Una ventana a el Mundo Maya

I set out this morning in search of a "woman with an umbrella" as the Rough Guide described Mercedes, a local woman who gives walking tours, using local transportation and has been known to refuse customers because she "didn´t like their vibe." Mercedes sounded like my kind of woman, so after a delicious breakfast of some kind of sweet bread at the local panaderia (I forgot how much I loved Mexican bakeries), I set out towards the main square. After inquiring at a tourist kiosk after "una mujer con un paraguas," I spotted just such a woman and approached her for information. She immediately handed me a flyer that listed the details of the day´s tour and said that if I wanted to go, I had to pay her right then. My usual suspicions at bay since I had specifically sought her out, I happily agreed to pay, afterwhich the woman stuck a bright red sticker on the front of my shirt that read, "pagado," and told me that the tour would be leaving in 25 mintues. I thanked her and headed off to the bank for some more pesos.

As I was walking towards the bank a man approached me and opened his mouth to speak, shutting it as his eyes encountered the bright red "pagado" on my shirt. "Aye," he said, "Ya estas con Mercedes." He then introduced himself as one of a team of the other local guides that I had read about in the book. He continued talking to me, explaining what I thought was his happiness that, although I had chosen to go with Mercedes over them, that at least I was using a local guide as oppossed to a tour agency. I wholeheartedly agreed and he continued saying something to the effect of "anyone can stand out with a colored umbrella and say, "I´m Mercedes."" Finishing up, he bade me farewell and told me to enjoy me tour. I left him wondering if I had made the right choice, but steadfast in my decision to enjoy the day since the die had already been cast.

When I returned to the spot where the woman was standing with her umbrella, another woman walked up and began speaking in English, exlaiming, "Mercedes! I met you 12 years ago at this same spot. I don´t know if you...," at which she was interrupted by the woman who explained that she was not, in fact, Mercedes, but that Mercedes had retired two years ago and had turned her tours over to her. After the woman thanked her and walked away, I introduced myself and asked the woman her name. She told me that her name was Rosie and that Mercedes had become a Buddist Nun (I knew I would have like Mercedes!) two years before and she had picked up where Mercedes had left off. But, she assured me, the tour was just as good and I would enjoy it immensly. She then motioned to a mini-van idling on the side of the road which, she said, was to be our transport. With a sinking spirit, I made my way over to the van, which already contained five other travelers, and took a seat inside, before we drove away, "Mercedes" and her umbrella, a disappearing spot in the distance. I was determined to make the best out of this tour, as I mentally noted to write to the Rough Guide to tell that that Mercedes had retired and that the "woman with the umbrella" was an imposter front for a commercialized tour company.

When we arrived at the first village, San Juan Chamula, my spirit recieved yet another blow at the site of two huge tour buses purging swarms of Caucasion tourists. To my relief, we past the parking lot and continued along a narrow road, that presumably could not accomodate the massive buses.

When our guide stopped the van, we all got out and he explained to us that we had not stopped at the parking lot because the bigger tours simply brought tourists to the church, zipped in and out, and were gone in less than 20 minutes. Our tour, he explained, was more personal, and we would spend two hours walking around the village and learning about the local customs. Relieved, I dispelled all doubts and prepared to enjoy the tour.

The others on the tour included a couple from Spain, another couple from Mexico City and two girls from Holland. Since the girls from Holland also understood Spanish, we unanimously agreed to have the tour in Spanish, something the guide was pleased to do since he had never done it before.

As we walked up the winding street, our guide stopped at various points along the way explaining different Mayan customs and traditions. While we were not allowed to take pictures of the people (because they believe that it robs them of their spirit), we were allowed to take pictures of the town, which unfortunately I cannot share with you at this time..

The first thing that he pointed out were the traditional Mayan adobe houses that appeared every so often between more modern houses of cement block. The adobe houses, he explained were not only economical to build, but were also environmentally friendly, using products from the surrounding areas; energy efficient, their palm roofs and thick mud walls keeping the homes warm in the winter and cool in the summer; and earthquake resistant, extremely important in an area that recives numerous tremmors a year.

He then went on to explain that the people of Chamula ate primarily vegetarian meals which they prepared from their frutiful gardens, although they would eat chicken, pork, beef and fish on occasion for a special event. He expained that their main crops were corn, beans and pumpkins, which they grew all together because of the symbiotic relationship of the crops. The corn provided a stem on which the bean vine could grow while also providing shade for the pumpkins, which provided shade for the roots of the corn as well as valuable nutrients for the soil of all three crops. He then talked about the importance of sheep in Chamula.

Because of the cold climate, wool is used for much of the traditional clothing, making a sheep a valuable comodity. The people also believe that sheep are a gift from their patron saint and instead of using them for food when they die, they bury the sheep in their gardens to help to fertilze their crops.

Walking through the town, one can´t help but notice the abundance of crosses. Although at first appearing to be a devoutly Christian village, our guide explained, that it was quite the opposite. The Mayans had been using the figure of a cross to represent both a spiritual tree found in the lowlands of Mexico and Central America and the four directions of the universe, long before the Spanish introduced Christianity to the area. Each family unit, or group of families – grandparents, parents, children – sharing the same land, has a green cross in their yard, which is considered to be the spirirual entrance for the family unit. Many ceremonies and sacrifies, including marriages, are performed at the cross, which the Mayans believe is a direct connection between themselves and their gods. While the Spanish tried, successfully in many places, to convert the peoples of Mexico and Central and South America to Catholocism, the Mayan people, while appearing to accept the religion, and even accepting it on some levels, mixed thier own traditions with those of the Catholic Church, both pacifing the Spaniards and allowing their own culture traditions to persevere. The one “Catholic” church in the village is a testiment to this reality.

While appearing much like a traditional church from the outside, the church in Chamula, is not at all as it appears. Upon entering the church, one is greeted with the site of thousands of lighted candles forming lines on the floor and adorning the rows of tables to each side of the church. Each wall is liked with figures of Catholic saints in glass cases, dressed in traditional finery with a mirror on a string drapped around their necks (to provide the appearance of a connection with the devout). Groups of indigenous people knelt behind groups of candles, many also with other requirments of a cermony directed by the local curandera, or folk healer: soda, a bottle of can alcohol, a bag of eggs and a live chicken. While we stood by unobtrusively, the people proceeded with their ceremonies, some of which, we were told, although we did not witness, involved the sacrifice of the chickens on the church floor.

The story that I found the most amusing was that of the group of figures of saints who stood to one side of the church near the back, plainly adorned and laking the brightly burning candles that graced the tables of the other figures. We were told that these figures did not belong in this church, but had resided in another church in the cemetery that had burned down over 100 years before. Because these saints did not protect their sancturary, they were being punished and had been for the past 100 years. While the other saints were dressed in fine clothing, these saints were clothed only in plain wraps (even which, we were told, were relatively new additions after having stood without clothing for many years), were not visited by patrons and were left alone in the church during festivals, while the other saints were taking out and paraded about town.

After our visit to the church, we made our way to the cemetery where the ruins of the old church stood. The cemetary was simple and picturesque, with plots of earth adorned with simple wooden crosses (black for the elderly, blue or green for adults, and white for children). What we could not see, our guide explained, was inside the coffins, where each person, upon their death was prepared for the long journey through the underworld, which the Mayans believe everyone takes, before again resuming a life on earth. Each body is dressed and provided with a pocket full of coins to pay for passage through the world of the dead. Each body is given a bag filled with food and drink, for the journey is long, as well as an needle and thread to sew any holes that will invetibley appear in their clothing with the passage of time.

After leaving the cemetary, we set off for the village of Zinacantan, where we visited the home of a local family, the women of which wove textiles to sell in the local markets. We were able to watch the women weave, make corn tortillas (which we sampled with local cheese and avacado. Yummy!) and try a sample of the local cane alcohol that is used both for ceremonies and everyday enjoyment.
As we left the village, I found myself in a zone of contentment, extremely pleased with the day, my travel companions, our guide and the fact that I understood 98% of what was said throughout the tour. I sat back, quite pleased with myself, realizing that my mood might be more from the cane alcohol than simply from my enjoyment of the day, but not caring one bit.