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BoliviaYucatán, Mexico
 Photo: Chadwick Reese
Yucatán, Mexico
 Photo: Giovanni Rinaldi

Yucatán, Mexico: Bug-Eyed In Ek Balam
By Jennifer Anthony

Long before the sun pokes soft yellow light through the dense foliage at Ek Balam, the frogs and roosters do battle to announce the new day. The roosters' morning vociferation has three parts: two short syllables, followed by a long, drawn-out third that pleads, beseeches. Here in Yucatán, it sounds like Por fa-vorrrrr, Por fa-vorrrr. This reveille, like the gallant rooster himself, is bien criado. Well-mannered.
 
Not so are the frogs, whose wake-up calls, like a morning alarm, are blunt and unapologetic. Throats puffed, they emit a long, drawn-out croaking, wait for their comrades to respond, then blink and croak again. Their moniker— loquacious treefrogs—suits them well. But as the morning wears on, the light becomes bolder, and it seems as if the day has taken hold, the frogs tire of all this talk. A few more croaks, some blinking, and it is time to splash into the cerulean pond that doubles as a pool for humans.
 
An errant rooster is still crowing, somewhat confusedly when the light has steadied and the day has gelled. His cry is not loud enough to drown out the whir of several mosquitoes that buzz just under the thatched roof.

The previous night the mosquito net over my bed hosted panoply of insects: thin wasps, a flying beetle with beefy black wings, built like 1960s Samsonite luggage, and tiny slinky things small enough to slither through the net's fine mesh. The wasps were easily spooked, but no degree of shaking the net would scare away the beetle. He clung on tenaciously, eyeballing me for hours as I read and pretended not to notice him anymore. Just outside, the patio light attracted a mosaic of moths varied enough to make any entomologist shudder in ecstasy.
 
In the intervening hours all the insects have vanished, lurking somewhere, waiting for night to fall again so they can scuttle, flap, and click back indoors. But for now all are gone, save for the stealth mosquitoes, which fear nothing. They buzz and circle above me, warning me how very, very thirsty they are. I promise them much feasting hours later when I return from a day trip with salty, sweaty, and exposed shoulders and arms. I picture them obliging, sitting patiently on the enormous-leafed plants just outside my patio. Waiting.

The first stop of the day is at the ruins of Ek Balam, where restoration only began in the 1990s. An expanse of verdure, it is covered by around 45 structures that formed a commercial city around 700-1100 AD. Although we could have arranged for a guide, we opt instead to meander around on our own. We share the entire grounds with about ten other people and half as many stray dogs that lounge under the trees and doze on the steps of the buildings.

It is cooler than expected—shaded and comfortable. The grass between the buildings is lush, green, and clipped short. We wander around the oval palace, past the ball court, and up to the imposing Caracol that looms over the entire area. We eyeball the steps, deliberating. It is 100 feet high, taller than any of the buildings in Chichén Itzá. One of the world's first Stairmasters.

We ascend, eyes down, watching our feet. Sometimes I put my hands on the steps before me for balance, like a toddler learning to climb stairs. We reach the top, and the rainforest spreads before us. A dense canopy of trees—shorter and squatter than what I have seen in Costa Rica but just as endless, just as broccoli green. A thousand hackneyed expressions come to mind. Aloud, we simply say, “wow.”

Afterwards we reward ourselves for the exercise with a visit to Cenote Sakmu'ul-ja, just outside nearby Valladolid. It is one of the area's most impressive freshwater sinkholes: a cavern with fresh, clear water before its roof collapsed. We poke our way down the slippery stairs, and there before us in the dim light is an underground swimming pool. A spotlight, described best as a waterfall of light, shines through an opening in the ground above our heads. To its right, thick roots hang from the tree at the surface, stopping just above the water. Swallows dart back and forth to their nests among the stalactites, and black fish, long as my forearm, swish through the water.

The water is very cold. A combination breaststroke and frantic doggie paddle propels me across the water to the column of light at the far side, where I look up, blinded by the warm sun that streams down. Finally acclimated, I splash around. A few boys from the nearby village dive into the water from the platform above, and I wince. The water is shallow, and sharp rocks line its bottom. But the boys surface, flip their hair, and flash across the water, unscathed.

Afterwards we return to the lodge. Night approaches leisurely. It is about ten degrees cooler than the night before at the same time, but that hasn't deterred the insects from gathering, buzzing, and whirring around in the bushes. A Blue-crowned Motmot descends onto a branch that sways just before my patio, wary of me with its red eyes framed by a black mask. He has a turquoise blue toupee, an adobe red chest, and a tail that ends dramatically in two fan-shaped feathers. The gecko above my head does his famed and convincing impersonation of a bird. Not to be outdone in the theatre of wildlife, a striped basilisk zips across the gravel path just beyond the patio, running nearly upright like a velociraptor.  Around here he's known as the Lagartija Jesucristo, or Jesus Christ lizard; his other tricks include walking on water.

The mosquitoes await me. The more brazen ones cannot wait for nightfall; they zip toward me; and I bat at them, ironically enough, with my wildlife guide. But their numbers are increasing, and I retreat into my room, scramble under the mosquito net, and drag in my book behind me. Not minutes later, the 'Samsonite' beetle lands on the net just above me. I nod in recognition, letting him know that I won't bother him if he keeps the clicking down to a respectful volume.

If the Maya could build monuments of immense blocks of stone deep within the rain forest, I can deal with a beetle or two. But I'm still not woman enough to deal with the mosquitoes.

             

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