So, we’re on the plane, and it’s unbelievably comfortable and fun. Here’s a picture:

The attendant calls the plane “Expedition” I think, but that’s so banal and dull. The pilot (or “lead captain” as he likes to be known as), Jon, calls it “Gulf Delta Zulu Zulu <something> <something> <something else>”, which seems far more endearing to me. I’ll have to pick up the true correct name from the lead captain (or one of the lesser captains, if need be), in its full poesy, when we board next in a couple of days, and post it here properly.

Regardless, all of the things that make air travel a hassle (at least for us wretched refuse who sit in coach), have magically dissolved. Very spacious seating, with a swing up leg and foot rest (which Mom loves), noise-canceling headphones, hand-and-foot wait service (crazy polite and attentive, with a British accent and typical charm), warm towels every half hour, and wine with every meal.

Speaking of meals, there are four on the agenda for today, apparently brunch isn’t just for Sundays anymore, it also seems to be standard for private jet travel (though I have very few data points on this). At first glance, it would seem rather excessive to serve brunch on a 3 hour flight that takes off shortly after breakfast, just so we can land and take a bus out to a Maya ruin “eco-lodge” to have lunch. But on further inspection, there appears to be method behind the madness, more than a mere blatant display of extravagance. It turns out that we’re shifting two timezones west today, so clearly that opens up not just the opportunity—but the need—for the extra meal. I mean, we can’t have the group starving by the time lunch rolls around in the new locale, what with breakfast having been a whole continent in the past. Here’s me at lunch looking askance at Cameron, our physician for the trip (perhaps questioning the performance-enhancing effects of the Guatemalan Gatorade he’s drinking).

Anyway, after lunch, we went to ruins of the classic period city of Yaxhá, which is within artillery range of Tikal, and on the other side of the Mayan mason-dixon line. Interestingly, having been to Tikal and other Mayan sites during a seminal exploration of my place in the world (a little over <cough> twenty years ago), and having taken the experience very personally, and having known of other major Tikal foe kingdoms in the lowland region—such as Caracol (edit: removed the accent, after having gotten back on line and consult the trusty old internet)—, I somehow had never heard of Yaxhá before. Great site, great history, and great park. It was very tranquil (at least mostly, as I’ll tell about in a minute) and beautiful, with totally few visitors, but really expertly excavated (though only partially) and wonderfully presented, with many many of the buildings swallowed by the jungle left undisturbed, though clearly fulfilling the mandatory cardinal direction plaza layout. You can look up the story of the site on Wikipedia (or go to your local library and leaf through the card catalog), but one of the most interesting factoids was some sort of alliance with the Teotihuacanos, from way up north. Apparently, they were brutal fighters who lent their swords to the Yaxhá-ites, and a surprising legacy of the arrangement are the surviving stelae (edit: spelling confirmed; note that I prefer “stela” as the singular, instead of the more commonly suggested “stele”, since there is better accordance with the spelling of the plural) depicting Teotihuacano figures, head-on (rather than from the side, or flattened like corn, if you know where that reference comes from), with lance, shield, and up-north warrior sandals (which totally don’t go with normal Mayan garb and headgear).

Here are pictures from the site, starting with an astrological pyramid near the entrance of the park:

Followed by the amazing temple, at the highest point within the site:

Everything about this monument was pretty stunning, from the design and aesthetics to the engineering to the level of preservation (supplemented by some fairly aggressive reconstruction, I’m sure)…and, oh by the way, the view from the top wasn’t too bad either (pardon the spherical aberation):

You could actually see the entire site, including some of the other major pyramids (if you looked down on them!!!). Mom had no difficulty in making the climb to the top—all of the stair climbing and treadmilling (or milltreading?) at Mirabella is clearly paying off.

One last note of interest on this pyramid/temple has to do with its color. Sure, it might look like just a pile of weather- and time-worn limestone to you, but in its day, it was a rich red ochre, so the artist renditions at the park—as well as our super-awesome guide Billy—tell us. But just as we were headed down, I took one final look at the dark side of the temple, and I could swear I saw traces of red fused into the stone. Here’s what the camera was able to capture, I don’t know, what do you think?

Then again, it could be just the blood from a howler monkey knife fight last week. Speaking of howler monkeys (nice segue, huh?), they were going absolutely apeshit in the trees during our visit to the park, if you don’t mind the pun (which is even punnier than you think, since a member of our group [who shall remain nameless, since it is better for all to forget the incident—don’t worry, it wasn’t one of us] was actually nailed on the top of the head by some falling…well, you know). Getting back to the zero-th meaning of “apeshit” (for those C programmers among you), it was like the Jets and the Sharks (to avoid making reference to gangs that could actually shoot me now over a mere joke—and no, this is not about hockey!) up in the canopy, absolutely aggressive and antagonistic and raucous and territorial (ostensibly, but maybe they just like to shoot up the neighborhood).

One other modern-day-urban-inner-city-plight/Mayan-plight parallel (you know, one of those), then it’s off to bed before Tikal tomorrow. When Billy was talking about the significance of the stelae and temples that each new ruler or conqueror in the Mayan world chose to destroy/deface or preserve, the thing that came to mind immediately was inner city tagging wars (that’s graffiti wars, for you suburban or country folk). As he talked about more and more examples of both destruction and preservation, the association only deepened. Wonder how those Yaxhá bangers, along with their Teotihuacano gangsta assassins, would fare on the streets of LA today. Buenas noches.