Ruins... and races

Author: By Carolyn B. Heller, Globe Correspondent

Date: SUNDAY, December 7, 1997

Page: N1

Section: Travel

Farther south, the trees and vines abruptly receded, occasionally revealing clusters of stick-walled, thatch-roofed huts. These tiny villages were marked by jarring topes, speed bumps made of concrete or thick ropes stretched across the road. Although we saw no other vehicles for miles, entrepreneurial women or children were waiting each time we slowed to cross these hurdles. They politely approached our car to sell bags of oranges, mangoes, or tortillas.

My husband Alan, our 4-year-old twins, my mother, and I were headed for Rancho Encantoado, a cottage resort in the tranquil underdeveloped southeast corner of Mexico's Yucatan Peninsula. Rancho Encantado overlooks the 40-mile-long Laguna Bacalr, the Lake of Seven Colors, with a mix of fresh and salt waters that transforms its surface into a rainbow of blues. Located 200 miles from Cancun but worlds apart from its high-rises and tour buses, the Bacalar region -- gateway to recently-excavated Mayan ruins -- offers numerous opportunities to explore Mayan culture, past and present.

Rancho Encantado's 12 thatch- or tile-roofed cottages -- upscale versions of local huts -- are partitioned into sleeping and sitting areas, with traditional carved wood and cane furniture on red-tiled floors, modern bathrooms, refrigerators, huge jugs of purified water, and woven hammocks on every porch. Several cottages feature brightly colored murals depicting ancient Mayan life. Rancho guests gather in the open-air dining pavilion for the 6 p.m. cocktail hour followed by a family-style supper, where everyone shares ``What did you do today?'' stories. The evening we arrived, several people were joking with Arturo, the convival bartender, and raving about the exotic carvings they had seen at Hormiguero, a site hidden in the jungle about three hours west of Bacalar. ``Try one of Arturo's margaritas,'' suggested Catherine, who was visiting from Santa Fe with her husband and 7-year-old daughter. ``But make sure you can find your way back to your cottage,'' she said, laughing. ``They're lethal.''

Most Rancho guests typically turn in well before 10, waking at dawn to listen to the birds, watch the sun rise over the lake, or sip good strong coffee on the dock under the palopa, a palm-roofed shelter that is ubiquitous throughout the Yucatan. Like Catherine and her husband, self-described ``Maya freaks,'' the dozen other guests during our February stay were a mix of amateur anthropologists, nature buffs, and ``soft adventure'' travelers (like us) looking for an exotic yet comfortable vacation spot.

We began our Mayan explorations at the unexpectedly high-tech Museum of Mayan Culture in nearby Chetuymal, the languid tropical capital of Quintana Roo state. Opened in 1995, the museum's hands-on exhibits -- including touch-screen computers, multipanel slide presentations, and other electronic displays -- introduce visitors to the sophicaticated Mayan calendar, numbering system, and language. Even our 4-year-olds loved matching the Mayan bar-and-bead numbers with our own, particularly when flashing lights marked a correct answer.

Another exhibit explained that to achieve sloping foreheads and elongated skulls -- Mayan ideals of beauty -- the Mayas bound their newborn children's heads in a wooden-board sandwich. They also hung a small ball in the center of their babies' foreheads, like a mobile, to create ``beautiful'' crossed eyes.

We left the museum, blinking as we crossed the sun-baked plaza to Chetnumal's bustling market, where we stopped for chicken mole, fried fish, and quesadillas at a market lunch counter. The solicitous matriarch who ruled the luncheonette fussed when my mother, not hungry, wanted only dry toast. No butter? No jam? Not even a cup of coffee? Senora kept returning with more suggestions -- ``Maybe some tea? Perhaps a sweet roll?'' -- despite our assurances that everything was muysabroso, very tasty.

The next day we accompanied the Rancho's extremely knowledgeable guide, Luis Tellez, and three other guests -- Martine, who runs an Oregon environmental agency, and nature photographers Robert and Steve -- to Dzibanche and Kinichna, about an hour's drive from Bacalar. Luis explained that these major sites of the Classic Period (AD 300-900) had been open to the public only since 1994. When two cars pulled into Dzibanche just ahead of us, Luis turned the van around. ``We will see Kinichna first,'' he said. ``It is better to visit with no other people.''

Moments later, as we scrambled up a slope made slick by unseasonable rains, Kinichna's massive ``House of the Sun'' towered above us. Our daughters shrieked as they swung from the guide rope and slid in the mud, but the grownups climbed silently to the several-story stone pyramid that regally surveys the jungle. Returning to Dzibanche, we tread noiselessly into a thick grove, which cleared to reveal an even more mammoth pyramid. Just over a small bluff, in two plazas like old New England town squares, several more buildings rose partially excavated from huge dirt mounds. As Luis described each structure, I found myself comparing these elaborate ancient buildings with the region's simple present-day homes.

We journeyed back to the present for lunch at a local Mayan family's farm on the Dibanche road. For the last two years, Juanita and her husband, Rafael, have provided lunches for Rancho Encantado guests touring Dzibanche. Luis told us that, at first, Juanita was reluctant to host foreign visitors, fearing her home was too modest. Yet she proudly shared her overflowing guest book and asked about our lives in the snowy north.

The two palm-roofed huts, which Juanita and Rafael share with a daughter, son-in-law, and daughter-in-law, measure about 8 by 10 feet, with dirt floors and walls of loosely bound branches. One, a cooking hut, has a stone hearth and well-used enameled pots hanging from the rafters. The adjacent sleeping hut is furnished only with colorful hammocks. Since the farm has no plumbing, the family collects rain water for washing. We ate Juanita's savory chicken-and-rice stew, black beans, and tortillas in the ``dining room,'' a lean-to half filled with corn cobs that fuel the cooking fire and feed the wandering chickens.

The following morning, we set out on our own for Kohunlich, a site not far from Dzibanche. Built around AD 500 and abandoned in the 12th or 13th century, Kohunlich is best-known for its well-preserved Temple of the Masks, where somber stone faces loom from the walls.

While my family laid out our picnic, I wandered under a canopy of palms toward The 27 Steps, nearly camouflaged by the dense forest. When I climbed the steep stones, the unexpected remains of a residential complex sprawled out like an ancient condo development. Standing alone above the trees, I imagined the thrill archeologists must feel when they stumble on traces of a long-ago civilization.

On our last morning at Rancho Encantado, we awakened at 6 a.m. to the resort's version of a wake-up call -- footsteps outside our cottage and a melodious voice half-whispering ``Buenos dias.'' We were taking a trip into Belize, a two-hour drive followed by a 90-minute ferry journey down the New River to Lamani. According to our guide, Wilfredo, the Mayas lived in Lamanzi for more than 3,000 years.

Minutes after we boarded the ferry near the Belize town of Orange Walk, Wilfredo pointed to the marshy shore: ``On the left. A crocodile.'' Sometimes, you can see howler monkeys, he told us in his liting Caribbean English, and we spotted herons, egrets, hawks, and a jabiru stork, one of the largest birds in the Americas. We were puzzling over a tree dotted with black, fist-sized knobs, when the knobs sprouted wings and flew off in a swarm -- bats.

Wilfredo said that only five of Lamanai's more than 700 structures are open to the public. Yet tucked into the rain forest, these structures include towering pyramids, intricately carved columns, and the scattered remains of villages.

Crossing a large open field toward a pyramid, we were caught in a sudden downpour. My instinct was to take shelter under the nearby broad-leafed palms, but my daughters stopped and turned their faces to the sky. They spread their arms like wings, opened their mouths, and in their own way, soaked up the world as the ancient people must have done.

You can fly from Cancun to Chetumal, about a 30-minute drive south of Bacalar, for about $135 round trip on AeroCaribe (run by Mexican, 1-800-531-7621) or for a bit less on local carriers (check with a travel agent or Rancho Encantado for schedules). The long-distance buses running between Cancun and Chetumal, including Autotransportes del Caribe, stop in Bacalr. Rancho Encantado staff can bring up to eight guests from Cancun Airport for $200 per trip. Taxis make the drive for around $150.

Another option is to fly to Belize City, three hours by car from Bacalar, although you cannot take rental cars from Belize into Mexico. Rancho Encatado can arrange transportation from Belize City airport.

Less picturesque, but still right on the lake, is the 30-room Hotel Laguna at Costera de Bacalar 143, 77010 Bacalar, Quintana Roo; telephone 983-2-3517. Chetumal has several hotels, including a Holiday Inn near the Museum of Mayan Culture at Ave. Heros 171, Box 1, 7700 Chetumal, Quintana Roo; phone 983-2-1100 or 1-800-465-4329 in the US.

Rancho Encantado runs guided day trips to Dzibanche, Kinichna, Kohunlich, Becan, Chicanna, Xpujil, Rio Bec, and Hormiguero, among others. It also offers excursions to Lamanai in Belize. Trip prices range from $35 to $115 per person. If you have a rental car, you can explore some sites on your own, although a few are accessible only with a special government permit. Several Chetumal travel agencies can also arange tours. Check the local tourist office for information.

``Frommer's Cancun, Cozumel, and the Yucatan'' by Marita Adair, is a practical up-to-date guide to travel in the southern Yucatan. Useful as background reading are ``An Archeological Guide to Mexico's Yucatan'' by Joyce Kelly (University of Oklahoma) and National Geographic's October 1989 feature on ``La Ruta Maya.''

The country code for calling Mexico is 52. Prices were calculated at 7 pesos to the dollar.