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End of day one, rolling into day two – Palenque:

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A stop off of a few hours in Merida was required before the bus to Palenque. Not through choice or any desire to be there, that was the route to take and when the connecting bus was leaving.

Not much of consequence happened during the wait – just not long enough to do anything much and too short to sit patiently.
I left my main bag with a nearby storekeeper and went for a walk around the area which, keeping in line with the immediate surroundings of most bus stations around the world, wasn’t a hub of culture but rather a bustle of people of all flavours amidst a run down neighbourhood. I stop at a cafe for a snack to stock up before my journey and eat the spiciest chicken broth known to man, a side of tortillas and a particularly piquante salsa verde, or green chilli sauce.
The whole of my my face was dripping with sweat by the time I was finished with the cheap and tasty stock. My nose and even my eyes, it seemed, were not exempt from joining the excess of perspiration that was rapidly beading then rolling down my face and neck.
I futilely tried to wipe myself down, mopping my brow, face and neck, then went to the bathroom for a wash to freshen up.
Moving outside again in hope of a cooling breeze, I chat to an unhappy young man sitting on a suitcase who had obviously recently been in a fight, his face and knuckles bruised and bloody. Without going into to much detail, the fight had been caused by domestic troubles and he was forced to leave his home and move on, though he did not yet know where. He wanted to get drunk whilst he decided where to go and wanted me to join him. Ignoring his plight, I politely declined, semi truthfully explaing that I had a few things to do before my bus, wishing him luck as I left him sitting there nursing his wounds, no doubt thinking about the bombshell to his life.

In my experience, the hotter the region, the colder the bus through it.
I first learned this through horribly underdressing one bus in Brazil and subsequently shivered for 6 hours before slamming back into the outside heatwave. Since then, I have taken the appropriate precautions – spare jacket or jumper in the carry on bag, with a sarong or something similar as a cover for the legs.

This part of Mexico is particularly hot and sticky, so I prepared for an icy bus ride, pulling on my hoodie and trousers and throwing a Brazilian flag over me as I settled for sleep.
Exhausted, I fell asleep before the engine of the bus rattled and coughed into life, eyes flicking open as it did. Drawing closed just as quickly as they had opened, I spiralled back into sleep as we pulled away from the station.
A few short hours passed before I woke abruptly, gasping, drenched and throat parched.
It was roasting.
I had roasted!
It turned out that the air conditioning unit had given up the ghost half an hour into the journey and I was completely overdressed for this unexpected heat. I yanked off my jumper, rushed into a pair of shorts, guzzled some warm water and thought of icy, cloth cutting Patagonian winds as I tried to get back to sleep. This was regularly interrupted by my seat neighbour who, being a large gentleman, fared worse in this heat than a slimmer framed man. He tossed and turned laboriously in half slumber, occasionally flinging a desparate arm out, knocking me awake. Repaying the favour, I knudged him awake and feigned sleep  – this pointless charade continuing until he disembarked an hour before arrival at Palenque the following morning.
From the town of Palenque, I jumped on a minibus heading towards the ruins and got off at El Panchan, a few kilometres from the old Mayan township.

El Panchan is an unusual collection of lodges set in the jungle, inhabitated by travellers, new age types, researchers and academics of varying disciplines, usually with a Mayan slant. It has a unique feel to it and much knowledge could be gleaned by talking to the residents, as well as no shortage of company for the evenings.
I find a suitable shack to sleep in, drop my bags off and book transport for the cool waters of the nearby Misol Ha and Aqua Azul waterfalls for midday.
With three hours to kill, I take a much needed and equally enjoyed cold shower and potter around the complex.

Some nature shots from Panchan:

The trip was worthwhile, but nowhere near as spectacular as the raw power and collosus of Iguassu Falls on the border of Argentina and Brazil, which set an unfairly high bar for all natural water features that followed.
Both the areas were pleasantly picturesque and swimming in both the waters was refreshing. Agua Azul (meaning ‘blue water’) required a little more care due to strong currents and eddies – swimming was localised to a small area and was more of a dip rather than a proper swim, unless you wanted the trip back to the bottom to be one spent helplessly crashing over the numerous falls, carried by the whims of the whirling waters, dashing the rocks on the way down. Preferring the slower and safer recommended walking back option I kept close to the bank, pushing against the current’s will to pull me to the back and centre of this level, where another flow joined it before surging forward and down over to the next level.
In the dry season, the waters are brilliantly blue with a turquoise tint (due to limsestone in the mountains), as the name might suggest, lending to a much more impressive sight. Agua Marron, or brown water, would have been a more apt title in the wet season as the rain waters run down from the lands, joining ranks with the river, swelling it and turning the whole thing a murky brown in the process.

Waterfall at Misol Ha:

Dangerously funny sign at Agua Azul:

SEE THE REST OF THE GALLERY HERE!

The bus arrived back to El Panchan in the early evening, where I had a particularly good meal with new friends, an interesting chat with a leading Mayan historian, got confused over the Mayan calender and watched an impressive fireshow whilst toe tapping to the band.
After the meal and a few drinks, a group of us head down the road to party with the band at a campsite 500 metres down the pitch black road towards the ruins. A road much easier taken going somewhere than coming back..

This entry was posted on December 11, 2007 at 7:50 am and is filed under Mexico, Photos. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. You can comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site.