T A B L E+T A L K What do you read when you travel? Swap favorite tomes for the road in the Wanderlust area of Table Talk R E C E N T L Y History and hallucination By Jan Morris Gdánsk stands as a symbol of enduring truth -- and stirring resurrection (01/05/98) Wires and buyers and scares -- oh my! By Don George Some questions about the year in travel (12/24/97) Christmas in Syria By Louis CasaBianca Christmas in Syria: The tale of an unexpected gift (12/23/97) Passages By David Downie "Enchanted Liguria" Mondo pesto: Liguria's green cuisine (12/22/97) Surreal Gourmet By Bob Blumer Chicken soup with matzo balls for the soul (12/19/97) - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Browse the Wanderlust feature archive - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Your virtual travel agency - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -		mayan_D R E A M I N G _______ OF SERPENT-HEADED CLOUDS, JUNGLE-ENTWINED PYRAMIDS, NUBILE ARCHEOLOGISTS AND OTHER MAYAN VISIONS ON A STAY IN THE YUCATAN. BY DOUGLAS CRUICKSHANK How could I have known that what began with Kukulcán's head exploding would end with two dogs blithely humping away at the House of the Magic Dwarf on a moonlit Yucatan night? I couldn't. But then, who could these days? A thousand years ago such portentous events would have been foretold by plumed Mayan priests (who apparently had the same easy intimacy with the turnings of the universe that we do with a cuckoo clock), but we've long since traded away clairvoyance for corn futures, which means that all sorts of things sneak up on us that didn't used to back when Kukulcán and company were calling the shots. For example, there we were -- a drowsy crocodile, a wandering piglet and me -- watching the sunset at Cobá, a town located by an ancient Mayan city about two and a half hours through the jungle from Cancún. It was too early for serious drinking, and it was too hot and hypnotic -- what with the sky on fire and all -- to read, so I walked down Lake Cobá's grassy bank to a short wharf that terminated in a small thatch-roofed pavilion. From there I could see the entire lake, its polished surface only occasionally disturbed by a jumping fish or prowling caiman. At one end the peak of a Mayan pyramid, called La Iglesia, towered over the jungle. The full moon rising behind it created a garish glow that made the whole scene look like a painting you'd find in an art gallery in Las Vegas. In the opposite direction, the over-ripe mango sun was descending behind a 40-story cumulonimbus that the gods -- who never miss a trick -- had given the shape of a serpent's head, complete with a long vaporous tongue whipping the lush horizon. It was a singular sight (the vivid reflection in the lake turned it into the world's largest Rorschach image) that even a confirmed skeptic would have to admit bore an uncanny resemblance to Kukulcán, the feathered-serpent Mayan god whom the Mexicans call Quetzalcoatl. A serpent-headed cloud would have been good enough, but this one was outfitted with a lightning storm, and whenever the lightning flashed, the inner contours of the monumental thunderhead lit up and every curl and corrugation of Kukulcán's brain was illuminated. Everything was revealed! All questions were answered, the way was shown, the toucan squawked, the jaguar stood upright and talked and click went the key to the master lock: Doors were opened, time stood still, light was infinite and transcendent wisdom was delivered at a jillion kilobytes per second. It was a life-changing, cathartic event. And that's precisely why I'm so peeved. I'll be damned if I didn't forget nearly all of that exalted sagacity by morning, and the few shreds I retained mysteriously disappeared from memory as I stumbled over ruins during the next several days, or sipped mescal at poolside while allowing myself to be mesmerized by the lyrical flutter of metallic blue butterflies napping on bougainvillea blossoms. It doesn't matter. I wasn't there to achieve enlightenment. My mission was a brief archeological orgy -- driving across the Yucatan Peninsula, through cloudbursts and sun, past caramel-colored children, butterscotch cattle and agave plantations -- stopping at Cobá, Chichén Itzá and Uxmal, three of the numerous pre-Columbian cities that have been discovered in Mesoamerica during the last couple of centuries. It's impossible (and pointless) to rate such splendid places, but of the three Uxmal is certainly the most ornate, evocative and spooky, while Chichén Itzá, perhaps the most well-known, is also the largest and most thoroughly restored. However, it is at Cobá, much of which is still crowded by dense forest, that it is easiest to imagine what it must have been like to come across these lost cities in the contagiously romantic era of 18th and 19th century exploration. The jungle creeps up the backside of Cobá's great pyramid, Nohoch Mul, and massive, boa constrictor-sized tree roots still wrestle with the steps of La Iglesia. Unmarked trails wander off into the jungle and lead to elaborately carved stele -- giant surfboard-shaped stone monuments, some standing 10 to 12 feet high -- their once crisp bas-reliefs now dulled by centuries of heat and rain. Elsewhere at Cobá there are lines of columns, fragments of steps and arched passageways that lead to small acrid chambers populated by fidgety bats whose beeps fill the sweaty darkness. It is a curious place indeed. No matter how potent your imagination, envisioning what the ancient Mayan metropolises were like at their zenith, 500 years or more before the conquistadors arrived, when many surfaces were plastered and richly painted, is probably impossible without several days of fasting, significant blood loss (the Mayan aristocracy's favored form of spiritual transport) or a soul kiss from a cascabel. Still, regardless of where you stand on metaphysics and altered states, the lost cities have an indisputable emotional impact by virtue of their age, scale, architectural exactitude and the exotic, forceful vision of those who built them. "Chichén Itzá," a Yucatecan remarked to me, "is the Maya's Jerusalem." N E X T+P A G E+| A clock at the center of the universe