Chiapas, Without Reservations

Of course, the pickup took us only as far as the highway. Chambor and Anna were going to Palenque. We were headed south.

All to Ourselves

Frontera Corozal sits on the banks of the Usumacinta River, whose broad, muddy expanse marks the Guatemalan border. From the crossroads where Chambor had left us, the turnoff for Frontera Corozal was only a 15-mile combi ride away. A cab took us the rest of the way into this drab town, where people cycled slowly along the one paved road and fled the sun in doorways and hammocks.

Visitors here come mainly to catch boats elsewhere, either upstream to Bethel, Guatemala, or downstream to the Maya ruins of Yaxchilan. We were going to the ruins, and we were determined to beat the crowds.

So by 6:45 the next morning, our long, narrow launch was motoring down the river, the outboard humming and the cool morning air flapping our sleeves. Sunrise's soft pinks and yellows lit the water, and mist rose over the rolling jungle that lined it.

Having already seen a number of Maya ruins, I was primed to be bored by Yaxchilan. But then we strapped on our headlamps to pass through the short, dark halls of the Labyrinth, where dozens of bats hung from the vaulted ceiling in creepy, squeaking fur balls. We hit daylight again in the Great Plaza, a grassy opening lined with low stone buildings and carved steles depicting great rulers.

Below was the river. Above, howler monkeys crashed though canopy trees, loosing throaty, murderous shrieks. We climbed a wide stone staircase to a hillside temple, where the decapitated statue of a king looked across the jungle and toward the river.

Nope, I wasn't bored.

And for a while, we had it all to ourselves. But by the time we left, tourists on package trips from Palenque were streaming ashore, their launches lined up three-deep at the dock.

For us, there was no need to hurry. None of the tour vans was going to our next stop, Benemerito de las Americas, where that slow taxi would return us, defeated, to a tiny bus stop.

What Are We Doing Here?

"Gringo! What are you doing here?" asked a resident of Benemerito, in English, as he urinated on the tire of a truck carrying a load of pineapples.

It was good question. South of Frontera Corozal, the Border Highway's only major attraction is Lagos de Montebello National Park -- and even it doesn't come until the very end of the road, 171 miles distant. In fact, most people who visit the park arrive via a different route altogether.

This means that very few travelers pass through Benemerito or the rest of the Border Highway's southern half. It's a desolate stretch marked by badly deforested land, tin-roofed shacks and army checkpoints manned by baby-faced men in camouflage. Road maintenance also lags, with washouts occasionally eating half the road.