5/24/10 - Visit to Na Bolom and Horseback Riding in Chamula

Today we visited Na Bolom in San Cristobal. It's an old hacienda left run down and abandoned for a century or so before it was bought by Danish anthropologists Frans and Trudy Blom in 1951. They named it "Na Bolom," which means "House of the Jaguar," as a sort of play on their own name, which sounds similar to the Mayan word for "Jaguar" in Tzotzil, the dialect of the highland Maya. They lived and worked there for nearly fifty years, dedicating their careers to helping to preserve the culture of the Maya, specifically the Lancondon tribe of the jungle who to this day remain the ONLY Mayan tribe left undisturbed by the conquest. Frans and Trudy were among some of the only outsiders trusted by the Lancondon, who until recently allowed very few people to come into their territory. The house itself has been converted into a museum, and Na Bolom has become the moniker of a non-profit cultural center committed to continuing the Blom's mission. Though Frans and Trudy are long gone, their spirits are very much felt in the abundance of showcased relics collected in their travels. Frans' maps are still laid out on his desk, and his saddle and traveling gear appear well worn. Trudy's framed photographs line the walls and the grand piano sits facing the window where her immense garden in the backyard is kept as though she just walked away from it yesterday.

I'm not sure what it was about this place, but I felt a very strong sense of family here. Something about the garden distinctly reminded me of my mother. (Maybe it was the statue of St. Francis of Assisi - or, "the Sissy" as my family likes to jokingly say...)

Here's something to get exited about: there's a rumor that tomorrow we may actually be traveling to the Lancondon village! Well, kind of. Nowadays, there is a "tourist camp" near the village, where people can pay to stay in cabins for a night or two and, according to Professor Tromans, be pretty much isolated aside from being occasionally spied on by curious Lancondon children. This is part of the work of Na Bolom, who recognize that the Lancondon people's continued well being will soon be highly dependent on some sort of monetary income, because with the rapid deforestation occurring within the Lancondon Jungle, the modern world is becoming ever more intrusive.

After the museum, most of the group went out to spend the rest of the day touring the churches of San Cristobal with Profesora Sahagun, but Naylynn, Sam, Howie, and I had other plans. We rushed to meet with a man we had met the day before, who had been handing out flyers for horseback riding in the forest around Chamula. He was waiting for us outside our hotel when we arrived, and with very few words he took our pesos, and we set off walking through the city towards some unknown destination. On we walked, every one of us glancing at each other nervously, preparing to chase this guy down at a second's notice should he suddenly take off running with our money. Six blocks away, we were joined by two more prospective equestrians. Mateo and Aurore are from France, and spending their summer backpacking from Mexico to South America. Talk about awesome!

Still unbeknownst to us whether we were really going horseback riding or were in fact being kidnapped by the cartel, the six of us piled into the back of a pickup truck, vaguely wondering if we would all be waking up later that night in ice-filled bathtubs minus a few kidneys.

To our relief, we arrived at a ranch just outside of town, beautifully located at the foot of the forested mountains. Our driver turned amiable horseback riding instructor assigned us each to a horse and helped us climb up. He adjusted our stirrups (mine took a little extra adjusting... hah) and then briefly demonstrated how to move the reins while reciting "Izqierda, derecha, alto" ("left, right, stop"). He handed us each a stick, presumably to swat the poor horse's rump for speed, which I promptly dropped as soon as we started moving. There was no need for much intervention, anyway, I quickly discovered, as the horses all seemed to follow the lead of one particular horse: a big white stallion with black specks, whom Howie rode and aptly named, "Chocolate Chip." Chocolate Chip seemed to be in constant competition with Sam's horse, who would speed up in an attempt to pass Chocolate Chip, who would then gallop ahead as the rest of the horses trotted to keep up. A similar situation seemed to occur between my mare, "Molly," who was apparently the mother of Naylynn's much younger stallion, "Rafe." Rafe would race up next to Molly, nearly pushing her (and me) off the trail a number of times, as Naylyyn and I desperately clung for dear life, our horses oblivious to our plight. Molly stubbornly held her position every time, and never allowed herself to be passed by her feisty foal. We road deep into the forest, up steep muddy trails we dubbed "Mordor," panicking more than once as the horses crowded each other as they stumbled and slipped. We broke out into beautiful green open fields, where our horses galloped freely in what we unanimously agreed could have been none other than portals through Ireland.

We stopped in a forest-rimmed clearing on a hill above the village of Chamula. We stopped there for an hour or so, walking around the market and eating lunch in a small restaurant while our guide watched a soccer game on the small TV inside. We rode back on the road instead of the forest, which in exchange for the havoc being wreaked on our sore buttocks, gave us a beautiful view of the mountains and forest below.

 

Naylynn demonstrates how to accurately cling to your saddle horn for dear life as your horse gallops, oblivious to your pain.

The truck took us back to the hotel, and later on that night we met up with our new French friends at Cafe Yik for coffee, and afterwards had a super fun time hangin' at a pool hall near the Zocolo and the hostel they were staying at, which was fully stocked with Mexican beer, sandwiches, and a juke box. Musica, billar, cerveza y tortas... a good combo if you ask me!

I should mention that Sam, our sixteen-year-old Singaporian cohort, boasted his ninja skills by royally kicking all of our butts at pool, despite having only learned how to play upon arriving in Mexico. Notice the fancy glove.... psh.