Stones that speak of years gone by…

This blog dates to February 6^{th
(Spoiler Alert... for those who will be going to Honduras over Spring Break)}

Waking early, John and I caught a bus to go to the Copan Ruins at about 6:30am. These ruins are located near the border to Guatemala, and although a short distance away as the crow flies (just over the mountain range), it took us by bus nearly 5 hours on the winding, slow, washed out and out of the way roads. You would think that since the ruins are a major tourist venture, Honduras would have invested more into getting people there. It was a paved road though, so that says a lot. I cannot say as much about the buses though. Both were pretty full, and had dysfunctional seats; very hard and not aligned right for correct body posture.

The ruins though were astonishing. They took me aback, as I had no idea what to think. I have always wanted to visit some ancient archeological site, such as a Mayan temple, the great pyramids or a Greek mount. The idea of constructing such intricate and monumental structures by hand astounds me. But for some reason, there I was, standing at the gates of this ancient world, in my toe-ed shoes thinking that it was going to be something drab and uneventful. I am not sure why I was thinking this. Maybe this was because I had never heard of them before.

Those sculpted stones sure showed me a thing or two.

Actually I would say it was more of about touch. I am a very kinesthetic-tactual person. I like touching the bark of plants. I like to feel the leaves. I like a pat on the back or a hug. I enjoy touching artwork to feel its texture and form. And I sure did like the feeling of those stones at the ruins. I was so glad that I wore my toe-ed shoes. I felt as though I was back in time, walking up the gigantic staircases, or across the main lawns (although I would assume they were dirt markets in years gone by). This place felt good. It felt peaceful. I felt holy. That is not to say that I condoned the butchering of people and the sacrifices that took place there. On the contrary I was not very interested in the objects of worship related to bloodshed. You will only find a couple altars in my picture album, and these were photographed because of their architectural design.

The ruins were huge too. And yet, I will say that I thought they would be bigger. I was imagining Egyptian pyramid sized ziggurats but instead what I found was a closer to reality and human-scale townscape. The two main temples were very large yes, probably measuring over 100 feet in height (I am not sure), but the land around them was formed so that although the human form was dwarfed and humbled in comparison to them, they were also of a functional and relatable size. So to some of the non-design majors, let’s just say that the proportions and shape felt right for the space and time.

That is all but one part felt right. For the life of me I could not figure out why the steps were so tall. I have reason to believe that the indigenous people were no taller than everyday Central American, roughly 5 ft on average, and some quite a bit smaller. But as you start to climb the giant staircases you quickly realize that the rise/run step ratio is way off. At times it seemed like you would raise yourself over a foot and only have 6 inches to do it in. For a better visual, pretend your stairway at home, a typical stairway, was rotated 90 degrees so that where you placed your foot was actually the vertical part and the vertical changed to the horizontal. It felt weird. It felt exhausting. But it also felt like a slow and deliberate attempt to climb these structures. I can only guess that the indigenous people felt this even more. Maybe they built these grand stairways to remind them of their meekness, and of the effort it takes to reach their God. I am only hypothesizing here. Does anyone else have any ideas? Maybe it was just an efficient way to maximize the height of the structures without having to build large bases with costly time and materials.

On the ride back to Santa Rosa the bus was packed. They just kept fitting people on to this little, maybe 20 passenger mini-bus. Luckily I had a seat, but I would say that at one time I would have been very possible to have 40 plus people on board, nearly sitting or standing on top of one another. At the end of the day, I did realize that I was ready to leave Honduras, if just for a short time… hopefully I will be able to return sooner than later. I hope this very much.

Not the bus we too back, but isn't it a cute taxi?