San Cristobal,
to say the least,
has been a journey
that has taken us a long,
long way from home
in more than miles.
Since we speak so little Spanish,
we feel the distance daily.

But the Mayan culture,
so present but even more inaccessible to us,
has been a mystery beyond comprehension.
So in an effort to understand,
we scheduled a guided trip to San Juan Chamula
and Zinacantan, home of two different
and distinct groups of indigenous Mayan people.

Their culture is ancient and proudly preserved
in their religion, way of living, and attire.
Their homes are simple. Most of the men work
hard on the farm, while women raise children,
cook meals and weave the most colorful and
beautiful cloth.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Woman weaving

We were privileged to go

into one of their homes

and meet the women
and children dressed
in heavy wool skirts.
They were delightful,
welcoming,and seemed
to us to have found contentment
and joy in simplicity.

---Woman making tortillas



It was their ancient religious practices that moved us
with an unspeakable and profound amazement and wonder.
A spiritual leader invited us to see inside his house
(no photos, please) which had been given over to daily
religious ritual amidst incense, candles, sacred drink, and a room
within a room with sides and top of elaborate greenery.
The inner room was a sanctum into which we could look but not enter.
----------------------------------------------------Mayan Cemetery

The church was also off limits for cameras,
but the images are embedded inside us: no pews,
pine needles all over the floor, people kneeling
in prayer everywhere with no central pulpit or altar,
thousands of candles placed before them on the floor, incense and almost stifling smoke, chickens and eggs for healing, glass cases with large images of saints, a musical group playing dissonant tunes. It was a cacophony of sensory impact that we will never forget.

Mayan woman selling wares ------------- Mode of transportation for fruit peddler

Do we understand?
We have more questions now than ever,
but inside us is a respect for those
who have chosen such a different path.
They, too, are equal and valued citizens of the world.
We were honored guests and
will always be grateful for their hospitality.

Yesterday we went to the market. It's the second time we've gone and both times have come back reeling from sensory overload. The vendors (mostly Mayans, with a small mixtures of other Mexicans and hippie-types) sell mostly local foods, but there is everything available from clothing, to CDs to jewelry to huge bags of pine needles and medicinal herbs. It's loud with music and trucks trying to make their way through the crowds, and the the voices are a mix of Spanish and Mayan dialects, mostly Tzotzil and Tzeltal. The clothes too vary, from fashionable business attire to cowboy hats and boots to the colorful furs, wools and woven clothing of the different indigenous groups. Pictures tell the story best.

HERE ARE SOME PHOTOS

OF THE STREETS OF SAN CRISTOBAL
FOR YOU TO PERUSE
BEFORE I TELL YOU
A TRASHY TALE


A street in San Cristobal

------------Our apartment --------------------------------------- The marketplace------------

----The long view of our street -------------------------------- Our street - another view-------

So here is the trashy tale I promised. It is about my first experience with the garbage collection routine here in San Cristobal. You didn't think it was any other kind of trashy tale, did you? Anyway, it was a Monday morning and I knew the basics of the procedure, so I dutifully set my alarm for 6:00 am and sat around in the almost-daylight waiting for the sound of the bell. They said I would hear the bell announcing the approach of the garbage truck. Sure enough, around 6:15 am, a man with a cow bell in his hand came walking down the street ding-a-linging. Quickly, I gathered my 2 small bags and hurried out to the street. The man cheerfully wished me "buenos dias" and I wished him the same. He pointed to a stack of 6 other bags alongside the 2 of my own and seemed to say something like: "Are all those 8 bags yours?" Not being quite sure what he said, I did my best to answer with "dos," meaning only 2 bags were mine. He then gave me some other instructions which I totally missed, so I simply stood by my bags and waited. Pretty soon, the women of the neighborhood began to gather with their own bags in hand and started a lively session of friendly gossip and news sharing. It was quite a demonstration of community around the garbage bags. I smiled at them and one woman pointed and seemed to ask: "Are all those bags yours?" By now, I knew I couldn't find words to defend myself, so I meekly said "Si." I now owned all 8 bags of trash, which in this part of the world includes the used toilet paper you can't flush. She indicated with a smile and a wave of the hand that my bags were all on the wrong side of the street and that I should move them all to the other side next to all the others. Obediently, I carried all 8 bags across the street and she smiled again like I had done the right thing, even if I had generated an inordinate amount of trash for the three days I have been in town. So, having nothing else to do, I stood by my bags and waited, not understanding what I was waiting for. People had warned me about the stray dogs that loved to claw their way into stinky trash bags, so I was ready to defend them come what may, but the dogs never came and I waited. Finally I saw the truck moving toward us. It was white - I mean it "was" white once. The bed of the truck was a large cylinder with a hole in the top. Not like any garbage truck I'd ever seen. In the hole was a man whose part in this drama was to stand on the garbage, distribute it evenly, and squash it with his feet. My part in the drama was to hand MY GARBAGE (which was now 8 bags) up to the man so he could do his part. Now people appeared from other doorways with their own bags and played their own part in the scene. When we all had done our part, the drama was over and everyone went home without a closing hymn or a prayer!! I left with a smile on my face and a tale to tell to my wife who had convinced me that I was the one most qualified to negotiate all of the ins and outs of 6 am Monday morning garbage collection in San Cristobal, Mexico. So there you have it. The tale is done. Well, not quite done; it is a tale to be repeated this Thursday morning. See you at the corner!

er

It's Friday afternoon in our little casita in San Cristobal de Las Casas, Chiapas, Mexico. This has been an amazing and eye-opening experience so far. Each day has new wonders and sights we've never seen before. Magical, tragic, great beauty and back-breaking poverty. We laugh at the crazy, chaotic mess and then sit back to admire the way the people here enjoy and relax into life.

We've only been here two days and are still trying to figure out the system for getting our basic needs met. For example, drinking water. It comes in large (about 20 liter) containers. After inquiring from several people, we finally found out how to buy it. When you hear a truck with loud speakers blaring Spanish messages and what sounds like ice-cream truck music coming down the street toward your house, you have to run out of the front door and then the courtyard door to flag down the driver. He brings it in the house, punches a hole where the spigot goes and, no problem, you have water---and for only 17 pesos (about $1.50). What a deal!! The noise from this truck is to distinguish it from the men who deliver the propane tanks for cooking. They have chains with rings on the back of their trucks that they drag along the street which make them sound like very loud cow bells. None of these folks seem to have any regular schedule, they just drive around and around in the neighborhoods at several random times a day waiting for folks to flag them down which apparently happens often enough to make it worth their while.

Now trash pickup is another matter. That IS scheduled regularly, every Monday and Thursday morning between 6 and 6:30 AM. The problem is, you can't put your trash out early or the dogs get into it, which of course is very bad since at least some of the trash includes used toilet paper. But there's a man who walks ahead of the truck ringing a school bell to announce the arrival of the truck so when you hear the bell, you must dash out the door with your 2 or 3 bags of trash to hand it over. Is that a great system or what??!!

Did I mention the roosters that start crowing here every morning about 5 AM? It was quite a startling sound to hear right in the middle of this fairly large city, especially the first morning when I was awakened by what I thought was loud yelling from a political rally. Oh well, I suppose it's sometimes hard to tell the crowing from politicians and roosters apart, especially early in the day:)

The downtown in San Cristobal is lovely, as are so many of the cities in Mexico. There is a large church in the main plaza with a pretty leafy park beside it. It's busy all day with shoe shiners, newspaper sellers, itinerant (mostly indigenous Mayan) sellers, and strollers and lingerers of all ages. In the evening there is often music. Last evening with heard a fine Mexican band playing lively dance music as we meandered our way over to Emiliano's Mustache, a local restaurant that serves a huge variety of good tacos.

Don of course has found some coffee shops. This is the heart of Mexican coffee growing and so there is a huge choice of places to sit and enjoy the local brew. We had a good conversation with a rural development professor/book shop owner who talked about the effect of large buyers like Starbucks on the local economy, and the importance of independent coffee shops on maintaining sustainability.

We walk and walk every day, just taking in the sights and the beauty of this place. It's very laid back and has a bohemian feel about it. There are a number of tourists, but they seem to blend in rather well and don't overrun the place or make it feel "touristy". It's a good place for us to be right now, just absorbing the atmosphere and learning about another people.