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It’s hard not to feel some sense of adventure when you’re stand-
ing on top of a pyramid built by a long dead civilization, look-

ing out over a thick, green jungle — even though the person
standing next to you appears to have been getting his senior cit-
izen discount for a good 15 years, ropes and guard rails every-
where try to keep the less coordinated from plummeting to their
deaths, and souvenir shops are visible back where you parked.
Nevertheless, I felt as though I should have donned my fedora
and grabbed my trusty bullwhip before setting out on such an
expedition — but I’m getting somewhat ahead of myself.

The day after arriving in México, we visited Chichen Itzá,
one of the best known of the Mayan ruins that dot the Yucatán
Peninsula and adjacent regions of Central America. I knew
something about the ruins already; my dad had been here 25
years ago, and had given me a bit of a briefing. We paid for our
tickets and entered the park. A short walk from the entrance, we
emerged from the forest into a clearing dominated by a tower-
ing pyramid, every architectural feature of which seemingly rep-
resented some aspect of Mayan astronomy. We set out to climb
the massive structure. We had arrived early in order to avoid the

A Yucatecan Adventure

Perhaps the most interesting encounters involved the high-
way. When traveling, we always stop from time to time to exam-
ine roadkills. Generally, that’s what we find — roadkill. Twice
on this trip, however, we encountered something much more
interesting. We were driving the back roads from Chichen Itzá
to Ek Balam when we saw a fairly large snake in the middle of
the road. Dad immediately said: “Boa!” and hit the brakes. After
a quick U-turn, we were once again approaching the snake and
my dad was turning to pull off to the side of the road. As he
leaned out the window to see if the snake was alive or not, he
failed to see an oncoming car — at least not until my mom
brought him back to reality. Fortunately, dad continued off the
road and the other driver adroitly avoided hitting us. Dad
immediately jumped out of the car and picked up the snake —

a fairly good-sized Boa constrictor. The driver of the other car also
pulled over and got out. To Dad’s dismay, he was wearing the
uniform of the local policia. Dad immediately apologized in his
broken Spanish (I caught the words “estoy idiota”). Fortunately
for us, the policeman seemed a bit taken aback by a gringo who
picks snakes up off the road. He stopped well short of us, asked
if the snake was alive. As dad responded in the affirmative, the
cop smiled nervously, shrugged, got back in his car, and drove
away. We took several photos, which didn’t seem to please the
snake at all — I kind of felt like I was playing paparazzi to the
boa’s Sean Penn as it struck repeatedly at me and the camera.

Later the same day, after touring the archaeological zone of
Ek Balam, we saw another snake crawling across the road. This
time we stopped without incident. Dad immediately recognized
it as a Barba Amarilla (Bothrops asper), one of the more common
snakes in the region and also one of the most dangerous. Having
already experienced the hostility of local reptiles toward pho-
tographers, I opted not to get involved with this one; instead I
merely watched from the car as dad rescued the snake, pho-
tographed it, and then encouraged it to crawl off into the brush
alongside the road.

As our trips to the tropics go, we spent relatively little time
in the Yucatán hunting critters. That said, the time we did spend
was exciting enough (read: had enough near-death experiences)
to keep me satisfied.

114 IGUANA  •  VOLUME 12, NUMBER 2  •  JUNE 2005 POWELL

Rescuing a boa (Boa constrictor) from the highway nearly resulted in
a collision with oncoming traffic.

The Barba Amarilla (Bothrops asper) is a common and deadly snake.



tour-bus crowds and we wanted to get up and down the pyra-
mid without being trampled by masses of German tourists going
on their industrious way. We arrived at the top, looked around
the painfully empty inner chamber, and enjoyed the view of the
rest of the site. By this time, more tourists had begun to arrive,
and we started back down. Climbing up the pyramid was tough,
simply because of the many really steep stairs. Climbing back
down was even more exciting, as the uneven steps and down-
ward perspectives emphasized the possibility of one small mis-
step leading to a rather unpleasant ride ending with an even
more unpleasant landing.

According to the guidebook, the pyramid had been built
over an earlier, smaller structure, which was accessible. This
sounded like an adventure, braving booby traps and ghosts of
Mayan guards to enjoy the splendor of an ancient temple.
Humming to myself, I followed a line of people into the pyra-
mid. The path was dark, but not too difficult. It quickly turned
into a huge set of stairs. I started climbing, figuring that the tem-
ple at the top and its Red Jaguar Throne would be an ample
reward for my effort. I finally reached the top, only to find that
the “temple” consisted of a poorly lit room and that the “throne”
was more like a bench that I couldn’t see very well. The whole
area was smaller than my dorm room — and anyone who’s lived
in a dorm can appreciate just how tiny that is. Disappointed, I
made the trek back down. So much for Indiana Powell.

My mood improved, however, as we wandered through the
rest of the ruins, learning about ancient Mayan culture. The ball
court, where the intent was to pass a ball horizontally through a
stone ring hung high on a wall, was interesting, both in terms
of the fates of the losers (rather grim) and for the fact that the
walls were so precisely designed that a clap in the middle of the
field would echo exactly seven times.

We next followed a sacbe (an old Mayan “road”) that
extended from the clearing past a retaining wall that surrounded
the center of the city, which had been built on an artificially
raised, level platform. As impressive as the construction of the
pyramid and temples had been, I was amazed that such a “prim-
itive” culture could accomplish the immense task of moving
thousands of tons of soil and compacting it adequately to sup-
port the huge stone structures. The road led on past the wall to
a cenote, essentially a natural cistern that served as both a cere-

monial site and a water source for the city’s inhabitants. It was
what it was — a massive hole in the ground with water in it.
Being who we are, our attention was immediately attracted to a
bird perching on a small tree near the bottom. It turned out to
be an Anhinga or “snake-bird” (so called because of its “serpen-
tine neck”).

I must admit that I was somewhat disappointed at how
developed the site had become. I had been looking forward to
climbing the various structures, an activity that’s discouraged —
it’s hard on the ruins, particularly with the vast numbers of peo-
ple that visit the site. Ultimately, though, I had to admit that it
was better this way. The sacrifice of my adventurous fantasies
was worth the price of preserving the ruins, and the develop-
ment of the site into a tourist attraction was more than justified
by the worthy goal of exposing the average cruise ship passenger
to a little ancient culture.

IGUANA  •  VOLUME 12, NUMBER 2  •  JUNE 2005 115TRAVELOGUE

Climbing the large pyramid at Chichen Itzá is a daunting task.

The retaining wall around the elevated platform on which the main
structures at Chichen Itzá were constructed clearly demonstrates the
engineering feats of which the Mayans were capable.

Returning from the cenote along the ancient sacbe (road), the pyra-
mid at Chichen Itzá is an imposing structure.




