March 4 - Palenque

One of the reasons I booked into the Mayabelle is because it is within walking distances of Palenque. I walked to Palenque’s museum, which is 700 meters down the road, and arrived fifteen minutes before if opened for the day, so I decided to visit the ruins first and then return to the museum.

I asked a man sitting on a bench in front of the museum how to get to the ruins. “Take the collectivo,” he said. pointing at the shelter at the road.

“I prefer to walk,” I say.

“No, don’t walk, there are robbers, it’s dangerous.”

I’ve seen people jogging, others walking I’m wondering just how dangerous it can possibly be.

I walked up to the shelter where a man wearing a blue shirt, carrying a clip board and looking official was busy working at something. I asked him if it’s dangerous to walk to Palenque’s entrance. He tells me it is. I take a collectivo, and give the driver ten pesos.

At the entrance there were an uncountable number of guides, each with identification badges around their necks, all shouting, pushing, anxious to get their first tour of the day. I don’t like taking guided tours. At first I just kept saying, “No thank-you, I don’t want.” But, I return to the guides. Their obvious desperation is poignant. Randomly I hire a guide. It costs $300 pesos. He walks fast, a one person tour lacks the profitability of a larger group. Along the way I stop to read the plaques. He obliges because he has no choice. After he left me to my own devices, I walk back to the hotel for lunch.

I return to Palnenque after lunch, this time I walk, no collectivo because I don’t believe it is dangerous during the day when there are many tourists, guides and tourist police milling about.

Palenque is many ways is no different than the ruins of Monte Alban or Chaco Canyon All tell the story of lost cultures that were great in their time. The great and lost cultures of North and Central America have much in common with Egyptian culture, tombs, valuables buried with the leader, including sacrificed victims needed to ensure servants on the over side.

March 3 - Road to Palenque

The day held promise, blue sky and bright sun, but soon the sky clouded over.

In 1994 the Zapatista Army, a guerrilla movement in Chiapas, ended their war with the Mexican government. One of the many places held by the Zapatistas during that time was San Cristobal. T-shirts were sold in some stores that read in English, “The battle is over. But land claims aren’t settled.” Creating the impression that at any moment another battle could erupt.

On the road to Palenque, the Mexican army can be seen in full force. There is a newly built fortress surrounded by a 10 foot gray-green concrete fence designed to look like the walls that protected medieval castles. Inside the compound there are beautiful manicured trees and grass. Armed soldiers protect the fortress Meanwhile the people nearby live in destitution and desperation, waiting for the land they so desperately want, and have wanted for over 100 years, while the army keeps them forcibly in check. Each road, school and any other public works project has a large sign in front of it stating something like, “Your Federal Government at work for you.”

Palenque is a dirty, dust town, a pitiful place. I didn’t have a reservation until the next night, but my gut tells me everything will be fine, and it was. I take a cab out of Palenque and drive to my hotel which is walking distance from the ruins. Mayabell is about half the price per night of No Bolom. My room was sparse, but it’s was fine. Mayabelle is a combination RV park, hostel, hotel and spa.

A group of Canadian RV’ers are here. The plates on their rigs indicate different provinces but likely they came down in a caravan. They were busy using their BBQ’s and telling each other the “bif steks” were ready. They made an understandable error beef steak is not “bif stek” Canadians are everywhere, I meet so many in proportion to our population. Later in my travels an English man will ask me, “Is there anyone left in Canada?”

This is the jungle, but it’s cold as well as the expected damp.

(photos are of Mayabelle)

March 2 - San Cristobal de Casas

At the breakfast table of the hotel, I had coffee with a Lancandon woman and her daughter. Although yesterday’s encounter with a man and woman in the courtyard of the hotel found them dressed only in white tunics that didn’t cover their knees, and it was so very cold. Today’s Lancandon wore modern garb, including winter jackets. Most indigenous people in Chiapas wear traditional clothing, and their clothing indicates the region they are from, their language and customs.

When I finished my coffee and chat with the Lancandon woman I went to a market in front of the Temple of Santo Domingo. Most of the women were wearing black skirts of some sort of mysterious cloth that had a hairy appearance. I wanted a photo, but wouldn’t take a photo without both permission and payment. I tried to get the attention of one woman who ignored me. The next woman told me she didn’t want her photograph taken and proceeded to cover her face with a beautiful purple scarf. I told her I respected her wishes.

It was now mid-morning and time for my first meal of the day. I found a beautiful courtyard restaurant. I watched a bright, yellow, wild canary take a bath in the courtyard fountain.

While I was eating a woman wearing a hairy black skirt and her daughter come into the restaurant and tried to sell me some wooden carvings. I don’t want the carvings, but I wanted a photo of her and her skirt. I offer $10 pesos if she would be so kind as to allow me to take her photograph.

Her daughter, who wasn’t waring a hairy black skirt, wanted to be in the photo. Her mother insisted since she was given $10 pesos I must also give her daughter $10 pesos. I didnt’ want a photo of her daughter I was simply giving into her wish to be included. Still, I said nothing and gave the little girl $10 pesos and took the photo.

They then proceeded to apply pressure, for only $20 pesos I could have a beautiful wood carving of a jaguar.

“I’m poor,” I told them. “I’ve given you $20 pesos already, that’s enough.” They understood and gave up their aggressive sales tactics and left me to my brunch. I took my bread to go and disposed of it by handing it to a man and his wife who were begging on the street. He expressed a depressing amount of gratitude.

Museo del Amber de Chiapas

Don’t buy off the street merchants. They tell you you are buying amber, but you are really buying plastic,” the museum guide instructed. Amber is fossilized plant resin around 24 to 30 million years old. The Chiapas amber bed is the third largest in the world, after the Baltic countries and the Dominican Republic.

The work of getting the amber out of the ground is totally manual, sweaty labour in confined spaces using a hammer, chisel, shovel and wheelbarrow. Accidents happen frequently.

Museo de Las Cultura Populares

This museum containted fascinating displays of the costumes and customs of the different regions of Chiapas.

Temple of San Cristobal

It’s a long climb up the stairs and the temple at the top the temple is really a small chapel. Behind the chapel there was a fairly new, in excellent condition obstacle course track. The reason for the climb is to get a good view of San Cristobal.

Museo Café

Chiapas is Mexico’s #1 producer of coffee. 227,254 hectars under cultivation. Oaxaca is #2 with 67,767 hectars. 60% of the farmers are indigenous. Between 1936 and 1940 coffee workers went on strike. Today coffee workers have 36 regional organizations in the state of Chiapas.

I asked the guide why with Mexico growing such delicious coffee did so many Mexican’s drink Nescafe (which may be made from Mexican grown coffee, I don’t know) He didn’t have an answer. I have a point of view. The television commercials. The subliminal message - Good health! Good life! Prosperity! Nescafe.

Ruth, who I rent from, told me she drinks Nescafe because of its convenience. But, as far as I’m concerned an automatic drip is just as convenient.

In the late afternoon I went back to the hotel to take a rest or nap. I wasn’t tired, but I didn’t want to fall asleep like I did the night before.

Palenque Rojo

Palenque Rojo was a performance at the Teatro Daniel Zebadua that began at 8:30 p.m. A combination of dance and theatre it is a Mayan story performed in the Mayan language.

Like all things Mexican it was over the top. Costumes and make-up were elaborate, the music loud, and the performances exaggerated. Was it more Mexicna than Mayan? I don’t know.I managed to stay awake, but yawned a lot, was very cold, but was glad to be part of the audience.