Palenque is indeed a remarkable site. Set in a verdant setting of jungle, a line of temples rise up in front of us as we enter. Below them sits the tomb of Pakal, the ruler of this city at its rise from AD 615 to 683. Found in 1994, his remains were covered in jewels, and his face in a jade mosaic death mask. Walking around the temples sets us back in time to a civilization that can be compared to the ancient Romans and the Chinese, and that fell mysteriously into time.
As we travel into the Lacandon Jungle, we feel that we have fallen back in time. Not only are there more archeological sites to enjoy, but the jungle is also home to the Lacandon people. They originally migrated to this jungle in the 18th century and largely avoided contact with the outside world until the 1950s. Although many still retain their traditional ways, their agricultural economy is now being replaced by the money tourism can bring. Ricardo, a Lacandon who runs a set of lodges under the jungle's canopy, tells us some of the difficulties of instilling ancient ways: "Most young Lacandon want to wear jeans and t-shirts. They don't want to associate themselves with the old ways yet; the jungle has been our home for centuries, and if our younger generations give up on it, our culture and traditions will be lost forever."
Greeted By ... Mexican Mennonites?
We meet Wilhelm in a small store in Xpujil, after leaving the Calakmul Biosphere Reserve. Dressed in a pair of dark blue overalls and a white shirt, blond hair and blue eyes, he is the last person we expect to see in the middle of Mexico. Our curiosity gets the best of us and we strike up conversation. He tells us that he is part of a Mennonite community that lives in Campo 10, not far from here.
Several thousand Mennonites left their communities in Canada in the 1920s, persecuted for their beliefs. The pre-revolutionary Mexican government took them in, and sold them land that they worked diligently and successfully. "We don't work on Sunday, and I would be pleased if you come for a visit." Wilhelm tells us. "Just ask anyone here where Campo 10 is. You can't miss it."
We definitely want to see this, even if it means backtracking at the end of the week. Arriving back into town and driving on the bumpy road towards the Campo, the dry shrublike landscape gives way to freshly cleared fields, and western-style houses rise from the red earth. As we maneuver our way on the sandy tracks that are perfectly laid out in grids, we are surrounded by blond-haired, blue-eyed kids in groups on the roads, all dressed identically: the boys in blue or green overalls and shirt, the girls in flowered dresses and hats. It is somewhat surreal and when they open their mouths, for hardly any of them speak Spanish (even if their families have been here for generations), and the German they do speak is an old dialect that most Germans in Europe would have a hard time understanding.
Transportation here consists of horse and buggy, or your feet, and all mechanized machinery is forbidden, so the chance to ride on the back of a trailer has true entertainment value. We finally reach Wilhelm's house, after driving deep into the Campo, and he welcomes us warmly. He is slightly different from many of his colleagues, and communicating in Spanish tells us, "I left the Campo to travel and to work as a driver. At first, I had no intention of coming back but as I got older, I felt myself wanting to be part of this community again-my parents are here, my brothers. So after saving some money, I was finally able to buy some land and could build this house for my family. After I pass on, my son here will take it over, then his sons after him."
It is hard for us to comprehend this way of life: Extremely isolated, and yet, they prefer it, knowing almost nothing about the outside world. It is pretty much the antithesis of our world tour.
Our raid continues around the Yucatan Peninsula, with more archaeological sites, caves, colonial towns, bullfights, flamingoes, and the turquoise-blue water of the Caribbean all part of our daily life. And in spite of the heat that at times is debilitating, the margaritas and white sand beaches more than make up for it.