A World Never Lost

by Miguel Yga (Mexico)

Making a local connection Mexico

I sprang over the tree root and crashed through the dense underbrush of the Yucatec jungle. All around me, the forest teemed with life; vines hung down from the canopy and a myriad of ferns and fallen tree trunks covered the forest floor. “Ha! Ha!” came a cry from behind me as Dino, my Mayan friend, vaulted over the root and chased me. We’d watched Mel Gibson’s Apocalypto on Dino’s old laptop the previous night (during which he’d constantly complained about the thick accents with which the American actors butchered his language) and were now making a mockery of it by playfully imitating the furious jungle chases from the movie. Had it not been for the reassuring presence of the tracker leading us from the forefront, we’d be hopelessly lost in this vast maze of green. I’d been staying with Dino in Kantemó, a remote Mayan village lost in the heart of the Yucatán Peninsula. Only a week before, I’d hitchhiked into town on the back of a dilapidated moped with two Mayan farmers. I’d held on for dear life as we swerved on jungle backroads, trying to balance the bundle of sharp machetes rattling on my legs while the driver’s eyes swept the high grass for jaguars. Yep! Welcome to the lost world of the Maya! We now found ourselves following a hunter as he tracked an unseen path through the forest and led us ever deeper into the forgotten corners of the Puuc Hills— a place, for all practical purposes, as remote as the far side of the moon. The sweltering tropical heat made me sweat from places I never thought capable of making me swim in my own perspiration. My heart pounded with exhilaration at finding myself on such an impromptu expedition, organized only the day before when Dino’s hunting friend offered to guide us through the depths of the jungle to see some fossilized human prints. He’d assured me the man knew all the forgotten corners, ancient ruins and sacred spaces that lay undiscovered in the hills. When I inquired if the hunter had found anything of interest while exploring, the man had stepped into his hut only to emerge moments later cradling an ancient stone skull that looked like a prop from an Indiana Jones movie. After another fifteen minutes of wandering through the brush, we came upon a dry spring marked by cracked limestone walls. The hunter led us around the spring’s outer edge until we felt the spongy ground under our feet give way to firm ground hidden beneath the forest floor. He then paused, looked at our surroundings and swept away a blanket of dry leaves with his foot, revealing a layer of stone. “This is the place,” he said finally. We then got on our knees and dug with our hands. As we pulled away the thick crust of dirt and leaves that covered the rock, I felt us peeling back the veil of time to reveal the past beneath our fingers. Bit by bit, shapes then began to emerge; an adult’s foot here, the faint imprint of a child’s hand there and then the unmistakable shape of a spiral traced by an ancient finger. After we finished toiling, we sat down by our little excavation and observed the shapes in silent awe. I sat by the prints and a vision of an ancient Mayan family formed in my mind. I could envision them resting on the soft ground beside the spring, laughing as they etched the spiral I now saw into eternity. Realizing these were the footprints of my companion’s ancestors, I traced the spiral with my fingers and placed my palm where someone else had—long, long ago. I closed my eyes and felt myself reach out through the boundlessness of time to touch its owner. We left soon afterwards, retaking our giddy chases through the jungle as we retraced our steps back to reality. Although it was the same path, I felt changed by the touch of a hand that matched my own and a moment of deep connection that revealed travel for what it truly is: an act of spirit that rings throughout.