The Unexpected Path “I got a fever and the only prescription is more cowbell”. Traveling is my cowbell. Gotta have more!

Last year I climbed a pyramid and saw a crocodile. This pyramid is not on my bucket list, but it is near a Mayan Death Ball court, so I might count it.

Driving into the Mexican countryside, we reached the heart of the jungle where we found the remains of an ancient civilization: the Coba Mayan ruins.

The jungle ruins in the Yucatan were never really forgotten through the millennia, but weren’t seriously explored until the 1920s. Now, walking Coba’s vast jungle complex of stone buildings, we stopped as our guide gave historical context, “Over here in the luxury box, guests might have viewed decapitations or heart extractions while drinking Fanta, which can be purchased in the gift shop”. Pedicabs sped past us along the many dirt avenues that cut through the trees. There were fantastic stone carvings of figures and skulls and enormous structures to match.

First occupied 2000 years ago, Coba grew to be a dominant Mayan power, but the city was abandoned by the 16th century. Several large temple pyramids were built, but, more importantly (to me), so were ballcourts for Mayan Death Ball which used basketball-type hoops, except the winners of Death Ball celebrated with human sacrifices, not champagne (so it was different). We came upon a crocodile we hoped was alone and well fed, while nearby a train of giant leafcutter ants carried off the greens of a tree, leaf by leaf. Finally, we reached the big pyramid.

People were carefully crawling ant-like up the pyramid’s side. Reaching the massive steps, I started climbing slowly, pulling on the thick rope. After several minutes and a proper asthma attack for good measure, I reached the summit of the pyramid and gazed out in amazement at the stunning views for miles around. It was exhilarating! It was then I saw the escalator (not really, but someone should get on that).

Descending the non-Egyptian pyramid felt akin to Cary Grant slipping down Teddy Roosevelt’s nose on Mount Rushmore. I’m not sure what height the pyramid reaches, 10 or 12 feet at least, but I didn’t fall and die. I slipped a little for the souvenir bruise, but found the bottom where the croc ate me (it didn’t, but I am delicious).

I thought about the Mayans who lived in Coba thousands of years ago and what their lives might have been like and whether they played pickup games of Mayan Death Ball as insurance. Then, I wondered if I could count this pyramid as the pyramid on my bucket list. My head says no, but my extracted heart says yes.