What is the hottest I have ever been?

Here is the next writing prompt from Natalie Goldberg.

Ryan and I arrived in Palenque around dinner time on a day like all others during tourist season. Shop keepers have no days off and everything is open late.

On the bus ride, my son and I pored over the town map featured in our Lonely Planet guide. We knew we didn’t have to go far to find a room. We had traveled the day bus from Merida, first class with air con, so when we got off, we were floored by the heat and humidity. The beginning of the rainy season. The book had warned us.

The cobbled sidewalk was narrow, as we turned right towards the town centre, single file. Our suitcase wheels clicked behind us.

I stood with the luggage on the street while Ryan checked out our Lonely Planet pre-selected hotels. After visits to three places and describing to me what he had observed, he picked the place where the proprietor spoke the best English. We got a front-facing room that would not be ready until 8:30, when the current tenants departed for the bus. Lots of events, it seemed, were scheduled around bus terminal arrivals and departures. The hotelkeeper offered to hold our luggage in his lockup.

We walked one block up to the main street. The shops were full of merchandise, spilling into the streets. Women and young children wandered the streets, thrusting their wares at us. A young girl had small zippered bags embroidered with Chiapas on the front. Made in China. She convinced Ryan. I bought a kerchief, having remembered an old trick of wetting it and winding it on the neck to keep cool. Carts of hot food beckoned us closer. The sidewalks were full of people. Again we walked single file as did the line of people coming towards us. We walked slowly in the heat.

The sun was setting when we found a restaurant suggested by the Lonely Planet. As Ryan contemplated an outdoor seat, I looked at the ceiling fans and the empty tables below them. Being outside in Palenque, even when the sun went down, was not a cool experience. He agreed. We sat inside. I sat very still in my chair, minimizing any heat I was generating. I ordered a pina colada, having already envisioned the ice. We waited an intolerable amount of time for our food. As we waited and made plans for the next day, many women and children with wares piled high approached us. Ryan bought two braided bracelets from a young girl. By the time the meal arrived, I was ready to find an ocean, a lake, a dugout, a muddy pond. Anything to cool off. I ate quickly so we could leave.

Back on the street, the air was marginally cooler. When we finally got our room, I headed straight for the shower. The towels were very small. I contemplated asking for one larger. Shortly after getting out of the shower, I realized that a bigger towel would not be any more helpful. Within minutes, my body was wet again from the humidity.

I was exhausted. I had tried all my regular cool-down techniques, but nothing worked. I decided that sleep was the best solution. As I lay in my bed, sleep was impossible. I shuffled the suitcases and slid my bed directly beneath the ceiling fan and next to the open window facing the front street. The glow from the streetlights offered enough light to read, and it was party time in Palenque. Party time in Palenque was on the streets. Perhaps this was the locals’ solution to the rainy season. I went back to the shower, this time not even attempting to dry myself off. Under the fan, I felt sweet relief for several minutes. I thought of the mountains in the close distance and remembered how, at home, our mountains released their coolness at night. This was my fantasy as I waited for sleep.

But it didn't come. I decided to do something other than think about being hot in Palenque. I sat in the beam of the streetlight, listening to the sounds on the street, and picked up my journal, began to draw and watched the sky lighten in the distance.

In the morning, Ryan and I were ready to expose our gringo-ness and decided to give up our second floor walk-up in favour of a room with air con, though it would cost 50 pesos more a night. Our proprietor was perplexed. “This isn’t hot. It isn’t even the rainy season yet.” Indeed.

After settling into our new room, Ryan and I found the taxi collective that offered fares to the ruins. It was when we arrived at the front gates, that we found out that it was vacation season for Mexicans. We lined up for one hour to pay our entrance fee; some of it, thankfully, was under a tree. With kerchief and water bottles in hand, we entered the site. Through the trees, we saw the structures in the open plaza. We relinquished the sweet coolness from the ceiba trees – The Tree of Life and ventured into the sun. I remembered a statement from a tour guide we met at Chichen Itza eleven years before who said that the Maya believed that, “Happiness is a shady tree.”

We walked across the plaza, and over the foot bridge. The path circled under a grove of trees, and up to the next level. At the top of the stairs was another open plaza flanked by the Cross Group of three temples, massive structures, each with a set of stairs leading to a room at the top. We climbed. Later, in photos, I saw the glisten on my skin.

I descended the temple stairs, and went immediately to join others sitting on a stone wall in the shade of another temple. I was learning to appreciate the subtle degrees of hot. The difference between hot and wilting. The relief of a drink of water. Growing accustomed to always sweating. And learning how to pace myself.

When we visited the tour guide, I wondered if I stayed in Palenque how long it would take me to adapt to the heat, to be like him, wearing pants, a long-sleeved shirt and closed-toed shoes.