On a trip to the Yucatán, I kept seeing Temazcal Ceremony advertised on websites and flyers. It sounded to me like some kind of potent Mexican booze or plant medicine, but I soon learned it was actually a Mesoamerican sweat lodge ritual practised in the Yucatán for over a thousand years. Still, I didn’t really know what it was all about, but thought I’d give it a go.

There were countless adverts for temazcal experiences with high price tags in shiny spas or posh hotels, but I didn’t want some touristy version where you pay all the pesos for a watered-down, pampery-type experience. Gimme gritty. Gimme what the locals do. Local is where travel comes to life. And local is where those often surreal, hilarious travel moments are born. I do love a good travel cringe. But still, I didn’t envision the extent of the cringe I was about to have there in Tulum.

On Google Maps, I spotted Ozono’s house. He was a temazcalero with a temazcal – a small, dome-shaped sweat lodge made of clay – in his very own backyard. No website, no tourist package. El real deal, perhaps?

A few WhatsApps later, the date of sweat was set. It was a little outside of Tulum, so I took a taxi there in time to start at 6pm, sunset time. Ozono greeted me at the gate to his house, all dressed in white wearing a kind of cowboy hat, long black hair. He ushered me into his backyard and told me with a cheeky smile to wait in “La Recepción”, a kind of make-shift shed with green mesh walls and a hammock hanging in it.

His energy was warm and welcoming and despite being alone in some random bloke’s backyard on the outskirts of town, I felt instantly at ease. I swung in the hammock, watching him waft a huge campfire, getting ready for the temazcal ceremony. The other participants were on their way. I wondered who my companions in the sweaty darkness would be. After about 10 minutes of hammock time, Ozono came over.

“Looks like it’s just you, Helen! I don’t usually do private sessions, but it must be meant to be, Helen! You’re meant to have your own private temazcal ceremony today!” He was the upbeat type, very friendly, very easy to talk to.

I hadn’t expected a private ceremony – all of the pictures I’d seen showed groups of people all squashed together in a circle around the central pit. I felt a mixture of relief and apprehension, all at once.

In my swimwear and feeling a tad awkward, we got me Temazcal-ready. Ozono covered my arms, face and legs with mineral-rich Mayan clay, designed not only to detox and rejuvenate the skin, but to connect us to Mother Earth’s energy and wisdom. Layer it on, amigo. He then wafted copal (sacred incense made from tree resin) all around me, apparently purifying my energy and opening us up to the spiritual realm. Woooooo!

On the ground there were four palm fronds. He told me that there was one for each direction: north, south, east and west, and that we must ask permission of the guardians of each direction to bless this ceremony and be with us. He instructed me to stand at the eastern frond, representing la transformación, because that’s what he can see I’m here for, a transformation. Well, yes. Bring it on.

Ozono handed me a big bunch of leafy branches to hold in one hand, and maracas in the other. It was at the maracas moment that it dawned on me that my role was more than just that of the sweaty onlooker; the ceremony was centred around me. He started chanting in Nahuatl (the ancient language of the Aztecs). We marched slowly around the circle of leaves as he chanted, and he instructed me to shake the maracas in sync with his rhythmic hand-drum beating.

He stopped at one of the fronds. “Raise your arms in the air!” Like you just don’t care, I said to myself, trying to think myself out of the awkwardness of it all.

“Now, repeat after me: TLĀZOHKAMATI TONANTZIN TLALLI!”

(Thank you, Mother Earth)

Er, ya what?! I had to echo his chants in a loud, commanding voice. This was serious stuff, we were talking to the Gods! My voice was off-key and sounded utterly pathetic, and my Nahuatl skills were obviously a bit rusty. We continued the circular march, with me attempting to shake the maracas in time with our chants and steps.

“Tlāzohkamati Tēotl Ēhekatl”

(Thank you, Spirit of the Wind)

 Sometimes I’d forget what he’d said and spouted a bunch of gibberish to fill in the gaps. We marched on. 

“Tlāzohkamati Huehueteotl”

(Thank you, Grandfather Fire)

Flashes of reality merged with flashes of surreality. There I was, Helen from Liverpool, one minute buying my milk in Aldi, and next head-to-toe in Mayan clay, waving branches in the air and chanting to the Gods of the West in an ancient language in a dusty Mexican backyard. How did this happen?

 “Tlāzohkamati Atl, Āpan” (Thank you, Water, River Spirit)

“Una vuelta!” He announced, as the marching took on an added twist: a mid-frond spin to the left. It felt like some kind of tribal sundance. I thought of my friends and how they would howl with laughter if they could see me now.

Eat me up, Madre Tierra, I thought.

We went into the darkness of the temazcal. He placed hot stones from the fire in a central pit, dousing them in herb-infused water, creating loud sizzles and fragrant steam. He told me the rocks were affectionately called abuelitas, or little grandmothers.

Getting all those little grannies ready for action. Background: the magical dome of sweatiness, the temazcal itself.

The temazcal ceremony is not just about sweating out all those tacos from your system; it’s about purification, healing, and spiritual renewal. It’s considered a rebirth with the actual temazcal itself representing the womb of Mother Earth. I was sitting in a womb about to be reborn. Just like any other day, you know.

He taught me some of the words that I’d be using throughout the two-hour ceremony, the most important of which was:

OMETEOTL!

Ometeotl is the dual cosmic energy of creation, and represents the balance of masculine & feminine, light & dark, life & death. I suppose it’s the yin and yang of Mesoamerican spirituality. It’s the universal life force that permeates all existence.

Whenever he said it, I had to repeat it, in the same tone, no matter how deep or screechy, with the same gusto and reverence. We chanted this word hundreds of times throughout the ceremony.

He told me that whenever he brings in more little grandmothers, we must sing this phrase:

Los corazones de fuego están aquí!

(The hearts of fire are here!)

He sang this with true passion and devotion, and of course, I had to mirror this. We couldn’t continue if I hadn’t sung my part too. Deep cringe.

We had to make a big deal of opening the temazcal entrance. It’s not just any old door into any old place, this is the temazcal, this is sacred! Plus, each of the four rounds of the ceremony is called a Puerta, or door.

Puerta! Puerta! Puerta! Por favor!

(Door, door, door, please!)

Each puerta represents the four elements of earth, water, fire, and air, and carries symbolic and spiritual meaning. He began each round by loading a fresh bunch of abuelitas onto the fire as we sang the heart song together. Each round ended with the door song and Ozono went off to get more abuelitas to heat things up even more.

During each round, I had to tell the spiritual realm what I wanted, connecting with my ancestors, the Gods.

“Okay, Helen, now you tell them about yourself, who you are, where you’re from, what you want, your intention for the ceremony, for your life, your desires, what you want your transformation to look like.”

Oh god, what?! Ha! Struggling to find the words, I croaked out into the darkness:

“My name is Helen, I’m from England but I live in Portugal, I errrr…..”

I felt like I was back doing my GCSE Spanish oral at school but hadn’t done my homework, yet the language wasn’t the issue; my mind was blank even in English. What do I want?! How to sum it all up on the spot like that? Oh, the pressure!

“Tell them, speak to them, Helen!” He urged. “Say for example: My deepest desire is blablabla and I want to feel blablabla in my life and do blabla…..”

During that first round, I felt like an idiot, sitting there in the darkness mumbling random rubbish or at a loss for words.

But I soon got into it. I realised I might as well ask the Gods and ancestors to bring in the good stuff. Nothing to lose, and all that. I asked the Gods to send opportunities for a more aligned career, for health and abundance, I gave gratitude for everything I have already, for my experiences, my friends and family.

At the end of each round, we clapped and chanted Ometeotl at different speeds and tones. Faster and faster and faster until it was barely a word anymore. I couldn’t stop laughing at one point and he graciously laughed along with me.

He told me to speak to my ancestors. I said that incidentally my own abuelita, my Nanna, had passed away exactly a year ago to the day, 29 November 2023. Ozono was astounded by the synchronicity.

“QUÉÉÉÉÉ?!!!! HOY? ESTE ES MUY, MUY GRANDE!!!!!! HÁBLALA!”

(Whaaaaat?! Today? This is really big!! Talk to her!)

In the pitch black in the extreme heat of a Mexican sweat lodge ceremony, I was being asked to talk to my Nanna. I couldn’t help but see the funny side of it all.

“Go on,” he urged. “Talk to your Nanna!”

“Er…hello, Nanna…erm…how are you?” I said feebly, feeling ridiculous, talking to my deceased grandmother in a Mexican backyard.

“Go on, tell her whatever you want! This is your moment!”

Alright then. Here we go. I told Nanna we miss her, that we hope she’s in a happy place. I thanked her for everything she has done for me. My whole body filled with what seemed like squiggles of energy, rippling throughout, inwards, outwards, warm spirals of a different kind of heat to that of the temazcal. I certainly felt a presence. Nanna?! It passed after about 10 seconds and we both sat there stunned in silent amazement. Me, Ozono and Nanna had had a moment.

He launched into another lengthy round of Ometeotls, and this time I repeated them with renewed fervour, thanks to the visitation of Nanna to the Mexican sweat lodge.

Fancy meeting you here, Nanna, I thought. I wonder what she made of it all. I bet she never thought it’d be like that on the other side. Great that she finally made it to Mexico, though.

After the four rounds, Ozono opened the door and I clambered out of the temazcal, legs shaky like a newborn giraffe taking its first steps in the world, leaves stuck to me, clay and sweat all crusting together attractively.

I lay down on a wicker mat beneath the starry sky, the cooler night air so refreshing and energising. Ozono poured water all over me and I felt a profound sense of renewal, peace, and a connection to nature and spirit. This was what it said on the tin and more!

When you get to experience ancient traditions with local people, in their language, in their way — that’s real travel. Those swallow-me-alive, Madre Tierra moments may feel awkward at the time, but travel at the peak of cringe always spins itself into comedy gold.

Gracias, Ozono, you’re a legend.

All together now, OMETEOTL!!!!!!!!