#petén itzá

[bookish2bookish]

El futuro de Flores, Petén

La ciudad de Flores, situada en la idílica orilla del lago Petén Itzá, se enfrenta a desafíos únicos y a únicas oportunidades en el contexto del desarrollo urbano. La implementación del desarrollo sostenible y la economía circular en su planeación urbana es esencial para garantizar la prosperidad a largo plazo, la salud ambiental y el bienestar de sus habitantes. Después de la ciudad de Guatemala…

[alfredo-mercado-jaguarcillo-v]

Trekking a El Mirador. Parte 10: Tayasal

Antes de comenzar el viaje, tenía un plan con William hijo para recorrer sitios arqueológicos a los que podíamos llegar con su camioneta. Cuando regresamos de Carmelita quise que nos pusiéramos de acuerdo, ya que había tenido que cambiar de hotel por la falta de disponibilidad y ya no estaríamos en el mismo; me dijo que lo veríamos por mensajes de whatsapp, pero esperé hasta media noche sin respuesta. En la madrugada me di cuenta de que había dicho que no se iban a levantar a tiempo.

Desde la noche tenía un plan alterno con Adriana de ir a algún sitio cercano, aunque la falta de transporte por ser días santos nos limitó a solamente poder ir a Tayasal y al museo de San Miguel, cruzando en lancha hacia el lado norte del lago Petén Itzá. Jorge, Nath y Rosa se habían ido desde la noche anterior a un hotel de Tikal y recorrerían dicho sitio y Uaxactún, por lo que tampoco contábamos con su auto. Avisé a William que estaríamos ahí y que podía mandarle mensaje a Adriana si aún querían ir con nosotros a algún lado.

Salimos con un paso muy tranquilo para no desgastarnos demasiado, cruzamos a pie el puente hacia Flores y llegamos hasta el lado contrario de la isla, pasando por el centro. Ahí pudimos ver la iglesia y tres monumentos que están colocados en la plaza, los cuales provienen de Ixlú, Tayasal y de la misma isla, llamada antiguamente Noh Petén. Ya en el lado norte, la calle principal parecía inundada desde hacía mucho tiempo, incluso en un momento cuando creí que iba a pisar sobre tierra o lodo, mi pie se hundió en agua estancada muy sucia.

Cruzamos en lancha y llegamos hasta una explanada con una escultura que hace alusión a un caballo que dejó Hernán Cortés a su paso por este lugar, el cual murió y después le construyeron una escultura que veneraban como a una deidad. Un par de sacerdotes que llegaron más tarde se encolerizaron por esto y destruyeron el ídolo, provocando que casi los mataran y desencadenando el conflicto que llevó a la conquista de Tayasal en 1697, mucho tiempo después de la caída de Tenochtitlán.

Caminamos hacia el Museo Regional, ubicado cerca del lago pero en un terreno más elevado. La subida fue ardua para Adriana, y se complicaba por el intenso sol y la temperatura sumamente alta. Para nuestra sorpresa, el recinto estaba cerrado y tuvimos que regresar para ir a Tayasal, sitio que está hacia el lado contrario al que habíamos ido primero.

Caminamos por un rato y llegamos hasta el sitio. Lo primero que visitamos fue el mirador del Rey Canek, el cual se encuentra en lo alto de una enorme estructura triádica. Este sitio tiene una larga ocupación desde el Preclásico Medio hasta su conquista, en 1697. Ahí arriba vimos que la estructura de madera que permite admirar Flores y el lago ha sido renovada, ya que 10 años atrás la encontré en un estado de regular a malo, ahora tenía incluso pinturas alusivas a la riqueza cultural del Petén.

Estuvimos sentados un rato y luego subimos a mirar el paisaje. Después seguimos nuestro recorrido. Nos llamó la atención un sendero que decía que se dirigía al "Árbol del amor", quise saber qué tenía de particular ese vegetal, pero avanzamos por un rato y no dimos con él. En un momento me adelanté, y aunque seguí sin encontrarlo, pude ver que había llegado a la acrópolis del sitio.

Regresé para llamar a Adriana y luego nos dirigimos al conjunto que acababa de divisar. Ahí se están llevando a cabo excavaciones extensivas con el propósito de habilitar el sitio para el turismo, por lo que en algunos años se podrá apreciar mucho mejor la arquitectura del lugar, que ahora muestra casi solamente montículos, excepto las áreas ya intervenidas.

Vimos numerosas excavaciones y en algunas pudimos reconocer paredes, esquinas y escalinatas. Sobre algunos edificios grandes se podía apreciar el lago, aunque por el momento no hay demasiado para observar.

Nos dirigimos al restaurante en el que cenamos después de regresar de Nakum, comenzando el viaje y junto al primer hotel en el que nos quedamos, y donde seguían hospedados los Williams, Juan, Thomas y Marcia. Pude ver que su camioneta no estaba y que no habían mandado mensaje a Adriana. Comimos y ahí nos enteramos que los demás habían ido en la camioneta a La Blanca, me molestó que no nos hubieran avisado y que hubieran cambiado el plan y comencé a pensar que en lugar de quedarme un par de días más de viaje, era tiempo de regresar a casa. Lo único que quedaba para hacer era meterse a nadar en el lago, algo que nunca había hecho en mis anteriores visitas y que se antojaba bastante por el calor que hacía. No tenía traje de baño, así que solo me quité la camisa y entré al agua con el pantalón de campo puesto.

Luego de que salí, nos encontramos con Marcia, quien se había quedado. Platicamos por algún rato con ella y luego regresamos al hotel. Ya tarde pasamos por el mercado a sugerencia de Marcia, aunque ya estaba cerrado. En la terminal de transporte no encontré ninguna combi a la frontera, por lo que tenía que empezar a barajear opciones para regresar a México en Domingo de Pascua, una fecha sumamente complicada, y yo ya había avisado a Jorge que no regresaría con ellos y no tenía lugar en el auto. A pesar de ello, ya 10 años antes había pasado por la misma situación y esta vez estaba mucho más holgado en tiempo y presupuesto.

[troutfur]

I don't usually write modern day human AUs, but that post I reblogged earlier today about making characters be from a specific place hasn't left my head and I'm once again thinking about a human AU set here in Guatemala. This time I'm being very indecisive about whether Lake Atitlán, Lake Petén Itzá, or Lake Izabal would be a better fit for RiverClan.

[lutnistas]

Lake Petén Itzá ( Flores / Gautemala )

[bastardtrait]

what if things became uncomfortable on lucky legacy dot tungle dot com. what then.

transcript:

ANGELO, aside: So you've got nothing for me! The fuck am I doing back here in fucking Guatemala risking my neck for fucking rocks, then? ABRAHAM: Do not put words in my mouth, Sr. Graciela. You're smarter than that. ANGELO, aside: … (quiet seething) ABRAHAM: The name Josefa Graciela has popped up in Quetzaltenango. Somebody's aunt. Could be her. I'd have to keep looking.

ANGELO: Quet--Quetzalte--nango. Where is that? ABRAHAM, aside: Please, as if you're going to go and look yourself. No Spanish, and I doubt you speak K'iche' like the locals. No, you'd better leave this to me like always. ANGELO: I've left this to you for a full year, Abraham. You've been giving me the runaround for just as fucking long. I'm starting to think you're not nearly as good as you think--

ABRAHAM: Let me put something in your head, you gringo rat, and be grateful it's not a damn bullet. You are not the only person on my docket. Not even close. I'd say you're not anywhere close to being the most important. I am the eyes, ears, and shooting arm of this side of el Lago Petén Itzá. You, Sr. Graciela, are in my chapel. I suggest you keep your mouth shut.

ABRAHAM, aside: We are all doing our part. Like a family. So you let me take care of my end of the business, and you keep going out into the jungle, to search for trinkets. Or you can ask your little rich boyfriend, Iain Lucky, who paid for your ticket. Eh? ANGELO: …leave Iain out of this. ABRAHAM, aside: Hm.

ABRAHAM, aside: We're done for today, Sr. Graciela. Enjoy your trip back to Canada. I will enjoy my trip to Xelaju myself.

[subjectively-objective]

Arcana 99 - Ch. 5

A Floating Relic

What is this? Next

Of course, I had heard of the Grenfell-Maxwell Marathon. Upon first hearing of it, and the prize that awaited the victor, I knew that this was the moment I was told to await. I quickly gathered a platoon of like-minded men and refitted an old zeppelin to carry us to victory.

The sight of the quarter-kilometer-long beast drew attention, but I became a Major for my ability to turn things around. We moored the zeppelin several miles behind the end of the race’s starting grid. We would launch before the race began and would drift to just behind the line by noon. After that, I would brief the men aboard of our mission, but before I could do either, I needed to finish this idiotic interview.

“So, what are your plans if you win this ‘wish’ everyone’s been promised?” The reporter laughed at the word ‘wish’ as he pointed the microphone to me.

“I care none for the wish, real or no. I only desire to show that Germany has moved beyond our wretched past and is a source of more than just war.”

Damned Englishman, you are the reason we’re seen this way.

“And you’ll certainly show the versatility of German engineering with your zeppelin back there. Might I ask what its name is?”

“Oh, yes, that is the Graf Zeppelin, but we call it the Graf II to avoid confusion. Built to be the sister ship of the Hindenburg, but after the disaster in ‘37, it was scheduled for destruction.” The reporter nodded along to my drivel.

You’d believe anything, wouldn’t you?

“I fought tooth and claw to keep it around, for historical purposes of course. I had the interior remodeled to better reflect the Hindenburg and even took it for a few test flights. Even then, I never thought I’d get the chance to fly it for any real journeys much less with so many watching,” I forced a natural smile, “It truly is an honor to be able to be the man that shows the world that airships need not be forgotten.”

Honor? A fool’s tool, and. . .

“Thank you for that insight, Mr. Kober. One final question, how are you prepared to obtain helium abroad with most of it being held in the US?”

It’s Major Kober you twit.

“Ha, the US may have 90% of all helium, but we’ve made contracts with the other 10%. Some of them were even willing to give it to us for free just to see the Graf fly overhead.”

“Wow, I suppose you have everything figured out, huh?”

You fucking imbecile. No amount of helium could make it fly, not without drastic changes to the ship. Hydrogen is the only option we have.

“Yes,” I smiled at the man, “planning ahead is a must when flying an airship. Misreading a weather map, flying too high, unevenly distributing weight, and venting too much air can all quickly lead to a crash. Even landing is an odyssey. We need specially built mooring masts which haven’t been made or used in twenty years. In fact, we had to order the construction of a mast both here and in Lake Petén Itzá just to be able to participate in the race. And, if we must build one at every stage and hire a ground crew to launch and land us, we’d probably spend more money than we could win!”

The reporter laughed then took a step back, “Well, that’s all we have time for. The race is going to start soon, and I’m sure you’re just dying to get started,” The reporter said some final words to his invisible audience then waved for the camera operator to stop filming. With that annoyance out of the way, I started for the Graf.

I boarded, and the vessel’s captain immediately ordered the 200-person ground crew to walk the Graf Zeppelin away from its moor. When we had reached an appropriate distance, he gave another order and they threw off the ropes tying us to the ground and the Graf began to gently lift off. If I hadn’t watched it happen, I never would have never noticed it due to the gentle nature of our ascent. When we reached our cruising altitude of 200 meters, I climbed up the ladder from the control gondola and into the Zeppelin’s hull. From there I walked into the lower deck’s interior. I turned left, walked through the Chief Stewards cabin which had been refitted into a cabin for our head doctor, and into the smoking room.

Inside sat the eight sergeants of our 85-man army. I gave them a swift briefing of our flight plans, and how they should prepare their troops for potential deployment. The officers knew that deployment was unlikely. I knew better but kept it to myself for now. I finished the briefing, and the other eight men all stood to relay the information to their squads. As they left, I stopped the fourth squad sergeant, Vasilij Hetzenauer, and gave him further instruction. I then made my way to the upper deck lounge.

We had refitted much of the old ship to better reflect our needs, but many of the niceties originally provided were too great to remove. We had kept the paintings, seats, and tables from the original design, however, the item I had wanted most, the aluminum Blüthner piano, had been destroyed during the war.

I had always held a fascination with musical instruments. The skill and artisanship required to make even a rudimentary one were immense. Every detail, every facet of the design had to be perfect. It was like a microcosm of life; to succeed, all imperfections must be removed and replaced. If you have an imperfect piano, you could fix the broken parts as they begin to interfere with its sound, but in the end, you would still need to remove them all. So, why waste time waiting for them to harm you?

My mourning was interrupted by sergeant Hetzenhauer stepping into the room. He had a rifle on his back and a tube in his hand. If I had looked closer, I would have seen that the tube was a single scope of a long-broken binocular. Of course, I had no need to look closer; I already knew what it could do. The sergeant walked past me and sat on a bench in the promenade. He opened the window before him and readied his rifle.

“I take it that you already know what I was going to order?” I said, sitting down on the bench beside him.

“I knew that ‘meet me in the lounge, bring your gun’ meant that I was about to fire it,” he fiddled with the rifle’s scope, “What I don’t know is how you expected me to see anything.”

I looked out my own window. The ground beneath us looked like little more than a muddy pond. A moment later, a lone fish leaped out of the water. It continued to climb upwards until its entire form was revealed to not be a fish but a plane.

“There’s your answer Hetzenauer. Dumont would win this race. . . if she can finish.”

Vasilij said nothing. He carefully aimed his rifle at the approaching plane and surveyed it for weak areas. The plane continued its rapid ascent, much more rapid than I thought Dumont would fly, and grew ever nearer to our vessel. In fact, she appeared to be on a direct collision course with us.

Is she really so desperate for attention? Oh well, she would be the only one hurt by such a crash.

I glanced at the old ship wheel hung on the wall above where the piano should have been.

Dumont’s plane was less than a hundred meters from us now, and sergeant Hetzenauer smiled, fumbled with his gun’s trigger, and quickly pulled it back inside the window. I barely had time to register that he had not even made a shot before Dumont’s plane eclipsed our windows and veered away from us.

With Dumont’s distraction over, I was able to fully focus on Vasilij’s direct failure, “You didn’t fire! Explain yourself right now!”

“I had two reasons for not firing, Major Kober,” He addressed me by my title, but his words held no respect, only necessity. “One, the pilot of that plane was not Dumont. Two, someone else had sabotaged her plane and caused one of the engines to catch fire.”

We weren’t the only ones thinking about eliminating Dumont. Good.

I congratulated Vasilij for his observational skills and dismissed him. He retired to the writing room next to the lounge. I looked out the window once more. The air beneath us was still too murky to make out any individual people. Craning my neck to glimpse at Dumont's shrinking plane, I could barely make out several thin, gray wisps emanating from it.

With first-place secured, I started towards the lower deck's bar.

Vasilij's voice emerged from the writing room and cut my plans short, “Major Kober!” His voice still held no respect, only urgency, “Two racers have already pulled ahead of us!”

What?!

I ran to the room. Inside a small radio was quietly tuned into the race. Out of the radio came the voice of the reporter that had interviewed me earlier, “. . .of the same team. This really does put the pressure on the other competitors. Can anyone but Dumont’s plane and Kober’s Zeppelin hope to stand up to these two magnificent competitors? Why, if I wasn’t watching this happen, I would dismiss it as fantasy. Yet, here they are. A motorcycle and a horse topping nearly one-hundred and fifty miles per hour. . .”

I looked at Vasilij.

Could they have. . .

“. . . ten minutes ago, I would have given the race to Dumont, and second place to Kober, but now it appears that second is likely to be. . .” The announcer’s voice became more muted as he spoke to the unheard people within the studio, “You really think I would fall for this nonsense? I know that this race is starting a bit strange, but you won’t make me look like a fool! I should have you fired for that! There’s no way. . .” Silence filled the airwaves as someone at the studio muted his microphone, “Are we back now?” His voice had lost all the wonder and cheeriness it held before. It had been replaced with the voice of someone’s whose entire world had been destroyed and violated before them; a voice I had only heard one other time, “God, this will be the end of my career,” He took a deep breath, and a rustling page could be heard, “The first stage of the Grenfell-Maxwell Marathon, from the Great Salt Lake to Flores, Guatemala, started on June 24, 1954, at 12:00 PM. Now, at 12:15 PM on the same day, it. . . it. . .” He sighed, paused, and sighed again, “We have a winner.”

What!? How dare they! First, those two bastards break ahead, and now someone else has already won? Verdammt, we’ll lose at this rate. Then we’ll never get the wish, and the Reich will never be reformed.

I stopped, afraid I had spoken. They were too transfixed by the broadcast to notice if I had. My lapse in concentration caused my wound to flare up. My cheek burned, and I soothed it the best I could with the moist handkerchief I kept for moments like this.

No. No, perfection is achieved by destroying the imperfect. And victory is achieved by destroying the undeserving victors. I cannot get caught up in minor setbacks. Not until I know who I can trust with my true goal.

That thought calmed me enough to ignore the pain. This race was certainly going to be more difficult than I anticipated, but with both the Graf and our manpower, victory was an inevitability. This race was merely a test. A test to ensure that the imperfect is removed and the perfect rise. I smiled, now certain of my success.

I am Gottlieb Kober, and this race is how I got my wish.

Next

[detective-piplup]

las rutas de entrada de los españoles en el Petén durante el siglo xvii, superpuesta con la ruta de hernán cortés en 1525. la conquista del petén fue la última etapa de la conquista de guatemala y en lo general de mesoamérica. el petén es una amplia planicie de tierras bajas cubiertas de una densa selva tropical, e incluye una cuenca hidrográfica central con varios lagos y algunas zonas de sabana. la llanura está atravesada por una serie de colinas kársticas bajas, que se elevan hacia el sur al acercarse al altiplano de guatemala. la conquista del petén, una región ahora incorporada a la república de guatemala, culminó en 1697 con la captura de nojpetén (también conocido como tayasal), la capital del reino itzá, por martín de urzúa y arizmendi. con el triunfo sobre los itzaes, los conquistadores europeos sometieron al último reducto mayaindependiente e invicto de mesoamérica

i. I regret to inform you. i can only read bits of this

[blogdethemis]

LOS ITZAES: LA SERPIENTE LUNAR

CHICHEN ITZA “El espíritu del hombre dice: ¿Somos alguien? ¿Somos alguien? Esa es la palabra del espíritu del hombre. Adivínalo, sabio. Yo fui engendrado en la oscuridad, de ahí nací. ¿0 tampoco esto es verdad?” CHILAM BALAM de Chumayel,  escrito en lengua maya yucateca La tierra de los itzáes, esos “brujos o adivinos del agua” que se supone emigraron del Petén en Guatemala y fueron…

[lizzy92rc]

[alfss]

DERECHOS A QUIEN CORRESPONDA.

Se formó la Liga de Mayapán, que fue una unión de casas sacerdotales de la península, entre las que las más importantes eran Uxmal, Mayapán y Chichén Itzá. Sin embargo esta liga fue destruida por un desacuerdo entre los caciques (halach uinik) de los participantes que llevó a una declaración de guerra de uno de ellos, Hunac Ceel, quien se proclamó halach uinik de Mayapán. Esto originó la ruptura con los itzáes, quienes perdieron el conflicto y debieron eventualmente huir en el año 1194 d. C. y refugiarse en el Petén, de donde habían venido originalmente hacía casi diez siglos.

A diferencia del inicio, cuando Chichén fue fundada, en que los mayas venidos de oriente buscaban la paz y el desarrollo de su pueblo estableciéndose en el Mayab (en lengua maya: má ‘no’; yab ‘mucho, muchos’; el lugar para unos cuantos, ‘para no muchos’ —nombre que tenía la región toda antes de la llegada de los españoles—, al final, 1000 años después, la propia región se había convertido en lugar de pugnas y de luchas.

En la caída, la élite estaba formada por guerreros, sacerdotes y comerciantes que gobernaban Chichén Itzá. Ellos habían introducido el culto al dios Kukulcán.

Había levantado impresionantes construcciones con taludes y muros verticales y representaciones del dios pájaro-serpiente que vino de afuera.

En el proceso de declinación el militarismo fue el fundamento indudable de esta cultura. Esto se hace evidente en el monumento llamado Plataforma de las Calaveras, donde exhibían, clavados en estacas, los cráneos de cientos de enemigos.

[encantados2022]

Mercredi 31 août - El Remate :

Passage de la frontière du Guatemala sans grande difficulté. On s’arrête dans le petit village tranquille de El Remate, situé au pied de Tikal et au bord du lac Petén Itzá.

[equatorjournal]

Otis Imboden, Lake Petén Itzá, 1974. https://www.instagram.com/p/CNsikZMA7Ny/?igshid=1pu6vdmybgs9y

[aventurasdeunatortuga]

Guatemala Day 14-17

Flores / Tikal

The past few days were spent in the town of Flores in northeastern Guatemala, in the state of Petén. The climate is very different from Antigua and Atitlan, as we are no longer in the mountains. It is very hot and humid here. Flores is on an island in the middle of a lake and it takes about 20 minutes to walk around the entire island.

I stayed in a backpacker hostel and while it was a very nice backpacker hostel I think I’m at a point where I’ve had enough of them. The constant drunk people, dirty laundry everywhere, and no personal space plus the extreme heat got to me. The drunk girl peeing all over her bunkbed in the dorm I was in was the final straw and I switched to a private room for my last night.

While I am technically backpacking myself I’ve gotten really sick of being around backpackers the last few days. They’re not all bad, but so many of them are really entitled and disrespectful to locals. They spend a lot of time loudly speaking English or German or Dutch and leaving garbage everywhere in various states of undress and their main concern being where the next party is and where the alcohol is. A lot of restaurants cater their menu to these crowds and to be honest I found myself hearing more Dutch than Spanish the last few days and going to two different restaurants to find only American and Dutch food on the menu. It seems like another form of colonialism where white people come in expecting locals to cater to them and their culture. I know I’m part of that just being a white American traveling and I try really hard to be respectful and not expect people to cater to me but it’s a much larger, more complex issue than that.

Sorry for the cranky old rant but I was so honestly embarrassed to be around fellow tourists the past few days. The multiple people putting their bare feet by my head while taking transportation and witnessing people wandering into restaurants shirtless, barefoot, and yelling in English made me so grumpy. Like do you behave like that in your home country?

Anyway the reason most people come to Flores is to visit the Mayan ruins of Tikal. Tikal was built by the Itzá Maya (the same who built Chichén Itzá) and was at one point the capital of the Mayan civilization. They were also related to the group that built Palenque in Mexico. It consists of 5 main pyramids which were all used to bury royalty. There were countless other structures as well which have yet to be excavated as well as multiple manmade lakebeds which have since dried up.

We climbed 2 of the 5 pyramids and watched the sunset from the top of another structure. Tikal is in the middle of very dense rainforest. We saw lots of coatis, spider monkeys, wild turkeys, and toucans and heard lots of roaring howler monkeys. I swear they sound just like jaguars.

We were lucky with the weather because it had rained earlier in the day and cooled things off significantly and while we kept hearing thunder it didn’t actually rain while we were there. Tropical thunderstorms can be very intense.

It was dark when we climbed down from the last structure and our guide was able to get the site police to come pick us up in his pickup truck and we rode in the back out of the jungle instead of walking 40 minutes in the dark.

My last day in Flores I didn’t do much due to how sick of being around people I was. I did spontaneously go on a boat ride around the lake which was pretty but also weird because I was the only one there and then it started downpouring.

Currently I am in the town of Lívingston on the Belizean border. It took over 12 hours to get here because of how isolated of a community it is. First I took a four hour bus to the head of Rio Dulce, a large river that reminds me a lot of the Amazon. Then I waited 4.5 hours for a boat since Lívingston is surrounded by dense jungle and is only accessible by boat. Then I road in a boat for 2 hours and finally arrived just before the thunderstorm hit.

On the boat I met an older Mayan man named Gabriel and we talked for a while. He asked how he could visit the US and I didn’t even know where to begin with how complicated that would be. Rich white countries are allowed to visit wherever they want at any time and have the economic privilege to do so due to imperialism but it is next to impossible for folks from countries that have been taken advantage of to do the same. Gabriel and I talked for a while, he sells handcrafts and gives tours of the area. He also shared his coconut bread with me. He offered to take me on a tour tomorrow and while he seemed really nice my stranger danger radar was going off at the thought of going on a boat by myself as a solo traveler with someone I met in passing.

I always doubt myself with decisions like that. I want to be spontaneous and not be distrustful of others or hiding in my room all the time but I also feel very hyperaware all the time of how I’m a young woman travelling by herself in a place I don’t know and I never know when I’m just being paranoid or being smart. It’s exhausting.

Anyway right now I’m staring into a bowl of pasta I don’t if I’ll be able to eat because of a stomachache and watching the lightning storm on the river. I’ll be sleeping in a hut the next few days but it’s a pretty nice hut.

Overall I think I’m getting close to wanting to go home. I’m noticing myself getting easily exhausted and frustrated and not looking forward to things, which usually tends to happen at the end of a long trip. I’m hoping I can enjoy the next few days here regardless because I really am grateful for the opportunity to be here and to travel.

[lutnistas]

sunrise and sunset over Lake Petén Itzá ( Flores / Gautemala )

[covenawhite66]

Near the Maya collapse at the end of the Classic Period, the Ah Itzá Yucatecan lost a power struggle with the Cocom and the Xiu, resulting in their migration (or expulsion) to the ancestral home of Lake Petén around AD 1441–1446

[mmanzanero]

#Lago #Petén #itzá #Guatemala #sunset #PeténItzá https://www.instagram.com/p/BwpnyoSgiGb/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1pjh7c7jya1xo