post-shopping veggie wash

this is what my kitchen and dish drain looks like after a trip to the market... I plan to make albondigas con salsa verde and gazpacho tonight to eat for the week....

good things

So I've been feeling very glum and exhausted and unmotivated and overall bleah... which I think is largely having hit that place of being here for 3 months already and knowing that I'm not coming home until the end of Oct and really missing being home and missing being able to bake and my friends and and and. So... instead I decided to think about what I will really miss about here. And I'm sure that there are lots of other things, but right now it's that I can buy a big bag of Mexican limes for 10 pesos and I use them in everything (including super yummy humus I made last night)!

Day three, San Juan Chamula

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On Friday, our last day in Chiapas L decided to explore the city since she had been feeling so sick the day that C and I had done so and C convinced me to go with her to San Juan Chamula to hopefully track down the shirts with which she was obsessed. I was initially less than excited as Mum and I had done a tour to this community, which I hated largely because I was extremely annoyed at the guide's insistence on static cultural authenticity and I was coming off being very sick. I am very glad we went back as this time I truly appreciated the magnificence of the church (that which the community is most know for).

Chamula is an autonomous Tzotzil Mayan town just about half an hour outside of San Cristobal (and is a huge tourist draw because of it its unique status), in which no outside police nor military are allowed (and I read that their medical clinic closed because people only went to cuaranderos, but I saw the clinica building with IMSSs looking signage, so I don't know). Their church is famous as an example of religious sycretism, since the 1960s it has not had neither priest nor traditional mass-- although a priest comes every 20 days to perform baptisms. They are deeply tied a very particular practice of Catholicism and expelled families who had converted to Christian Evangelicalism (this is a biiiiiiggggg issue in Southern Mexico). Photographs are prohibited inside the church (and people have been beaten for trying to violate this ban) and I remembered to put away my camera before entering the church yard. In order to enter C and I had to go to the municipal office and officially seek permission (buy a 20 pesos ticket).

Inside, all the pews have been removed and the floor is covered in fragrant pine needles, which have been pushed aside in places for people to line thin lit candles on the floor as they pray or perform cures. It is truly an remarkable and almost indescribable sensual experience with probably thousands of flickering candles lined up on tables down the center of the church and in front of saints (who are ornately dressed with mirrors to ward off the evil eye). The air is hazy and smells of burning copal resin and as we make our way quietly around the church, the groups of people praying completely ignore us (another moment of wondering what the process of public/ privateness is for them as they engage in what is at once the most private rituals in the midst of the largest public tourist attraction for the municipality). As we stood in the front of the church and looked back all we could see was a sea of flickering candles and it was truly an otherworldly experience. I was really glad that we went by ourselves as we could make it a personal (spiritual) experience rather than standing in the back with a big group.

In the church yard and surround market children consistently came up to us demanding that we buy a braided bracelet or give them a "regalito" (little present) or bluntly asked for a peso. In Oaxaca while there are some beggers and many street venders, none are as demanding and blunt and I wonder about the local economy given that this is the most popular tourist destination of the communities surrounding SC. When I bought an embroidered poncho and negotiated the price down to the amount of money I had on me (I wasn't prepared to buy anything), after I paid the woman asked me for another 20 pesos and when I asked what for, she replied "for my tortillas."





As we browsed around the market, C finally found her shirt and eventually bought a matching belt (the shirts are made for small breasted, big stomached women) and hair ribbons. It is interesting that given all the hype about no photography within Chamula that when we asked the women about mirrors, they told us that I should just take pictures of C and then show her... and the woman who made the garments was happy to pose with her. C has decided that what she now needs is a long black felted wool skirt like the Chamulan women wear and a "bearskin" feathered wool poncho like the men and she'll be fashion forward in LA.


We then went to explore the graveyard in front of an old crumbling stone church, where the white crosses signify children's graves, a very quietly beautiful place.






As it started to rain (again), we caught a collectivo back to SC and got back into the city just as the skies opened up and the streets became rivers.... and to remember that we had left our wet clothes from the day before hanging on the line.

After a truly delicious lunch of amazing Italian food (I know, what's up with all this "authentic" Mexican food) where I had fresh garbanzo bean ravioli, last minute shopping, and a deep massage (we all got them from one of the women who works at the posada), it was time to leave and this time we took an executive class bus (because of the schedule). This ended up being much less comfortable than the basic first class bus and I woke up often (including once as, I think, we crossed the border between Chiapas and Oaxaca and a military woman came on shining her flashlight in all our faces-- apparently looking for Central American immigrants).
Around daybreak I woke up again to realize that we were going down the mountain road without an engine! And the bus stopped and the driver and some other men got off, looking around on the side of the road. Luckily L was awake and listening closely as she heard them say that there was another bus behind us, but only 30 people could transfer, so as I woke up C (who is blind without her contacts), L got us three seats on the new bus.

Day two, El Canyon del Sumidero y Parque Ecotouristico

Originally we had toyed with the idea of seeing Palenque while we were in Chiapas, but it's a 5 hour bus ride each way (on narrow winding mountain roads) for 2 hours at the ruins and another hour or so at Aquas Azules, so we reluctantly ruled it out and decided that we would do another kind of outdoors adventure. We headed down the mountain to this national park El Canyon del Sumidero, where we could take a lancha (motorboat) out to an ecotourist park that promised kayaking.


Because it was the later that was a huge draw for us, we decided against any tour package and decided to make our way through public transportation, catching a cab to the collectivo stand (which unlike Oaxaca are more like vans than cars, but still sit three in the front seat) and then a collectivo toward Tuxtla that let us out on the side of the highway where the driver waved in a general direction across the road toward the embarcadero, "esta mas alla" which is the general (it's over there somewhere) mode of giving directions. As we wandered down this little road we again experienced climate shock in the hot steamy lowlands outside of Chiapa del Corzo and I wondered if I had been foolish to bring my raincoat, light sweater and rebozo (all of which seemed necessities in SC).

As soon as we turned into a long dirt parking lot marked (lanchas) a tour operator asked what we wanted and when we said "to kayak" he offered us a package deal (you can only access the parque ecotouristico by lancha) and escorted us past a waiting crowd and into the back of a deep hulled metal boat, whispering that we were the only ones going to the park, so we would do half the lancha tour (in total, 2 hours) on the way there and half on the way back.


The Grijalva river moves really fast out of Tuxtla until it hits this lull created by a massive hydro-electrical dam (which marks the end of the tour) and in total it flows from the Guatemalan highlands to the Gulf of Mexico. It cuts this sharp canyon whose walls raise up to 1,000 meters above the water, cliffs which give Chiapas its name (literally cliff dwellers or something in Nuaha-- another instance in which Nuaha cultural brokers named the landscape of Mexico for the Spaniards) and from which many indigenous peoples jumped rather than be subject to the conquest (or so our guide told us).


This beginning of the canyon is the featured icon in Chiapas's coat of arms and the park has an amazing ecosystem including crocodiles, spider monkeys, and pelicans and tons of bromiliads.



We are taken into a small grotto just inside the canyon in which there is a shrine to the Virgin of Guadalupe where local communities hold annual festivals.


Under the statue of the Virgin there is a watermark which they swear is an iconic representation of a decapitated Jesus (not sure what significance is made of his headlessness), which looks clearer the longer I look at it.

We were also shown this wonderful "Christmas tree" waterfall, currently dry that looks like some kind of ginormous mushroom growing out of the cliff's wall.

Soon after this we arrived at the Parque Ecotouristico where our guide whispered to us, we would get out as if this is not a regular occurance or it is something about which we must be discrete. Before we left SC nobody had been favorable about our plan and when we asked the ticket seller he muttered something about "politics" and "there are some conflicts involved" but didn't elaborate. We entered the park and it was as if we were the only ones there with a weirdly half-stocked gift shop, all of which heightened our sense that there was more to this story than anyone would tell us. Given that we had read about the Zapotista's distaste for ecotourism and had previously kidnapped kayakers (I think in the Lacondon forest, which is a whole other pile of politics), we joked that we had to avoid open spaces (like where I took this picture).


C decided that we should actually get kidnapped to meet Marcos, but only if we all agreed not to disclose that we were anthropologists (which would be a killing offense given some of the histories between anthropologists and over-studied indigenous communities)-- and we continued with these jokes for the rest of the day (we were perfectly save). But the very emptiness and the fact that we got a little orientation on how to "do" the park, made us wonder who the intended audience is.

Following instructions we climbed up moss covered paths (it was seriously slippery and I'm impressed that none of us seriously fell) through the steamy jungle to the aviary where we were introduced to Lorenzo the parrot for an obligatory photo moment-- our experience was very much structured by expectations about the order in which we should "consume" the offerings.

And then we explored the small aviary with unnamed inquisitive tucan (whose beak terrified L and who she insisted was a close relative of a dinasaur)


and a couple spider monkeys.

In the next pen over were a couple of jaguars which were totally impressive and which I had to remind myself not to try to pet through the fence-- it had these big thick lush paws. One slept the whole time we were there, while a second one came out and paced in front of us along the fence. C tried to speak "kitty speak" to it... which just continued our running joke about how we would die on this expedition.

Once we did all the expected animal stops, we finally came to the pool which we had been eagerly anticipating the whole trip. I was soooo happy to be back in the water for the first time in tooooo many months, but all too soon we had to get out so that we could kayak before the boat would pick us up again.

This is a super grainy picture L took of C and I in the pool in front of the canyon.

C and I took one kayak and L had another and we were super bummed to learn that we had to stay in this one little area (and that the kayaks had very bad floatation, so my pants were quickly soaked) and about 5 minutes into kayaking (as C and I were trying to get a rhythm down trying to figure out how we could spend 30 minutes in an area we could paddle across in 5) it began to rain.... first little drops and then the sky opened up and we were completely soaked. We laughed that other people found themselves in these sorts of positions, while we put ourselves in it. The staff called us back to ask if we wanted to continue and we decided that the best thing would be get out... L commented to one of the staff that it wasn't the best time to start and they were all "no, we wondered why you wanted to go at this time" (i.e. stupid soaked gringas) and we were all "then why did you let us go." Classic Mexico, you are responsible for your own stupid decisions.

Still soaked and now wearing all my clothes including raincoat with the rain letting up, we got into the lancha to go back to the dock, only to find out that the tour could continue on to the dam. Along the way the driver directed us toward and through a large flock of resting cormorants which quickly scattered in the skies all around us, very much like Hitchcock's birds (setting us up for what we later decided was bad karma for the rest of the boat ride). The dam is truly impressive and the guide told us that it supplies 50% of Mexico's electrical power and wryly comments that it is sent to Puebla and then distributed nationally... with very little of it ended up at the production site, Chiapas has the highest percentage of homes without electricity either because of infrastructure or because of its inaffordability. As he is talking it begins to rain again and we wonder if he is at all concerned about being out in an open reservoir in a metal boat during a lightening storm... the answer appears to be no. It quickly begins to pour again and he sends a clear plastic tarp up to us in the front of the boat powering across the reservoir against the waves making the three of us scream in pain as it feels like riding a trotting horse without posting and I thought that my internal organs were being dislodged. We huddle under the tarp with poor C unable to reach the bottom of the bottom to brace her feet, at times curling our heads under it as he shows us the same features as the guide on the way out (we are not amused, this picture not withstanding, the sunglasses were to protect us from the wind and hard spray).

Finally, as it stops raining we come across huge rafts of detritous that smells like shit (literally) for at least 1km. The guide explains that one of the feeder rivers runs directly through Tuxtla and people use the river as a sewer, so when it rains..... River cleaners come out in big boats twice a day to drag the stuff out, but can't when it rains and it continues to be a major problem.

Soaking wet, we reach the embarcadero with clear skies and beautiful afternoon light and hope that someone will ask to take us back up the mountain to SC, but that doesn't happen.


As we slosh out of the parking lot C sees a van and flags it down, but it only takes us a little ways up the highway and then we wait watching collectivos between Chiapa del Corzo and Tuxtla go by as they seem to know that they are not what we are waiting for... and one of the first class buses, whose driver waves at us... until finally after the predictable whistles from trucks full of men, a full collectivo stops to pick us up and take us back to SC.

Our San Cristobal posada

or rather its lush garden




Also, after a year and a half without, I succumbed to the coffee offered here, and it is sooooo good that I did drink two cups a day while I was there, but have since gone off again (I figured it was nice symmetry to drink coffee again in the city where I gave it up).

As always

I seem to be obsessed with shooting walls

Day one exploring San Cristobal

We arrived in San Cristobal after an 11 hour bus trip along the Pan-American Highway through the mountains of Oaxaca, across the hot flat Isthmus (I really wish it had been light to see it, this is the narrowest strip of Mexico and apparently there is an amazing wind between the Gulf of Mexico and the Pacific that can knock trucks over), and through the mountains of Chiapas. Needless to say, I was glad to take Dramamine and with my ipod and neck pillow was actually able to sleep for chunks (they play loud dubbed movies throughout the night, American movies I've never heard of... but they also seemed to feature Ed Harris) and it was empty enough that C, L and I all had our own row. Also, the reputation that these buses have as being severely over air-conditioned is no joke. Before we could get on the bus though we were subjected to an amazing amount of security measures (opening our bags for inspection and being wanded down) including filming all our faces once we were seated (I later learned that this was probably in case of the bus crashing, they would have records of the passengers). Since our bus left at 9pm, the only real views I had before it got too dark to see were those of the same route I take out to Tlacolula. What was amazing was seeing a ferocious lightening storm up in the Sierra Norte mountains that ring the valley, these sharp bright flashes of light that illuminated the ridges and overlapping clouds every minute or so, while it was clear down where we were with a full bright moon.

We got into San Cristobal a blurry group and made our way to the B&B we were to stay in, owned by the aunt, B, of a friend of C's (who she grew up in a commune in LA with). It was a lovely little posada with only a few rooms and a lush courtyard/ garden and very much like staying in a commune. We shared a large bathroom area with B and her husband and our bedrooms had big windows into the courtyard which we left open most of the time. B has three dogs who made themselves comfortable (sometimes on C and my bed) and it was very much like living in a slightly chaotic household for a few days. The climate difference between Oaxaca and San Cristobal is amazing (it's about 5oo meters higher), very cold and damp except in the middle of the day. It was also lovely that everyone who was staying in the posada with us were fellow academics and I chatted a bunch with a political scientist originally from Melbourne who's looking at reproduction and midwifery in Southern Mexico! We quickly made ourselves at home and went in search of breakfast at a wonderful organic cafe. Everything in the central area of San Cristobal is very close together, making it a marvelously walkable city... and it felt very familiar after Mum and I had explored it so much a year and a half ago.

As we walked around the city we were really struck by the differences between the cities-- even as in many ways they are very similar (old colonial city with a large indigenous population that is heavily involved in the tourist market-- B was a little shocked that for the most part we really didn't have a great desire to do the "cultural" tours of the area). But there are also these very sensual differences which on the one hand feel very insignificant (SC has narrower and cleaner streets and higher sidewalks), and on the other give the cities very different (superficial) feels. I think that part of the issue is that Oaxaca is also the capital city (Tuxtla is for Chiapas) so there is a real mix within the city of stuff that is obviously touristy and stuff that is "normal"-- it's also a much bigger city. Also, SC is totally totally totally totally on the hippie trail with a lot of Zapatista tourists and tons of Israelis!

The central plaza in front of the Cathedral is incredibly photogenic in rain or "shine," these pictures were all taken on the same day, the first on the way to lunch and the final ones on the way back from lunch (Oaxaca needs some better international "ethnic" food).






L was feeling very sick (for most of the trip) so C and I took off to explore and shop a little. Wandering in the morning around the city we were drawn to this intriguing half-open door and ended up exploring a semi-abandoned school (escuela normal).




It was totally beautiful and very traditional arranged around two or three courtyards with amazing archetural details.


And random piles of categories of objects (these of course were the most visually intriging to me.




After C and I explored the "Indian Market" next to their Santo Domingo (ours is prettier) which has a pretty representative sample of the range of textile products available, she became obsessed with the satin shirts that women from a particular village wear. She had originally seen them for tons of money at the anthropology museum in Mexico City and then again in Oaxaca, and now that we had come to the source, she was determined to find the perfect one. But it ended up being a very frustrating experience emphasizing again the difficulties of finding clothes for non-indigenous bodies. C's a very small person, but the shirts were consistently too small in the shoulders and arms. I've had massive problems especially with shirts here for that reason as well as finding anything that will fit my chest and I think that on a broader level this raises interesting questions about how people make goods here... because while people are definitely producing for a market, it is all things that they themselves also use and wear, so they're basically selling things that they would make normally rather than something like the alebrijes market which was developed as an economic strategy. So even though the markets we visited were clearly aimed at tourists, the products were still very much "for" indigenous communities-- but that also might be an economic strategy of "authenticity." Meanwhile, I finally indulged my inner magpie and bought some fabulous glittery embroidered garments (a child's poncho-- it won't fit over my head-- and a capelet) that I plan to repurpose into something I will use. They are currently covering my desk chair and couch (and these pictures don't do the colors justice).




After an all-night bus ride we were super temporally disoriented and spent a lot of the rest of the day resting and listening to the rain while we read old fashion magazines to each other. C and I went out later to a little (smoky) wine bar where we scoped out the mixture of Chipaneco intellegentsia and hippie tourists-- Oaxaca totally needs one of these!