Monte Albán ~ Derek's Travels

Just a quick twenty or thirty minute ride outside of Oaxaca stands the ancient bastion of Monte Albán, so my affinity for Central American ruins and ancient cultures drew me to this place. As luck would have it, a few rather uncool, loud Americans (well, not uncool in their minds, but only in mine) were along on the bus ride. They were California guys in their 20s, basically coming down to Mexico to party for a week or two, maybe have a few tacos, a bunch of tequilas and then head back...basically the kind of traveller I often despise. I had the misfortune of being able to listen to them the whole time while waiting for the bus, and I actually was assigned the seat next to one of the three on the way up the windy road into the surrounding mountains of Oaxaca. He wasn't bad as an individual, though he was lamenting about having to get up early and how the curvy road wasn't ideal for his hangover, so I didn't have too much sympathy. Anyway, we soon arrived at the site, opening first with a series of sunken square courtyards surrounded by five or ten foot stone walls upon which a few broken down mini temples stood. Nearby was the omnipresent ball court, a small, well restored one with the traditional I-shape, pitting three players against each other in a match with a small rubber ball and the objective to hit it to the other side with your hips, elbows and knees, much like other games at these sites. In contrast, it is said that there is no evidence of sacrificing the lives of the players here, neither the winners or the losers. However, they did say that it was played during ceremonies, for leisure, and to settle disputes over things such as land, so, in theory, a talented player could begin to move up in society by taking things and winning the dispute on the ball court.

After the first two sunken courtyards, the sprawling main plaza came into view. From our high vantage point, I could see the huge grassy area in all its glory. Along the sides of the field, approximately the size of three or four football fields, are remnants of old temples and majestic tombs, originally carved with hieroglyphics, many of which have faded away. Running through the center is an astrological building shaped from above as an arrow pointing North, and one or two other buildings surely serving as the burial grounds for some of the more important rulers of the city. Once again in awe of the towering structures and the remains of the civilization that once ruled the area, I began to walk amongst the ruins, taking in and cherishing the sights of the stone temples. This city is set on the top of one of the highest hills in the valley which was rounded off to provide enough flat land for the people, giving it a beautiful and strategic position with 360 degree views of the valley lying below. According to the historians, the city was originally started by the Zapotec people around 500 BC, flourishing in between 200 BC and 300 AD, the time in which most of the impressive structures were created. At its peak, it is estimated that 25,000 people occupied this magnificent city-state. As I moved through the temples, one exhibit showed a series of carved stones, nearly life sized, depicting the rulers of conquered neighboring states that were taken into the city and killed, celebrating the strength and triumph of Monte Albán during its prime. At the Southern end of the huge field stands the South Temple, a huge, wide pyramid with the familiar large stone steps leading up about 70 feet to the next wide platform of grass, where another small mound of unexcavated ruins stands.

Hoping for another superb moment of solitude, contemplation and awe, I found a shady spot to sit on the top stair of the South Temple, taking in all that lay out before me. Again, I imagined the rulers of the town speaking down to the villagers below, admiring the magnificent temples that lined the fields all around. I sat in silence for a while, sometimes accompanied by some relaxing music courtesy of my iPod and Coldplay, sometimes just listening to the sounds of the site itself. Eventually I had to move on, but this had been another great stop in my tour of the ancient cities of Mesoamerica. Not long after, I had to catch the bus back to town, staying in Oaxaca for one more afternoon. On the night of November 1, Todos Santos, I took the late night bus onwards to Tuxtla Gutierrez, a long ride and one to which I was not looking forward. It would be a 9 or 10 hour bus ride, and it would also bring me into a region that is (or was) known for its rebels and buses being stopped and robbed (more than other parts of Mexico). While in the bus station, waiting for the 10:30 pm departure, I met a nice local man and his small child, and they even treated me to a taste of some local chocolate that they had with them, a bittersweet dark chocolate that is very popular in the area.

I had hoped that at least my bus ride would be comfortable, so I was a little dismayed to see the bus was packed, and I had a local man sitting next to me, not allowing me to stretch out my legs, which is usually what I've been able to do. He also fell asleep quickly and happened to be a loud snorer, so I didn't have the best seat in the place, but I figured that I'd have to manage. Fortunately for me, he did get off about halfway through, so I eventually had a bit of room about four hours into the trip. As I said, this place wasn't dangerous, but it's not particularly safe either, so I would stir from my half-sleep every time the bus stopped, hoping it was a voluntary one and not a roadblock ahead. Well, just a few hours later, the same thing happened, and it was indeed a roadblock. I sat up straight and tried to assess the situation in the complete darkness of the mountain road, a few hours before the sun would even come up.

Ahead was a group of men and a huge tractor-trailer blocking the road. We definitely couldn't pass, but they didn't have the look of bad-intentioned vigilantes. The driver got out to see what was going on, and soon I found out the situation. Apparently one tractor-trailer had come up with a flat tire on the road, and another one slightly hit it from behind, leaving both of them stuck in the middle of the narrow road, not allowing any room for anyone to pass. Minutes passed with no sign of movement as every stood around, trying to figure out what to do. Minutes turned to hours, and the first light of the day illuminated the situation. Eventually, after about two hours, the other drivers managed to get a replacement tire, good enough to move the truck out of the road and let us pass. Relieved, I sat back in the seat and tried to get a bit more sleep, but our driver had other ideas. Being behind schedule, he took the opportunity to use this windy mountain roads as a race course, sending bags sliding with each sharp turn. Unlike almost every other bus trip that I've taken, the locals and tourists both strapped on their seatbelts and hoped the driver knew the road well. Just another hour down the road, the situation looked bad again - another roadblock ahead, though this looked different. Locals and children were running up and down the line of stopped cars, and I could tell that something was wrong. After another thirty minute wait, we were finally allowed to pass, and I saw the aftermath of a head-on collision that looked horrible. Both cars were crunched, and the bloody driver of one car was still in his seat, not moving, most likely not living, given the look of the crash and his body. To my disgust, a few of the Mexican teenagers on the bus were taking pictures of the scene as we passed by. As it turns out, I saw in the paper later that the driver did die, a tragic start for his family on the morning of the Day of the Dead. Fortunately for me, our bus arrived safely after a long 12 or 13 hour trip, and I was in Tuxtla Gutierrez, safe and sound, though very sleepy.

(One of the smaller temples lining the grassy main plaza.)