Ground control to Palenque

This place was Weird, with a capital W.

At the bus station in Campeche a guy recommended "this vegetarian camp with hammocks and gardens, close to the ruins." That sounded Ok to me, so I decided to scrub staying at the hostel and check his place out.

I arrived as the sun went down, there didn't seem to be any real reception area, just a bar and open plan restaurants. So, after waiting for a bit I enquired about beds. The guy brusquely retorted that the place was full.

It was dark, I wasn't about to trudge back to the entrance of the "camp" and try and flag an expensive taxi, with all my bags, so I decided that that was not the answer I would settle for.

"Is there anyone else I can talk to?" I asked.
After a sigh and another attempt to ignore me, he finally gestured to another bar area. I tramped through the mud, to the other bar where I was told to follow the guy with the moustache out the back, as he might have a bed somewhere.

This place was a maze.
I was taken along small footpaths, past various huts, over bridges, and around bushes until I was finally shown my hut, named "Shalom". There were six beds in it, the only mattress available was right by the door, underneath the bare bulb, for $5. Take it or leave it.

I had little choice, so I took it.

I've never slept in a male only dorm. Maybe I'm old fashioned, but I just don't feel comfortable sleeping in a room full of men I don't know, in a humid environment. The position of my bed, basically under the spot light, without covers, did not allay my nerves either.

Luckily, after putting my stuff down on my mattress and wandering out to the bar (I had to follow the sound of the music to get there, the maze of paths were impossible to navigate), I met one of my roomies. He was a guy from the Ukraine, called Leonid. Normal, nice guy. We immediately became firm friends.

Whilst in the Butlins style bar area (entertainment consisted of an idiot dressed up in Red Indian gear, playing the pan pipes and beating a drum), I started to get a feel for what this place was like.

It was basically one big camp, full of travellers who had lost their way in mind and body. The facilities included a big entertainment tent - with a collection of different bars/canteens in it, various huts (run by different owners) and the mescall hut which doubled as a drying area. Inside this hut people sat for hours, "freely" chanting. I thought mescall meant they were all doing mescallin, until I was informed that it was Mayan for a sauna.

Maybe, because of the strange introduction to the place, I started to freak myself out. Walking to the ruins the next day, I actually saw a guy walking along, playing the guitar, with about 7 spaced-out people following him. Some sort of weird pied piper.

Get me out of this New Age nightmare!

I came here for the ruins and the scenery, not this Shamen cosmic worshipping. Of course, I'm interested in higher truths, but I would prefer to explore them with those who do not claim to be enlightened.

Instead of taking the bus to the ruins, I opted for walking the 5km. Two guys offered to come with me, to show me the short cut, and at one point we lost our way. One of them said to me: "All of us are either Shamens or Warriors. We need to feel which path is best for us. Feel. Feeeeeeell. Let go, give into your feelings. What is it saying to you?"

I laughed loudly and looked at the other guy, suprised that he wasn't giggling. "Erm...right? I said tentatively whilst trying to arrange my face into a serious expression.

After seeing the ruins, Leonid and I took the first bus out of there to San Cristobel.

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