Discovering Cenotes in the Yucatán

Visiting cenotes while traveling through the Yucatán Peninsula was never high on my priority list.  Birdwatching, exploring Mayan archaeological sites, snorkeling, beachcombing, and cervezas at sunset were the activities that most excited me as I planned my six-day road trip in Mexico.  But on the route from Playa del Carmen to Chichen Itza, there were more than a dozen cenotes on the map, all advertised with prominent signs on the road as I soon discovered.  So before setting out in the car, my husband and I picked two cenotes to check out: Chichikan and Ik Kil.  

Ik Kil cenote near Chichen Itza.

Cenotes are sinkholes in the limestone earth that have filled with fresh water from rain and the region's natural aquifer.  Rivers on the Yucatán Peninsula only flow underground, and the cenotes are often glimpses at, and entrances to, these waterways.  The idea of swimming or tubing in this cold water had never appealed to me, especially in a dark, creepy cave.  So at our first stop, Chichikan, I didn't bother to wear or carry a bathing suit. 

We descended the stone stairs into a quarried cavern and then entered a tunnel punched through the cliffside.  My first view inside from the overlook was breathtaking.  A sun-dappled waterfall, enveloped in long vines, cascaded from the forest surrounding the wide opening above.  It might have been just a garden hose feeding the water, but the effect was magical, enhancing a composite of blue sky, lush jungle, striated limestone cliffs, and the sun's fierce spotlight on the placid water eighty feet below.

Chichikan cenote.

Detracting from the beauty a bit was a boardwalk that accessed a sunken, circular concrete platform in the center of the sinkhole.  The platform allowed visitors to wade in the clear shallow water where small black fish schooled.  Beyond its ledge was much deeper water - twenty-six feet to be exact.  An English father and his three kids dared each other to jump from an eight-foot high platform into the depths.  Dutch and German visitors, incredulous I wasn't wading in, said the water was chilly but wonderfully refreshing.  I made a mental note to bring my bathing suit to the next cenote.  But first I had some birdwatching to continue.

Visitor jumping into Chichikan cenote.

The grounds at Chichikan had a lot in common with the jungle we drove through that morning after leaving the Caribbean coast.  We had spotted some birds along the highway and observed many of what we called monkey bridges: trellises over the toll road that connected the bisected forests and allowed monkeys - we think -  to pass safely over the traffic.  We didn't see any monkeys actually using them or, for that matter, any monkeys at Chichikan, but I identified some fascinating birds at the cenote.

Somewhere past the entrance and the gift shop but before the restaurant and the baños, I caught a glimpse of a lineated woodpecker quickly leaving a tree's nest hole.  I've only ever seen this large bird from a far off distance while in Costa Rica, so I was disappointed when I couldn't figure out where it had flown off to. The bird is closely related to North America's pileated woodpecker which I have, alas, never ever seen.  

But then while walking to the cenote's canyon entrance, I joyfully ran into a male lineated.  He was not more than a dozen feet away, clinging to a tree trunk just a few feet over my head.  Later as we circled the rim of the cenote on a fenced path, I spied a male gartered violaceous trogon perched on a branch reaching out over the cliffside.  Again, I've seen one before, in Belize, but never from such a close distance. 

Male lineated woodpecker at Chichikan cenote.

Male gartered violaceous trogon at Chichikan cenote.

We soon discovered a female trogon, most likely the male's mate, and an immature summer tanager, along with a type of euphonia, probably a thick-billed.  Near the park's entrance/exit we saw our first yellow-faced grassquit and brown basilisk, the latter a type of crested lizard.  A worker dressed in traditional Mayan attire that included turquoise body paint and decorative leg coverings greeted a crowd of tourists alighting from several long buses we fortunately beat to the cenote. 

This luck continued on our side forty-five minutes later when we reached Ik Kil Cenote.  The site was relatively quiet and we didn't encounter tour buses emptying scores of passengers until we were exiting the park over an hour later.  And we were glad we were toting our swimsuits when we gazed upon the cenote for the first time.  Wider, deeper, and lusher than Chichikan, this cenote deserved the reviews calling it the most iconic in the area. The azure color of the sunlit water framed by the shadowed overhangs and the denser foliage climbing down from the rim certainly created an idyllic scene.

Ik Kil cenote.

Registering for a locker and receiving instructions for the changing room, life jackets, and mandatory shower rinses took way too long and detracted from the initial awe we had for the site.  Barefoot in our suits and vests and carrying only our phones, we carefully walked down a wide, damp and dark staircase carved in a tunnel behind the cavity.  The view was just as sublime from below, where the impression was more cave-like as the opening above did not extend over the entirety of the space at water level. 

Attendants rightfully didn't allow us to leave any belongings - specifically our phones - on the concrete ledge where we climbed wooden ladders down into the pool.   So we were obliged to hold our essential accessories over our heads and swim one-armed backstrokes. 

The water was cool and invigorating as high noon-temperatures atop easily surpassed ninety degrees.  And except for the noise of nervy visitors jumping from a fifteen-foot platform, it was a serene escape, most of us bobbing carefree in the tranquil pool. There was no incongruous, submerged platform to wade in, only over a hundred feet of stunningly deep water below us.  

Ik Kil cenote.

Later, a friend reminded me that the ancient Mayans considered cenotes sacred places, where they could depend on fresh water and where they would appease their underworld gods with sacrifices that sometimes included humans.  The thought of swimming in an ancient graveyard didn't unnerve me for some reason.  So many generations have preceded us and so many individuals have walked the same paths we walk today, literally.  And almost every story is lost to history. 

When we had finished with our endless photo ops and were dressed and heading out of the park, I tried to catch some shots of the native birdlife but only managed to shoot a Yucatán woodpecker.  I wanted to photograph an attendant at the souvenir shop, a diminutive women almost certainly a local Mayan, but I resisted.  She was dressed in what appeared to be a traditional white huipil, a type of loose-fitting tunic with embroidery on the edges.  I admired her round, wide face, high cheekbones, and dark, almond-shaped eyes, all so prominent with her jet-black hair tied tightly behind her head.  Her ochre complexion glistening, she was as exotic as any bird in the tropics.

We planned a visit to Chichen Itza the next day, one of the largest Mayan cities, and one of many that eventually declined and fell mostly into disuse until archaeologists and tourism boards "rediscovered" it.  It was dramatic to think about the fall of these great complexes, and it was just one conceit to measure their people's success and failure by the construction and abandonment of their grandiose structures.  But looking at that shop attendant and most of the waiters and workers I was encountering, I realized that the Mayans never  failed.   After all, they were still in in the Yucatán. 

Modern Mayan at Chichikan dressed like an ancient Mayan.