 |
| Photo Credit: Figure 1 |
The ancient Mayan ruins in the archaeological zone in Tulum are located 130km south of Cancun, a good 2 hour long drive from the city. Our visit to Quintana Roo in the summer of 2010 abounded in rides like these on Federal Highway 307 to the southern end of the Riveria. It was a particularly scorching spell that day and Tulum temperatures had touched 50 degrees centigrade, at least it felt that from the heat emanating from the pre-Hispanic dry stone and rock of the El Castillo. At the site, scores of distracting giant grey Iguanas flanked every catchy background in brilliant camouflage. Our more accessible alternative to the over-advertised Chichen itza ruins which we had decided to skip in the interest of time, had plenty character of its own.
We jumped off a colectivo running from Tulum to Playa del Carmen after touring the Mayan ruins. Literally “hidden” on an obscure mirage-filled highway diversion, Sistema Dos Ojos which which also harbored the 'Hidden World' Cenote park, seemed it could offer besides the welcome respite of water, the curious marvel of happening to be part of the network of the longest underground cave systems in the world. Five minutes off the colectivo and into the narrow sand path that opened to the Hidden World entrance , we were in scuba wetsuits and on an arcadian jeep drive through the ambushed maze of jungle flora. My husband got chatty with the chummy jeep driver while I took zippy camera shots on the jeep jaunt as the vehicle bumped up against every rugged tract and sent us flinging sideways like a bunch of kangaroos. My focus soon shifted to holding on to the camera for dear life, as if it were a pivot I could tie myself to and engage safely in wild motion.
The jungle ranger jeep screeched to a halt, we got off and proceeded to descend the stairwell which lead to the underground caves. At the top we met Abila, a cenote expert and tour guide who also managed the base hut. From the looks of things, the base acted more as a souvenir shop hosting artifacts ranging from stone objects, seals, figurines and even talavera and maiolica styled pottery. She spoke briefly about the joys of living days on end in the cenote jungles and managed to gain my interest.
At the underground surface, the mouth of the cenote hole opened up before us. As did the depths of its darkness. Armed with dry-top window masks, hinged seal snorkels, trek fins, purge valves, silicone mouthpieces and the assurance of strangers, we paddled into the water. As we got further away from the opening, the lack of light got strangely unnerving. The underwater guide soon turned on his beacon flashlight exposing the distant cave floor , arduously rocky overhead stone, slim rock-ribbed corridors, shallow boulders and an intriguing array of stalactites and stalagmites. The light from the head-torch, albeit strong, was able to penetrate only the nearest distances.
A few hundred meters further down the route, cavern lighting from the beacon got stronger, silhouetting the petal shaped tubes of rock and stone that charmed my view but toyed with my vision. If I had ever wondered what a sinkhole looked like from outside Discovery channel cameraman’s turfland and 500 feet under sea level, I needn’t have to humor my imagination anymore. Piled up plates of boulder, reef and earth shot like mushrooms from as far as the eye could see below and formed a drapery of curtains into conduit shaped foyers that seemed to indicate escapes into other hinterlands of vast imaginary artistry. Surely, this could be just another cave. But unlike most other caves, it had very little ground I could tread on, enough water I could swim on, and an underwater bottomlessness of pitch darkness that could aspire one to summon an acoustic echosounder, whose pulse would assuredly travel many fathoms deep. Hence, thank goodness for the life-jacket.
Our guide, whenever he managed to surface above the water, kept us ruminating with tidbits and scoops on the site. “These caves, like the other cenotes in the Yucatan have been explored since the 1980s, but the exploration remains underway. Due to the sheer abundance of such caves in the peninsula and the difficulty of employing specific cave diving techniques, there are many cenote sites here which yet remain undiscovered to date” he briefed.
 |
| Photo Credit: Figure 5 |
As I later found out, cenotes are home to 80 percent of freshwater in the Yucatan Peninsula, which lacks surface water by large. Water channels exist under the ground as opposed to above it due to porous limsetone, the trickling of which also results in exotic speleothems and subterrane structures. Centuries of dissolution of rock resulting in collapsing cavern ceilings which created pools of water collecting bodies have built vertically undulating reef forms and open water basins.
We reached a site with an edgy surface and a sharp but low ceiling-ed narrow channel of stone. Beyond crossing the rocky channel, it opened up into wider pools with miniature wall cracks that allowed some degree of natural lighting. “Here cave divers have found historic artifacts and animal fossil bones dating back to thousands of years”, the guide informed us.
The Mayans called cenote “Dzonot”. Motul, a Mayan hieroglyphics dictionary defines dzonot as "abysmal and deep"[1]. Legend has it that as passageways to the underworld, the Mayans had treated these rocky interiors as sacred doors to the 9 underworlds (or Xibalbas, land of the dead) which complemented their 13 heavens. The Mayans reverence for water which translated itself to the cenotes made them consider these the transitory life to death passages as sites of piety. Objects of sacrifice, precious objects, fossilized remains of horses, camels and sometimes human skeletons - victims of Mayan ritual for rain gods can still be seen occasionally to this date.
Just the previous night, I had been reading in a traveller’s magazine at the hotel room about the Dia de Muertos (Day of the Dead), the Mexican tradition of the celebration of the death of ancestors and lost loved ones, which has its roots in the indigenous and Aztec rituals dating 3000 years ago. Hanal Pixan (which in Mayan language translates to ‘food for the soul’), I recalled, was a gastronomical feast to please and appropriate the ancestral souls with earthly foods and flavors.
‘The rites of passage’, I mused, as we passed the pools of historical importance. Somehow the double entendre and assignment seemed apt.
 |
| Photo Credit:Figure 6 |
Democritus, the pre-Socratic Greek philosopher of Materialism was among the first to suggest that the universe contains many worlds. “In some worlds there is no sun and moon, in others they are larger than in our world, and in others more numerous. Some parts are increasing, some decreasing, in some parts they are arising, in some others failing”. The rugged edges of this universe of cenotes, stalactites and stalagmites that stood before us seemed to render true a materialism which stood in stark contrast to the soulful Mayan journey of deep memory. At moments in the physical cenote journey one can find oneself vacillating similarly. On one end there is the solid strength of rock, stone, matter, water, centuries of atomicity, light, or the lack of it - as they exist. And on the other, a conscious interpretation lingers, an evocative thought dangles - almost as adjacent to the senses and Mayan memory as the matter itself. It is very difficult to choose between the reality of the two divisive worlds if one finds oneself caught in a palpable flux between them, if one stays there long enough to realize this.
We swam to the adjacent 'Bat Cave' which hosted an even lower lit interior encrusted with intricate cave crystals, pillars and dripstone. The Stalactites were home to many bats resting at the ceiling and hiding between the hanging projections, silently yet intently, only too aware of our meagre presence. At some point, they will break into a scatter of screaming wide arcs in search of cave beetles, mosquitoes, fruit.
Eventually, we made our way to the mouth of the cavern where our venture had begun. From these hearts of darkness, as one begins their retreat back into the light of the Outer World, a sombre ballad comes to mind (from John Freeman - The Caves ):
Still in the folded hollow darkness swells,
Sinks, swells, and every green-hung hollow fills,
Till there's no room for sound
Save that old anger rolled around;
So into every hollow cliff of life,
Into this heart's deep cave so loud with strife,
In tunnels I knew not,
In lightless labyrinths of thought,
The unresting tide has run and the dark filled,
Even the vibration of old strife is stilled;
The wave returning bears
Muted those time-breathing airs.