Murdered by the sun

This feels like the worst hangover in the world. My stomach is cramping, my head is pounding and I am not sure what I am lying on but it feels like the sidewalk at high noon.

Thirty two hours ago I was departing the city of Seattle, bound for a mission trip in Guatemala. It is truly amazing how far excitement and adrenaline can carry you. A few friends, Barry and Connie, decided to join me in a pre-trip self-guided tour of the Mayan Ruins of Tikal. As with most things worth seeing, getting there can be a little tricky, especially for three fairly inexperienced travelers.

The first two flights were par for the course; no peanuts, crying babies, no overhead bin space…no surprises really. Now the leg between LAX and Guatemala City…imagine a flying third world bus. I would not have been surprised to see a chicken go wandering up the aisle at all.

Naïve as we were, when we finally stumbled off the bus, oops plane, we expected a moment of calm in the terminal; a chance to regroup and wind down from the chaos of our flight. Sadly, Connie’s blond hair made this an unattainable wish. Granted neither Barry nor I could pass for a Guatemalan local but white blond Connie looked like a walking dollar sign to the hordes of “baggage handlers”. As I mentioned earlier, the purpose of this Central American jaunt was a medical mission trip…to reduce costs we were each transporting 2 checked bags with supplies, each weighing exactly 50 lbs. It was evident to all the people that we would definitely need assistance with our 300+ lbs of luggage while switching to the domestic terminal which was a 10 min uphill walk away, in the dark and sweltering humidity.

I felt incredible guilt while carrying my backpack up the steep incline next to an elderly gentleman that was clearly struggling to balance my bag with the broken handle on his already kyphotic back. My attempts to assist him were merely returned with a toothless grin. I regretted not pushing harder to take the heavy bag from him when I noticed that he had developed a facial droop by the time to reach our destination. The man excitedly departed with a dollar between his hands while I stood mystified in the irony that he probably had a stroke while carrying 50 lbs of aspirin on his back.

One short flight, that was filled with absolutely magnificent service, later and we arrived in Flores, gateway to Tikal. While Connie and Barry scrounged up our luggage, I used my negotiating skills and rudimentary Spanish to secure us a rental vehicle. Just 10 min after our final flight landed and we were speeding down a Guatemalan highway marveling at all the foreign sites; men clearing ditch weeds with machetes, women washing clothes in a lake and jaguar crossing signs…a totally different but remarkable experience for all of us.

Poor planning meant that we had less than a day in the area, so despite hunger, exhaustion and searing heat, we set out to discover the Mayan ruins and their monkey filled jungle borders.

Tikal, an ancient Mayan city, which has structures that date back to 4th Century BC was virtually unknown to outsiders until the mid 1800’s. As it required several days hike through dense jungle to reach this area, it wasn’t until the 1950’s when the University of Pennsylvania undertook a years long project to excavate the area that it became accessible to everyday folks such as yours truly. But, it doesn’t appear as though the people are flocking…we wandered around and up many temples without a soul in sight.

I remember sitting at the top of Temple IV, overlooking the jungle, and thinking, “you probably shouldn’t allow tourists to clamper up these ancient ruins”. And I truly do believe that – but until the authorities figure this out – I shall enjoy the spectacular view.

By the mid-afternoon, the heat and the exhaustion seemed to have attacked me full force and I passed on climbing another temple, electing instead to wait at the bottom while Barry and Connie scampered up. That’s the last thing that I remember.

It was the distinctive ‘click’ of cameras that forced me to crack open one eye and gaze into the world…this has to be a dream. I quickly snap my eyes shut tight and wish the flood of memories that are now assaulting my psyche away. It is only when I hear the phrase “le soleil assassiné cette fille“, that I realize my how horrible I must look to these poor French tourists. I mean – they thought I was dead.

Fortunately Barry and Connie returned before the undertaker that I am sure had been sent for and force fed me Gatorade until I rallied enough to escape the astonished looks at my rising from the “dead”.