san cristobal
www.gurneysjourneys.com
Wednesday 10th August
I am officially too old and grumpy to cope with dorms any more. Last night was a particularly bad night though, with Mexican Marco sweet talking the English girl on the bed next to me, but failing to get any action (luckily! I really wouldn’t want to hear that), then soon after that (at about 3 am) someone thought it would be a good idea to take several flash photos.
Getting up in the morning I discovered some good things about this hostel, pancakes for the free breakfast, and people around to accompany you on activities. I found 3 other people to come in the car to the villages of Chamula and Zinacantan, where the interesting local customs involve whining at tourists for money, and sitting in a weird church with pine leaves all over the floor. The locals come in and sit next to lots of lit candles, often with a chicken and some fizzy drinks, and wail whilst rocking back and forth. The fizzy drinks are to make them burp, which apparently gets rid of evil spirits, and in a stroke of marketing genius coca-cola seems to be the drink of choice for this ritual.
The problem I had with the church was the really bad glockenspiel version of Christmas carols they were playing, in August!
In the second village we were lucky enough to arrive on a fiesta day. Everyone was wearing beautiful embroidered outfits in deep blues and purples and there were stages for live music and food tents set up. We stopped for barbecued chicken and were glad to see people looking happy and enjoying themselves (less whining), but we were too cold to stick around for very long.
Thursday 11th August
I had an intellectual day today. I visited a Mayan women’s cooperative where they recycle paper and make beautiful cards to sell, then I went to the Na Bolom museum and was inspired by Trudi Blom; an amazing woman who was an activist in Europe against fascism before WW2, got thrown in prison twice before moving to Mexico, where she met women who fought alongside Zapata in the revolution. She became a photographer and then made friends with the most remote Mayan tribes, the Lacandon Indians and spent the rest of her life fighting to preserve their culture. The museum was also her house, and is now a hotel. They still preserve the tradition of sitting down to dinner together; this includes guests at the hotel, any volunteer workers, archeologists or guides who happen to be around, as well as any Lacandon Indians who are at the museum at the time. One time Trudi had the Governor of Chiapas sitting opposite a Lacandonian! Wow, with the class differences in Mexico that rich governor had probably never even looked an Indian in the eye before, and then he is dining with one.
I also read a letter from Marcos in Spanish. I didn’t understand that much, except he’s causing a stir by slagging off the lefty presidential candidate, and he was making jokes about having put on weight since last being in the public eye.
As well as all this intellectual activity I manage to go out tonight to Madre Tierra, which is full of crusties. I haven’t seen this many dreadlocked people since being in the circus field at Glastonbury 2000. I didn’t realize San Cristóbal was such an attractive place for hippies….but now I can understand how reggae music became so popular here.
Friday 12th August
An easy day, soaking up the atmos along Guadalupe street, popped into a church and an orchid garden, had a hot chocolate, that kind of thing.
After my easy day I was ready for a night out (psyched up for reggae), but it was ruined by a police raid at El Circo. They shut down the music for about an hour and wandered around searching people, and filming the whole raid. That shows the level of trust people have in the police here, they have to film everything to prove that they were not being violent and aggressive to people during the raid. When we were allowed to leave, after they had finished, I was done for the night and went back to my new great hotel room to actually get some sleep.
Saturday 13th August
Another easy day, pretty much spent with Laura watching the rain from Mayambé restaurant and then from a café.
I went out to buy a phonecard at 7pm, and rather surprisingly didn’t get home until 1am. I met Jesús and his friends in the internet café, we soon picked up a couple of other girls and we went on a bar crawl. I practiced my Spanish loads, and the Mexican guys are all from San Cristóbal… locals. When I left the bar Jesús was insistent that I go to his house the next day for his dad’s 58th birthday party, I had to say yes before I was allowed to leave.
Sunday 14th August
The thing about traveling is that you pretty much want to experience as many random things as possible, so I went to meet Jesús. He was there on time – well only 10 mins late, which is extraordinary for a Mexican, and he drove me to his Dad’s house. I met his entire family, uncles, cousins, nieces etc and ate head tacos and roast beef. It turned out that Jesús was only back from Veracruz (where he now lives) for the weekend to go to this party, so I felt slightly awkward about being there when maybe he should be spending time talking to his family, but he had insisted I go and my new traveling ethos is to never turn down an invitation.
Monday 15th August
I was a bit iffy today. I walked up a big hill which helped, and then read the paper in the square. Met one of the Mexicans from yesterday for dinner (with some international friends too) and had average food in a posh looking restaurant. Disappointing, as the food here has been excellent so far.
Tuesday 16th August
Mountain biking with Los Pinguinos was supercool. We started early and went uphill a long way before following beautiful tracks down through little villages and by the river. I fared quite well I thought…. there were definitely people slower than me, and the downhill bits were fun. Yey, it’s my new sport, kind of like skiing…. you have the hairy downhill bits, but in between you are just tootling along through beautiful scenery. Except on skis getting up the hill is a bit easier.
I spent hours on the internet looking at volunteer work, and then went to meet the Mexican again (hopefully he has my cell phone which I left at the birthday party on Sunday). The Mexican (his name is Fito) didn’t show up. I was left sitting in the bar on my own, which I don’t normally mind, but here in San Cristóbal I don’t think it is the done thing. After getting some strange looks, and not making any friends, I decide that this is the kind of place where you are expected to hook up with a gang from your hostel, and any random company is considered better than being alone.
Wednesday 17th August
Move to a new house, a hostel where I have a bargain room and proper hot showers, mmmm. I have to move car to make way for bicycle game in the street outside. There is a fiesta in the nearest square, but for the next couple of hours the fun and games is in our street. Mexicans really are easily entertained. The game involves cycling slowly with a thin stick, then as you approach the washing line they have hung up, you have to try and hook your stick through a small ring dangling from the line by a red ribbon. The game is good, it’s the fact that they play and watch round after round, in the rain. We got bored and cold after about 5 minutes.
Thursday 18th August
Great day. My second ever visit to Ranch Nuevo caves, but this time with a guide; 10 year old Luis, who points out formations in the rock such as the head of sub-commander Marcos (without his pipe) and an exact copy of Guanajuato cathedral. My favourite was the ostrich. In the afternoon Chris, in return for being driven in the caves, came on a hike with me. As expected the guide book gave us completely stupid directions (such as “head for the two timber shacks with red roofs”), which lead us to a quarry at the top of the wrong hill. “You want the ruins?” the campesino said, “they’re at the top of that hill.” Great. We eventually found some small piles of rocks (I knew it was a crap site - I just fancied a walk) and then made our way back into town. We were hardly surprised to see an enormous sign to the ruins (Moxviquil) on the main road. Oh hail to the guidebook.
Friday 19th August
Today I found some random people from the hostel to come to a far away village (Tenajapa) where people stared and giggled as we walked down the high street. We ate in a comedor that served chicken, chicken, or chicken and it tasted exactly like the casseroles I make at home, a bizarre find in Mexico. But the highlight of the trip was visiting the women’s weaving initiative shop. We watched her working and the progress is SO slow. (I personally think she does it much faster when there aren’t tourists watching – but I’m a cynical witch). This is the kind of stuff I imagined selling in my fair-trade-eco-friendly-promote-indigenous-rights company, but since they claim it takes 3 months to make a table cloth, the UK prices would be astronomical. And I find it frustrating that these products are painstakingly hand made here, (imagine making a 2 foot wide embroidery bracelet - but much harder because you have to thread it through a loom as well) when machines have been invented that can do the task just as well.
Saturday 20th August
Since my new travel principle is to accept all invitations, today I am going to Fito’s ranch, about an hour out of San Cristóbal. It is his birthday gathering, and I am expecting sunshine, countryside, people and a little bit of luxury. Stine from the hostel is coming with me and as it is pissing down in SC we are glad to be leaving. Unfortunately it is still drizzling when we get to the ranch, and there are only four people there. The countryside is fantastic though, they have all sorts of fruit trees at the ranch and as we were dropping down from the mountains on the way here we saw some awesome scenery.
The weekend is somewhat marred by the fact that I lock my keys in the car soon after arriving and can’t get any of my stuff. The locksmith from town is drunk and at a party so he can’t help. Also, there is no electricity or water (so much for luxury), and when Fito goes out at 11ish to pick up some more friends he gets back so late we are all sleeping. The party never really got going!
Sunday 21st August
Sunday things get a bit weird. Fito’s dad manages to break into my car, which is fantastic news. This means I have my stuff and can go for a swim with the others, but it’s a bit chilly in the pool and we are all waiting for the hot tub to fill up (ok, there is a bit of luxury). The hot tub is just about full when Fito’s dad comes by again, he is chatting with everyone, and then suddenly they all get out of the pool and walk off. Fito quickly explains that they are going to play basketball at someone else’s ranch, and that me and Stine are welcome to stay by the pool if we like, then they all disappear! It’s very sudden. They said a non-mexican goodbye (waving, instead of doing the rounds kissing everyone), Fito quickly makes a lame arrangement to meet me the next day…he doesn’t even give a time, and then me and Stine are left there, at this random ranch in the rain. Odd.
Luckily for us, we don’t want to play basketball in the rain and we would much rather get wet by finding a raging waterfall (El Chiflon), hiking up to it and standing in the spray.
By the time we get back I have just enough energy to eat and go to bed.
Monday 22nd August
Today I managed to persuade the Frenchman and Stine to come on a real adventure.
We didn’t even know where the place was, but we were on the right road and aiming for a Zapatista caracol called Oventic. This is a self governed community where they are “keeping up the resistance” by providing their own schools and medical care, and painting all the buildings with revolutionary murals. When I asked them if the government minds what they are doing, the front man in our meeting reminded me that they are still involved in low-level warfare, so yes they do mind, but they also realize it’s kind of a good thing. I think “war” is putting it a bit strongly these days; they have been talking, not fighting, the last few years.
Anyway, we missed the Zapatistas standing on the gate and drove straight past the place the first time, but when we came back and parked they really did ask for our passports and give us an interview about why we wanted to come in. While we were waiting a the door, a woman with a gash in her leg was helped off a combi and through the gate by a group of men - it would seem that the clinic is functioning as it should for the local people; she was waved straight through, and I’m pretty sure no one was questioning her about medical insurance before treatment.
They were a bit offish with us because we hadn’t arrived from an organization, but once they had decided to let us in they gave us the welcome speech and showed us to our “junta”. During the meeting we were sitting facing 2 males and one female; genuine ski-mask wearing Zapatistas. The guy in the middle did all the talking, and we were somewhat disappointed that he kept giving us the same spiel and avoided answering many questions.
There is a strange mix here of being open and inviting in tourists (there were about 20 around on this day), but at the same time not wanting to give any details. He wouldn’t tell us how many people were in the community (“lots” he said) or whether they were planning more caracoles. And we didn’t really learn much about how it was run.
He did tell us that the caracol governs seven villages, provides a primary and secondary school and allows individuals to be “in”or “out” depending on whether they agree with the Zapatistas or not. When we asked what we could do to help it was quite refreshing to hear an answer that didn’t involve money… “tell people about us”, he said. So I am. (Well I’m telling the few members of my immediate friends and family that actually bother to read this website anyway).
As we wandered around the complex we saw the schools, and several artisan shops, run by the community with the name of the artist on each piece of embroidery or jewelry. There were also shops selling “laminas” which are an example of how the people in the community are looking after themselves economically without relying on tourists.
My favorite shop was the one selling cassettes of revolutionary songs.
We were inside for about 2 hours in total. We concluded that no one lived there except the foreign volunteers; it is clearly the administration centre with meeting places and drop-in advice centres, but no homes.
After buying a Marcos t-shirt each we left, through the stunning scenery and the pouring rain. I got confused though when I saw groups of teenagers with backpacks walking along the street. They looked exactly like school kids to me, but why are they going to a school that’s not the one with Che Guevara on the side that I’ve just taken photos of? If I was being cynical I would think that maybe the seven villages in the caracol are actually pretty tiny, and that there are a fair few people who opt out of the self-government scheme.
Tuesday 23rd August
Ooops. I left my cell phone from England in the car. I actually thought last night “Oh, I should go and get it” but I was tired and had a cold and it was raining. Who would break into my car in a thunderstorm? Some arsehole that’s who. So today I cleaned up glass, then phoned UPS who are also arseholes (41 mins for 1 call), said goodbye to my adventuring friends
Wednesday 24th August
A lovely day sitting in the sun. First at the spare parts shop, then a splendid couple of hours at some cowboy’s workshop where I watched them replace the glass in the window. They ripped out parts of the door with absolutely no consideration of how they were going to put them back again, just hacking away at the lock with a screwdriver. But hey eventually it was done and it was pretty cheap.
Tags: chiapas, mexico, san cristobal, Travel, zapatistas
