We were in two minds whether or not to make the journey to the ancient Mayan metropolis of Chichén Itzá. Tales of hordes of day-trippers from the Cancun mega-resorts clogging up the ruins made us wonder if it was worth the effort.
A plan... that’s what we need; an idiot-proof strategy to beat the crowds.
So we set the alarm for 6am to make sure we’re first in line when the gates open.
Wrong!
At no point during the two days we’d been in Merida had anyone told us there’s an hour’s difference between east and west Yucatan. So instead of being first in the queue we’re at the back. Daft buggers.
The good news is Chichén Itzá is easily big enough to soak up the crowds and at no point do we feel overwhelmed by the numbers. Hell, we even chat to some Cancun mega-resort tourists - a lovely honeymooning Geordie couple. He’s more interested in Newcastle United’s recent upturn in form than the ruins but I’m cool with that.
The ball court. The aim of the game was to squeeze your balls through the hoop. Sounds painful.
The site is certainly impressive and probably the best preserved of all the pre-Hispanic places we’ve visited so far. This is largely due to all the temples being roped off. You can look but you can’t touch and under no circumstances can you climb, jump or generally act the ancient goat.
Leaf-cutter ants going about their busy business.
I guess with over a million visitors each year this 'no climbing' rule makes sense, otherwise the ruins would quickly become, well, ruined.
Later we spot an amateurishly hand-written sign by the side of the road: “Cenote – 20 minutes diversion”. This gives us a dilemma. That’s a 40-minute trip for what could easily be a dirty sinkhole in the middle of nowhere.
Wrong again!
A pool of our own.
It turns out to be a proper piece of paradise. And in complete contrast to this morning we have it completely to ourselves.
Mexico. The country that keeps on giving.
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