5/20/10 - The Village of Chamula

It felt amazing to sleep in a comfortable bed last night, and to wake up refreshed by the cool mountain breeze swirling in through our hotel's windows. It was such a stark contrast to the hotness and humidity of both Merida and Florida, and truth be told it almost felt like being back in Idaho, where I grew up! We had a lovely breakfast at the hotel this morning, then a quick meeting before setting off for the village of Chamula. We rode there in a cambi -- a small van, basically, which transports to and from a specific destination for a flat rate. They can be found in many places around town, usually near the market. All fourteen of us piled into one, plus a few people, which is pretty much the norm, and off we went!

We arrived in the village square, where a sizable crowd was gathered around a raised platform like a stage. Some of the local children were performing what appeared to be a healing ceremony, from what we could decipher of the banner hung above the stage. The kids were dressed in the traditional clothing of the highland Mayas: the girls with flowers in their hair, wearing embroidered blouses and black wool skirts secured around their wastes with colorful scarves; the boys wore white wool tunics, belted over trousers and a shirt. Ribbons of smoke swirled out of little pots of incense lining the front of the stage, as the kids chanted prayers in the Mayan dialect of Tzotzil while moving through a process of choreographed gestures. When they were finished, the crowd clapped and cheered, and the kids beamed with pride as they waved to their parents below.

It suddenly strikes me that in these people's history there have been others to come here and witness beautiful examples of community tradition like this one, and failed to see anything past the closed-minded notion that these people are different, and different is unacceptable. They called them "pagan," and used that word as justification to steal from, murder, and enslave them.

Despite this disturbing history, Chamula culture is still very much alive. On the town square stand the colorful Iglesia de San Juan Bautista, originally a Spanish mission church but is now an interesting blend of Catholicism and traditional, pre-conquest Mayan religion. Inside, cameras are not allowed. We walked in, silently, keeping our eyes down lest we look a Shaman in the face (this is considered very disrespectful). The floor is covered with pine needles, traditionally to represent the Mayan tree of life, but if you ask anyone they'll tell you they are to signify that Christ died on a pine cross. There are no pews. People kneel on the floor, chanting prayers in Tzotzil Mayan in front of rows of colored candles stuck to the floor with melted wax. Each color of candle represents a different thing such as sickness, the spirit, the soul, luck, purity, or the evil eye. They are prescribed by a shaman to treat a range of afflictions. Traditionally, worshippers would drink a fermented drink called posh, the subsequent burps believed to be the body releasing evil influences. Nowadays, posh has been largely replaced by soda -- particularly Coca-Cola. For particularly severe problems, a live chicken is sacrificed. We saw two chickens being sacrificed inside. Lining the walls are statues of Saints, their facial expressions full of emotion. They are now incased in glass for protection, as in the past they have been vandalized by people whose prayers have gone unanswered.

Outside the church, people send up their prayers in the form of bottle rockets. Traditionally, the Chamula live in thatched-roof huts. Occasionally, a firework will come back down and set one on fire. In recent years, the thatched roofs have slowly started to be replaced by tin ones.

The Chamula are an agricultural society, and their main staple is corn. This climate is relatively stable, so they can grow corn year round -- and they have been for thousands of years.

One of the problems that plagues the people here is protein deficiency in children. To treat this issue, a Shaman will take the sick child to different stations around down. Kneeling before the monumental crosses, they burn incense and chant prayers. At the last station, they sacrifice a chicken. The chicken is cooked and then eaten by the child and the Shaman, effectively solving the problem.

Crosses were important to the Maya long before Christianity ever came here. They represent the five cardinal directions: north, south, east, west, and center. This is also what the pyramids represent. Many crosses are adorned with pine branches, traditionally representing the mayan tree of life. You see carvings of trees with branches pointing in the shape of a cross at a lot of Mayan sites.... fortunately for them, it was a good way to fool the missionaries who otherwise might have made it harder on them. Fortunately for the missionaries, the conversion process was much easier, considering they were able to associate this and other familiar symbols with unfamiliar concepts. Some other examples: the moon, which to the Maya has for centuries represented the goddess of the underworld, the mother of fertility, to the crops and to the people, who gives life and takes it away, becomes representative of Mary as well; the sun, the father god and representative of the king, becomes Jesus. Sacrifice, something so important to the Maya, becomes embodied by the crucified Christ. Judas is not scorned for his betrayal, but commended -- for taking responsibility for his actions. For maintaining his dignity by killing himself, rather than be killed by another or dying of old age which would have been a continuation of his selfish ways.

These are all examples of what anthropologists call syncretism: the blending and overlapping of different schools of thought, particularly as relating to religion, between a dominant culture and an oppressed culture. Here's a quick, good article on Mayan religion, and some of the ways it has incorporated / interpreted traditional Catholicism.

We spent the day at the village, exploring the streets and beautiful countryside. I had some fun at the market, bartering and communicating as best I could with people with whom our only link in communication was the bits and pieces of Spanish we both knew. . . :D I did manage to buy a pretty awesome bag, and a rosary for my mom. For lunch we had some delicious fire-grilled corn, seasoned with spicy salt and lime, bought from a small market stand.

We headed back to San Cristobal as it was starting to get dark. When we got back, Yoshi, Howie, Sam and I decided to go to out for milkshakes and discovered an awesome little shop on the Zocolo called Cafe Yik. As we were sitting, three young boys came in and, pulling small ceramic animals out of their baskets, they laid them out one by one on the table, "elefante, jaguar, tortuga.....," I bought one from each of them, for three pesos each, only to be scolded again by Howie, who thinks I'm much too easily chided by the cute small ones. (He's probably right...!)

5/18/10 - 5/19/10 - Depart Merida, Arrive San Cristobal

Tonight we embark on a twelve-hour bus trip, across the plains of northern Yucatan, down through Tobasco, and into the mountainous cloud forest of the southern Chiapas highlands. We'll wake up in the city of San Cristobal de las Casas.

Our Caribe breakfast was somewhat sentimental -- we have come to think of this place as home, and even though we will be coming back here a few days before we leave Mexico, we'll miss the familiarity, and the warm, friendly, inviting atmosphere of Merida that we've grown so attached to.

Saying "goodbye for now," to the Hotel Caribe

After the morning meeting, Yoshi and I went for a walk around town, our mission being to acquire foodstuffs, beverages, and batteries to sustain us on our overnight journey. While we were out, we ran into our friend Ricardo again! We were actually in quite a hurry, but we told him we would undoubtedly be visiting his shop as soon as we get back to Merida. We headed back to the Caribe to pack our bags. The plan was to separate what we wanted to take with us to San Cristobal from what we wanted to leave in Merida, like clothes, money, souvenirs, etc. The things staying in Merida would be locked in Professor Tromans' room at the Caribe for safe keeping while we were gone, and had to be given to him no later than 12:30 pm. Typical of myself, I lost track of time, and there I was at 12:31 knocking on Tromans' door, and him not answering. I sighed, and resigned to myself that I'd be taking the extra bag with me!

We'd be leaving on a bus from the ADO station at 7:00 pm, and we were expected to get ourselves there no later than 6:00. It was starting to rain, and fearing the possibility of another flood, Yoshi, Naylynn and I decided to catch a cab to the station at 5:00. We stood out in the rain by the taxi stand in front of the Caribe holding our bags for a good fifteen minutes, trying in vain to flag over a cab as one after the other passed us by. Finally, a man ran over to us from across the street, grabbed a few of our bags and shouted down a taxi for us. He helped us load our luggage into the cab, and wished us a safe journey. Such nice people here!

We got to the ADO station ridiculously early, of course, and our group members trickled in in groups of two or three over the next hour (many of them, like us, soaking wet from the rain). We played cards, listened to music, and talked to pass the time.

Professor Tromans: "This is my best angle."

Finally, when we were all there, we checked our bags to be stored under the bus, and boarded. Professora Sahagun passed around a bottle of Dramamine to prevent carsickness, with the underlying assurance that it would more or less knock us out cold. The bus driver popped in a movie, "The Boy in the Striped Pajamas," which was a complete tear jerker despite my inability to understand most of the dialogue, as it was dubbed over in Spanish. That's the last thing I remember before I dozed off.

I woke up a few hours later when the bus stopped for a break at a station in some town along the way. I had no idea what time it was or for how long we had been driving, but I do remember that it was dark outside as I stumbled off the bus, still drowsy from the Dramamine. I went up some stairs to where there was a public bathroom. Like all public bathrooms in Mexico, this one cost two or three pesos to go into. It had a coin slot attached to a revolving gate with horizontal metal bars. I put in my coins, and pushed through the gate, somehow getting my right ankle caught in the bars and tripping my way in. As I limped back to the bus, I realized my ankle was hurting. A LOT. I sat down and rolled up my pants to reveal a gigantic goose egg. My entire ankle was blue and purple all the way around. I showed Howie, who exclaimed "What the heck happened?" My sleepy reply: "The baño tried to eat me!" (Baño is Spanish for bathroom). In chimed Naylynn with, "MMMM, GRINGA! OMNOMNOMNOMNOM," all of us busting out laughing until our sides hurt. This incident has become the leading running joke, complete with a giant purple swollen ankle to illustrate :D

. . .

5/19/10

I woke up this morning on the bus just before the sun appeared. All I could see were the dark shapes of trees, and further off dark blue mountains covered in fog. Here and there in the distance small groups of lights indicating where homes were, and people were just getting up, having breakfast before they start work at first light. The smell of cooking fires was making my stomach grumble. I was one of the only ones awake, and as my swollen ankle throbbed uncomfortably I just sat looking out the window in awe. It was so surreal, and beautiful.

We drove deeper and deeper into the jungle, and just as the sun began to peak out from behind the mountains we passed through a village.  Men, women and children were out working in their corn fields. We passed a sign saying, from what I could make out in Spanish, “This area supports Zapatista,” or something to that effect. I was thinking, “Wow... this is it!”

We kept driving for what seemed like forever, into what seemed like the middle of nowhere, surrounded by thick jungle broken only by the occasional corn field or small village. We bounced along the mountain road, shifting from side to side with every turn. There was a bathroom in the back of the bus -- not the most pleasant smelling place in the world, but I was desperate. So I made my way back there, bracing as the bus tipped and tossed. I closed the door to the tiny bathroom, only to realize the door didn't latch. So as I sat and went about my business, I held the door shut with my left hand. As the bus began again to lurch and swing, I found myself clinging to the door handle for dear life, fearing that it would fly open and appall the Sisters who happened to be sitting right outside the door! Mexico has so far managed to give me the most adventurous bathroom experiences I've ever had. Naylynn actually succeeded in manhandling the door locked on her turn, except when she was done she couldn't get it unlocked. Ay carumba. . .!

As we were finally nearing the city, we found ourselves running into a traffic jam along the mountain road, specifically the only road leading in and out of San Cristobal. Apparently, part of the road had washed out during the night. Our bus stopped and we waited for almost two hours as the cars piled up behind us. Sweating to death in the hot bus, we waited and waited as a construction crew worked on an emergency repair. Our twelve hour trip was now looking to become a fifteen hour trip. Finally, they began letting cars through. We watched as car after car from the opposite direction went through, the cars on our side honking and shouting. Some tried to force their way through, and more than once we feared one of them would run the other off the edge of the cliff!

A family stood outside their home nearby and watched with interest, to add to the huge crowd that was gathering to watch this exciting event!

The little boy on the left was very concerned...

We watched as a bus about the same size as ours pulled up, unloaded it's passengers who walked behind as the bus nervously wobbled around the slippery bend. Then, it was our turn. We stayed on the bus as it leaned around the bend in the dirt road. On my side, I could see nothing but a sheer drop into the jungle, and I honestly feared for my life for about ten horrifying seconds until we finally made it around to safety. The entire bus let out a collective sigh of relief as we drove into the city.

The city of San Cristobal is a hidden gem situated in a valley in the middle of the jungle, with only a few small villages around it. It's at least twelve hours from any other major city. It's hard-to-reach-ness makes it a place where Americans rarely venture. It's a popular haven for backpackers, mostly European, who are embraced with open arms by the multitude of hostels found around the city. In 1994 the city was stormed by Zapatistas and, like most of the surrounding country, claimed as part of their territory, independent of Mexico and outside of the jurisdiction of the Mexican government. Many people here openly support the Zapatista movement, which aims to restore land rights to the indigenous people, who make up 90% of Mexico's population yet own less than 50% of the lowest quality of farmland.

After arriving at the bus stop and claiming our baggage, we set out into the city to walk to our hotel. It wasn't so much of a walk as it was a hike, uphill and downhill over jagged and uneven sidewalks and slopes, up and down curbs that for whatever reason are about two feet higher than the road, carrying our heavy bags.

It was intense, to say the least. We trekked for six blocks until we finally reached the hotel, only to find that they had "lost" our reservations!

Our frustrated professors negotiated with them, until they finally got us a deal with a sister hotel, about five more blocks away. Luckily, this time we got a truck to take our bags!

We finally made it to the beautiful hotel, and soon discovered a ladder leading up to a skylight right outside our rooms and up onto the roof. It was a gorgeous view from up there, and it was at that moment I decided that this city is a spectacular rarity, and officially at the top of my list of favorite places.

I can't wait to do some exploring! But first, a shower. . .

5/17/10 - The Ruins of Chichen Itza, and Cenote Ik Kil

As I guess I should have expected, Chichen Itza was a bit on the touristy side, and I was a little turned off by the big complex at the entrance; it took away from the sense of adventure I have come to associate with ruins. Aside from that, though, the ruins themselves were absolutely wonderful, my only regret being that most of the buildings are off limits to go into, for preservation and safety purposes.

Here's some background:

"Chich'en Itza" in the Mayan language means "Mouth of the Well of the Itza." The "well" part probably has something to do with the sacred Cenote at the sight. The Itza were/are a Mayan tribe from the northern part of the Yucatan Peninsula. Chichen was very much a "melting pot," in that there you find architectural syles from all over the Mayan empire, even reminiscence of the Puuc style of the southern lowlands more commonly associated with Uxmal. There has been a lot of debate over how all these influences came together here, and the most common theories were of war or conquest. Recently, though, there is more evidence to suggest it's a result of cultural diffusion, through either trade or perhaps immigration during the late classic period, when people may have fled to Chichen when other Mayan cities were falling into collapse.

The city is built in the vicinity of the Cenote Sagrado. Cenotes are a cave-like opening to an undergound river system. Cenotes were immensely important to the Maya of this area, as they are the only natural source of water, besides rainfall. They also had tremendous religious value, as the Maya believe caves to be the entrance to the underworld, where the gods reside. The fact that the cenotes give water makes them the source of life as well. Many people entertain the idea that humans were sacrificed into this cenote. There have been attempts to dredge the bottom, but it's so deep it's virtually impossible to lower the proper equipment down the sheer rock walls to do so. Some pottery and animal bones (probably food offerings) have been recovered, though. The rumor of human sacrifices comes from, well aside from the blatently misleading National Geographic spread, the blue pigmentation found in the sediment at the bottom, the kind that sacrifice "victims" were painted with. If you've seen the movie "Apocalypto" you know this to be true. . . ;D

Chichen Itza's most well known feature is the Temple of Kukulcan (this is the Mayan name for the Aztec god Quetzecoatl), also known as El Castillo (it was called this by the Spanish invaders, who clung to the idea that a true city must have a castle. For this reason, there is a building called "El Castillo" at almost every Mayan sight, as well as "the nunnery," "the governor's palace," etc). Visitors to the site used to be able to climb it, a daring feat if you can imagine. Unfortunately, climbing was made off limits in 2006 when a poor tourist accidentally sacrificed herself. The temple is a humongous step pyramid, with four sides oriented to the four cardinal directions. Each side has a staircase of 91 steps, adding up to 364, 365 if you count the top level, to represent the days of the year. The pyramid itself has nine levels, representing the nine levels of the underworld according to Mayan belief. At the base of each staircase are two feathered serpent heads. On the spring and autumn equinoxes, the shadows of the stairs create the body of the serpent and it descends down the stairs over the course of the day. Chichen Itza, as you could imagine, is PACKED with spectators on these days, and I can imagine it's probably been that way for thousands of years. Inside the pyramid is a staircase going down to a subterranean level with 13 levels, representing the levels of the upper worlds, according to Mayan belief. This staircase leads to a room where a Chaac Mool figure was found, as well as a throne in the shape of a jaguar.

My jaw literally dropped when I first caught sight of the pyramid. It's HUGE.

Another distinctive and well known feature is the Great Ball Court. The game played here, according to ethnographic studies and murals found at the sight, involved a heavy rubber ball representing the world that needed to be kept in motion by the players of two opposing teems hitting it using only their hips and possibly forearms and shins. There are small rings at the tops of the walls, which most people believe the ball was meant to pass through. According to Professor Tromans, this is more or less a myth, and he believes it's highly unlikely. The rings are about fifty feet up in the air, the ball is heavy, and the rings are just about the exact circumference as the ball itself. It would be basically impossible to get it through there. More likely it is intended for some sort of planetary alignment, like most of the buildings at the sight.

There is also the theory that the losing team, or maybe the winning team, was sacrificed at the end of the game. This is solely based on the relief carving in the wall of the ball court of a player with snakes extending out of his severed neck.

The site was full of amazing buildings, but it would take a novel to go through and describe all of them for you, so instead here's a link to my facebook album.

Lining the streets of this "ruined" city were stands set up where many of the local people come to sell souvenirs, such as woven blankets, scarves, paintings, jewelry, masks, you name it. Some had their handmade wares laid out on blankets in the lawn. I was a little taken aback at first by the sellers shouting, "Special price for you, my friend!" "Cheaper than K-Mart!" . . . Or my favorite, "Almost free for you today! Only one dollar to look!" There were young kids walking around, just like in Merida and Progreso, selling little things like beaded bracelets or carved wood or stone replicas of El Castillo, their sales pitch some of the only English they know: "One dollar! One dollar!" To me, all these things marketed for tourists, and the fact that people were speaking English, was really taking away from the authenticity of the site. I was walking near Professor Tromans, and he must have seen my facial expression, because he tapped my shoulder and said, "I like to think that in this respect the city is not all that different than it would have been when it was thriving. This was a huge city, where people from the smaller villages would come to sell their goods, just like this. Instead of souvenirs, picture them selling household items, food, fabrics, things people would have needed or liked to buy. Similar to the market in Merida." As I looked around, I realized he was absolutely right.

Later on I went, with the help of Martin's Spanish, and bargained for a little Chaac Mool carved out of limestone. Professor Tromans saw it and said, "how appropriate." :D

We spent the whole morning at the sight, sweating under the blazing Yucatecan sun (glad I had extra sunscreen), and as soon as the busloads of tourists from Cancun began to swarm in, we headed off to Cenote Ik Kil.

Cenote Ik Kil is one of the most amazing places I've ever been to. A staircase, carved into the bedrock itself, curved down into the cave. About halfway down, a window-like opening in the wall to the left revealed sunlight streaming down from the top of the cenote, the trees above extending vines all the way down to touch the clear, deep water more than a hundred feet below. The descent, in bare feet no less, was slippery and precarious, but when we finally made it down it was a truly ethereal sight. The water was blue, and sparkling from the sunlight streaming in from above. Swallows swirled around the vines at the opening above us. The rock walls were sheer and offered no means of climbing out were there no staircase - I can imagine how frustrating it must have been for the ancient people, constantly threatened with drought, who looked down from the top at the water, knowing that reaching it would mean never coming out. It was believed that Chaac lived at the bottom of this cenote.

A staircase on one side, carved from the cave wall, leads to a platform from which you can jump into the water. Yoshi and I excitedly climbed up the slippery steps and stood on the edge of the platform, looking down the 45 foot drop into the water. My stomach was in my throat and my fear of heights was beginning to cause me to shiver uncontrollably just when Yoshi said, "Ok ready? 1..2...3!!!" and she jumped. I hesitated for about three seconds, looked over once more, then backed up and took a running, screaming, leap off the edge. I hit the water with an immense slap and dunked deep into the cold water. It was heavenly. I looked down into the clear water below my dangling feet and saw little fish swirling past. It was so deep I couldn't see the bottom, just a gradual fade into deep blue. I imagined Chaac looking up from the dark depths. . . It was exhilarating, liberating, and refreshing after the sweaty heat of the site.

I jumped four more times, and only stopped because it was starting to hurt. . . We all came out with bruises on our legs and arms -- badges of honor, if you ask us :)

After swimming our hearts out (haha - get it?) at the cenote, we met a buffet-style restaurant located inside the Ik Kil Nature Reserve. We all sat down at a long table, and while we were waiting to eat, a woman came up to our table, speaking English with what I thought was an Australian accent. She was wondering if any of us had any pesos to trade for American dollars. Howie, being the only one of us that actually carried cash to the cenote, gladly traded her two hundred pesos (I think?) for twenty American dollars. Anyway, turns out she was originally from New Zealand, and has been biking across the American continent. . . she started waaay up in Canada over ten years ago! Here is her blog which she's using to document her amazing journey... check it out!

On the way back to Merida it began to rain, and it was beginning to seem that Chaac Mool was getting a little carried away. . . the entire city was flooded! It took nearly an hour from once we got into town for the bus to get through the streets, fighting for space with aggressive vehicles trying to push their way through the waterlogged traffic jam at anyone's expense who dared get in the way, and safely to the Caribe. Once we got there, we found that even the top floor of the Caribe was flooded by pooling rainwater, our room included!