Why can't the bus leave sooner?

I just finished polishing the lenses of my $15 Wal-Mart aviators, 'cause I'm a pimp like that, which technically means I'm pulsing with as little or much pimpishness as is required that I'm preparing to leave Mexico reminded that titties exist outside of Skinemax only by change-begging mothers nursing from the gutter.

The Mayan ruins at Palenque are absolutely marvelous, enormous monuments set in the sweltering jungle, like something out of an Alien vs. Predator movie -- a series which, no matter how much it sucks, can't possibly compete with the utter sucktitude of Palenque the city, with which the ruins have the misfortune of sharing a name. The city is a grimy little strip with all the amenities but none of the character or charm of the cities we've visited thus far.

I want to burn our shabby hostel, Posada San Vincente, to the ground. Sure, it's only US$7 each per night for our own beds and private bath, but...

1. The hot water that's advertised doesn't flow to our quarters.
2. The cooler full of free purified water "pours" at a lollygagging trickle, constantly changing the part of the spicket it dribbles from, so filling my empty 2-liter bottle playing catch-the-droplets takes ten minutes, all the while I must keep the slowly filling bottle held aloft.
3. There's no toilet seat, so we have to spread cheek or scoot to the front of the bowl to avoid falling in.
4. The welt on my head that currently extends my height two inches, courtesy a "traditional" Mexican doorway, has trained me to duck anytime I enter a room. This evening, however, shivering after a shower only a penguin could love, I almost punched out the ceiling bulb while drying my hair. Anti-American sentiment apparently spreads into architecture.

(I'd rather chase sleep on a bumpy bus ride than stay here another night. As it is, that's what we're doing tomorrow night, escaping this pitiful blemish on a night bus to Chetumal, from where we'll quickly tour Belize before jumping into Guatemala for language school and diarrhea.)

But the Palenque ruins. Unforgettable, many incredibly well preserved, with steep steps leading to buildings rife with chambers, passageways, and towers, many portions of which are still open to public exploration, a rarity in the protective modern world of ancient wonders. All sorts of mystery surround the Palenque ruins, like those at Monte Alban. Mostly, why did such supposedly tiny people insist on building such gargantuan stone steps, and so many leading up to every edifice? If each step is knee-high on Jackson and me, long-legged Americans both, how did miniature Mayans ascend to their spectacular creations? One can only assume each climb was a strenuous endeavour requiring arms, legs, and stamina. People who spent a day accidentally climbing to the wrong building, at the top overwhelmed by the frustration of an advanced civilization that couldn't conquer intelligent stair construction, would simply volunteer for ritual sacrifice.

By the way, a new term for those occasions you encounter a pair of girls, half beauty, half beast: "Nickel and dimed."