The coolest place in the world

...is without a doubt El Panchan, Palenque. So for the past 6 days I have been living in the jungle in Palenque, Chiapas. It is absolutely insanely COOL. Here I went to see the Agua Azul waterfalls. Agua Azul is one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen. Imgaine incredibly high, cascading waterfalls with turquoise see-through water and caramel, smooth rocks which the water is at once gliding and hurtling over. I had to keep pinching myself to believe it was real. It is like something only witnessed in an animated disney film. Butterflies in the jungle and birds swooping in and out of the water. It doesn´t look real. It was another Avatar moment. I visited twice to swim in the purifying, fresh waters. It`s awesome power terrified me as I was reminded of my frenemy the Pacific Ocean, however at the same time it was intimately calming and meditative.

Misol-Ha waterfall

I also went to see the Ancient Maya pyramids and temples, ruins also set rather surreally in the middle of the dense Palenque jungle. Large, impressive and exhausting to climb it was mind-blowing to wonder how an ancient civilisation lived there, let alone built it with no modern construction technologies of our own. Having seen several Maya ruin sites now, the most exciting thing about these ones in particular was the setting. Wild, lush, colourful, overpowering jungle. At once scary and beautiful.

Down the road from the Palenque ruins is an area called El Panchan, described by Lonely Planet as a "Legendary travellers` hangout" but it is so much more than this. Swarmed with hippie travellers and residents, the place is magical. I was staying in a wooden cabana deep in the jungle and awoke each morning faced with exotic, wild and gigantic jungle plants with huge, cartoon-like leaves that made me miniature. And at night, we would all be kept up by the extraordinary huffing and puffing of the jungle´s attention-seeking howler monkeys who would sit very close to our cabanas and ensure us a very disturbed sleep. In fact, the entire jungle pulsates with a raw spiritual energy and I couldn`t help but look at everything in close detail. Caterpillars, hibiscus flowers, tightly twisted tree trunks, an immaculately formed cocoon, marching ants carrying leaves to build their nest, shiny berries, dangerous thorns, large but unthreatening tarantulas. Each day, my eclectic group of friends that I met there and I trekked around the jungle on slow, attentative adventures and discovered and frolicked in waterfalls. I was always hesitant to climb them, panicked by the strength of water but with patience and very deliberate movements I was able to conquer and climb near the top where fresh, clean water would pour over the top of the edge and purify and cleanse me. And wherever you walk in El Panchan, people would be jamming, playing their live music together with friends and strangers and just chilling and enjoying the good life amidst their beautiful surroundings every day.

Each night in El Panchan, we would sit in one of the open-air restaurants there - usually Don Mucho´s - and listen to awesome live music. The bands played an eclectic mix, sometimes from Argentina, sometimes son Cuba and sometimes jungle music which involved the lead musician carefully selecting from one of about fifteen different small wind instruments and making various animal sounds. Here my friends and I would sit and listen to the original music and drink red wine as locals and travellers danced salsa together seamlessly. And everyone I met in El Panchan was so interesting! I met a beautiful, delicate flower from Finland by the name of Karolina. She is a gorgeous, petite, dreaded and very talented artesan who has spent the last seven years travelling, 3 and a half of those in Central America, getting by on limited money but selling her handicrafts. Karolina is intensely charming and sweet and has a certain vibe that drawns in the people she meets and makes us want to protect her. She is also four months pregnant, which at first suprised and probably disconcerted me somewhat but when I saw the incredibly conditions she was bringing her unborn child in to I had no question in my mind that travelling was the right thing for her and her `Elfa`. Everyday her fairy was surrounded by original live music, organic nature and animal sounds and fresh, clean water as she ensured she swam in a waterfall each day. I wish them the best.

A wonderful adventurer named Mercedes from Texas was the first girl I met in El Panchan actually and not only did she go out of her way to make me feel comfortable, she encouraged and supported me during my waterfall climbing ordeal to ensure I got over my trauma. Unbelievably sweet for someone I don`t even know. I also spent time with a delightful Finish/Portugese newly married couple, Vera and Rico, who were very sweet, funny and down-to-earth and had met in London. Being in their company was extremely pleasant and you could feel their love. Strangely I bumped in to a French friend too, Romain who I had met in Puerto Escondido and who had been there in Mazunte when I had my accident. That was amazing and he strongly expressed his relief to see me well and healthy and walking again. Funnily enough I met many other people who had heard about or eye-witnessed themselves my accident and they would swarm me with marvel and a million questions to try understand my experience. I met a fascinating and beautiful girl/jungle creature, originally from Switzerland but who had been living in Mexico for 2 years names Jess. To talk to, I thought she was nearly thirty. An old soul, she talked to me about my accident in a spiritually mature way and I was fixated. She also crawled and ran and smoothed her way through the jungle like it was second nature. A real-life Mowgli. I couldn´t believe it when she revealed to me she was only twenty-one but she admitted she feels like she has always felt she has lived on this planet for centuries. My closest friend in El Panchan was Julio, a Mexican-Venezuelan from Texas who has been doing various voluntary work in Guatemala but is now on a roots-discovering trip in Mexico, he has an acute appreciation for live latin music and would beam ear to ear all night every night (save for when his head was on the table as a result of too much tequila consumption) and we left El Panchan together to discover the Carribean coast.

I could not have had a more enjoyable time in El Panchan and I already think about going back one day. There was a newly started intentional community there called Maya Buda and one day, Karolina, Julio and myself dropped by to see what it was all about and we all got on so well with the residents that we visited a nearby waterfall together. I could easily see myself living there for a little while. It was very hard for us to leave but now here Julio and myself are, making a quick city break in sweaty, hustling Merida on our way to the Caribbean coast. It feels very inner city typical Mexico here but today we are visiting nearby natural cenotes, sink holes that are formed under caves.

Leaving you in love and peace,
Anetta xxx

Mexico´s rootz

San Juan Chamula market day

SO yesterday I went to visit two Indigenous villages outside San Cristobal; San Juan Chamula and Zinacantan. It was one of my most interesting days in Mexico yet. As I arrived in San Juan Chamula the first thing I noticed were the vans of Coca-Cola parked near the entrance. Very indigenous, I thought suspiciously. And then walking around, I saw lots of Indigenous people (Indigenas they are respectfully called here) sitting around all drinking Coca-Cola or some other big brand fizzy drink. I later discovered that these people drink the carbonated sodas so as to BURP better so they can burp out any evil spirits and purify themselves! They apparently used to use a local-made fizzy drink made from maize (a cornerstone of their lives, they even believe people are made from it) but with the introduction of Coca-cola which was cheaper, easier and tastier, they switched. I felt somewhat disturbed by this but it was later explained to me that the people of Chamula´s existence as an autonomous community is dependent on the fact that they are able to coopt modernity in to their traditional ways of life, without sacrificing their beliefs. This is why they allow tourists in to their self-governed municipality, to make money from them.

Both San Juan Chamula and Zinacantan are made up of the Indigenous Tzotzil people, who descend directly from the ancient Maya people. The Chamulan people in particularly were very interesting to me. Their way of life is exemplary in many ways. The community is run as a big family organism with all the work shared amongst the people who work as a cooperative. Family comes first. And next is their religion. They can easily be considered Catholics as they have what appears to be crucifixs adorning the town, they pray in a church and they have Christian saints. However whilst they may call themselves Catholics, their concept of Christianity is somewhat skewed. Their crucifix with its rounded ends represent past, present and future. And whilst Christianity and modern day religions are focused on the past, What God Did, What Jesus Said etc, Mayan religion and indeed the religion of these Indigenous is focused on the present and future. Agriculture and family. They have several gods, not just one. And instead of preaching, the religious leaders simply make offerings for the future of the towns. Conceptually these people´s religion is very different from Catholicism. They could not see the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit as the Holy Trinity or God. If they saw a group of trees and you told them it was a forest they would not understand, they would call it trees. Because there is no forest without the trees. When the Spaniards invaded and attempted to convert these Mayan people, to me, all it seems that they were able to do was infiltrate the language of the Mayan religion so it coopts Biblical names. They pray to the Sun, not to Jesus and yet they call the sun Jesus! They believe the dead ALL go to the underworld and yet the Catholics took Underworld to mean Hell (as distinct from Heaven) and so they call the Mayan underworld ´Hell´ and now it seems the Mayans have the same Christian concepts of death. And they pray in the church because it is simply a communal area where they can worship. The Material life is not important to the Mayans, how things look or what things are called. These are superficial labels and appearances. They understand that life is deeper than this and it is what you think and know and do.

Making tortillas

The church in San Juan Chamula was incredible. Instead of pews, they had pine needles carpeting the floor to provide padding for the kneeling people. The Chamulan people were there praying on their knees in their familial groups, lighting hundreds of candles (their offering to the Gods), chanting in their archaic Tzotzil prayer language and drinking Coke/ Fanta/ Sprite and burping out their sins. Truly surreal! The church too, is a harsh mix of Catholic relics and saints combined with vivid colourful Mexican decor and a potent smell of burning incense. I also saw a couple of men wearing the traditional thick, furry, black wool poncho (distinct only of the San Juan Chamulan people) tidying up the mess of left over coke bottle caps and candle wax. I assumed they were the church´s cleaners however was soon corrected and told they are the highest religious leaders in the town, chosen for their family, religious and work commitments and value. I was very surprised by this and could not imagine a Christian, Jewish or Muslim religious leader cleaning up after his worshipping people.

The San Juan Chamulan people are also astute in their business and (to a lesser degree their political) acumen. As I wondered out of the church I was approached by two different women attempting to sell me handicrafts, a norm here in Chiapàs state. After I purchased a few cheap bracelets from one she then asked for another 5 pesos for a tortilla. The second woman asked me for the same price if I wished to take a photo of her daughter. They know how susceptible us embarrassing Westerners are to an opportunity to take a photo of some of the ¨culture¨ we are experiencing. And covering the roof of the local Community political building were egg shells and other bits of rubbish. Apparently San Juan Chamula had had an election on Sunday and 40,000 of the 50,000 inhabitants had turned out at the incredibly large market square to elect their latest leader. This is done by parading the candidates on the balcony of the building and letting the people applaud for their choice. However when they are not so keen on a particular candidate they throw things, eggs being the item of choice apparently.

Finally, I wanted to take a million photos of the strange, colourful people and their customs as I encountered yesterday in San Juan Chamula but also in Zinacantan where the men traditionally wear hot pink tunics, not unlike those seen adorning the tacky/wealthy in London´s clubs in the West End. However they believe that if you take photos of them, you are stealing some of their spirit. Which, I have to say there is potentially much truth in. After all the best memories are remembered. And for too many tourists, photos are simply proof and validation of their trips. And why should someone be allowed to feel more of a cultured individual by taking a photo of someone else who IS a more cultured individual? Besides that, it is incredibly disrespectful to treat these people as spectacles...

My couchsurfer host, Julio Olvera

So that was my day, much food for mine thought. Exploring Malaysia´s Orang Asli next on my agenda? Potentially. Today I had my last Spanish classes as tomorrow I am off to Palenque for more Maya ruins but more incredible than any I´ve seen before as these are deep set in the ferociously lush Mexican jungle! But for now I shall leave you with the Three principles (LIES) of Mexicans (men, that is):

1. I will pay you back tomorrow, I promise!
2. This is the last drink!
3. I only want to put the ¨end¨ in, that´s all!

These were taught to me by the gallant gentlemen Julio and Marco of San Cristobal. Chido!

xxx

Back to Mexico in San Cristobal de las Casas

View over San Cristobal de las Casas

My entire travelling trip thus far, peeps I be meeting always harp on about San Cristobal. For the past five days I´ve been discovering why. A charming cobbled-streeted town with many European influences and yet the largest number of indigenous Mexicans in any city, set in the middle of the mountains of Chiapas, San Cristobal is gorgeous. Once again I have stayed in a place longer than expected as I have chosen to take a couple of Spanish classes here to brush up on my slowly expanding vocabulary and to even begin to get some grip on my grammar.

San Cristobal streets in the evening

After nearly a month along the Oaxacan coast, I had become something of a well, tramp. It took me a day to adjust to civilisation again. I walked around my hostel barefoot, unwashed, very brown and wearing little. It soon became clear that San Cristobal is a far too proper place for this behaviour of the wild. Litered with great cafes, restaurants and bars... Teeming with foreign residents (mainly French and Italian) but this European bourgeoisie is mixed in with fiercely independent Indigenous communities, all with strong identities. Walking around this city is so easy, with artesan markets and handsome churches everywhere. And wherever you walk part of the experience is being approached by Indigenous women selling handicrafts for shockingly cheap prices. Alongside this are adorable children with sad eyes selling chewing gum and various other artefacts. I struggle to handle this. My Mexican friend, Julio, a wonderful San Cristobal resident and my personal tour guide and companion here tells me not to buy from the children as it encourages their parents´ exploitation of them.

We go often to a bar here called Revolucion! that seems to have a different incredible live band playing every night. Usually Cuban or reggae influenced. I love it and want to import more of this music in to London! It is a Zapatista sympathisers bar and it is not uncommon for San Cristobal. The Zapatista influence can be seen everywhere. A slight smell of tension in the air and in the mainly patronised by Indigenous Mexicans cantina we visited for our hangover lunch on Sunday, grafittied in the bathrooms was written ´Fuck of Mestizos´, a sentiment that Julio tells me is not unheard of in Chiapas.

Sumidero Canyon

Today I visited the Sumidero Canyon, recently classified one of the wonders of the world. It was lovely, a long boat ride along the huge green river alongside vicious crocodiles and amongst the awesome Canyon walls. Really breathtaking and a wonder for sure. Tomorrow I am discovering more about the local indigenous villages. A real interest for me, particularly since I visited the local centre for Indigenous studies, Na Bolom - a museum-research centre.

Much running abouts with my video camera this week!

Laterzzzz innit
xxxxx

I effing love Mexico

My bed

And I have known this all along but Zipolite just hammered this home for me! After making peace with Mazunte I continued on with my travels and went to the next Oaxacan beach, Zipolite. Zipolite is quite sceney and known for its hippies, raves and nudity. I always thought I was a fairly liberal person but seeing numerous wangs of varied description dangling all over a beach, for me, is quite undesirable. Shocked by the sight at first, I felt a little bit sick. However after some time you become quite immune to the goolies littering the beach and particularly because the majority of naked bodies strolling about belonged to the 50+, I began to think GOOD ON THEM! Indeed on my last day, I joined the masses albeit on a secluded part of the beach, free from other people and I must declare that it felt so... natural. Perhaps we should all be naked all the time?

My bathroom

My last day in Zipolite, despite experiencing a gigantic cockroach scurrying over my feet in the shower (a complaint to which the hostel owner responded affectionately ¨aaah a cucuracha! hahahahaha!¨ as if I should have felt delighted), was one of my favourite days in Mexico yet. That evening I chilled on the beach with a 29yr old Mexican artesan and a 19yr old Mexican truck driver. We sat near to a beachside bar that was playing Cuban music and both Mexicans instinctively rose and began dancing so naturally and rhythmically to the music as though they were made to dance. The artesan, Victor, then pulled me up to dance with him and naturally, I failed to emulate the simple yet perfect rhythm of his dancing feet. I was so clumsy and awkward it was excrutiating! And I always thought I was an excellent dancer...

My view

But this is something that I have noted time and time again! People do not exaggerate in the slightest when they talk of Latin blood and how the salsa rhythm is intrinsically a part of what it means to be Mexican. I am overwhelmingly jealous about this and always have to resort to my knees-up-slow-walking-dubstep dance or indeed one of my more ridiculous routines. My favourite part about this is the wild abandon with which Mexicans dance! There is no awkwardness, feelings of shame, pretentiousness, self-consciousness etc. It is simply a case of, this music is great - I´m going to move to it! I couldn´t imagine being with a British artesan and truck driver and having the same experience.

Mexican drummers

Similarly, I love how in touch with spirituality and the universe Mexicans seem to me. Well at least the majority of those whom I have encountered. In the same evening, my company were both discussing the constellations of the stars and the infinity of the universe from both their own and ancient Mayan perspectives. My night was iced with walking along the beach and kicking at the sand to reveal glowing plankton (I think this is what it is called in English? My friends called it ´planton´ in spanish) in the sand. There were so many! Just glittering all over the beach. I felt like I was walking in the starry sky...

I love Mexico
xxxxxxxxxxxxx

New me

Closure at Punta Cometa

Kylie!

After my doctor's appointment on Thursday evening confirming that everything was ok, my feet were not infected, I was healing and recovering well and I could walk on the beach, dance, swim and have fun again, I celebrated with a reggae beach festival party on Friday night. And then Saturday I packed my things, said a FINAL FINAL goodbye to Puerto Escondido and Hostal A La Casa and caught a bus back to Mazunte. All this time I knew that I had to make peace with the place.

So yesterday Kyle - my favourite, geeky chic, funny and brilliant Australian - and I arrived and spent some time walking along the beach. It was strange and a bit scary for me. But I could tell that it was good. We ate an indulgent dinner and as both of us were tired and mighty hungover we crashed out in our hammocks, which were our beds for the night. And what a night's sleep! Our hostel, La Isla, is Mazunte's party hostel so there were people fiesta-ing alongside our hammocks and electro music blaring until 6am. THIS combined with belligirent mosquitos intent on biting me despite the repellent I had doused my body in, combined with the fact I struggle to find my comfort position in hammocks anyway, combined with the most bizarre dreams including one of me being a mother and losing my baby in the sand (WTF?!!!) made for a strange as fuck night. Nevertheless, this morning I awoke at 6am, ironically when they turned OFF the music, and slathered on more mosquito poison and slept til 11am. I now know that I enjoy the IDEA of sleeping in a hammock on a beach more so than actually doing it.

Awake, I spent a lot of time on Mazunte beach just watching. The sea, the shore, the sand, the crabs, the people. Also, FYI - I noticed SIX EFFING LIFEBOATS ON THE SHORE TODAY!!!!!!!!!!! SIX! WHATTHAFUCK?! Where were these boats when I needed them?! And I only wanted ONE! I guess it is because of Semana Santa - the Mexican Easter - and the influx of Mexicans from the cities that they are forced to up the safety factor. But still.

And then I finally managed to pluck up the courage to go back to Punta Cometa. The place of my accident. I walked there alone, it was important. It was a long walk, longer than I remembered. More beautiful though. I got emotional whilst walking to the cliff but told myself I wasn't allowed to cry until I was there. And then finally I got there (the safe, non-risky, non-rocky cliff side) part where people often gather. Noone was around so I was able to speak to the sea in peace. I sat and looked down at the sea where nearly two weeks prior I had fallen. Here I spent nearly three hours. I prayed. To who? I am not sure. To God, to nature, to the sea, to the vultures flying low and circling my head, to the sun's reflection. I thanked everything for that day, for challenging me. For saving me. For blessing me with life. For blessing me with that experience. For my family, my friends, the people I had met travelling, the things I had seen, places I had been, for my life, for my lust for life, for my adventures.

My friend in Mazunte

I stood and outstretched my arms, with the breeze cooling me and the sun warming me and the horizon circling me I felt like I was hugging the world. I breathed in the sea air and confronted my trauma. I laughed and cried and probably looked scarily insane. I put my mind back to March 22nd and relived it in as much detail as possible. It was still scary. I could still see everything vividly. Sense everything in sharp realness and yet surreal out-of-body experience. I could re-feel the adrenaline pumping through my body and my eyes popping out of my skull like they felt like they did that day. I felt strong, reenergised, lucky, grateful and best of all... ALIVE. Closure and confrontation is a beautiful privilege. I am now ready for the next phase of my adventures.

Anetta