Blog Maintenance

Hello readers!

As you may have noticed, I haven't updated in quite some time.  This is partially due to the fact that my formatting keeps getting all messed up, and it's uber frustrating every time I try to fix it, hence, I've been ignoring my poor blog for a while.  HOWEVER, sparked by nostalgia derived from the fact that it's now been exactly one year since my amazing Mexican adventure, I have decided to buckle down and make them pretty again, one by one.  I'll also be continuing my journal-in-blog-form all the way until the end of my trip, which is June 3rd, and I'm gonna get fancy and have the entry dates corresponding to the actual date (except, a year off of course).  So, 5/27/10 will be posted on 5/27/11 and so on!  So, stay tuned, as the epic will soon ensue. 

In the meantime, check out some of my earlier posts!  And, if you're feeling scholarly, pay a visit to Hypotheses, by Lilly and Dory, a blog I co-write with my sister.  Feel encouraged to contribute!

Cheers,
Lilly LaFortuna

5/25/10 - Agua Azul, Profesora's Misfortune, and into the Lancondon Jungle.

At 7:00 this morning we were roused out of our comfortable Hotel Posada Margarita beds. Groggy and still quite sore from horseback riding, I hobbled my way to breakfast, and I vaguely remember having some cafe con leche y huevos a la Mexicana before boarding Juan Carlos' bus and immediately falling back asleep for a while.

Having neglected to look at our schedules at all for the last couple days, most of the group was embarrassedly unsure as to where we were actually going as we drove deep into the mountainous jungle...

About an hour into our trip, we were stopped at a roadblock which consisted of a board with nails sticking out, laid across the road. Outside was a small building guarded by barbed wire fencing and ten or so young men in uniform armed with AK-47s. As Juan Carlos stepped out and appeared to negotiate with the soldiers, we were hushedly informed by Profesora Sahagun that we were entering Zapatista territory. Despite being sternly advised, in a way only a Latina mother can do, not to take pictures, I did manage to defiantly snap a few using a combination of my camera's magnificent zooming capabilities and ninja concealment skills. To be honest, I was more nervous of getting caught by Profesora than I was of being seen by the Zapatistas.

Fifty pesos later, we arrived at the BEAUTIFUL Agua Azul. Agua Azul (Blue Water) is an ecological park located deep in the Chiapan rain forest. It's owned and run by the Zapatista movement as a means of income, and is a popular tourist destination for it's beautiful rivers, waterfalls, kayaking, white water rafting, and wildlife.

Small restaurants and a tourist market crowded under ramshackle tarp canopies. Tourists in bikinis and hiking gear mingled with native people in traditional dress, bustling around in the sweltering humidity among enormous tree trunks and the tiny bit of sunlight peeking through the dense canopy above. Nearby A tumultuous river cascaded over rocks, lined by a boardwalk.

Luckily, we had been thus trained during this trip to pack a swimsuit WHEREVER we go. So though none of us were aware we were actually coming here today, we were happily prepared. After a bit of exploring around the complex maze of shops, we managed to locate a bathroom in which to change. It was inside a grass hut. A man stood at the entrance collecting three pesos per person in exchange for toilet paper.

Following Professor Tromans, we hiked up the steep boardwalk along the edge of the cascades, to a somewhat secluded area of still water where we could swim. We had a fantastic time taking turns on the rope swing, and even Profesora gave it a go! Though she forbade us from taking photos...

We walked back to the market area and some of the group had lunch (Yoshi and I opted for ice cream...). Without warning, Professor Tromans headed off somewhere, as he often does. Something we have learned during this trip is to always follow "El Hefe" when he wanders off. He's usually going somewhere cool. Trailing along behind him like little ducklings (as he likes to call us), we hiked and hiked for what seemed like forever, sweating like wildebeasts. But I didn't mind -- the rain forest is such an exotic and wonderful place... I couldn't help but imagine my six or seven-year-old self being completely heaven here. I watched as some soldier ants (big fat ones, like the ones we ate in Merida) march in a long line across the path and spiraling up the tree to my left, each one carrying a leaf like a little green sail. Eventually we rounded a corner and looked with amazement at the scene ahead of us:

This beautiful hidden corner of the park is known by the Mayan name of Misol-ha. There was a rock stairway to the left which led around the back of the waterfalls and to the other side of the lake. We followed it around, and I snapped pictures the whole way. It was so beautiful! Profesora Sahagun, who does this trip ever year, said this was one of her favorite places in the world. On the other side of the lake the path ended, so we climbed up on to the rocks and jumped off into the water to our hearts' content.

One particular rock was positioned right in the splash zone of the smaller waterfall, which made it extra enticing for jumping of course, but also extra slippery. As I climbed up with my bare feet, I regretted not bringing my traction-y sandals. Shakily, scooted to the edge, stood up on my wobbly feet, and jumped with a splash into the cold water.

After climbing out and onto the drier rocks, I realized the mist from the falls was moistening everything to the point that I had to put my camera inside the case with it's waterproof protector over it. From my vantage point, I watched as Profesora climbed onto the slippery rock and jumped into the waterfall. Suddenly, she popped out of the water, screaming bloody murder. Howie, who had been on the rock right behind her, immediately jumped in and pulled her to safety. As he helped her onto the land, she was clutching her shoulder, wincing. Professor Tromans brought her back to the market area, where some of the local people helped her by making a sling for her arm and icing it. We all rushed back to the market/restaurant area to change back into dry clothes only to be immediately rained on again (in the rain forest... who would expect?). After a quick lunch of quesadillas (which I managed to spill all over myself on the bus, but still ate.... haha) we headed off towards the Lancondon village.

It was dark by the time we reached the village. The eerie calls of howler monkeys echoed in the trees around us as we drove slowly along the unpaved jungle road. Peering out the window, here and there I saw figures in white concealed in the tangle of dark foliage. I knew they were the Lancondon, who wear loose white tunics sometimes painted with circles meant to represent jaguar spots, but they were creeping me out big time. They wear their dark hair long down their backs, with bangs cut in front. Yoshi, who was seated next to me and closest to the window, stared out and, in an attempt to play on the creepy tension, whispered, "They look like lost souls..." Suddenly, her face whipped around to face me and she HISSSSED, causing me to jump. Everyone erupted in laughter.

Though it was late and most of the village was sleeping, a Lancondon boy appeared on his bicycle on the road next to us. Soon a few more joined, and they escorted us into the tourist camp. We were given keys with numbers on them, so off we set out into the darkness to search for the cabin door that matched. We opened them up to find a room with two beds, two fans, two mosquito nets, and a bathroom with a shower and toilet.

Gadzooks, it has a lid! (This, we've discovered, is quite the rarity in Mexico...)

Chelsea (a.k.a Yoshi) and I set our bags down on our colorful woven beadspreads and hung our wet swimsuits and towels up to dry in front of the fans. Then we went outside and joined everyone on the deck of the main cabin, inside of which a Lancondon woman was doing what she could for Profesora, who's arm was obviously broken. We sat, talking; most of us on logs, a couple on chairs, myself on top of the cooler which I discovered was not the best place to lounge as I had to keep getting up to allow access to the water, beer, and soda inside. One of the Lancondon teenagers jokingly offered Professor Tromans his bicycle as a bride price for Naylynn, who blushed with a mixed expression of flattered and horrified as we laughed and cheered. Our Lancondon friend also pointed out that Howie, with his long curly hair, could fit right in here -- all he needs is a white tunic. Most of the verbal communication between us was made through a mixture of gestures and limited Spanish, but it was that night, being eaten alive by murderous jungle mosquitos, I realized that I've begun to think of this group as family.

Eventually Profesora emerged, her arm tightly slung to her chest and obviously still in pain but feeling a little numb and loopy with whatever traditional substance she was given as a pain killer. We all headed over to a larger building where we sat at a long table and were served a delicious dinner of chicken (which we suspected were among the less lucky of those we had heard when we first arrived) fajitas, salsa, and frijoles. I didn't have my camera on me during dinner, but Yoshi managed to snap a couple photos, one of which is actually a bit creepy:

After dinner, we exhaustedly climbed into our beds, and were hilariously serenaded by Martin (who fancies himself a Latino pop star) and his flashlight out the window. Yoshi was out like a light immediately. I made a sleepy attempt to write my daily journal entry, but soon followed her example.

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.