3/17- Copan was pleasant enough that we decided to stay an extra day. Got up early, had a nice licuado at the hotel Calle Real, and then caught a three-wheeled tuk-tuk taxi for the ruins. This time, we actually find the gate, which was closed for some reason the day before, and get into the ruins proper. We buy tickets for the exorbitant price of $10 US each and go on in, omitting to pay the extra $12 (!) apiece for the tunnel ticket; a good idea as it turns out. There are a bunch of macaws at the gate, kept there for the entertainment of tourists like ourselves, which works because we take pictures of them like everyone else is doing.
Moving on, we tour the site, which is pretty impressive. There are tons of stelae, and the style of carving at Copan is different than anywhere else, with lots more relief and some open work in the carving. The main pyramid is huge, with four-hundred-year-old trees growing out of it… The Hieroglyphic Stairway is extremely impressive as well.
We take a break for lunch at the rather uninspiring cafeteria next to the ticket booth, and try to feed a scavenger dog some of our spare fries, which she won’t eat.
Back to the ruins for round two. Snapping away, we check out the Juego de Pelote, and then cross over into the Acropolis compound. I’ve just taken a couple pictures of some nifty carven skulls when the camera runs out of batteries. Ah, well, we had pretty much done the whole thing anyway, so we go back to town to beat the heat.
Now, a lot of Americans seem to have some sort of reflexive respect and awe for the ancient Mayan culture. I don’t. For one thing, they practiced human sacrifice. For another thing, and more importantly in my mind, they destroyed their environment and therefore themselves. Yes, they clearcut their forests and brought on an environmental catastrophe that eventually put them out of business, like all empires seem to do. It’s nice to see the ruins, and have the experience, but I am not at all in awe; my feeling for them is closer to pity. I like to see the works of humans pulled down by the jungle, split by tree roots, and generally humbled. Silly humans.
We are the only people anywhere in sight on the way back out, and yet the moment I think “I’d like a tuk-tuk for the ride back,” one appears. Did someone phone him, is he psychic, or is the Hand of God directing everything? One way or the other, our day is going smoothly. We catch a shower and go down to Tunkul for some refreshments.
A guy we met on the shuttle bus on the way in is there. I’ll call him “Hose A”. Well, Hose A claims to be a painter, and launches into a delusional monologue about what a great bastard he is, actually comparing himself to Pollock and Basquiat. He continues ranting while we eat, but he’s buying the beer so I’m not overly annoyed… Then he starts telling us how great we are, and he’s not gay but I am very good looking… He’s also ranting about how he’s one of only three people in the world to know the location of Ciudad Blanca, the legendary Lost City of the Mosquito Coast. He goes to the bathroom twice, a bit odd. Maryse excuses herself for the restroom after the meal, and he tells me to put out my hand. I think he’s going to give me the secret bastard handshake or something, but instead he pours a bunch of coke on the web of my thumb and starts insisting I snort it. Um, no, thanks. I refuse his most impassioned pleas to snort this pile of coke in the restaurant, so he leans down and horks it. Maryse returns, we say our goodbyes, and make our escape. What an ass! Coke is bad mojo kids; this guy was like a poster child for an antidrug campaign. “Forget the ill effects on your health; do coke and you’ll just look as lame as this guy!”
Bed, in preparation for a long day of travel the next day.