for the contents of its vaults. Sealed behind heavy iron doors, past precarious, narrow stone steps, lie the mummified remains of some of Dublin’s most privileged and notorious citizens. Spilling out of their wooden coffins, St. Michan’s long-term residents have been drawing in visitors since the Victorian era, including Dracula author Bram Stoker. Consistent with Church policy, most of the subterranean occupants are off-limits to public view, and three of the five vaults are closed completely. However, limited public access is permissible—under the supervision of the caretaker—in cases where the caskets have decayed and broken naturally, and where the bodies are either unidentified or no longer have family to care for them.
The most exposed and accessible mummies all lie in the same room and have been dubbed the Unknown Woman, the Nun, the Thief, and the Crusader. Of these, probably only the “Unknown Woman” is accurately named. The “Crusader”—whose remains post-date the Crusades by several hundred years—was over six-and-a-half feet tall and therefore exceptionally large for his time. Too big for his coffin, his legs have been broken and folded over to get him to fit. Visitors were once encouraged to shake his hand for luck, and are still invited to gently touch his extended finger, now smoothly polished from over a hundred years of strangers’ light caresses.
Mummies in St. Michan’s crypt. The Crusader lies in the coffin against the wall behind the Nun, Thief, and Unknown Woman. Image courtesy St. Michan’s Church: http://www.stmichans.com/index.php/the-crypts/about
Photos by Renée DeVoe Mertz, May 30, 2013, unless otherwise indicated.
One of Saint Patrick Cathedral’s many stony inhabitants.
Now the largest church in Ireland, Saint Patrick’s Cathedral began as a small wooden chapel beside the well where, according to tradition, its namesake baptized early converts to Christianity in the 5th century. The first stone structure on the site was erected in the late 12th century, and much of the current church dates to work done between 1220 and 1270. The building has undergone several waves of reconstruction and restoration since then, but the most extensive modern-era renovations occurred in the 1860s with funding provided by Sir Benjamin Guinness (1798–1868) of the Guinness brewing dynasty. Neo-Gothic flying buttresses on the exterior date from this time. Today, the church is the National Cathedral of the Church of Ireland.
Several impressive tomb monuments commemorate notable Dubliners, including Jonathan Swift, buried within the cathedral. Of particular note is the 17th century Boyle family tomb, which possesses an enormous, elaborate, and colorful facade that dominates the west end of the church.
In addition to the funereal monuments, the church’s interior is punctuated throughout by more purely decorative stonework. Compared to the carvings of the nearby Christ Church, Saint Patrick’s sculptural details feel heavier and less fully integrated into an overall decorative design. But what the cathedral’s scheme lacks in unity it makes up for in personality. The animal and (mostly male) human heads adorning the interior tend to be roughly life-size, deeply carved, and highly individualized, often with surprisingly expressive facial hair. Comic realism is juxtaposed with archaic abstraction, and the overall effect is one of a community of individuals in which each member demands its own scrutiny and appreciation.
