Despite the oppressive sun, the heat at the site was almost bearable. The few trees are as anxiously sought out as the Temple of the Warriors or the Wall of Skulls. I became dizzy as I looked up at the pyramid of El Castillo, lined with steep steps.

After trying to count the Thousand Columns to know if the name was accurate, I gave in to my torpor and sat down on the grass.

Surrounded by this Mayan past, I recreated in my mind, throughout Manuel's talk, the Yucatecan costumes and the legends of this people whose temples tell the history of their lost civilization. In my imagination I saw the Mayan children deformed to meet the aesthetic standards of the age, the jade stones encrusted in their teeth. An animal version of this custom still exists, for in some markets the Yucatecans still sell live beetles, their carapaces encrusted with colored stones, like pieces of crawling jewelry. What a good trick to play on an overeager customs agent, I thought! However, the temptation passed…

I was unaware that boys who are pure Mayan descendants are still born with a bluish mark just above the tail bone. I was amazed to learn this fact. The guide cheerfully admitted that every boy loses this mark around the age of puberty. I was, I admit, relieved to find this out before I'd had time to ask an indecent question.

Next I headed towards the inn where delicious aromas were wafting out, along with Mariachi songs. A bent woman stirred up the fire, preparing tacos and enchiladas. The meal was served in the garden, an absolutely idyllic spot: cast iron furniture, candles, singing children, flowers everywhere… and the sun throwing its final rays onto the earthenware plates.

On the menu:
Tequila
de lima (Chicken broth flavoured with lime juice)
Poc-chuc (thin slices of pork marinated in bitter orange juice and served with marinated red onions)
Bananas coked in corn husks

Soon the first stars lit the way to the pyramids for a sound and light show in which the shadows of the past stood out against a background of poetry, in Spanish. It was just a few days before Christmas. Still dazzled by the wonderful day and the magnificent show I'd seen, I got back on the bus and let myself be rocked by the song Feliz Navidad that the passengers were humming.

I opened my notebook to write down what Manuel had told me about Mexican cooking between sips of tequila: Manuel's grandmother still uses a three-footed mortar and a stone pestle to grind corn kernels, just as her Mayan ancestors did. She explains that when dried they will keep for a long time and then they can be boiled in water: cooking swells them and they become tender like pasta.

What about "dulces?" A smile spreads across Manuel's face, making me think he has some familiarity with the topic of sweets. "At our house," he says, "we chew on pieces of sugar cane all day long, because we're not rich and it strengthens our teeth. But for holidays I help make candies for the children using dried squash and sweet potato." I swear I gained weight just listening to him describe the recipes of his ancestors!

A drink of tequila is a little starry-eyed taste of Mexico. They say here that tequila has the power to wake the dead. That's not true, but believe me, it does have the ability to alter the landscape and make the sidewalks narrower… The traditional way to serve it is in a large glass, accompanied by a saucer holding a slice of lime and a good pinch of salt. The drinker puts a little salt on the top of his left hand, preferably in the hollow between his thumb and index finger. He raises his hand to his mouth to lap up the salt, knocks back the shot of tequila and sucks on the slice of lime. Three steps that all take place within a couple of seconds. To acquire the knack, Manuel says you have to have emptied a considerable number of glasses and have slept more than once outside the hammock!

I hope like me that you have had a wonderful journey…