Mesoamerican stairs

While climbing Mesoamerican pyramids I'm frequently asked, "Why are the stairways so steep?", followed by “The ancient Mesoamericans weren't exceptionally tall people, were they?"  In our modern architecture we think of stairways as routes to quickly ascend or descend.  We expect them to be easy to climb when approached straight-on; with a hand-rail as an integral part of the stairway. Not so for ancient Mesoamericans. 

In aswering the first question I usually refer to the Pyramid of the Niches in El Tajin, an archeological site on the Gulf coast of northern Veracruz. Besides being an important religious center, El Tajin was probably a staging area for merchants setting off on the daunting five-day trip from the coastal plain to Teotihuacan, gateway to the Valley of Mexico at 2,200 meters (7,200 feet) above sea level.  

El Tajin's emblematic Pyramid of the Niches has 365 niches equally spaced around all four sides of the seven-tiered pyramid -- very probably one for each day of the solar year.  However, in order to count 365, we need to imagine there are niches obscured by the stairs going up to the top of the pyramid.

With the passage of time portions of the stairway have collapsed, and sure enough there are niches underneath the stairs!  These niches were never meant to be seen again once the stairway was built.  It is as if the builders thought of the stairway more as a ladder leaning up against the building.  Indeed throughout Mesoamerica the angle of the stairs on many buildings is similar to the angle at which a ladder would be leaned against the building.

It is not unusual for the steps to be higher than they are deep -- making for a strenuous climb.  I find it more comfortable to climb or descend in a long zig-zag. An added benefit is that the steps above can become the handrail.  

Renowned archeologist David Pendergast tells us "temples were . . . . sacred places to be visited and used by the priests and perhaps their retainers.  The priests themselves almost certainly did not dash up and down the stairs, but rather used the steps almost as a stage for ceremonial processions, moving with great pomp and dignity upward a stair at a time."  He adds, with humor,  "Priests, and their retainers perhaps retreated from the altar much as visitors do today, stern first and slowly." 

Occasionally you'll come across stairways that probably served a double duty as steps and bleachers -- with steps that are deep enough to sit on cross-legged while comfortably leaning against the riser as a backrest.  On those stairways I like to think of priests and nobles gathered to listen to a speaker sitting on the ceremonial platform in the middle of the courtyard.

Jaime Awe, Belize’s Commissioner of Archeology, believes that steep stairways provide "architectural economy."  They also preserve the maximum amount of space in the plazas in front of ancient Mesoamerican buildings.  A few years ago he showed me a most unusual step at Cahal Pech archeological site, near San Ignacio, Belize.  

The step blends in with all the others but it is a 20th century addition.  He called it a "Queen's step" splitting a very high step into two.  It was added for Queen Elizabeth II's visit to that site, allowing Her Majesty a more graceful entrance to a housing compound at the ruins.  My mind took me back to Dr. Pendergast's reference to priests, with their retainers helping them up the stairways.  Some things never change. 

And what about that follow-up question about the physical stature of the Mesoamerican people using the stairways?  In "Forest of Kings", Linda Schele writes about Aw-Cacaw who inherited the throne of Tikal in northern Guatemala in May of 682.  Tikal's emblematic Temple 1 is built over his tomb.  Dr. Schele writes: "Ah-Cacaw was a large man for his times.  He would live into his fourth katun [a period almost twenty years long], and be over sixty years old when he died.  At 167 cm (5 feet 5 inches) he was a veritable giant standing ten centimeters above the average height of the men in his kingdom."  

Dr. Pendergast was certainly right.  Given their relative stature it would have been a slow ascent and descent for ancient Mesoamericans who must have struggled even more than we do getting up and down the pyramids.  However they probably weren't in as much of a hurry as we seem to be.

A Chichen-Itzá Pilgrimage

Tens of thousands of people all over the world are finalizing their travel plans and getting ready to travel to Chichen-Itzá in order to be there on the spring equinox.  They'll watch a magnificent light and shadow spectacle on the side of the north-facing stairway of the Castillo, a temple most probably dedicated to Kukulcan, the Maya version of Quetzalcoatl.

The sun, on its apparent trip north, will pass over the equator in the early morning hours of March 20.  That evening, as it sets over the Yucatan Peninsula, the north-westernmost corner of the stepped pyramid will cast shadows on the outside of the 'banister' of one of the four stairways leading to the top of the pyramid.  A series of illuminated triangles will be projected on the side of the stairway.  The serpent's head at the base of the stairway will be fully illuminated -- the triangles will become the serpent's body.

If you're going, I'd suggest you do so two days before or after the equinox.  The effect will be similar and you'll be able to witness it without the crowds and masters of ceremonies sent out by the tourism department with loudspeakers to 'improve' on what the sun and ancient Maya astronomers joined forces in creating.

Take a small scissor legged folding chair or a beach towel to lie on and be comfortable.  It takes a while for the whole event to play out.  If you're not comfortable it might seem like Mr. Sun has gotten stuck in the sky.

Only two of the Castillo's four stairways have been restored.  Fortunately one of them hosts the light and shadow event.  As is characteristic of prominent post-classic temples, it sits right in the middle of a huge plaza.  When Chichen-Itza flourished it had a large population and certainly attracted large numbers of people on the equinoxes.  They most probably watched and experienced the event in awe and silence.

As the light and shadow event plays out on the Castillo there will be another light and shadow event at Chichen-Itza, at the very same time, which probably won't be witnessed by anyone.  However it will occur -- even if no one is there to see it -- in a very small space in the uppermost room of the Caracol, which probably functioned as an astronomical observatory.

Three surviving windows face into an observation chamber at the top of what was a round tower but now looks more like an upended conch shell.  The windows are square (about 50x50 cm.) with very long windowsills (about two meters).  Long windowsills restrict the view -- nevertheless a considerable expanse of horizon can be seen.  One vernal equinox, while the crowd was watching the light show on the Castillo, I was the only one in the observatory chamber of the Caracol.  The setting sun created a shadow on half the windowsill leaving the other half illuminated.  A diagonal line separated light from shadow -- a line from the right hand corner on the inside, to the left hand corner on the outside of the windowsill.  Perfectly straight -- a precise line of sight.  Marvelous. Each windowsill provides two horizontal lines of sight.  Different nights offer different events to be seen.  Modern astronomers have identified twenty astronomical events that can be seen through the Caracol's surviving windows.

Last week I described Xochicalco's observatory which allows for focused views of heavenly objects -- something the Caracol observatory cannot do since it is set up for naked eye observations along designated sightlines.  Xochicalco's observatory restricts viewing to one spot in the sky while the Caracol tower offered a full circle of views of the horizon through its multiple windows. In a simlar vein, though Xochicalco has only one observation shaft, I suspect that doorways -- now filled with rubble -- opening off the tunnel leading to the observation chamber accessed other observation rooms where shafts point to different spots in the sky.

Xochicalco's astronomers could not move their focused telescopes.  But, could they move themselves to another room -- for a different view into the sky -- just as astronomers in the Caracol could move to another window? Xocicalco's observatory, the Caracol's observation windows, and the light and shadow spectacle on the Castillo are very different yet each served ancient astronomer-priests in verifying that their calendar was synchronized with the council of the gods. That, in turn, confirmed that their offerings were being delivered to their gods at the appropriate moments in time.

Of the three, the Castillo required the greatest coordination of architects and astronomer-priests in its design.  Unlike Xochicalco's observatory and the Caracol's windows, the Castillo offered a public event for the whole population.  It is still fulfilling that function today.

The sound of archaeology

At Mesoamerican archeological sites you’ll frequently see groups of people facing long stairways and clapping their hands, listening for an unusual echo. Although indeed a strange sound, I always refused to clap with my groups. It seemed hokey to me, certainly not something to be encouraged on a study trip.

Why would the echo at an archeological site be different from any other stairway’s echo? For me this changed at the 1999 Palenque Round Table – an event that annually draws four to five hundred people with an interest in Maya archeology. The Round Table lasts a week – Monday through Friday.

Speakers start at the top of the hour and present for forty minutes, followed by twenty minutes of questions and answers. In 1999, so many people requested time to speak that organizers set aside Thursday and Friday afternoon for fifteen-minute talks – followed by five minutes of questions and answers – squeezing three speakers into each hour. Few speakers respected the time frame.

The only way to stay on schedule was to cancel the Qs & As. Tuesday I was the first in line for lunch. After making my way through the buffet I set off toward the most distant corner of the huge dining room hoping to eat my lunch in peace and quiet and not talk with anyone. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a man following me with his tray.

Before sitting down at what I already thought of as ‘my’ table, he asked if I spoke English. Reluctantly, I acknowledged that I do. After introducing himself, David Lubman proceeded to tell me that he was the last speaker on Thursday. Immediately I knew his presentation was important enough to be scheduled but that he had a lousy time frame.

Who was going to stick around for the last fifteen-minute talk on Thursday? He went on to tell me he had never been to one of these meetings before. In fact, up until two years earlier he had never even visited a Maya archeological site. Would I be willing to let him read me his paper and tell him if I thought it would be interesting to participants in the Round Table? “It’ll only take fifteen minutes,” he said. I already knew that.

I agreed, and he proceeded to read. On a Caribbean cruise with a stop at Cozumel he’d signed up for an optional overnight Chichen Itza tour. As was to be expected, his tour guide clapped in front of the stairway of the Castillo pyramid. Lubman was more intrigued than most by the strange echo because he’s an acoustical engineer.

He realized he needed to make a recording of the sound but it had to be when it was quiet with no loud tour guides, no noisy busses with their engines and air-conditioners running. Back in his hotel room he packed a high-quality tape recorder with directional microphones in his daypack. Serendipitously, his tour package included the evening light and sound show in Chichen’s main plaza. Along with his group, he returned to the site after dinner, daypack on his back. After the show he hung back, hid, and waited till all the visitors and park staff left.

Then he set up his recorder and microphones and clapped his hands. Satisfied with the recording’s quality he surreptitiously left the site – it would be just as bad to be caught sneaking out, as sneaking in. The following morning Lubman returned to Cozumel and reboarded his ship back to the United States. Back home, he obtained a recording of songs and chirpings of unusual birds of Mesoamerica and made a computergenerated graph of each recording.

The graph of the chirping of the quetzal bird was virtually identical to that of the echo! This is particularly fascinating as the quetzal’s long tail feathers were the most prized for headdresses of Mesoamerica’s ruling class. In fact in Nahuatl, ‘quetzal’ is synonymous with ‘precious’. Indeed, it is the first half of the god Quetzalcoatl’s name. David Lubman asked if I thought his paper would be of interest to the group gathered for the Round Table. I told him, “They’ll be fascinated.”

Over lunch I had an uninterrupted opportunity to ask him all the questions I wanted. I learned that this type of echo only occurs on stairways in which the tread is shorter than the height of the risers. This combination gives the echo a ‘chir-roop’ sound which first ascends, then falls nearly an octave.

I attended Lubman’s talk on Thursday afternoon. It was just as he had read it to me at lunch on Tuesday. I stayed for some of the questions and answers and then went to dinner. An hour later I returned to the auditorium; Lubman was still answering questions about this whole new facet of archeology.

Who ever thought we’d be able to graph sounds? It turned out he had the best time frame of all. With no speaker scheduled after him he continued answering questions into the night. I now unabashedly clap at archeological sites and always look forward to hearing the now familiar chir-roop of the quetzal.