Countdown to leaving San Cristobal

We are approaching our final night in San Cristobal (Olympic Opening Ceremony Night)....so we are on the countdown of doing and seeing all the high points on our 'bucket list" of what's up (que onda?) here.

Last night we went to Palenque Rojo http://www.palenquerojo.com/ This is a very well attended live theater production that occurs almost nightly in a lovely classic theater along the andador. Imagine taking an audience of tourists from all over the globe, the need to tell a complex story about the Mayan culture that existed in Palenque in approx. 600 AD and a group of indigenous and Spanish/Mexican actors, create a jungle scene full of jungle animals and mystical creatures, mix in two different tribes of warriors, costumes that are remniscent of Out of the Jungle, a love story and trust me....it was very confusing.

So today, after class we chose to check off our one last "must do"....a visit to the two nearby indigenous communities that house many of the vendors we see daily on the streets of San Cristobal. The women all wear characteristic black wool skirts and purple or blue tops, some very highly decorated, the men wear white or black tunics made of heavy wool over bluejeans and classic white cowboy hats. With a little help from 2 Tsotsil speaking young girls, we found our way to the collectivo station and for a total of 18 pesos road the 11km of basically suburban sprawl up to the village of San Juan Chamula.

On arrival, we were literally assaulted by every small child in the central open air square mercado for "pesos". It is really disconcerting but Gene decided to exchange a few pesos for photos. After buying our tickets at the municipal hall to enter the church we wandered over to the brightly painted Spanish colonial building in the center of town. At the door, we were firmly reminded that NO PHOTOS were allowed inside the church. So I will endeavour to describe what we saw and the sensory effect we experienced.

Inside the church we crunched on slippery dried pine needles scattered all over the floor. Nearest to the back door, men laid, sat, kneeled or walked around in their traditional clothing amidst clouds of burning copal incense. Men were being served from the "classic coke bottle"a clear drink which smelled highly alcoholic and we were told was POSH. Many of the men appeared to be so drunk they could hardly walk. Farther into the church approximately 1000 candes were burning in little groups across the floors, and along side the multiple altars and groups of women, children and some elders were being "healed"by the various curanderos at small stations set up all over the floor. The smoke from the burning candles and the incense was almost overpowering and the light from the setting sun through the smoke made it look as if everyone was inside a transluscent tent inside the church.

Young girls with their mothers arrived carrying live chickens strapped to their waists for ceremonies. Bunches of basil which we had seen earlier at the Mayan Medicine museum were being used as swatches to beat out the bad spirits. At the same time newcomers bowed to the cross of Jesus and made the sign of the cross.... At least a hundred persons were inside the church involved in various activities across the pine needle strewn floor. I will not forget this day.
As soon as the sun begins to go behind the mountains, the night chill descends. So for now, we chose to not see the other village, Zinacantan, which is famous for its greenhouses and flower vendors...perhaps next year.

We joined at least 12 other persons in the little VW collectivo and headed back to our apartment. Oh, and Gene made his one-year old seatmate who alternated between nursing with his Mom and playing with us very happy. He taught him the Canadian way that kids use their fingers on their lips to make a vibrating noise (or blow a raspberry). A sound that entertained us all the way home.