Mauricio Ah gives us language lessons in Mopan as we hike from his house, in San Antonio (population 954), on to the land he tends with his two sons, Eugenio and Emerygildo. While he is clearly in his mid-60s, he is spry and moves at a rapid clip through the bush, swinging his machete as he goes. We walk for 20 minutes before we come to the first, seemingly, wild vanilla vine that Mauricio discovered growing on his land a few years ago.
It had been attached to a tree that fell down, so a rudimentary trellis now supports it, constructed from tree limbs found in the vicinity. When the support tree fell, it triggered the vanilla to flower. Now there are two beans on this vine, showing the queue de serin typical of ripening
A few yards away is another vine, the leaves of which are considerably narrower than those on the first vanilla, prompting us to speculate that it is probably a different species. Mr Ah tells us that this vanilla produced 12 beans last year and that those beans had a scent to them when they were still green and on the vine. It also flowered last year and while we are able to locate a withered raceme on the vine, it is devoid of beans.
On our trek back to the Ah house, Ms Dean and I are suddenly hit in the nose by a heavenly scent. We exchange looks, but not a word passes between us. In the course of our interviews we have heard from numerous sources, mostly Maya, that if you encounter the scent of vanilla in the bush, you must never say that you smell something sweet, for if you do, you will not find the vanilla that’s emitting the scent.
To our left, about 3 feet from the trail we’re on, is a very small clearing in which we immediately find a vanilla vine that, judging by appearances, is a