VIP

Advantages of Being a V.I.P
By Janet Walker, Freelance Writer

“You’re gonna be VIPs,” the tourist agent’s eyes fill with religious fervor. “We only take El Castillo dominates the skyline at Chichen Itza, Mexico's most important archeological site. twelve passengers on our buses, it’s so comfortable, the air conditioning is brilliant, there’s beers, soft drinks, snacks and the only pickup is this hotel. You’ll be there first,” he winks. “Our driver knows the best guides. After you’ve toured the Mayan ruins you’re gonna have a VIP lunch,” he leans forward, his tone drops. “If you book today we’ll throw in a mystical experience.”

“Really?”

“The Sacred Blue Cenote,” he whips out a color photo of a limestone cave, an inky pool at its base. “You’re gonna swim in this beautiful place. It’s only for---“

“VIPs?”

“Right, Ma’am. You wanna book?”

We’re in Cancun for six days and really want to visit Chichen-Itza, Mexico’s famous Mayan archeological site. The tour price is US$10 above the competition, but - we’ll be VIPs. I book.
The kick-off time is 8:00 a.m. tomorrow. He warns me not to be late. I pay and wait for my $8 change. I decline a pocketful of pesos. If I come by the pool in the afternoon he’ll have US dollars. I do. He doesn’t show.

We have an early breakfast and at 7:55a.m. sit in the hotel lobby. 8:15a.m. rolls round and we’re still there. At 8:25 a.m. an extremely short Mexican strolls through the glass entrance. He herds two couples and us into a grey minibus. Maybe it seats twelve Mexicans - ten foreigners will be a squeeze. The guide sits beside the driver and says there’s a pickup at the hotel’s sister resort. So much for one pick-up.

We reach the resort, two more climb aboard but there’s no sign of the other booked couple. After trawling the lobby for fifteen minutes the guide gives up and at 9:00a.m. we’re away.
On the outskirts of Cancun, the bus stops and the guide hops off. He extols the virtues of our driver and reiterates the VIP bit. I ask him for my eight dollars. He’s sulky but hands it over.
The bus accelerates. Next stop - Chichen-Itza. Actually, it’s a supermarket. We need ice for the drinks. They’re out of ice. Two more stops and the driver gets lucky. We cheer.

In the state of Yucatan, Chichen-Itza is a two-hour drive from Cancun via the federal highway. Traffic negligible, we drive along a straight road, low-lying jungle on either side.
It starts to rain. Large splotches hit the windows. I’m sitting under the air conditioning outlet; my skin gets goose bumps. I request a turnoff. Juan, the driver, tries but the temperature remains set at Arctic w Dancers perform amazing acts of balance during the traditional performance at the Chichen Hacienda. inter. I shiver and button my shirt.

We introduce ourselves, three from England, two from Belgium, one American and us, from Australia. Juan passes back a packet of M and M’s – must be the snacks. He invites us to have whatever drink we want as long as it’s the local cola or beer.

Tourist buses (about a trillion) are the first indication of our arrival. It pelts down. We dash across the parking lot to the park entrance. Sheltered by the roof of the tourist complex, we join a winding queue. The coffee bar smells divine. Juan shakes his head.

Government tourist guides hang about for the taking. He selects the one for VIPs. We reach the turnstiles but have to wait - the Belgian couple want to video the occasion.

They join another queue and fork out $3.00.

Manuel, our guide, leads us along a tree-lined dirt track. The rain eases and locals lay out their merchandise. Child size, they have the facial features of Mayan carvings.

The semi-jungle changes to a large clearing. Granite buildings are dominated by a pyramid, “El Castillo”. The one we’ve seen in tourist brochures, in the flesh it’s a showstopper.
Manuel explains the math the Mayans used to ensure that the twenty-three meter high structure’s four stairways steps, totaled the days in the solar calendar. At spring and autumn equinoxes the setting sun casts a diamond pattern over the terraces reminiscent of a descending serpent. Today, visitors descend the pyramid’s front staircase with crab-like steps, the stone risers wet and slippery.

The heavens practice gusty showers. We move on to Juego de Pelota, one of nine ball courts built in Chichen-Itza. The biggest, its walls are covered with carvings of Mayans in padded gear. Hurling a rubber ball (weighing around 2 kilos) through the wall mounted ring, the aim of the game, losing teams paid with their heads. Wall carvings attest to this unsporting practice.

The rain digs in. Manuel hands out hooded plastic coats. We walk to the Temple of Jaguars; carved panels depict warriors and jaguars. Next door - the Temple of Skulls: carvings of skulls and eagles ripping hearts from humans are realistic and grisly.

I tighten the strap around the neck of my plastic coat. It parts company from the hood and water drips down my spine. I ask Manuel if the weather was the cause of the Mayan Gods anger management problems? He doesn’t know. I jump a sludgy pool of grass and gravel.

An hour into the tour, we’re seriously waterlogged. Sandals soggy, pants clinging to calves, I interrupt Manuel with ‘perdone’ and mimic drinking coffee. He lets us off the hook. We beat it back to the complex, drying out under the washroom hand dryers.

Drenched, the rest of the group turns up. The coffee is great, we don’t mind being wimps.
Juan arrives and we’re off to lunch at the Hacienda Chichen. Luxurious, it’s surrounded by tropical gardens and a Hollywood style swimming pool.

The meal, cafeteria style, we join the end of a long queue – nobody knows we’re VIPs.

Breakfast, six hours ago, we pig out on the leftovers.

Guys in white shirt and pants, gals in long white dresses decorated with bands of brightly colored embroidery dance onto a small stage. Couples appear with bottles balanced on their heads. Looks tricky. Their smiles don’t waver as they dip and sway, bottles firmly in place.
The rain stops. We board the bus and drive along the highway to th The Sacred Blue Cenote is located in the Parque Ecologique just ten minutes from the ancient site of Chichen Itza. e Parque Ecoarqueologico and walk along a jungle path to the Sacred Blue Cenote. Juan says the Cenote is 50 meters deep. It’s okay to swim provided we wear lifejackets.

Cenotes are deep-water sinkholes formed by moisture seeping from underground pools through soft limestone. At the entrance, steps have been cut into a subterranean path.
The soles of my sandals greasy from the wet track I do a hop-step-and jump, landing on my butt, I slither down the smooth steps. The first VIP to reach the viewing balcony, my yells echo in the damp atmosphere. I’m helped up. No damage if you don’t count mud caked jeans.
Through the spy hole hacked out of the limestone wall, we see trailing creepers. They reach to the pool below; their intertwined tendrils a ladder to the sky above. Swimmers splash in the grey/blue depths, visitors climb surrounding ridges.

To appease Mayan gods, virgins were thrown from the surface rocks to die in the Cenote’s dark, still water. Cries echo up the spiralling path. I shudder.

We reach base camp. The pool empty, there’s a hush. Reminiscent of Elvis in Blue Hawaii it’s a beautiful but eerie place. Too much history, perhaps.

We climb back up, and wander, birds fly in and out of flowering trees.

Juan does a head count and hands me a towel for the backward journey.

Did I enjoy the tour? I did. Being a VIP is hard, dirty work, although, compared to a vestal virgin, it’s a piece of cake.

** All photos by Janet Walker

***Janet Walker is the Writer of the Fee Weston, Private Investigator, Crime Novels