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