Sunrise over Tikal

We trudge down the path in the dark, the humidity already startlingly heavy so early in the morning.  Our flashlights bob, lighting the path in front of us.  Suddenly, our guide stops short, a giant tarantula caught in the pool of light from his flashlight.  We gather around to look, me hanging back at the edges of the crowd, glad for my closed toed shoes. It skitters down the path, back the way we came and I breathe a sigh of relief that I won't have to worry about it following us, running over my feet, or crawling up my leg.

Finally we make it to the base of the pyramid.  We're one of the first groups there, and our guide reminds us to be silent at the top.  At the very top Deborah urges me to climb the last steep stairs as high as we can go to watch the sunrise.  They're terrifyingly steep, and I'm afraid I'll tumble all the way off and down to the jungle floor, but I inch up them til I sit with my back against the wall.  More groups join us, but we're all mostly silent, shifting, rustling, and occasional whispers all we can hear.

Until the howler monkeys start up.  It's otherworldly.  It sounds like jungle cats, lions of leopards or something equally terrifying, are fighting in the trees below us.  Their deep throaty roars and growls are fascinating and unsettling at the same time.

Slowly, the sky turns from black to grey. There's a tiny tinge of pink above us, but not the spectacular oranges and purples I was hoping for.  It doesn't matter, because slowly, out of the morning mists, we begin to make out shapes. More temple pyramids appear in the distance, their tops rising above the canopy of the trees, mist clinging to the edges.  Everything is still.  The howlers have stopped crying. It's the sort of moment that makes 3 am wake up times, and pitch dark walks through tarantula infested jungle totally worth it.

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