El Mirador – Day 2: The Jungle’s Pulse
EL MIRADOR
Day 2: The Jungle's Pulse
October 03, 2022
The second day would be the longest: 27 kilometres of steady walking. It was pretty uneventful, save for a few highlights – like crossing a bridge whose planks gave way under our weight a couple of times, having to take our shoes off and wade through a swamp to get to the next part, and walking straight into a couple of sticky yellow banana spider webs. We encountered various species of monkeys, foxes, frogs, snakes, and spiders – plus more trees and plants than we could have ever hoped to see.
It was during the second day that we had ample time to bond. Natalie, a social media manager, was – much like myself – taking a year off just to travel and learn more about the world. Ethan and Hannah were on an overdue holiday after having served their term in the army. Manu, a newly graduated accountant, had very little to say about himself in between funny jests and remarks.
When I asked Lina, a mental health nurse, about her most difficult case, she told me about this eight-year-old boy who had been sexually abused by his older brother three years earlier. He had to undergo rigorous psychotherapy and is now doing well – save for his brother, who’s locked up in juvie. This case was one of many she recounted. I asked her how she manages to cope with such situations, and she just pointed to our surroundings. She takes time off to trek and hike, to meditate and do yoga.
On Resources and Healthcare
Luis, on the other hand, thought I was something akin to Medscape, as he barraged me with tons of medical questions that to most would seem pretty obvious. “Which vitamins should my thin kid take to put on some weight? Why is my blood pressure high? Why did my doctor tell me to cut down on sugar?” To me, this reflected a common reality a lot of people in less affluent regions seem to live in – one where the public health system has failed them miserably. Throughout all my travels, my understanding of poverty – especially in relation to health – changed radically.
I grew up watching documentaries and charity ads showing the absolute worst-case scenarios, where people had little to no access to resources. But my experiences told a different story – one that perhaps doesn’t look so bleak, at least not on the surface. Sure, their healthcare isn’t the best, but there are resources — albeit limited, underfunded, fragmented, and often unaffordable. The real issue seems to be a lack of education, widespread misinformation, and (understandable) mistrust of Western medicine – or at least, that’s my perspective.
In just a couple of months, I met people with diabetic ulcers who drank up to two litres of Coca-Cola a day and never saw a doctor because they weren’t in pain. I met people with hypertension and heart failure who piled oceans of salt onto their fried food and had never been told not to. And, I met people who refused to take prescribed medication but spent what little money they had on vitamins, despite having no clinical signs of deficiency. These are just a few examples – and they all point to one thing: lack of public health education. And nowhere was that more palpable than in the middle of the Guatemalan jungle.
As a doctor, one has to wear many different hats. One of them – a very heavy, very burdensome one – is the managerial hat. In just a couple of years, I was trained to develop situational awareness and resource allocation skills: knowing what’s going on, what’s available, and how to mobilise what little you’ve got to improve the situation. Despite living in a so-called First World country, we still face similar systemic problems – let alone in still-developing nations. On many occasions during my travels, I found myself mentally drafting solutions to problems like these. And while I’m not the smartest one out there – and I fully acknowledge that better people than me have tried – I still think the ones currently in charge could use a serious brush-up on their managerial skills.
Be it political or medical mismanagement, one thing’s for sure: by educating the public, the people themselves can be armed and given enough power to help themselves. While speaking to Luis, I could tell how receptive he was to my explanations. That’s when I realised that although I don’t have all the answers, I do know that asking the right questions and sharing knowledge is a start. It’s not about fixing everything – it’s about improving that which can be improved.
La Muerta
All lost in conversation, I barely realised that the 27 kilometres had almost gone by. Early in the afternoon, we stumbled upon yet another Mayan city, that of La Muerta.
Here, we came across two structures – first, a pyramid-shaped Preclassic tomb with residential areas built on top of it, and an underground labyrinth that we could actually enter (and then promptly run out of after being swarmed by bats). The second was a pyramid used for religious purposes, with limestone bricks set at right angles to one another, as is customary for Classic Period structures. Luis also explained that the narrow stairways were reserved for the elite, whereas the wider ones were used by the lower classes.
More adventures
After this, we made it to the second and final campsite. We had lunch and, after a total of fifty kilometres, finally got some much-needed rest. A cup of coffee, my Kindle, and a hammock – absolute, pure bliss.
I dozed off in a matter of minutes and was suddenly called by Luis. It was almost time for the sunset. We’d need to climb yet another pyramid to enjoy this one too – that of El Tigre, the second-largest pyramid of El Mirador, standing at around forty metres in height. It was practically a rehash of the previous day – difficult, but worth it in the end.
After the climb, we were met with a spectacular view of the surrounding jungle, with dragonflies buzzing all around and howler monkeys screaming our ears off. But this time, in the distance, we could see the pyramid of El Tintal, and – much closer than ever before – the mighty pyramid of La Danta: the biggest in El Mirador. It really felt like we had come such a long way. Sitting up there, in awe of the view and the stories still untold, we all fell strangely silent – cherishing every second of the magnificent sunset unfolding in front of us.
All hyped up at the thought of finally putting some food in my belly, I practically ran down the pyramid with my phone light as my only guide in the darkness surrounding me. At its base, I couldn’t quite say the same – hundreds of tiny specks of light dotted my field of vision. At that moment, only three possible explanations came to mind: I was either seeing floaters, having a seizure, or – most realistically – they were fireflies.
And guess what? They were friggin’ fireflies! I couldn’t believe my eyes. I mean, yeah, sure, I’d seen them in documentaries and movies, read about them in books – but to me, they belonged in fairy tales and nowhere else. And suddenly there they were, right in front of me, twinkling and shining as if signalling me to move onwards.
All elated, we made our way back to the campsite. Then it was dinner, the holé, the buckét, and finally, bedtime. The next day would be the long-awaited one: exploring that which we had come here for.