i wrote this at chichen itza:

i'm sitting at chichen itza looking out over a 200ft diameter cenote (sink hole). there's an altar next to it, where they used to sacrifice people and throw them in. it is *entirely* fucked up. and the ride here was no different.

i left joe with his daddy, and got on the bus. there was this guy behind me, one of those people who've studied the day's itinerary backwards and forwards and just have to make sure everyone knows. a know-it-all. so, first thing, he asks me where i'm from. i tell him vancouver and he says he wants to live there one day. i tell him that i live in playa. he doesn't believe me. he thinks i'm just another gringo i suppose. then immediately he tells me he won't get married until 2012. just out of the blue, like i'd asked or something. i respond, "ok" and turn away. as i'm staring out the window at this jungle road, palms fanning out over the highway, vines hanging from them, like tarzan vines, double-fuck behind me whips out his cell phone and starts playing a deliciously lovely repeated mix of celine dion, system of a down, aerosmith & guns & roses. Oh, and a little bon jovi. and he's one of those fidgety people always grunting to himself, singing along to the wrong lyrics, playing with his phone, his camera, rummaging through his bag. he's got one of those fucking nextel walkie talkies and the noise, that fucking nextel noise is just going off every 3 seconds. he's sitting next to a couple from spain who are constantly having to move to make room for this widget to fidget. i'm about to turn around and yank his flavor saver so hard his head bounces off the back of my chair. but i refrain, hold my breath, hum along to livin' on a prayer.

we stopped @ a store with bathrooms briefly and there was this fortune teller out front, telling fortunes kind of like that edwards freak from tv; yelling out something and asking if anyone knows anything about it. i'm watching this bullshit for a while and then she yells either, "you're going to prison" or "you went to prison". naturally i was curious to see if anyone piped up and claimed that one. but i think the crowd was all mostly french and she was, obviously, speaking spanish. no one said anything. then she sort of mumbles, "yes, prison" like she's talking to someone in front of her and then looks up and yells "veinte doce, veinte doce" 2012, 2012. she looks right at me, i swear. i duck into the vanbus dilly and bury myself in moby dick which i am reading again for the umpteenth time.

so, back on the bus, back to dude looks like a lady followed by some ear shattering celine dion ditty. scrappy doo behind me is fidgeting so much i think his seat may have come off the brackets. staring out the window again watching the tiny little mexican towns go by. we're slowing down through one and i suddenly notice we're driving by a prison. new thing for me. a mexican prison. i almost wanted the bus to stop there... but that's just me and my save-everything-hippie-bullshit.

on to chichen itza. wow. i mean seriously fucking wow. you see it in pictures and read about it but it is seriously fucking insane to be standing there @ one of the wonders of the world, where heads rolled, blood was spilled and everything is in perfect solar, lunar and astrological alignment (s'pose that's a little redundant, perdon). the pyramid is so much bigger in real life than you think. it's huge. it was built to echo what is said at it's base, so we tried clapping and the echo sounded like a scream coming from the opposite direction of the pyramid. that was seriously fucking cool.

i wandered away from my group for a minute to look @ a table selling obsidian. beside it was a blind dude, another fortune teller i assume and as i walked by he said "your heart is broken" in spanish. i said, "perdon?" , "su corazon es roto!" i just kind of stood there staring at a tree to the left of the guy... "roto, su corazon es roto" and then, oddly, he says "veinte doce" 20 fuckin' 12. now, i realize that i am in the religious center of the mayan world. i also am well aware of the fact that their calendar ends in 2012. i can also buy the idea that perhaps they might play that up a little in order to freak people out and have them believe and spend money on things that my sooth their worries, like the idols and the calendars, etc. but, and this is not too much to ask, why the fuck do they have to fuck with me? do it to the gringos, the passers through, the boisterous & burnt europeans. don't fuck with me. seriously. i was in the mood for a nice little tourist jaunt into the past, not some spiritually significant journey. come on. seriously. come on.

whatever. so here i sit overlooking a cenote which, under the water, is surely filled with skeletons.

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