Anyhoo, after Katie and I wished her parents a heart-filled "bon voyage" back to the States, we boarded our own plane to Tuxtla, Chiapas. This flight seemed to be an omen of our upcoming week when things did not go exactly as planned. Despite the lovely weather, the plane felt like it was flying through a blizzard because there was so much turbulence. While Katie and I gripped the armrests of our chairs praying we would at least crash land successfully, our fellow Mexican passengers (of course) casually read their in-flight magazines or slept. I suppose at this point, I should have realized that public transportation in Mexico, no matter what mode, is a crap shoot that miraculously (and barely) always rolls up 7.
After a tense one hour flight, Katie and I landed in the middle of no where (aka Tuxtla). The funniest part was the fact that the pilot said, as we pulled up to the gate, "And your bags will be on conveyer belt 1," but as we enter the airport, we reaize that, in fact, there is only one belt. One tip for the Tuxtla airport: if you ever get lost, just turn around and you'll find what you need. Okay, I'm done jabbing Tuxtla because actually, it is one of the nicest and cleanest airports I have ever been in during my 21 years of intense travel.
A short colectivo (van) ride later, we arrived in San Cristobal de las Casas (aka Hippie Capital of the World). I only say that because the majority of foreign tourists were European or Californian backpackers that preferred the hammocks in the patio to their beds indoors, which was totally awesome and they made wonderful hostel mates during the nightly bonfires. I have to say that San Cristobal is up there on my list of "Cutest Cities in the World" because all of the buildings are brightly painted in blues, yellows, reds, every color imaginable and it's impeccably clean despite Chiapas' reputation as the poorest state of Mexico.
San Cristobal has a fascinating history, which I won't go into at this particular moment, but it's most recent history involves the town in the Zapatista movement, which is a movement of indigenous farmers fighting the government for their basic rights to sell their products in a fair environment. Currently, many establishments in the city display Zapatista art as a show of support. If you'd like to know more about what the Zapatista or EZLN movement is, let me know and I would be more than happy to share the knowledge I have on the subject.
This area also has been home to the Maya people for centuries, who are the modern day Tzotzil's ancestors. One small town nearby, called San Juan Chamula, is simply amazing because of the traditions they still hold onto despite the arrival of the Spanish and globalization. Katie and I took a day trip to the village and we were greatly surprised when our guide told us that we should guard our cameras and take pictures with caution because community Elders will confiscate and destroy pictures as the townspeople believe that taking a picture robs a person of their soul. Picture taking is absolutely forbidden within the small church as the Saints' souls can also be stolen via photos, so unfortunately, I only have a handful of pictures from the market in front of the church.
As you can see, the majority of the people wear woolen tunics or woolen skirts as it is the biggest commodity in this mountainous region. Now, the real reason that Katie and I took this trip to San Juan Chamula was to see the religious services. Although the entire village is Catholic, their worship differs greatly from the conventional Catholic church because most of their practices are indigenous in origin. The entire incense-filled church is empty of pews and in their place, pine needles litter the floor as people kneel on the needles and among lit candles as a sign of humility and worship. Indigenous drums and flutes fill the church with music instead of choirs and organs and community Elders run the service instead of priests. Katie and I had the special privilege of visiting San Juan Chamula on Easter Sunday so the elders proudly displayed all of their saint statues along the walls of the church. I can still smell the incense (they were really strong, I probably still have bits of the herbs in my nose yet) and hear the music if I close my eyes.
San Juan Chamula also, interestingly, uses Coca-Cola as a sort of holy water. Drinking it cures the soul of its maladies by burping away evil spirits and spraying the church floor with Coke cleanses the space. It is a curious little town with beautiful people and beautiful traditions despite the numerous setbacks they've faced in the past 20 years. Nevertheless, although a good portion of the indigenous Chiapan community has been mistreated by the Mexican government over the years, their culture is so vibrant despite the hardships and that is probably the best part of Mexico. The smiles despite the setbacks and pain still astound me. Those smiles and the pleasant chit-chat with these people are the best memories I have brought home with me because they never fail to inspire me.
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