St. Cristobal de las Casas does just as it says on the tin or rather in the book: Lonely Planet to be precise. It says that "It´s Spanish colonial wonder" At just under 7,000´ it has a beautiful warm springlike climate which has been a blessed relief after the heat and the humidity I´ve experienced so far.They wear cardies and jackets at night when it gets a bit chilly. St. Cristobal nestles in the Jovel valley in the south west district of Chiapas and is surrounded by mountainous cloud forests. It´s very pretty with adobe hacienda type buildings, narrow cobbled streets and atmospheric plazas. Chiapas is one of the poorest areas of Mexico and is dominated by Mayan culture. St. Cristobal hit the world headline back in 1994 when a left wing peasant group, the Zapatistas, (for the uninitiated named after the revered revolutionary Emile Zapata of the early twentieth century) by storming and occupying St. Cristobal to fight for the rights of the poor indigenous people of the area. They wore handmade uniforms and all wore masks. The US gave the Mexican Government a huge amount of financial aid to put down the uprising. The leader of the Zapatistas is a pipe smoking character called Marcos. He apologised to the tourists for the inconvenience but stated "This is a revolution" Some advised the "elimination" of this revolutionary group. However when it was apparent that they didn´t seek the overthrow of the government but just sought reforms for the local indigenous people negotiations took place and a land reform act was passed in 1996. When offered to speak to the Mexican Congress the eccentric and charismatic Marcos allowed a woman called Comandanta Ester the place on the podium. Marcos went on to write children's books and novels. The Zapatistas still exist today but they have enjoyed their fifteen minutes of fame. Oliver Stone toyed with the idea of making a movies of the events.
I went on a excursion with a group to visit Mayan villages nearby. The tour was led by Carlos a lively, likeable bloke in his fifties I would guess. He was twitchy, talkative (in Spanish and reasonable English) and had this habit of pulling out his comb every ten minutes and attending to his barnet in a lavish manner. The expansive follical attention of Kookie Burns and The Fonze had nothing on Carlos. Skrynsey came close though. Peter Skrynes played rugby for Ladymary Sec. Mod under 15 B in the sixties. He had a wonderful shock of blond hair which he fashioned into an Elvis quiff and DA (ducks arse) which he kept regularly coiffured so much so that when he broke from his second row position in the scrum looking dishevelled he would procure a comb from his shorts' pocket making sure every hair was in place before moving to the next breakdown. If it wasn't for this grooming obsession not only would have he made the first fifteen he probably would've got a Welsh Cap. Often in assembly Sharkey (headmaster) would badger the kids into rapt attention by comments like "Dunleavey pay attention, Coughlin stop picking your nose, Skrynes how many times have I got to tell you put your comb away!!" However there's something unique about Carlos' hair; he doesn't have any. He joins famous comb-over brigade such as, Gregor Fisher's The Baldy Man, and footballers Bobby Charlton and Ralph Coates who also attempted to make a little go far.
I often find guides irritating as often they try too hard to impress by overwhelming their group with too much information, but Carlos was invaluable. We first stopped off at the Mayan village of San Lorenzo Zinacantan. Here we experience the usual fayre of witnessing local weavers and sharing food with a local family which was enjoyable. Carlos then began explaining certain aspects of local culture. Their religion is a mixture of Catholicism and paganism. He explained that the locals pray that their souls will be cleansed then take a swig from a bottle of alcohol usually crappa, then take a swig from a bottle of coke and with its gaseous elements provoke a burp. In doing this they belch out their sins. It's a form of confession. No telling the priest your inner most secrets while he's getting off on it in the box next door, then followed by 10 Hail Marys, 5 Our Fathers, and 3 Glory Bes, just a swig of hooch, all is forgiven and your soul is made immaculate. Well we've all heard of the plea that we are not responsible for the sins of our fathers, well pity the poor chicken in Mayan culture. As part of their faith the Mayans can offload their sins to a sacrificial chicken. They pray to God to transfer all their sins to the chicken which is then slaughtered and eaten for dinner. All this must take place in church.
With this little local knowledge we travelled to another pueblo called San Juan Chamula. This village is very unique in that it's very independent and suffers outside visitors rather than welcome them. The don't allow you to photograph them because they believe it removes at least part of their soul and people have been known to be attacked for doing so. I've met people who have avoided the place because of this perceived hostility. Well they missed an unique experience. The people weren't hostile especially when you bought something in the market in front of the church. It was a case of mutual respect. We visited a churchyard and prompted by Carlos we stood at a respectful distance and resisted taking photos of an interment that was takeing place. In the distance there was an open casket with the dead body into which favourite objects of the deceased were being placed. Not just objects apparently. Carlos explained that like many indigenous peoples around the globe the Mayan people have a big drink problem leading to premature deaths due to sclerosis of the liver. He said that often they would get so drunk that their pet dog would have to guide them home at night. Such was their reliability on the dog it was shot dead and placed into the casket so that it could guide its master to the pearly gates.
After wending our way through the market throng in the plaza we entered the church. It had a unique wow factor. If Spielberg was making an occult movie I could imagine a scene like this, only he could never create its authenticity. The senses of sight, smell, and hearing were ignited. The stone/marble floor was covered by scented pine needles and there were thousands of lit candles of various shapes, colours, and sizes. The different colours depicted the various deadly sins and commandments that the perpetrator had broken and for which they seeking forgiveness. There were no pews and the plethora of candles were not just down the sides but across the floor as well. The church was full of small knots of people and families squatting and standing in and around the candles. Around the sides of the church were thousands of fresh flowers surrounding large ornate statues of saints. To add to the aroma of smoke and flowers was the wafting of exotic incense by two women shuffling slowly around the church. Through the smoke, incense, and worshippers we could make out an ornate altar from which chanting music was being emitted. We carefully made our way to the altar. The altar was similar to mainstream catholic churches with one major fundamental difference. There were three huge statues, one taking preeminence in the middle flanked by two others. The crucified Christ with its typical gruesome catholic violence was on the right, Mary Magdalene was on the left, but numero uno and taking centre stage this Mayan culture was reserved for John the Baptist who because he baptised Jesus has the highest status. In front of the altar the source of the repetitive mesmeric music were three blokes who were playing a drum, guitar and an accordion respectedly Amongst the group in front of the altar was a small Indian woman wrinkled and gnarled from the sun, a hard life and maybe drink chanting trance-like with her three teenage children. She was holding a very passive hen. Carlos explained that the hen would have its neck rung shortly when the mother was confident that the sins of her children had passed this innocent farm yard accessory. Talk about passing the buck!!
To avoid witnessing the squawking and the flying of feathers we made our way towards the exit. As we slowly made our way through the packed church I noticed several women on their knees rapidly heating the bottoms of candles lighting them and sticking them in symmetrical lines across floor of the church. When outside Carlos explained that there aren't any clergy and there are no services and that you can within reason do what you like in the church. Groups meet and chat which we witnessed but they also can take a nap and have a drink if they so wished. Carlos mentioned on several occasions that this Mayan culture is 25% Catholic and 75% pagan. I think if the Pope witnessed it he would recalculate to 0% Catholic and 100% heresy. A unique experience.
Feetnote. I'm just about coping with my Achilles heel, and my boil has subsided and going through the itchy stage.