“I am interested in UFO stories. Do you have a story?” I asked. After my guide explained my mission, Rodrigo, who was clearly the leader, looked at his four companions. Then he motioned toward the shade of a tall tree, and eight of us (the five bicyclists, my driver, my guide, and I) sat down. My driver retrieved eight bottles of ice water from the van, passed them around, and joined us, as the young man named Pablo began the story.
“It was a black night. High winds were making it difficult to ride our bikes. We saw lightning off in the distance as we raced for our village,” he said.
“We are all from the same village and we were about three kilometers (1.8 miles) from home,” Rodrigo interjected. “The rains came in waves across the highway. We saw bright lights ahead. We thought there was a wreck.”
“But the closer we got to the lights, the more blinding they became,” Pablo continued. “That’s when we realized that something was wrong.”
“I told my buddies to stay back while I investigated,” Rodrigo said.
“But he didn’t come back,” Pablo explained. “We got worried and decided to follow him.”
“How long did you wait?”
“Thirty minutes?” Pablo said. He looked at the others and they nodded. “We decided to look for him, but we still didn’t realize it was a UFO. As we approached the source of the lights, we recognized the outline of some sort of a craft. As we came closer the lights softened and turned to red. I told the others to stay behind me, away from the light. We called out to Rodrigo, but no response.” Pablo picked up a small rock at his feet and threw it into the field. “I must admit, I was afraid. I told the guys not to yell, because if aliens had Rodrigo, they might come after us. We looked around for any sign of life. We saw nothing. We looked around for other people, but there was no one on the road. We were alone.” He paused and took a long drink from the water bottle and stood.
“Did you go closer to the craft?” I asked.
“We decided to move off the highway and take shelter in a small tree-belt by the highway and wait,” Pablo continued. “It was about ten minutes when we saw the craft lift upward a few feet, and a light came from underneath, and suddenly a door opened from the bottom of the craft. A stairway descended. That’s when we saw them. There were eleven of them.”
“Eleven aliens?”
“No. Eleven humans,” said Pablo. “They all came out of the UFO. Rodrigo was the second to appear. I ran toward him and pulled him out of the light. But the others just stood there with nowhere to go. The UFO suddenly moved upward. Within seconds, it was gone. All around us was darkness. We had one flashlight. I shined it in the direction of the others. They wandered in a circle, obviously confused. Rodrigo babbled about something we did not understand.”
“At this point, what did you do?” I asked.
“We decided to stay there until someone from the village came for us. Andres gathered some wood and we built a fire so if someone came along, they would see us and slow down. We herded all the people to the side of the road and made them sit down,” Pablo said.
“Did anyone come for you?” I asked.
“My father came looking for me. He loaded everyone into the back of his pickup and took us to the village. We told everyone what happened. Some of the women began praying. My father ordered the people to bring extra hammocks and he hung them in trees and put the strangers to bed. The next morning, when they woke, they did not know where they were or what happened to them. Rodrigo was fine,” Pablo said.
“I did not know any of the people who were with me,” Rodrigo said. “One man was from Mexico City, there were three from Merida, one from Valladolid, two from Vera Cruz, and I can’t remember the others. But they were from all around Mexico.”
“Did any of them remember how they came to be on the UFO?” I asked.
“No. None of them remembered anything. I did not remember anything either,” Rodrigo said. “I don’t know what they did to me, but after that, I was the fastest bicyclist in Mexico. Maybe they did something to make me faster.”
“Or maybe all your work paid off.”
“Yeah. Maybe it was me,” he replied.
“What happened to the others?” I asked.
“As far as we know, they all went home. My father took them to the bus station. We never saw them again,” Pablo said.
“What about you, Rodrigo? What do you think happened to you?”
“I don’t know, Señora. I don’t even remember the UFO.”
I often think of the bicyclists I met that day on my visit to Kiuic. I never pass a group of bicyclists on the highway without being reminded of that group. I often think of Rodrigo’s belief that the UFO had given him supernatural powers and made him a more powerful rider. Though it was hard for me to wrap my mind around such an incident, I suppose stranger things have happened.
Chapter 45
The Sky Gods Cried, Too
Stephens and Catherwood visited Izamal in 1843. As mentioned in their book Incidents of Travel in Yucatan, mounds stood between houses throughout the city. The mounds were concealed temples and other structures of a Maya city. Following the Spanish conquest of the Yucatan, a colonial city was founded atop the existing Maya one; however, it was decided that it would take a prohibitively large amount of work to level two huge temples that stood in the center of the village. Therefore, the Spanish built a large Franciscan church atop the acropolis. Completed in 1561, the atrium of the monastery was second in size only to that at the Vatican.
On July 12, 1562, Friar Diego De Landa burned 5,000 idols and 27 manuscripts at Mani, a nearby village. He destroyed all but three Maya Codices. With most records destroyed, little is known as to why the Maya felt Izamal was a site of such great importance. Landa was later exiled to Spain for his crimes against the indigenous Maya and forced to document what he had witnessed in the Yucatan. By 1566, Landa completed Relacion de las Cosas de Yucatan (An Account of Things in the Yucatan), although the ancient history of the Maya could never be recovered. Much to the chagrin of the Maya, Landa later returned to Izamal as the bishop of the Yucatan.
In this chapter, you will meet a family who claims the Sky Gods have been coming to Izamal for 700 years.
I was invited to visit the Garcia family by my driver. He described them as a typical middle-class Maya family who spoke both the local Maya dialect and Spanish with some English. The father still conducted the ancient ceremonies of the Maya and was highly regarded in his community. I was excited about spending the afternoon with them and had been invited to enjoy an afternoon meal. On my way to their home, I stopped and bought Fanta soft drinks, Coca-Cola, bottled water, canned milk, cocoa, and various cooking spices for the mother.
The Garcia family lived on the outskirts of Izamal. There were six children, a mother, a father, and one grandchild. They farmed corn on their land. They grew peppers in old rusted coffee cans and limes, mangoes, bananas, coriander, mint, and chaya, a common Maya spice, in their backyard. Two bee hives and a pig pen with four hogs graced the yard near the back fence. Numerous chickens roamed freely throughout their property. There were five buildings on the land. One was for cooking with a traditional stove (three rocks and a metal pan), and one for storing seed and dried food. Another was set aside for activities such as sewing, watching TV, and relaxing. The room contained a black and white television set and a treadle sewing machine. Two others were for sleeping; the nine of them shared five hammocks. The floor was dirt. Two plastic storage boxes contained all of their clothes and other personal possessions. A prayer altar stood behind one of the huts. Nine wooden bowls were stored beneath and used in traditional prayer ceremonies.
When I arrived at the family’s house, I was ushered to the backyard by the children, who showed me around. We talked about school, their dreams, and their favorite TV shows. The oldest child, a girl who was fifteen, took me into the cooking hut and showed me how to make corn tortillas. Her mother, Maria, was busy making the fillings for the tortillas.
&n
bsp; After lunch I was ushered to the backyard with the father, Herberto. We sat on homemade benches. Herberto reached above him, pulled a mango from the tree above us, and offered it to me. “My grandfather once told me that the Sky Gods came back to Izamal to meet with the people of knowledge who lived here in the good times. Mango was their favorite fruit.”
“Who were the people of knowledge?”
“The people of knowledge were the messengers—the intermediaries between Earth and the Sky Gods,” Herberto said.
“And can you please tell me about the ‘good times’?’”
“The good times were the old times before the Spanish came.”
“Do the Sky Gods still come to Izamal?”
“They come, but they do not stop to interact with the people. Now it is more like observation. They were so saddened by the actions of Bishop Landa, who was responsible for the destruction of our recorded knowledges and objects of worship and the ignorance of the Spaniards, they decided to leave the Earth to its own devices. My grandfather said that the wise men who survived Landa cried and cried. Their howls of anguish were heard by the Sky Gods, who came to Earth. They came to comfort the people, but the loss was so great, the Sky Gods cried, too.” He paused for a moment and spoke in Mayan to my guide.
“He wants you to go to the church in Mani. He says that you will understand what happened when you go to there,” my guide translated.
“Isn’t Mani the town where Landa destroyed all the religious symbols and Maya books?”
“Sí,” Herberto said. “But what is not commonly known is that underneath the church in Mani, there is a tunnel. At one time, my grandfather said it connected the town of Mani to Izamal. After the Spaniards came, hundreds of years passed before anyone ventured into the tunnel. The Maya knew what was there. But when the explorers went there, they discovered over ten thousand skeletons in the tunnel. So many it blocked the way. Landa not only destroyed the books of the Maya, but he supervised the murder, the genocide, of all of the holy men and the believers in the Maya way. My grandfather said that anyone who would not become a Christian was killed. Once you became a Christian you became a slave to the church. They built their church with the slave labor of the Maya.”
“I have never heard these things before.”
“No and you never will. It is a part of our history that is kept secret. The real people know. We have passed it on to our children. They retell to their children. It is the only way that the people will remember. The Maya do not forget. We are good at keeping secrets.”
I left the Garcia family in the late evening. Izamal remains a place of pilgrimage in the Yucatan, now for the veneration of Roman Catholic saints. Several saints’ statues at Izamal are said to perform miracles. And yet there is a population in Izamal that does not practice Catholicism. They have been the underground harbingers of the indigenous way. Herberto Garcia is at the forefront of protecting that knowledge. He was an impressive man and not one that I will ever forget.
Chapter 46
The Little People of El Rey
In 1841 Stephens and Catherwood spent a night at Nesue but did not report seeing any ruins. The next day they wrote that they saw a few temples but, because of the intense heat and sand flies, they did not think they were worth investigating. In 1877 Augustus Le Plongeon and his wife described the ruins of a city they called Nizucte (Nesue), which is known as El Rey today. Le Plongeon believed the tiny shrines lining the shores were built by a race of little people.
In this chapter you will meet Marco. He believes, like Le Plongeon, that little people lived at El Rey and could possibly still occupy it.
“It’s the little things that make you a believer,” Marco said. We sat in the shade of a tree on the edge of the ocean admiring the turquoise blue water lapping at our feet. I met Marco through a taxi driver on the tourist strip in Cancun. When I climbed into his cab, I asked him if there was anyone in Cancun who knew about the aluxes, the little people, of El Rey. Without saying a word, he took me to see Marco. When I first saw him, I understood this was a man who was one with nature. He was walking barefoot on the beach; a pair of ancient Nikes tied with tattered shoelaces hung over his shoulder. The hems of his jeans were frayed and faded white at all the stress points. The sleeves of his tattered t-shirt had been removed, and a replica of an ancient Maya medallion hung around his neck on a piece of cord. A makeshift tent had been erected under a tree with an orange tarpaulin and tree branches. As far as I could determine, Marco made his home on the beach despite the fact that the tourist strip was made up exclusively of luxury hotels and condos only a couple of hundred feet away from his hidden residence.
“How long have you lived in Cancun?” I asked.
“All of my life.”
“When did you first hear about the aluxes?” I asked, referring to the little people.
“When I was a small boy, maybe four or five. My grandfather told the stories to me. He said that to know the aluxes is to know the magic of the ancient Maya. If you visit El Rey, you may encounter an alux. But you must be very careful. If you are intuitive, it will be to your advantage.”
“Please, can you explain?”
“Few adults ever see aluxes as little people. The aluxes are capable of many disguises. Much of the time, they masquerade as lifeless forms. I have also seen them impersonate snakes, monkeys, raccoons, parrots, bats, lizards, turtles, and pigs, but mostly they impersonate iguana. That is the reason that intuition is helpful. Without it, people walk by and never realize that they have seen the aluxes. Most people are blind to these phenomena.”
“If I were to see an alux in human form, what would I expect to see?”
“Aluxes are ancient spirits. They have lived on Earth since it was formed. My grandfather said they were the first inhabitants of the planet. When the Maya came, they befriended the little people.”
“Are the aluxes angry entities or are they playful?” I asked.
“They can be both,” Marco replied. “Like children, they are diminutive, but also their personality can be that of a child. They are happy little creatures and playful. They love playing tricks on humans, and for most part they are harmless. If you make them angry however, they are also like children. They throw tantrums and can be vindictive.” He stood and brushed the sand off his threadbare jeans and lit a cigarette.
“How do I avoid making them angry?”
“It is a good thing to keep them happy, because of their mystic power. Mystic powers can be used for both good and evil. I always tell my nieces and nephews: Stay on their good side. Leave food for them and drinks. They love Coca-Cola and alcoholic beverages. So keep that in mind when you go into the jungle.”
“Is there a way to increase my chances of seeing an alux?”
“My grandfather told me that if you are quiet and still, and enjoy the sights and smells of the rainforest, the aluxes will see that and may reveal themselves. They actually like to interact with people, but not always the way that humans interact with one another.”
“Can you explain what you mean?”
“The alux may appear to your senses. You may hear a rustling sound, or you may see a fleeting shadow. You may never see the alux in a human form. But then again, if the alux perceives you of good heart, you may see them.” He paused again and relit his cigarette, which had gone out. “Just keep in mind they may reveal themselves to you as an ordinary phenomenon, such as a sound, a feeling, a smell, or a sight. Just open your mind and they will come.”
“I have heard that the aluxes built the small shrines at El Rey,” I said. “What can you tell me about that?”
“I believe that the Maya and the aluxes once lived together, harmoniously. But things changed at some point and they went into the jungle or retreated to the ancient cities.”
“Do you think they once lived in El Rey?”
“Some people say they are still there,” Marco said.
“Are you one of those people?”
Marco paused and l
ooked out toward the water. He shielded his eyes and looked closer at a boat that was passing by and then continued. “Señora, if I tell you they live at El Rey, what do you think might happen?” he asked. “Think about it.” He paused again. “The tourists will come and they will pick up every rock to see if there is an alux. I can tell you this much: At one time the aluxes lived in the great cities, but most have retreated to the rainforest, just like the Lacandon, but keep in mind, I am emphasizing ‘most.’ It was their only way to survive.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me about them?”
“I can tell you to listen, feel, taste, and be aware of everything around you. In time, the aluxes will come to you.”
After giving Marcos 200 pesos for food, I asked the waiting cab driver to take me to El Rey. There in the shadow of the Sheraton Cancun Resort lay the ancient city. The original name of the site was unknown and was called El Rey, meaning “the king” in Spanish. The name was in honor of an elaborately decorated headdress surrounding a human face that was found there. Today the head of the king is in the Archaeological Museum of Cancun.
As I walked through El Rey with the cab driver and the kiosk ticket seller, I saw dozens of iguana basking in the sun. Perhaps they were aluxes who came to greet me. Before leaving the site, I left a can of Coca-Cola in the shade of one of the monuments.
EPILOGUE
When Stephens and Catherwood set out to explore Central America and Mexico in 1839, the idea that an advanced civilization had created great cities hidden in the jungles was considered extreme by the academic world. Up until the day they left, they were discouraged in their endeavor, as many of their colleagues considered their planned expedition madness.
The public, however, was fascinated by the suggestion, so that when Stephens and Catherwood returned to New York City with stories of their exploration, their book Incidents of Travel in Central America, Chiapas and Yucatan was an overnight sensation. Their follow-up book, Incidents of Travel in Yucatan, chronicled their second trip and was equally praised.
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