Erin left for Oaxaca yesterday and, despite the fact I wanted to see Oaxaca again (I went when I was 12 and thought it was amazing), I´ve decided the time it would take travelling there and back can be better spent on other adventures.
When Erin first arrived, it was weird to see someone from my "normal" life in the context of trip to Latin America. But, in hindsight, it seems even weirder how normal it felt to be around her after first meeting up with her. I think the hostels have had something to do with that, meeting random people with whom a dynamic of friendship is instantly initiated.
In anycase, it was sad to see her leave because it´s always sad to say goodbye to a buddy, especially when they´re going somewhere that you really want to go. But last night ended up being really neat. I went to a local showing of a film on the Zapatistas with two other backpackers, a French guy (Julian) and a British girl(Freya), both of whom are really enjoyable. Later, we grabbed some beers on the way back to the hostel where a bonfire was started. More and more people gather around until there were close to a dozen young people hanging out. It was a seriously internatioanl crowd. In total,there was: a spanish couple; four Israelis; a Turkish guy; an Australian guy; Julian; Freya; and myself, the lone American. I could be forgetting some people. We swapped travel stories, opinions on the relevance of the Super Bowl, and theories behind the whole `what´s with everyone staring at fire´ thing. It was a really good time.
The next morning, I logged into Facebook and got a message Nicole telling me that Erin was robbed on her way to Oaxaca. They took her passport, debit card and all her cash, but she reached Oaxaca okay and has managed to get some cash. At the time of me writing this, that´s all I know, but it doesn´t sound too dreadful. Erin, I´m still waiting to hear back from you.
lunes, 9 de febrero de 2009
Pelenque and then some.
Erin and I wake up before six to catch the shuttle that arrives a half-hour late. We´re heading to the Mayan ruins of Pelenque, normally over four hours a way, but we´re also stopping at two different waterfalls along the way.
The sun is just rising by the time the shuttle picks everyone up and I´m so friggin´ tired. I have a window seat and, unfortunately, the bald-headed geezer in front of me puts his seat all the way back. Meanwhile the guy next to me uses me as a back rest while he sleeps soundly. Bastards. On the other side of the aisle, Erin has a seat to herself. Bitch. I sit motionless for two hours before we reach Agua Azul, the first waterfall.
Before we reach it, though, we pass a few signs informing us we have entered the territory of the EZLN, Zapatista National Liberation Army. We even pass through a small village that is completely controlled by Zapatista farmers. On the side of a school is a mural of indigenous farmers, Emiliano Zapata, Che and Marcos, the "face" of Zapatismo (Marcos [not his real name] always wears a black balaclava which, itself a symbol of the Zapatistas, symbolizes that Zapatismo has no face, but represents everyone exploited and subjugated by authority). Several miles later, we pass a military checkpoint, but the road signs afterward are spray painted with slogans like "Viva Zapatistas" and "Muerte Sistema Capitalisma."
So we reach Agua Azul and it´s very pretty, but I´m not sure how to tell a story about something being pretty. It just is. I hope you get to see the pictures.
To give description of the next waterfall (name?), I only need to refer to the Gorge in Oregon. Again, may you see the pictures. Although, I don´t know of any waterfalls in the Gorge where you can actually go into a cave with a stream that feeds into the waterfall. That was pretty sweet.
And finally, Pelenque. The ruins are big and numerous and epic, and the coolest one you can go into and it was almost a maze. But I´m not sure if they´re quite as cool as the jungle that surrounded them. Cami, again, I thought of you. And, again, may you all see the pictures. I really, really wanted to go into the jungle, but that simply wasn´t an option. It´s probably for the best because I had visions of rope ladders and tree-houses attached to great, primordial branches. Wooden cities a hundred feet in the sky under a green canopy hundreds of feet higher. Yeah, I probably would have been dissapointed. Or maybe not.
For the ride back to San Cristobal, several passengers on the shuttle get off to stay in hotels near the ruins, so I get a seat to myself. Despite the frequent bumbs and tight turns, I think I manage to get as much as an hour of sleep during the 4+ hour ride back.
Arriving back in San Cristobal around 9:30, Erin and I eat at the first restaurant we found, head back to the hostel, and pass out in our respective rooms.
The sun is just rising by the time the shuttle picks everyone up and I´m so friggin´ tired. I have a window seat and, unfortunately, the bald-headed geezer in front of me puts his seat all the way back. Meanwhile the guy next to me uses me as a back rest while he sleeps soundly. Bastards. On the other side of the aisle, Erin has a seat to herself. Bitch. I sit motionless for two hours before we reach Agua Azul, the first waterfall.
Before we reach it, though, we pass a few signs informing us we have entered the territory of the EZLN, Zapatista National Liberation Army. We even pass through a small village that is completely controlled by Zapatista farmers. On the side of a school is a mural of indigenous farmers, Emiliano Zapata, Che and Marcos, the "face" of Zapatismo (Marcos [not his real name] always wears a black balaclava which, itself a symbol of the Zapatistas, symbolizes that Zapatismo has no face, but represents everyone exploited and subjugated by authority). Several miles later, we pass a military checkpoint, but the road signs afterward are spray painted with slogans like "Viva Zapatistas" and "Muerte Sistema Capitalisma."
So we reach Agua Azul and it´s very pretty, but I´m not sure how to tell a story about something being pretty. It just is. I hope you get to see the pictures.
To give description of the next waterfall (name?), I only need to refer to the Gorge in Oregon. Again, may you see the pictures. Although, I don´t know of any waterfalls in the Gorge where you can actually go into a cave with a stream that feeds into the waterfall. That was pretty sweet.
And finally, Pelenque. The ruins are big and numerous and epic, and the coolest one you can go into and it was almost a maze. But I´m not sure if they´re quite as cool as the jungle that surrounded them. Cami, again, I thought of you. And, again, may you all see the pictures. I really, really wanted to go into the jungle, but that simply wasn´t an option. It´s probably for the best because I had visions of rope ladders and tree-houses attached to great, primordial branches. Wooden cities a hundred feet in the sky under a green canopy hundreds of feet higher. Yeah, I probably would have been dissapointed. Or maybe not.
For the ride back to San Cristobal, several passengers on the shuttle get off to stay in hotels near the ruins, so I get a seat to myself. Despite the frequent bumbs and tight turns, I think I manage to get as much as an hour of sleep during the 4+ hour ride back.
Arriving back in San Cristobal around 9:30, Erin and I eat at the first restaurant we found, head back to the hostel, and pass out in our respective rooms.
San Juan Chamula and "Las Grutas"
Mid-morning, Erin and I catch a shuttle to San Juan Chamula, a small town near San Cristobal populated by Tzotzil Mayans who all wear black wool, the men as coats, the women as skirts. There´s nothing very distinctive about the town itself except the church. We have to pay 40 pesos each to enter the church where absolutely no photography is allowed.
The religion here is a cross of Catholicism and the indigenous animistic faith. We enter to the melodically mournful sound of an indigenous band (guitar, accordian and drum)led by a chanting shaman. A fifth person burns musky insense whose thick smoke creates dramatic shafts of light from the two south-facing windows. Another person waits with two live chickens to be sacrificed at the end of the ritual. They all wear the black wool coats. Hundreds and hundreds of candles are lit on the floor, inches from the pine needles placed for the benefit of worshipers´ knees. Ceramic saints in ornate, glass boxes four feet high line the walls. To one side is a saint incased in a ten-foot-high box, at the top of which is a flashing neon star. Inside the boxes, the saints are lit by joyless blue lights and I can´t help but imagine each one of their vivid ceramic faces turning to me in unison. I´m not sure if this is the best or worst place ever to take hallucinagens, but there´s no way in hell I´d ever want to stay the night here alone.
We also check out the local cemetary, but there´s just not much else to explore in the town, so we leave after not much more than an hour.
We grab lunch back in San Cristobal then catch a shuttle to "Las Grutas," a cave system a couple kilometers south of the city (and whose longer name I can´t remember). We´re dropped off at the entrance of a campground similar to any in Oregon. At the far end of the park, we reach the cave entrance and descend. It´s big and dark and moody and epic and I hope you all get to see the pictures. Cami, I was thinking of you while staring up at the stalag...mites? Nope, Wikipedia says stalagtites. As in, they hang from the roof so they have to be stalagTITE. Get it? It goes on for several hundred yards and ends in black oblivion. Apparently, we only get to see a fraction of the cave, the whole of which stretches all the way to under San Cristobal. SO COOL.
The religion here is a cross of Catholicism and the indigenous animistic faith. We enter to the melodically mournful sound of an indigenous band (guitar, accordian and drum)led by a chanting shaman. A fifth person burns musky insense whose thick smoke creates dramatic shafts of light from the two south-facing windows. Another person waits with two live chickens to be sacrificed at the end of the ritual. They all wear the black wool coats. Hundreds and hundreds of candles are lit on the floor, inches from the pine needles placed for the benefit of worshipers´ knees. Ceramic saints in ornate, glass boxes four feet high line the walls. To one side is a saint incased in a ten-foot-high box, at the top of which is a flashing neon star. Inside the boxes, the saints are lit by joyless blue lights and I can´t help but imagine each one of their vivid ceramic faces turning to me in unison. I´m not sure if this is the best or worst place ever to take hallucinagens, but there´s no way in hell I´d ever want to stay the night here alone.
We also check out the local cemetary, but there´s just not much else to explore in the town, so we leave after not much more than an hour.
We grab lunch back in San Cristobal then catch a shuttle to "Las Grutas," a cave system a couple kilometers south of the city (and whose longer name I can´t remember). We´re dropped off at the entrance of a campground similar to any in Oregon. At the far end of the park, we reach the cave entrance and descend. It´s big and dark and moody and epic and I hope you all get to see the pictures. Cami, I was thinking of you while staring up at the stalag...mites? Nope, Wikipedia says stalagtites. As in, they hang from the roof so they have to be stalagTITE. Get it? It goes on for several hundred yards and ends in black oblivion. Apparently, we only get to see a fraction of the cave, the whole of which stretches all the way to under San Cristobal. SO COOL.
viernes, 6 de febrero de 2009
Oh, just an update...
To be honest, I´m kinda tired and spacey and don`t feel like I can write with as much detail and creativity as I´m capable of, but the longer I wait to update the less I´ll remember.
I left Xela and Guatemala in general on Teus., Feb. 3rd and arrived in San Cristobal de las Casas, Chiapas, Mexico. Crossing the border was a cheaper, simpler process than I was expecting. You simply go to the immigration office on the Guatemala side and they stamp you out, then you go to the office on the Mexico side and they stamp you in.
Riding through Mexico on the way to San Cristobal, we passed three heavily fortified army bases. For those of you who don´t know, 15 years ago an indigenous army called the Zapatistas (named after Emiliano Zapata, an indigenous leader during the Mexican Revolution from Chiapas) rose up in Chiapas in response to Neo-Liberal policies (specifically NAFTA) that took away land that was gauranteed to them in the Mexican Constitution. They took over a four cities in Chiapas including San Cristobal, but werer driven out after a few days and 150 deaths (mostly Zapatista) my the federal army. However, they still hold a few strongholds in the rural areas of Chiapas, and a lot of general support in the region, as well as internationally. Guess where my support lies.
San Cristobal is absolutely beautiful. It´s by far the prettiest, cleanest, most progressive and bohemian place I´ve been to yet. And, inexplicably, it´s also cheaper than most places in Guatemala, despite the large presence of turists. I´ve more or less fallen in love with this place.
Someone else is waiting to use this communal computer, so more updates to come soon...
I left Xela and Guatemala in general on Teus., Feb. 3rd and arrived in San Cristobal de las Casas, Chiapas, Mexico. Crossing the border was a cheaper, simpler process than I was expecting. You simply go to the immigration office on the Guatemala side and they stamp you out, then you go to the office on the Mexico side and they stamp you in.
Riding through Mexico on the way to San Cristobal, we passed three heavily fortified army bases. For those of you who don´t know, 15 years ago an indigenous army called the Zapatistas (named after Emiliano Zapata, an indigenous leader during the Mexican Revolution from Chiapas) rose up in Chiapas in response to Neo-Liberal policies (specifically NAFTA) that took away land that was gauranteed to them in the Mexican Constitution. They took over a four cities in Chiapas including San Cristobal, but werer driven out after a few days and 150 deaths (mostly Zapatista) my the federal army. However, they still hold a few strongholds in the rural areas of Chiapas, and a lot of general support in the region, as well as internationally. Guess where my support lies.
San Cristobal is absolutely beautiful. It´s by far the prettiest, cleanest, most progressive and bohemian place I´ve been to yet. And, inexplicably, it´s also cheaper than most places in Guatemala, despite the large presence of turists. I´ve more or less fallen in love with this place.
Someone else is waiting to use this communal computer, so more updates to come soon...
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