The screech that echoed around the jungle was so awful, so loud, it seemed alien. Like most blokes, I dream of being a swashbuckling adventurer, but my girlfriend is more into beaches and cocktails. Inspired by the new Indiana Jones movie a few months back I'd booked us our very own Indy-style Mayan escapade in Mexico. But I hadn't expected us to be scared witless. What was up in the trees?

We walked forward, caught between fear and curiosity, expecting some huge creature to blot out the sunlight. But all we saw was a scampering family of monkeys. Could this earth-shattering noise come from such small animals? We'd encountered all sorts of wildlife driving to the lost temple of Calakmul: tropical turkeys, their plumage a-shimmer with turquoise and orange; green parrots flitting from tree to tree; a couple of racoon-like coati-mundi dashing in front of the car. And our eco-lodge had wire mesh for windows; we slept to a soundtrack of chirping insects. But this was something else.

We continued along a narrow pathway, monkey-bellows still ringing in our ears. There, rising in front, was a vast staircase, almost impossibly steep. It went up forever, a stairway to the heavens. This stepped pyramid was the biggest we'd seen. Two masks of Chac, the Mayan god of rain, made of huge stones, stared at us from each side. Without a word we started to climb. The steps were not only steep, they were large. I was soon sweating. About quarter of the way up I made the mistake of looking down. I was already level with the tops of the smaller trees. It felt distinctly precarious. At the very top the views across vivid green jungle went as far as the Guatemalan border. To the left and right other tumble-down pyramids poked their heads above the canopy.

Calakmul is one of the lesser-visited of the Mayan temples in Mexico's Yakatán Peninsula. Consequently it was my favourite, we were virtually the only explorers. But there are more accessible sites. Our adventure started at Chichén Itzá the grandest complex of all. We arrived after dark and were soon stumbling between trees towards the great pyramid, just in time for the sound-and-light show.
Crashing music boomed from loud speakers, the pyramid was bathed in brilliant yellow light. We listened to English commentary through headphones and heard gory tales of human sacrifice. For 15 minutes the show was spellbinding. Then it stopped. The Spanish on the loudspeakers continued, but we got silence. Then it started again. Then it stopped again. Then we got a high-pitched scramble of sounds as the technician fast-forwarded to catch up with the Spanish commentary. The moment had been lost. The Mayans would have tossed the sound technician off the top of their temple. We just had to grin and bear it.

Even Indy needs a little down time between adventures. We took ours in the city of Mérida, which mixed cultural refinement with its crazy traffic. We wandered the markets: everything plastic imaginable, tortillas cranking out of hot ovens, shoemakers bashing at heels and soles. And we put our stomachs on the line and dined on sopa de lima, a sour Yakatán soup. In the evening we strolled to Santa Lucia park where chairs were laid out in front of a stage. A phalanx of lads and lassies, the girls in white skirts, the lads in starched white with panama hats danced a Yakatán trot to the brassy sounds of the town band, swinging back and forth to the bustling rhythm.

We stopped next at Uxmal another popular site with its quota of supersize Americans puffing around its courtyards. Its oddly cone-shaped pyramid is unique in the Mayan world, but regardless of your waistband, you can't climb it. At Edzná however, there were no restrictions. Some might argue that climbing these monuments is desecration or contributes to their decay, but for me, scaling them made my adventure come to life. High above the complex I looked down like an ancient high priest, closer to the heavens, all powerful.

We reached Calakmul, several days later. It's well off the tourist trail, but quite reachable with a car. The temples are an hour's drive on a narrow road through the jungle. We left at the crack of dawn after a mighty thunderstorm, which only added to the sense of adventure. Calakmul is the largest Mayan site uncovered, once home to 200,000 people. We wandered forest trails, stumbling on temples and houses; some were restored, but huge tree roots had reduced others to piles of stone, squeezing them like vast grey fists. And then we heard that awful, ear-splitting howling. My girlfriend grabbed my hand so hard it hurt. Maybe I'd overdone it with the adventure?

Over a dinner that night of fajitas and cold beer we chatted to Sergio the manager of the eco-lodge where we were staying. "They're called Howler Monkeys," he laughed. "No prizes for guessing why." My girlfriend looked at me and smiled. "Well Indy dear, it's been a nice adventure. But now we're going to the beach and I'm drinking the coldest margarita in Mexico." After a week of jungle temples that sounded like a fine idea.

CRUCIAL INFO
Getting there: KLM (08705 074 074; www.klm.com) flies from Cardiff to Cancun via Amsterdam and Mexico City from £842 return.

Staying there: Latin America specialist Last Frontiers' (01296 653000; www.lastfrontiers.com) self-drive tours of Mexico cost from £1,250 per person for 11 nights accommodation with breakfasts, transfer and hire car. Flights not included.

Eat your heart out Indy!

<<<BACK

Jeremy Head (and his reluctant girlfriend) lose themselves among the mysterious Mayan ruins of Mexico