August 21st, 2007

I was worried that having GreenGo will sort of turn us into tour operators, but our first time taking people on a day trip along with us wasn’t that bad at all. In fact, I am much more outgoing when I feel other people are in my responsibility (even if they are not).

We went to Chamula and Zincantan – indigenous villages not far from San Cristobal. Like in many other small villages, people here too wear their traditional clothing, but the most interesting feature in this village was the church. Yes, I have mentioned before that I was rather overwhelmed by the amount of churches in Mexico, and would not be that excited about seeing yet another one, but this was different. Part of the reason I became moderately apathetic about going into churches we see on our way is because though interesting and colorful on the outside, inside they are the same kind of overwhelming display of religious wealth and Jesus’ suffering over and over again. Nothing against it, just boring after a while.

Chamula’s church was like nothing we’ve ever seen. Here they practice a combination of Christianity and Paganism which basically brings pacha mama (mother earth) into their house of God and the result is overwhelmingly spiritual. Not being able to take pictures in the church itself, I can only try to describe what we saw to the best of my ability.

As you enter, all evidence of this space being a church completely escapes. Jesus is still on the cross at the far end, and the long walls on your left end right are covered with saints, but you are entirely distracted by the quiet chaos on the floor. There were no benches or bibles that we could see. Everywhere where was room villagers were praying sitting on the floor. Some came alone, some brought their whole families. The children were crawling around, or eating something from a greasy wrapper, while the parents set up rows of hundreds of candles giving out weak lights onto the pine-needle covered floor. I know what you are thinking – fire hazard, right? It was my and Shurik’s first thought too, but the visitors are the only ones seem to be bothered by how close this whole building is to going up in flames.

The villagers are praying quietly. Besides the rows of candles they have brought sodas as gifts for god. Sprite and Coca-Cola are seen the most, but there are some home made drinks as well. Trying to be as invisible and unobtrusive as possible, we moved through the pine needles, now mixed with other plants and flowers, and the many many candles so neatly positioned in rows, when we noticed the saints along the walls were all wearing mirrors around their necks. We stood along side the statues and discussed the obvious reason for the mirrors, when something squawked almost beneath our feet – just to our right, a woman was casually breaking a chicken’s neck.

Each left the church covered in a fog of their own thoughts. Neither was ready to convert, but we all agreed there was a presence in that place. It wasn’t a divine spirit, it was just these people’s essence intertwined with the room’s chi. It was special.

In front of the church was a market and after using Shurik’s telephoto lens to catch a few good shots without shoving a camera into people’s faces, we piled into GreenGo and drove to Zincantan.

In Zincantan, as soon as we opened the car door, teenage girls, in blue embroidered skirts and shawls, fought for our attention.
-”Are you interested in artisania? Come to my house…”
-”Mine first! I saw them first!”
-”Is this your car?!”
I explained that this was both our car and house, and opened the door as wide as I could so they could see the inside. For a moment there they all stared at GreenGo’s polka dotted upholstery with their mouth open, but then snapped out of it as one of us tried to get out.

Zincantan’s church was… yet another church. There were rows of benches, few people, and no pine needles or candles whatsoever.

A misspelled sign in Spanish on it read:

Prohibited:
to eat – Chips, Candies, Sweets
So there will be no throwing of garbage inside the church.
and
Prohibited – to kill chickens during your prayers

We promised the girls we come see their crafts after visiting the church, but when we came out, there was just one girl waiting for us. Glad that the girls found a way to determine who we go with without our involvement, we followed the girl to her house where she and her mother dangled knitted and embroidered garments before us, not realizing that even if we really wanted, we could never wear those in our home countries. The girl pulled out a weaving gizmo, strapped herself to it, and let us takes pictures of her working on it while the mother ran between us and the screaming baby in the back of the house bringing us little cups of local liquor. Her final attempt to keep us interested was to bring out a white, poncho like, garment with rows of rabbit fur and yet more colorful embroidery. Later, we found out that this was a wedding dress that a woman normally wears twice in her life – on her wedding day, and on the day of her own funeral.

We left the house feeling guilty. They were so nice to us, and we didn’t even buy anything. It was freezing and we were about to just get to the car and drive back to San Cristobal, when we passed by a school. All five of us stopped and watched as first-graders walked around in the front yard in a circle to the sound of their teacher’s song. Round and round they went and, when the singing stopped, the children broke into pairs and hugged.
“Aaaahhhhhhhh….” said all three girls, myself included.
This was just too cute! They were playing “Musical Hugs”, the group concluded.

“I want to go in,” I said. And I went to get permission from the administration to walk around the school. Funny, if it was just Shurik and me, I would probably not act on this idea for some reason.

“Sure,” said a very presentable looking woman in a big room with nothing but a simple wooden table. Even the plainly clothed man she was speaking to didn’t have as much as a chair to sit on.

Inside the school we sort of split up. Somewhere around the big sign with slogans like: “Tobacco causes terminal Cancer”, “Don’t throw garbage into rivers”, and “Help your parents” the girls took a right turn and ended up in front of a classroom with no teacher. We peeked in the window, they peeked back, and slowly all hell broke loose. Before we knew it the threshold of the class became like a gate with some magical power at which children were piled up, almost standing on each others heads, but prevented by some force to spill out.
- “Where are you from?”
- “What is your name?”
- “Give me a dollar,” somebody exclaimed as a joke, and the magical barrier broke sending a wave of adolescents into the hall. Something needed to be done. We looked at each other as if asking “When was your last babysitting job?” and feeling responsible I turned to the kids and made a serious face. Silence. It was like we were playing “Simon Says”, and I ordered to freeze. Not knowing how much longer I can pull this off, I gestured the kids inside, not breaking the silence as I didn’t want to compromise my authority position with broken Spanish, and entered the classroom. Amazingly, my little pantomime act worked and I managed to gesture even the most stubborn ones into their seats, to which they clang as if we were shipwrecked, but still not breaking eye contact with me. “Si?” I lifted my eyebrows, and it was clear I didn’t just say “Yes” but “That’s right. That’s how you supposed to behave when you have visitors.” And we got out of there as quickly as we could before the real teacher could catch us in the act.

Tags: culture, kids
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