We had been psychologically preparing for Mayan ruins for most of a week in Mexico before we actually saw one, so when we finally arrived in Palenque as part of a bandit-proof convoy of tour buses, MC and I were both at high pitch of excitement. It was torture then when, rather than heading straight to the ruins, we had to endure a lunch with our tour group at a nearby hotel, al fresco by a pool in tropical humidity, ambience provided by two musicians playing an excessively loud xylophone. After that rather irritating interlude, we finally arrived at the ruins proper, and along with the only other two English speakers hired a guide. We emerged from a path in the jungle into a large grass courtyard framed by pyramids. Palenque's special atmosphere derives from being
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