The story continues from the start of the trip

Poza Rica, Papantla and El Tajin

When the light of day pierced through the window shade I opened it to get a look at the new landscape. It was green and hilly with crops of every kind growing up the sides of every hill, what a welcome change from dry, brown and dusty. I could recognize corn, bananas, coffee and oranges, just to mention a few, with roadside vendor stands selling the same. Hanging above the fruit they even had bare breasted chickens plucked bald, feet dangling in the breeze waiting for a pot to go in.

Welcome to the Mexican version of the supermarket. They had supermarkets in large towns, well, kinda, sorta, but on the roads, the vendors had small stands with the local fare on display. I watched the colorful sites pass by, same goods displayed on different stands as we made our way into the city of Poza Rica and the bus station. It was seven in the morning and the next leg of the trip was to Papantla at 9 am. I had to wait for two hours standing on the bus platform.

I showed my bus reservation to Papantla to the lady in the ticket window and she gave me the number of the bus to take. As I stood waiting for the for the bus to pull into the depot I was kinda thankful I could stand after a whole night of Lady Xoc sprawled out with her arms and legs all over me. Guess she showed me about her royal- highness lady manners. Eventually the bus came and I boarded it for the hour it would take to go over the hills to the valley where the Archaeological site of El Tajin rested against the mountains. When the bus arrived it snaked through the narrow streets, around, up, down, squeezing its hulk through places I thought I would have to help suck in the fenders so it could get through. I tried to keep track of where we were going but it was impossible, as each street looked the same except it either went uphill or downhill. After making it in one piece to the bus station I stepped off the bus into a teenie-weenie one-room station. I collected my bags and started out the front door of the small quaint station to be greeted by a Mexican man who said ‘Taxi’. ‘Si,’ I replied. He showed me a small green and white taxi parked at the curb. I almost panicked again and tried to ignore it, as I heard not to take any green and white taxis in Mexico City. I was going to be careful about them so I recomposed myself, biting the bullet, thinking it wasn’t Mexico City as the taxi pulled forward. I didn’t have any other choice so I showed my reservation to the El Tajin Hotel. The driver nodded indicating he knew where it was. He loaded me and my luggage hanging out of the trunk (that was to happen a lot in Mexico) into the taxi and with bags and myself stuffed in the mini-bug we hurled down the streets at break neck speed, (the taxi drivers only know one speed in Mexico as I was soon to find out). After he must have covered half the narrow streets in town going up, down, around, zig zagging here and there to miss other vehicles he finally pulled up in front of the hotel. Hotel? Where is it? He pointed up and I craned my neck out the window. There it was, up at the top of three fights of high stairs. Before I could envision how I was going to haul my bags up them, the hotel porter came down and took my bags and actually dragged them up the stairs. The taxi ride cost 6.00. Porter 2.00. I showed my reservation to the desk clerk and was taken to a very clean but plain room. Wow, a bed. The first thing I did was make myself horizontal and rest. That first leg of the trip took the starch right out of me. Not to mention the strap on one of my bags had broken from being loaded and unloaded roughly somewhere along the line. Jeez, I had just begun my trip and I already ripped. I knew how my bag must have felt about its’ condition. Thank goodness I thought to bring bungee straps. Worked like a charm the rest of the trip. In a world of blue luggage jam-packed in a bus baggage compartment, the straps made for easy identification and secure zippers.

Later I walked around the plaza and looked at the buildings, market, people, and found an Internet café. They are all over Mexico, but the only thing they serve is Internet, no food. Some are better than others, some are large with 30 or more computers, some are small with only a dozen, but most of them are fairly speedy with good connection to the Internet and your e-mail site. One of the things I did before I left home was to arrange to use a trip journal with www.lonelyplanet.com to record my trip and post pictures. That way my family and friends could get the latest news and photos I posted with one click of the button. After first brief look at the plaza area looking for the money exchange I found a bank. They didn’t have a money exchange but they did have an ATM machine in the lobby and I was able to withdraw money to last me until I could find one. After that I was ready to go to see the pyramids at the site of El Tajin. The lady at the hotel desk took me down stairs and helped me find a taxi to take me there. Holding on to my hat and camera we lurched off at break neck speed once again. What I could see of the town on the way I found was cramped houses built on the sides of the hillsides. Crammed on top of each other jutting out at all angles. Even if there was no more space available, by adding a beam out into thin air and making a frame on it provided just enough stability to add another room. You just gotta love it, my kinda builder. Hang it on a skyhook. The countryside was green and pretty, lots of flowers and blooming trees. The ride must have been about 5 or 6 miles. When we pulled up to the site entrance it was filled with busses and taxis hovering around the circle driveway in front of the vendor shops and stands. I went directly to the museum. After I finally found where to buy my entrance ticket, I spent time looking at the displays in the small but interesting museum in front of the site. The entrance to the site itself was located down a concrete sidewalk. I followed it over a small bridge into an open area of grass. I was not ready for the impact I was given as soon as I could reach a place where the buildings popped into view. Wow!! So many! It took my breath away just looking at them. I was overwhelmed. After reading about the places in books and looking at the pictures I could see why they could only show a small part in each shot. The place was immense. It was also raked and swept immaculately clean by a staff of grounds keepers. Not one scrap of paper or piece of trash was anywhere. It seemed as pristine as if the ancient people just got up and walked over the hill. I know that didn’t happen as this place has been used for thousands of years by many cultures, the last of which were the Tonacas. Their culture brought us the Flying Valadores, or the Eagle god dancers descending on ropes from the heavens via a pole in the middle of the plaza area. They didn’t happen to be performing while I was there, but I had seen them in Tulum two years prior, and would see them again in Tulum when I reached that point on my trip. I continued walking through plaza after plaza looking at every building there. The Temple of the Niches was beautiful. There was a separate niche for every day of the year. It was place to give an offering to the day or god of the day and great way to keep track of what day it was. I spent time sitting on a hill eating my bread, cheese and water lunch (leftovers I purchased at whole foods the day before and I brought on the bus) by the upper level of the palace area, trying to get a grip on what their daily life would have been like in their kind of cultural structure. There is a lot that has been found about the cultures of the Mexica people, but there is also much more to learn. Just like any of the cultures of the ancient worlds even in Greece and Egypt, we really know so little about any of them.

Up on the hill I watched people below me come and go in between the buildings, temples, palaces and pyramids. They were shrunk to the size of ants from my advantage point. I wonder what the King would have thought about this. As I am sure he also sat on the hill surveying the masses below. I knew that El Tajin had a lot of work done to it to make it as presentable as it is. Many of the other sites I was to see were not even close to exposing and preparing the buildings for public viewing as this one was. This was a good place to start my journey. I certainly would have been disappointed had I started at Chunmayil or Chunhunhub first. I could get a grip on the good stuff and then see the potential the smaller undeveloped places had to aspire to becoming. I spent more time on that beautiful bright sunny warm winter day in November, not only enjoying the site but the non-humid atmosphere. I bought a coke and T-shirt on my way out of the site and decided I could take a Combi back to town. A ‘combi’ is a VW van-bus vehicle set up to hold 7 to 10 passenger seats. It usually travels from a specific central point in town to an outlying destination and back. This transportation holds true all over Mexico. As the difference between the cost of the combi and the taxi was huge, 50 cents verses 6.00, this was a good choice and there was one waiting. The ride was no less lurching; only this time I got to bounce and bump into my fellow passengers. The trip ended at a plaza at the bottom of a hill. Well, this wasn’t the part of town where the hotel was located. When I asked where it was the driver pointed up the narrow winding cobblestone street. Up there he was gesturing with his hands. Oh, my, I sighed, thinking over again the advantages the taxi ride would have offered. Chalking this one up to lesson learned about the transportation business I struck out for higher ground. The walk was interesting. The streets were narrow, the sidewalk even narrower. The people doing everyday things that people all over do. I nodded and said good day to everyone I passed. Even when I became out of breath I climbed even higher. Every time I reached a cross street I couldn’t believe I wasn’t there yet. I climbed and climbed and finally saw the steeple of the church next to the hotel. Finally, I wheezed, I was glad to see a church. When I reached the hotel I was ready for a shower. I opened the window to the room to get some fresh air and found the inner court yard alleyway between my room and the next building was occupied by 5 or 6 workmen who where doing restoration on the hotel. Only now they were having lunch and sitting around talking to each other. I gently closed the window and turned on the fan.

The hotel was clean, sparsely charming sitting on top of the hill. The huge church as located a couple of buildings away still on the same hill, but supported by a huge retaining wall holding up the plaza area around the front of the church. Equally huge staircases on each side of the plaza lead to the top of the church level, leaving one a marvelous view of the town plaza below it, the surrounding town and the hills beyond it. Even higher behind the church was a huge statue of a figure blowing a conch shell. Even as grand as it was, the restaurant was a far cry from the view and not what I expected for being located in a hotel. First, the staff spoke no English. Second, don’t order filet minion steak off the menu. The Mexican version is a very skinny flat, well-done piece of shoe leather. Not being able to chew that, I tried the potato. It was baked but not completely and was hard as a rock. I scraped the cheese off the top and ate it. No veggies were served so I settled for two margaritas instead. Speaking of which, I don’t even drink tequila, but I figured if I was in Mexico, that would be an easy drink. Every time I ordered one anywhere I went in Mexico it would be made and served differently. Strange, margaritas must be an American thing.

I finally gave up the thought of eating enough to keep me alive as the night descended and wrapped its velvet cloak over the green hills welcoming the opportunity to crawl under its mantle myself. Sleep came hard after a night on the bus as I lay on a hard mattress. Of course all mattresses were hard for me in Mexico, something I was bound to expect after sleeping on a waterbed for 20 years. I chose the best possible way to arrange my body and spent most of the night zonked. That is, until 4 am. Ok, I’m awake, now what? I turned on the TV. Well, that was another culture shock, what no English, not even subtitles. What a drag. I could watch trying to make sense of the images, but not quite. I did find a Mexica Musica channel. Not too bad, I like Mexican music, always have. So I left it playing as I balanced my expenses and counted my peso withdrawal on my credit card I made earlier that day. I repacked my bags adjusting the load to handle any of the rough knocks coming on the next leg of the trip and strapped them tightly with the bungee straps I brought with me.

I was due to leave in the morning for Mexico City, but I had time to go back down the plaza below. I found my way to the marked just outside of the church steps and looked around the stalls. Many were setting up with fruits and veggies and some had CD music disks, clothes and some were making breakfast. As I was wandering around I spotted a lady carrying a tin washtub on her head. No hands. She had a cloth rolled up like a ring that was giving the tub balance. When I took her picture the other vendors laughed with glee. I continued walking around the streets close to the plaza. At the end of one a truck had pulled up and was unloading several boxes. I watched and saw a woman drag out a small table from the truck and put a scale on it. The men were at work repacking the boxes with ice. I walked over to see what they had. Fish. The boxes were full of fish. Oh, my how are they going to keep them from spoiling before they sell them all. Doesn’t seem like enough ice. They only had newspapers to wrap them in and besides that they were already beginning to smell.

My attention was diverted just them by a rush of taxis whizzing down the streets. Where could people be going so early in the morning? The sun was just peeking over the top of the hill and making long shadows of the buildings surrounding the plaza. I watched as I walked back up the street, being careful not to cross a street in front of one. School children were taking the taxi to the school located at the church. Not just one or two kids but dozens of them piled out of taxis for the next 20 minutes. I found a fruit vendor just opening up his stand for the day and bought some fresh sliced fruit. I had to wait for him to slice it as I was the first customer of the day, and he didn’t even have his umbrella open yet. After I explored a few more streets and saw a few more ladies with tin tubs it was time to catch a taxi back to the bus station. Same ride, in reverse of the first, with a different taxi driver. While I waited for the bus to come, I found some little nick knacks at the souvenir counter and a coke. As I was the only person in the lobby the military guard at the door to the platform tried to be friendly with some broken English conversation. He asked where I was from. ‘Tejas’ is understood not Texas. He said his brother worked in Texas. It seems that is something to be proud of to have a family member actually make it to America and work without being sent back over the border. I can certainly understand that.

The bus came and he resumed his duties of scanning everyone as they passed through the doorway onto the bus platform. That was done everywhere in Mexico, no matter how big or small the station, there was a military person scanning the bus travelers. Their security measures would probably offend Americans here in America if they had to be scanned every time they boarded a bus. That is something to think about, since the terrorist attacks have happened in other places.

The story continues with the ride to Mexico City. Pictures are on the webshots.com photo albums. Click on the Mexican hat on the first page of the web site to access them.