Rutos de los Conventos of the Yucatan

St. Anthony of Padua, Tekit

From Merida there is an excursion through some of the villages of today's Maya, with beautiful churches of yesterday's Spanish, called La Ruta de los Conventos. We joined the route at a simple, dusty village in the outskirts of Merida, Kanasin, with an endless traffic jam of bicycle rickshaws, a busy market and countless stray dogs, to reach Acanceh, the first stop. Named "the moan of the deer" in Mayan, for the sound the Spanish heard on their arrival, Acanceh is made imposing by the 17th c gold painted Franciscan church, looming over a dusty parking lot and market. The church inside retains little of its former glory, quite spare with the purple-vested priest sitting on the side hearing confession. In fact, my impression of Acanceh was of difficult lives, human and canine, in the eyes of the lame beggars who approached us, in the market, in the huge dusty parking lot, in the eyes of the local men lined up to monitor the "modern" banos.

Defaced stucco mask, Acanceh

Squirrel god frieze at Acanceh

On either side of the mighty cathedral were Mayan ruins. Ancient Acanceh had flourished 300-600 AD when it had 400 structures and covered 4 square kilometers. The nearby pyramid protected five defaced stucco masks, 600-800 AD. The medium of stucco was easier to work than limestone and such masks have a beautiful realism, heavy Mayan symbolism, but vulnerability to damage. These were already defaced by the time they were uncovered in the 20th c. A few hundred metres away another pyramid has rare frescoes of a monkey god, a rabbit god and a bat god. Below, crumbling stucco walls led to poverty-stricken homes, of cement or straw. The neighborhood dogs also sought their living, covered in dust and fleas.

The firecrackers at the head of the procession

The procession

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Beyond was Tecoh where the road was blocked for a procession. We found our way, nonetheless, into the village (and parked across from Internet/Facebook/Skype Tecoh) on a route through the merciful shade of private yards, filled with makeshift arrangements of plastic containers, whose homes were concrete boxes or corrugated tin or traditional grass shacks. The procession, carrying a statue of the Virgin, approached the huge cathedral sitting atop the foundation of a destroyed Mayan pyramid. First came the men with firecrackers, then the young clergy in maroon and white robes, swinging incense, then swarmed the families, women in their pretty huipil, generations clinging to each other. Finally rickshaws brought up the infirm and the 1%. Inside the packed Cathedral a lush tenor sang something close to a mariachi song, people lined up with flowers and sprigs of green, to feed the large doll which had been carried there. Families squirmed all around. We walked through the convent, or rather monastery, with its comfortable, clean luxury and incredibly well stocked liquor cabinet. The crowds dispersed under the relentless sun, along dusty calles lined with crumbling stucco bars and convenience stores. Under the wilting sun it took forever to exit the dense village.

Mayapan

The next stop on the route is the archeological site of Mayapan, the last great Mayan settlement (1250-1450), thought by some to have been built by the Toltec conqueror Kukulcan. It is a minature of Chichen Itza, as many of the late Mayan cities seemed to have a reduced scale. Beautifully articulated pyramids and an astronomical cylinder tower bear remnants of decor. There are a few remaining masks of the rain god Chaac, a beautiful blue floor painting of an aquatic scene, frescoes of decapitated warriors, remnants of color. There were once 4,000 buildings, the vast majority still unexcavated, and many cenotes. There is dispute--having survived the fall of Chichen Itza--was Mayapan the conqueror of that huge realm?

View from a pyramid at Mayapan

We stopped for lunch at an eco hotel Na'Lu'um, Mother Earth, most unexpected on the barren roads which led to villages where not even primitive hotels could be found. I had an exquisite fruit salad but Jacques was less happy with doughy empanadas, covered nonetheless with perfect tomato sauce.

Spanish colonial pulpit, Tekit

The village of Tekit, where we went another day, had a more comfortable feel, much of the cement painted at least on the facade, and small tokens of decor, but still even more grass huts in the yards. These sometimes housed livestock, but mostly were spare living spaces with hammocks hanging inside. Some had becomes kitchens, some had TVs in the concrete lined interior, the exterior made of sticks and straw. The interiors of these traditional dwelling places feel soothing. The monumental church was dedicated to St. Anthony of Padua.

Convent at Mama

In Mama, where there is the oldest convent, we walked in the grassy yard toward the old stone blocks of a cloister, where two small teenagers emerged looking guilty. In an adjoining yard where a handsome Mayan woman was flinging palmetto leaves by her grass hut of rooster cages, and horse with a graing face stood tied, there was an old crumbling stone dome, perhaps the bishop's old house. Carefully enclosed in lower stone walls was some kind of Mayan ruin. The heat was devastating but school kids wore uniforms and some sweaters. At length we were led by a young man's rickshaw taxi in Ticul to the restaurant Los Almendros, where we ate under a grass roof in a grassy lawn bya pool, with swings from the trees and suspicious dogs, the only customers for the twinkly-eyed, hairnet-wearing staff.

At Chumayel

We wound back hoping to find churches had opened. Chumayel was, famous for being where the Chilim Balam had been found. During the years of the Spanish conquest in Yucatan, a chilam or witch named Balam (Jaguar) prophesied the arrival of Christianity, the war and the final enslavement of the Mayas. With the passage of centuries, other Chilamob added myths, legends, cryptic poetry in the voices of gods, histories, lineages, divine deeds, peregrinations, real and magic battles, explanations of celestial phenomena, and laments over the cruelty experienced in those times so difficult, as well as spells and incantations. Small and simple, the church's retable was lovely in the dim light, where the black crucified Christ with his embroidered diaper was almost invisible behind glass. The old spirits of the church hovered around two Mayan ladies as we wandered to the bare, except for another bloody yet immaculately diapered crucifixion, stucco cloister.

From Chilim Balam

Mani

The impressive pink Mani convent where de Landa had burned 700 books was closed, but preparations were under way for a rodeo in the stifling heat. A slab of bark, with some stone architectural frgments had a quote from Chilim Balam: "Life is wilting and the heart of its flowers is dead. And those who put their cup down to the bottom, those who stretch it until it breaks, damage and suck the flowers of the others."

Cloister at Mama

The oldest village, Mama, was beautiful, with its original wood painted retable, several chapels, and quaint Spanish colonial pulpits. Kids followed us, giggling, into the church were swallows zoomed. Behind the church, we entered the old convent with its atrium of palm trees and cool separate rooms under log ceilings, where mothers and children met in the various rooms, discussing, singing, working. It was a beautiful haven for mothers in the evening hours, to gather and bring their children. All these Franciscan buildings had been built on Mayan ruins, with Mayan stone, by the hands of the Mayan slaves. And in Mama, the ornate dense swirling carvings on the portal had been rendered by Mayan stone masons. We drove home in the dark, the small roads more mysterious than ever.