Wanderluster

Catching a Moment - Place of turbid waters

marianurz — Fri, 19 Apr 2013 05:13:12 GMT

“Trust me señorita, you’ll thank me later”. A petite slender man with swarthy skin tanned due to the excessive sun exposure, handed us a pair of old magenta colored bicycles before we could even agree on renting them. He swiftly explained us how to get to the main pyramid through the labyrinth of more than 45 rock-strewn dusty sacbés –ancient roads.

We hopped up the ramshackle bikes and eagerly prepared to explore the Mayan mysteries Pre-Hispanic Cobá was holding for us. Sapodilla trees flanked the sacbés as a thick evergreen curtain ready to reveal a beauteous spectacle. I was certainly thanking the charismatic bike’s man for the unforgettable 2km ride, despite of the pain the hard seat and low handlebar were inflicting upon my back.

Nohoch Mul -“big mound” in Mayan- rose imposingly, fighting against the devouring unpredictable jungle. We naively started off climbing what seemed to be a “not so high” declivitous flight of narrow rock steps. Half way gone, with just the safety of a heavy old rope plus the suffocating humid Caribbean heat, I felt my energy throwing in the towel.

Every movement was an odyssey. Going back wasn’t an option but the top seemed Everestly high.
Out of nowhere, a daredevil Mayan kid ventured hazardously nimble downward, jumping each gigantic step as a skilled sprinter. I must admit I felt fairly ridiculous then.

42 meters and 120 weather-beaten steps afterwards, we were exhaustibly yet buoyantly standing in the highest spot in the whole Yucatan Peninsula, breathing the fresh unpolluted oxygen-rich air.
Tiresome vanished nearly immediately as I turned around and a bomb-shell vision flabbergasted me. Bright shades of green reaching a 360° panoramic, far enough till green merged with intense azure in a perfectly straight horizon line; soothing serenity only interrupted by the gasping bushed foreigners tussling with great exertion to conquer the Big Mound; curious peaks of neighbor edifications rising among the thickness; gleaming reflection of nearby lakes that give Cobá its name – “place of turbid waters”.

I sat in the edge of the lofty structure with a fusion of vertigo and fascination. For an ephemeral moment, a gentle mizzle fell over the immaculate jungle. Mayans believe that rain the first time you visit an archeological site is a sign of good fortune. To me it seemed more like kismet. A surreal moment fugitive from a story.

The postcard extending in front of me was unbeatable. I felt such moment to be perpetual.

Photos: Photos

marianurz — Mon, 23 Apr 2012 12:46:00 GMT

My Scholarship entry - Understanding a Culture through Food

marianurz — Mon, 23 Apr 2012 01:52:00 GMT

“Head Isu” more than just bon appetite.

The clock pointed 7pm. The warm, deep smell of homemade black rye “leib” invaded every inch of the house. Bright cinnamon candles with dancing flames hypnotized the pupil. A blink towards the window revealed a long and cold journey of snowflakes claiming their role in the wintry white scene.

The first bite was an adventure into the unknown. My plate a contrast of colors, smells and textures. From the inquisitive yet eye-catching bright pinky colored “rosolje” made out of beetroot, to the infamous translucent jelly-liked “sült” a mysterious and traditional Estonian dish made with pork meat which I have to admit was rather scary. A plate full of flavor, but also full of history.

Grandfather’s eyes were tired but wise. Just like my dish, they silently recounted a fascinating story. A story of survival, of fight and hope. As if reading my mind, he spoke words that made me forget a few seconds about the spine-chilling look of the blood sausage mom had just added to my already overflowing plate. He explained how hard it was for Estonians to survive during wars and tough Nordic winters with the little food they could get. Potatoes, fish, pork… they became their national food for they were easier to find and grow.

A bite of sauerkraut and a sip of the national herbal liqueur “Vana Tallinn” gave him strength to continue his anecdote. Suddenly I saw myself walking the magnificent medieval streets of Tallinn accompanied only by the essence of past surrounding me. Every brick and stone holding high the weak weight of old buildings, every soul slowly prowling towards the breathtaking Old Town, every courageous hand transmitting hope from one another strongly holding another 2 million hands joined for a common purpose. Freedom.

His eyes sparkled with pride, mine with sympathy. Centuries of effort and tradition opened up my appetite. A smile appeared in my face as “Head Isu” was spoken wishing everyone a great Christmas meal.

Maria