Reflections: December 2017

The cozy cafés, delicious vegetarian food, and holiday cheer kept us in San Cristóbal de las Casas for most of December. We’d developed a homey routine of shopping at our favorite market in the morning, exploring the countryside in the afternoon, and bundling up with cups of frothy hot chocolate and churros at night. We were in our element in this leftist town and were in no rush to leave.

We’d heard about the autonomous towns throughout Chiapas. These municipalities are controlled by the indigenous tribes of the region and have their own governing structures. Chiapas is one of the most indigenous states in Mexico and has fought fiercely to maintain indigenous control over the land and customs. One of the towns, San Juan Chamula, is located in the highlands outside of San Cristóbal and is known for having one of the most unique churches around. Since it’s strictly forbidden to take photos inside the church, we’d have to check it out for ourselves. So the first Sunday of the month, we found a guide who would take us to San Juan Chamula on horseback.

Leaving San Cristóbal in style to go to the autonomous town of San Juan Chamula

The ride took us along mountain ridges and through forests. Along the road, we passed signs saying that we were approaching the border and entering an autonomous municipality. We were heading to a Mexico we hadn’t experienced yet.

Of course it was our luck as rather inexperienced riders to get the two rowdiest horses of the group. As the other horses kept a comfortable walking pace, ours would burst into a gallop. Orders be damned, our horses were not going to listen to anyone. About an hour and a half later, we arrived in the tiny town of Chamula with sore butts and hungry stomachs. We scarfed down some quesadillas from the market and headed for the church.

The outside of the church looks like something you’d see anywhere else in Mexico. Bright colors framed the white exterior, and people in colorful textiles shuffled in and out. But once inside, we were in a church like we’d never seen before. Dark drapes fell from the wooden ceiling, and the floor was covered in pine needles. There weren’t any pews inside. The thick smoke of incense wafted through the air, and people melted the bottoms of candles and stuck them to the floor. The soft light of hundreds of candles radiated through the smokey building. As we walked towards the pulpit, we passed families gathered on the floor with bottles of Coca Cola and pox, the local liquor. In the center of each huddled group, a healer prepared an animal sacrifice.

The church in Chamula used to be a Catholic church, but the Tzotil people blended their traditions with Catholicism to create something entirely unique. Catholic saints adorn the walls while chicken eggs are rubbed on people to remove their maladies. The church was like a living museum showcasing Spanish colonization and indigenous resistance.

Eager to learn more about the indigenous peoples who populated not just the mountains around San Cristóbal, but the entire state of Chiapas, we checked out Casa Na Bolom, a house turned museum and hotel to document and preserve the history and traditions of the Lacandon Maya. Once the home of Fran and Gertrude Blom, an archaeologist and documentary photographer couple with a love of the jungle and its people, the house now holds exhibits that showcase traditional hunting and fishing methods, jewelry and textiles, and mesmerizing photos of daily Lacandon Maya life.

The courtyard of the museum at Casa Na Bolom

Another day, we explored the eco-park of Arcotete, and had a journey getting there. Though we could have taken a colectivo, we decided to walk the nearly four miles there and back. We packed a few snacks in our bag and hit the road. Once there, we practically had the entire place to ourselves. We spent the afternoon hiking trails, swinging on a giant tire swing, and crawling through caves. By the time we arrived home, our feet were on fire and our legs trembled like jelly.

We spent another afternoon checking out the amber museum and the chocolate museum. Chiapas is known to have some of the highest concentrations of amber in the world, and cacao is cultivated in the tropical regions of the state to produce some of the best chocolate. We learned how to tell the difference between the knockoff amber and the real thing, an important distinction if shopping for souvenirs. We then nibbled on decadent chocolate treats.

Wooden whisks to make traditional hot chocolate

If you walk around San Cristóbal, it’s hard to miss the deals on pox (sometimes spelled “posh”), a traditional liquor made from corn. Tempted by the unbeatable price and the chance to try some of the local firewater, we’d stopped by a few bars and left unimpressed. It tasted like flavored vodka, a drink neither of us are fans of. But we passed a place that stood out from the rest and decided to give it another try. This place was a poshería and offered the best pox around. The small room was lit by candlelight, and we were the only ones in the place. The bartender gave us a personal pox tasting experience, complete with all the accoutrements. It turns out we really love pox, as long as it’s the good stuff.

The cutest posheria to stay warm on a cold night in San Cristóbal

Different flavors of pox accompanied by oranges dusted with coffee grinds and dark chocolate truffles

Half way into the month, San Cristóbal became more festive than usual. Fireworks erupted around the clock, and streets were crowded with religious parades. Pilgrims made their way from around the state to the Church of Guadalupe. The entire hillside that surrounds the church had turned into a carnival. Families carried ornate flower arrangements to the church and after a few nights, the inside looked like an enchanted forest. San Cristóbal was ready for Christmas.

People from across Chiapas carried flowers to the church, turning it into a beautifully ethereal forest

It just so happened that Jazz Fest was taking place while we were in town. We’d also read about a really good Italian restaurant that was just down the street from the stage, so we decided to celebrate Rebecca’s birthday a little early. We grabbed a bottle of wine, bundled up in coats and scarves, and listened to jazz artists from across Mexico play. Well inebriated and hungry, we treated ourselves to one of the best meals we’ve ever had. The different types of bruschettas, homemade pasta, pear and gorgonzola ravioli, and bacon wrapped-jumbo prawns in a maple drizzle had us talking for days. A few days later, we were back again.

Our time in San Cristóbal was coming to an end, but we still had one thing left that we really wanted to do: visit the Zapatistas. We’d heard that it was possible to travel out to Oventik, one of the Zapatista-controlled towns. But unlike other places around San Cristóbal, there wasn’t any information posted about how to get there. We asked around town and finally heard that there was a colectivo that left early in the morning just up the street from the market and drove past Oventik. We were determined to go.

The sign letting us know we’d reached Oventik

We were the only non-locals in the colectivo that morning. After two hours of driving, we suddenly stopped outside a fence. A sign that read “Everything for everyone, nothing for us. Autonomous municipality of the Zapatista rebels” across the street alerted us that we’d arrived. The two of us got out of the van and a man in a balaclava greeted us at the gate. We showed him our passports, answered a few questions, and were told to wait for a guide. Minutes later, a woman in traditional dress and a balaclava approached us.

“Office of Women for Dignity” in Oventik

Mural of Mexican revolutionary, Emilio Zapata, after whom the Zapatistas are named

She took us around the completely self-sufficient town. A hospital, pharmacy, school, farm, and women’s cooperative were just a few of the buildings we got to see. We took pictures of the revolutionary murals but were careful not to photograph any of the people, which is forbidden. Our guide answered our questions vaguely, weary of any outsiders. At the end, we thanked her for her time and offered a tip. She refused. Showing people around the town was not supposed to generate income. Rather, it was to show outsiders that the Zapatistas created a peaceful, alternative society.

We were sad our time in San Cristóbal was coming to an end, but the excitement of meeting Rebecca’s family in the Yucatan for Christmas had us hopping onto a 17-hour bus ride with smiles. The morning of Rebecca’s birthday, we arrived in Mérida, and the heat and humidity greeted us. It was nice to be back in warm weather again.

Rebecca’s mom, step-dad, and brothers came down from the US to celebrate the holiday with us, and after four months of not seeing them, we were elated. Her mom and step-dad rented a big colonial house with a pool, and we all spent the week there. We played cards, cooked big dinners, and watched movies together, and for those seven days, it felt like we were home again.

As a Christmas present, we visited three cenotes. We climbed beneath the earth and found crystal clear swimming holes. Some opened to the sky above, and vines dangled towards the water. We swam and snorkeled in the otherworldly pools that the Mayans once used for sacrificial offerings.

The magical week we spent together was ending, and it was harder saying goodbye this time than when we left the US in September. At least the last time we said goodbye, we knew we’d be seeing each other in four months. But this time, we didn’t have another meet up planned. We were heading further south, and the geographical distance between us and family was only going to get farther. But we made every minute with them count. We couldn’t take for granted that we’d see them again soon, and that’s how we should treat every visit with people we love.

They left to the airport, and the house felt empty. We packed our bags and were glad we weren’t lingering around in the now quiet rooms. Plus, a good friend of ours, Brad, was visiting us from the US and had just arrived in Mérida.

We met Brad at his hotel, grabbed some stuff from the market, and picked up the rental car. He had rented a house on the beach in Chicxulub for all of us to spend New Years together. We drove past the port town of Progreso and the land became sparse. We pulled off onto a white sand path and bobbled along for a bit. Finally, we stumbled upon the beach house. We had no wifi, but incredibly fresh and tasty ceviche. We were happy.

We spent our days in the hammocks on the beach, hearing updates from home and telling him all about our travels. Brad had lived in Mexico for two years when he was in his twenties, an experience that eventually led him to the life path he followed for the next several decades of his life. He was one of the most supportive friends and colleagues when we told people we wanted to do this trip.

Spending the final days of 2017 off the grid was refreshing. While back home we would have had a night out with friends, it felt appropriate to spend the evening reflecting on how much we’d grown in the past four months. We’d gathered the courage to quit our jobs, parted ways with the only place we’d built a home together, said goodbye to loved ones without knowing when we’d see each other again, and tapped into the dreamy and adventurous souls we had inside of us. It was a year of grand leaps and a lot of change. We can only imagine what 2018 has in store for us.

On New Years Eve, we walked along the beach together, gathering our thoughts. Suddenly, we heard a voice whistle behind us. A man and woman our age approached us and asked if we had any plans for the night. They were a Mexican couple originally from Mérida but now living in Playa del Carmen, back home for the holidays with their two young children and camping on the beach. They invited us over for some drinks to ring in the new year. Shortly before midnight, we met them on the beach and lit fireworks together with the little kids. It was the perfect start to the new year.

Reflections, MexicoRebecca Nieves-McGoldrickJanuary 7, 2018San Cristóbal de las Casas, Mexico, Oventik, Zapatistas, Merida, Progreso, Yucatán, Arcotete, ChristmasComment