Deep into the cave we started to come across various pottery and other artifacts of the Maya. There were a variety of pots and other articles, some broken to bits, some with just minor breaks. The guide gave us a very detailed explanation of the orientations of the different pots. It was actually quite remarkable.

Pots are broken to release their spirit. The Mayan believed that each piece of pottery housed a spirit. The pottery is a vessel for carrying food and water for the ceremony or rite. Once the practice was concluded, the Mayan would break the pot’s open. Some pots only had a chip removed from the rim, whereas others were smashed to bits. I don’t know if the smashed pots were symbolic of some other activity, a result of enthusiastic Mayan ritual, time and nature, or accident as some clumsy visitor might have stepped on them.

Some groups of pots were arranged in a very particular way. The pots would be set up with one upright, one on it’s side and one upside down. They symbolize the pre ceremony, partaking in the bounty, and conclusion of the ceremony, respectively. These two pictures together show the three pots. Other pictures didn’t quite capture the full array, unfortunately. Look closely at the individual pot. There is a small, round hole. Unfortunately, the light is too intense to see the accompanying crack. This procedure had a lot of meaning, as well. Rather than break the pot, the Maya would punch a hole in it and send the fissure through the pot. I cannot recall the symbology; and an internet search didn’t help either.

The next picture shows a human relief carving. Our guide was quick to point out the four fingers and four toes. “This has great symbology,” he said. “It symbolizes how difficult it is to try to draw/carve five fingers.” We realized he was making a joke, but it really was the case. Making five fingers fit is hard!

We saw a number of skeletal remains as well. Unfortunately, I can’t figure out how to make a separate gallery. So that will have to wait until a future post.

Friday was our last full day in Belize, and supposed to feature the most exciting activity of the trip. Actun Tunichil Mucnal offers the lucky Belizean Traveler an opportunity to experience raw Mayan culture. Sure, there are Mayan descendents who still carry on some of the traditions of their ancestors. And there are many ruins that can be visited. But nothing that I am aware of remains as untouched by modern man as the ATM. The cave bears only the stains of human hands on the hundreds of stalagmites and stalagmites, a few pieces of orange tape, a rickety aluminum ladder and a single sign and wire protecting the crystal maiden.

The cave hasn’t been carved out. There are no light fixtures running through the cave. It’s just a tomb; and a testament to a very different spirituality. It’s a tough walk in for some and requires some climbing, stooping and tolerance for very cold water, a pair of socks and a sense of adventure.

I’m really glad I got to visit the cave. It’s a shame Lizzy missed out. I think she would have loved it.

The ATM is about 45 minutes from San Ignacio by car, followed by a 30 minute hike through the jungle and 3 river fords. I’d expected a wet and slopping adventure, but we were blessed with dry weather the entire time we were in Belize. It was, therefore, an easy walk in, but not very picturesque. I ran the POV during the walk in, but soon discovered that the lens had been breached and was fogging up from moisture. Turns out I was out of batteries and didn’t have a formatted SD card either, but those details aren’t important.

Next to the cave entrance sit a couple of partial shelters for people to store their lunches and gear they don’t worry about losing (nothing was stolen, but who would be there to witness?). We stashed our gear and walked down to the entrance serenaded by the cold induced shrill screams of the girl in the group in front of us. Apparently, her swimming had been limited to the bathtub hot water of the Caribbean. I got a couple of shots of the entrance before swimming in.

The cave entrance features a rock formation that looks like the profile of a man’s face. It’s very similar New Hampshie’s “Man in the Mountain.” The guide explained to us that this, the Mayan’s believed, was the god of water, looking out of the entrance of the cave. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a picture of this feature. The underwater camera’s images all came out completely pixilated whenever I used the flash in the cave and I wasn’t ready to bust out the SLR in waste deep water.

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We climbed, ducked, crawled and sloshed our way through ½ mile of the darkest, blackest black I have ever experienced. I thought it was dark underwater at night. But this was dark. The dark seemed to swallow up the lights of the other visitors; as if their light was absorbed by the cave walls rather than reflected. Ten feet seemed like the extent of a flashlight’s range. This was so black, my thoughts were dark. Of course, that may have been inspired by the continuous complaining and sarcasm of one of my fellow guests – I don’t recall a single positive thing or utterance of enthusiasm come out of his mouth the entire time.

We got to one spot where the guide started to talk about how the Maya got in and out of the cave and what they would bring for their ceremonies. He had everyone turn out their light in front of a large row of stalactites. He spoke of the history of the Maya and then suddenly these wood chimes started to sound. It was really amazing and set the mood. The guide then turned on his own headlamp to show that he was actually creating the sounds by wrapping his knuckles on the hollow mineral formations! I am not a musician, so I don’t know tones or keys. But we were able to create several different notes from the row of stalactites. Ok, this is what I’d come here for!

At one point we came to a “room” that was massive. With twenty-something foot ceilings and a square footage in the thousands, it would have made for an amazing, earthy ball room! The walls were covered with mineral deposits from draining water. Many were smoothed from human hands, but most bore no marks of human interference. Several mighty columns connected the floor to the ceiling where stalactites and stalagmites met.

The cave is massive. We only touched about ½ mile of it. But in that short distance, we waded through water and over smooth, river stones, crouched down and squatted through tiny openings, slid narrow cracks and climbed over massive boulders. There were a few places where I wondered if I’d make it through. I’m a pretty big guy, especially compared to an ancient Mayan spelunker. Those guys probably had little difficulty making their way through.

I just wonder how they could handle going into those caves with burning torches! I suppose a torch has a pretty good burn time, but it’s burning. It isn’t exactly an easy tool to wield while twisting and turning and crawling through four miles of the blackest black there is. Let’s not forget about the water! Drop the torch in the chest (or for them, maybe forehead) deep water and it gets awfully dark, very quickly.

I promise, the pictures get better.

It is hard to believe but last night was the very first night that I was able to review the photos from the trip. Correction: It was the first night that I could view the photos from Saturday, the day we arrived. I have yet to review the rest of the week. Do bear in mind that Lizzy has been reviewing them and has passed several of them my way (e.g., spider pics and some others). Last night was just the first time I reviewed them myself.

I came across this amazing photo from our kayak and snorkel trip. We kayaked out a couple hundred yards to a buoy, tied a line and hopped in. The water wasn’t deep and the tide made it almost impossible to take a photo – above the surface or below!

Lizzy appears here just barely above the surface as she floats along admiring the view below. The timing of this shot was pretty spectacular to get the half-n-half. I just wish that I’d gotten a clear view below. That would have been amazing. Still working on my photography skills, though.

Belize is a poor country. There is little industry, technology, and/or big business in general. From the perspective of the local nationals, Americans are infinitely more wealthy. Whereas they might have enough money to go grab a Coke or Coke Light one day, we seem to have bags of money that allow us to fly across the globe and stay in foreign lands for weeks at a time.

This circumstance leads to interesting interactions in Belize. Recall the car rental place from a few posts back. Liz and I were immediately “assisted” by a scruffy looking man with a thick accent who practically grabbed our bags out of our hands and tried to recruit us into one of the other rental car shops. He wouldn’t leave us alone; he kept leaving and coming back to the shop with status reports and commenting on how bad Belize Auto Rental was.

I pretty much knew that I was going to have to tip this guy. I didn’t want to and I didn’t think he deserved one considering he forced his services upon us. But he’s broke and this is clearly the way he made his money. And, lets not forget that I am the rich American with tons of excess cash.

Tipping became a source of frustration for Liz and I. We received very good service from Beulah and Robbie and Jen and Chris at the hotels. And we felt they should get tipped, beyond the service charge added to our hotel bill. And the guys at Ecologic Divers were great! But as Liz had mentioned before, it wasn’t something we’d fully budgeted for, and we made some generous tips that were larger than our pocket change could sustain.

This challenge and frustration hit its peak when we were at the Belcove restaurant on our last night in Belize. Jules is the son of the owner of Belcove. He was visiting at he time of our stay. He welcomed us and was very friendly and declared that he would help us with our bags. He clarified “this is my family’s hotel. It won’t cost you anything.” But I was so distressed and programmed at that point, that I didn’t know what to do. So I tried to tip him.

He refused and repeated his connection to the hotel. I never felt more like an ugly American than at that point. Granted, I might not have looked like it, but I felt that way. We were so razzled by the tipping that we no longer knew what to do.

Our lesson learned and the corresponding travel tip is:

Understand that where you are going, the norms about service and compensation are different. The standard of living might be much different and many live off the tips they are given for their services. Understand that, appreciate it and have an idea how you are going to deal with it. — I once read a book full of little pieces of advice. One line said “tip well. The person serving you needs the money more than you do.” This is written to a son whom the father assumes will make his way in this world with some kind of “white collar” job. Assuming that is the case, then the advice is true. With that mindset, Liz and I are happy we rewarded those that helped us. We just wish we didn’t need the money as much as we do!

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We planned for a stop off at Jaguar Paw Jungle Lodge on our way to Table Rock to do a little zip lining. The lodge is located just east of Belmopan making it a nice stopping point to break up the trip a little prior to a second stop in Belmopan for lunch. As we cruised on down the Western Highway, Liz and I noticed an old, faded billboard advertising Jaguar Paw. No arrows, or instructions “turn here” were printed on the sign, but 1000 feet later, we’d instinctively stopped and prepared for a U-turn. We pulled into some farmers driveway and turned around. As we approached the sign, we saw no further indicators that this was actually the turn off for Jaguar Paw. But some guys sitting under the sign approached. We rolled down the window and ask them but were greeted with a faded tour guide’s license and a solicitation. “Yes, this is road to Jaguar Paw, but we are licensed tour guides. We take you for zip lining, cave tubing.”

“No thanks,” we said. “We’ve got reservations at Jaguar Paw.”
We continued down this road south for about 2000 feet before we hit potholes. Hundreds of them. Massive potholes. Boston has big potholes. Big like, your tire will fall in them and you feel a good bump. Belize has small potholes. Small, like your tire will fall in them and you feel a good bump. They have big potholes, too. Big potholes like your car will fall in them and you will become a bump.
We drove through what looked like an exploded mine field for some time, crippling the hooptie and contemplating our next move should one of the axles fall off. Some of the holes were manageable. We could straddle them or pass them on the left or the right. Others were less easily avoided. Some were, in fact, so massive, there was actually less road than pothole.
After a long while, we passed a similar adventure post full of tour busses and a few signs indicating zip lining and cave tubing. Liz wondered if that was it, but we pressed on. A long while later, we started to wonder if this was actually the right road. Maybe it was just a billboard. Again, no arrows. No “turn here.” Nothing.

Finally saw a sign. A small, almost inconsequential sign sat on the side of the road indicating this was still the way. We breathed a sigh of relief and pressed on.

Jaguar park is located inside a protected nature reserve. We entered the park and told the ranger our intent. He pointed us on and waved us a goodbye. We entered the park and were immediately hit up by yet another tour guide who tried to sell us on cave tubing. “No thanks,” we said and drove on.

We came to the steepest hill I’ve ever tried to ascend in a car. The trail was about 15 feet wide with two two-foot wide strips of broken concrete running up the middle. A pleasant, one lane “road” led us up a hopelessly steep hill where any other vehicles would surely smoke us before we ever even saw them. The strips of concrete, while reliable, were narrow and skirted by deep, rocky troughs that we were sure to avoid. As we ascended the hill, I had only one thing to say:

“Oooooh…..myyyyy…..God.”

The car made it, barely, and we descended the other side.
We parked and walked into what is easily the hokiest (no offense Virginia Tech) “jungle lodge” I could imagine and signed in. The cost was $45US per person. For $52 we could have lunch, too. It was about lunch time and we hadn’t eaten much so we decided to grab lunch, too. We sat down at a nice table in a nice dining room, decorated in tourist cheese and began to set up the equipment.

Lunch came out. It was delicious; chicken, rice and coleslaw. A pretty common dish, as it turns out in Belize. I loved, it, Liz ate it.

Then the power went out.

For about five minutes, we were limited to ambient light from outside as the staff ran frantic trying to restore power. Eventually, it came back on, we left our gear at the front desk and headed out to the zip line tour.