I wasted no time on this morning in my little cabana outside of Palenque and arrived to Palenque, the town, about an hour before the bus was scheduled to leave for San Cristobal. I had learned to love the public transportation system in Guatemala and Mexico, particularly the microbuses (or, collectivos), which were so incredibly convenient--and cheap. In Guatemala, most microbus rides around town would cost about 1.5 quetzales (about $0.20) and I believe this 15-minute ride to town cost about 3 pesos, or about one U.S. quarter. I was dropped off on the corner opposite the bus station and bought my ticket to San Cristobal. Like many of the bus stations I passed through in Mexico, this one had no walls on the sides along the streets since it never really closes. It was just a big, open space with one wall occupied by a ticket counter and one with a bathroom (that, of course, I had to pay about 3 pesos to use). Rows of chairs filled the rest of the space. I left my bags with luggage storage (for 5 pesos per hour) and took off down the street in search of a supermarket so I could find some breakfast and stock up on some snacks. I always liked to have some assortment of food on me at all times--you never know when you'll be stuck somewhere hungry and no access to food. And I don't do well hungry.
I made it back to the bus station with plenty of time to spare, grabbed my bags and drank the liquid strawberry flavored, vitamin fortified yogurt I bought at the store as part of my breakfast. When it was time to board the bus I took my assigned seat a few rows from the very back, on the right side of the bus. A guy about my age, obviously a traveler, took the seat in the row across from mine. We exchanged a greeting, but didn't talk again until we were well into the journey. Our conversation didn't really stray from the typical conversation between to traveling strangers--Where are you from? How long are you traveling? Where are you going? Where have you been? What do you do back home? The usual. Antoine was from Switzerland. He was on a 3-ish week vacation in Mexico, heading to Puerto Escondido next, after San Cristobal. He is more or less some kind of "businessman" back home, maybe in accounting or something. I don't quite remember the details. We didn't speak much the rest of the ride. I tried to take a nap, covering myself up with a cheap sarong I had purchased when I visited the castle near Rio Dulce in Guatemala. These charter buses, albeit quite fancy, were almost always freezing cold from the air conditioning. But, I had prepared myself this time: plenty of layers, a pair of socks to put on (since I was wearing flip flops), long pants and my sarong for a makeshift blanket. I would not freeze on this trip.
The ride was supposed to be about six hours. We stopped half-way through for about 20 minutes to use a bathroom (even though there was one on the bus, but most passengers still preferred to use this one despite having to pay a few pesos) and grab something to eat from the little food stands that carried the usual of little packages of chips or cookies or pastries--all the healthy snacks you could imagine. I grabbed the pack of saltine type crackers that I had bought in the store earlier that day in Palenque and just stood outside watching the world go by in this little town of which I didn't know the name. I was thankful for the sun shining down on me. Antoine was talking with another traveler from our bus who I had not noticed earlier. They were speaking in French and I had no interest in trying to enter the conversation.
Back on the bus.
About 45 minutes before arriving to San Cristobal, a girl from the front of the bus (who I had exchanged smiles with earlier when I walked by her to take my seat after our stop), went to the back to use the toilet. She was an extremely beautiful young Mayan girl. Her skin was a perfect brown with almond eyes and long, sleek black hair pulled back in a low ponytail. She was wearing a long skirt made of Mayan material and a peach cardigan sweater. I wish I had asked to take her picture. When she came out, she stopped in the aisle where I was sitting and said something to me in Spanish--something which I do not recall--but it initiated conversation nonetheless. We maintained a slightly awkward conversation for a little while, asking each other about where we live and how many siblings we have (and other such topics that don't surpass the extent of my limited conversational skills in Spanish). She commented on my pretty sarong, I on her sweater. She asked if I had a husband and when I said no, asked if Antoine was my boyfriend. Another no. She asked me if I had any lipstick and as I pulled out my colorless chapstick she asked what color it was. I am pretty sure I disappointed her with that, I think she really wanted to put on some lipstick. I was delighted to let her use it anyway. She taught me a few things to say in the Mayan language she spoke, Tzotzil. I taught her a few things in English. We talked about how cold it was up there in the mountains. She asked me what I did for work, I asked her if she went to school. No, she didn't go to school. I learned that she was returning to her home in San Cristobal for the first time in five months after having worked somewhere in Palenque, doing what, I do not know. She was 14 years old.
After our conversation was forced to end because my Spanish only went so far, she took the seat behind me. She said she was going to take a nap and asked if I would wake her up when we arrived. I said "si" and gave her a smile, I was so touched by this young girl of fourteen. She seemed much older. I wanted to talk with her more, to learn more about her and find out where she lived and invite her to meet up with me and take her to do something fun, something for her, something that she might enjoy. We never really talked again because she slept until we arrived, and I don't remember her name. When we got off the bus we both waited to retrieve our luggage from underneath the bus, but I ended up in a conversation with Antoine and never saw the girl again.
The other guy who Antoine had been speaking with earlier was Antony, from France. The three of us left the bus station together in search of a popular hostel called The Backpacker's Hostel. I was happy to follow them through the streets and focused instead on my freezing cold feet and heavy backpack. The walk took what seemed like forever, and it didn't help that the boys got us temporarily lost, but finally we found our way and secured some beds for the evening in a four-person dorm room. Three beds on the bottom floor, one bed up above on a little loft. They were kind enough to let me take the bed up top and I was quite pleased to have my own little private space. The evening was mellow and ended nicely with huddling around the hostel's bonfire with the rest of the hostelers. Somebody had even brought marshmallows so I joined in and indulged myself in a nice pastel pink roasted marshmallow. I recall some of the American, Irish and Australian guys sitting around the fire making fun of a Bulgarian girl (who ended up being our fourth roommate) who had never in her life had a roasted marshmallow. Staying in hostels may not always do a great job of integrating one into the local culture, but it doesn't mean there isn't a constant cultural exchange still occurring between travelers who represent all corners of the globe...
Antoine and Antony were my friends for the next three days. However, it was one of the more interesting of group dynamics I had experienced because Antoine was from Switzerland and spoke English and French, but his Spanish was worthless. Antony was from France and spoke Spanish and French, but his English was worthless (and his insecurities in speaking English made it even worse). I spoke minimal Spanish, and definitely no French. So over the course of the three days we spent together, we would function as follows: the two guys would speak French to one another, Antoine and I would speak English to each other, and Antony and myself would speak Spanish to each other. Somehow it worked and we managed to maintain a perfectly normal triad. I even impressed myself with my Spanish-speaking abilities, particularly when Antoine and myself were alone together and actually maintained some more serious conversations.
The next morning the three of us headed off to go on a horseback ride out to a little village about six miles from town. We were joined by three others, two Swedish girls and a Scottish lassie. I hadn't ridden a horse since I was about six years old, but neither had most of the others in the group. And, there's no doubt that these poor horses make the same trek day in and day out and were about as tame as could be. The ride was fun, but not as scenic as we had expected because we actually rode straight through the city for about 15 minutes! Once we got out of the city we just took a long, winding road through the mountains--or hills--until we reached the village. My horse, Principe, kept tripping over his own feet on the downhill parts. I was positive that at any given moment me and Principe were going to go tumbling to the ground and I could envision myself being squashed by this animal who is quite a bit larger than myself...
On the winding road toward the village.
Principe resting in the shade after the long ride into the village.
Me 'n Principe gearing up for the ride back.
The group (Antony, Swede #1, Swede #2, Antoine, me).
The group (Antony, Swede #1, Swede #2, Scottish girl, Antoine).We spent about an hour walking through the village, mainly sticking to the huge local market. We paid to use some public restrooms and the guys grabbed a few sodas while we all sat around a round plastic table in front of one of the many food stalls. A short old woman approached us, wrinkled, toothless and barefoot, asking for money. "One peso! One peso!" None of us had change, or we didn't give any of the change we did have. She wouldn't leave us alone and stepped right up into our 'personal bubbles,' shoving her hands right in our faces to demand the money from us. It's hard not to give in to some beggars, and like most people I think I am particularly inclined to give in to the children, but I also have a soft spot for old people (go figure). Well, this old woman quickly made my soft spot disappear and the group of us got up to continue on our stroll. She followed us for about 30 yards, along with a brood of young children, also with bare feet, but she eventually gave up on us.
After a long ride back to San Cristobal (sore ass and all), Antoine, the Scottish girl and myself enjoyed a delicious lunch of chicken tacos and beer. The rest of the afternoon and evening entailed strolling through the market and a long walk throughout the city. When Antoine and I left the hostel to go on our walk (which was really just an effort to search for the perfect gift for his mother and girlfriend), we had noticed some loud music coming from a doorway just across the street from the hostel. We peeked through the doorway, but were caught by three young boys and a middle aged woman dancing in the middle of the large room. She waved, we waved back, and then stepped away not wanting to bother them. But the boys came running to the door and waved us back. We peered through once again and now the woman was waving us in. All I could see were about 15 men, women and children dancing to the music--classic Mexicana music. They insisted we come in. We were invited on to the dance floor, but our initial hesitancy was respected and we were instead brought a nice warm cup of coffee and a place of hors d'oeuvres--mini round tortilla chips topped with chopped up tomatoes, onions and what tasted like bologna. Soon enough we gathered the courage to hit the dance floor and spent the next hour or so dancing. I moved my feet up and down, stepping side to side, trying to copy how they were dancing. It was certainly a first for me and far different from any dance I had ever done before, but I had a good time nonetheless. The little girls would run away from Antoine when he tried to dance with them, and the boys stayed far from my reach. At some point it occurred to me that here we were, celebrating a young woman's quinceanera with the entire family! Turns out it was also a party for her younger brother's first communion. We had officially become quinceanera-crashers, sweet! After we'd had our fill of dancing, we gave both kids a small monetary gift and thanked the mother for her kindness and generosity. I was on such a high after that, elated at the fact that I had just spent my evening celebrating a very important moment in the lives of two kids and their family. After leaving, Antoine and I continued our walk, stopping in jewelery stores to search through all of the amber and jade (San Cristobal has an overwhelming amount of amber and every other shop sells it). Despite that it was freezing cold, I indulged in a little dish of gelato before we called it a night.
I spent a lot of the next day on my own, walking around town and taking in the sights, making sure to stop by one of the several bakeries that were lined with shelves full of irresistibly sweet breads and fruit-filled pastries and chocolate donuts and frosted cookies. Mmmm...
A few of the churches and cathedrals scattered throughout the city:
(Me sitting under the large cross out in front of the large yellow cathedral).
At the local market--not the tourist market:
Other pictures taken while walking around:
A view of a main road through San Cristobal, lined with shops and restaurants--and no cars allowed!
The steps I climbed up to get a view of the city...
... and the view from the top.That evening the three of us had decided we wanted to go to one of the local cinemas, which were known to play some great films and documentaries about the Zapatista movement in the Mexican state of Chiapas, where San Cristobal is located. We asked some woman on the street where we could find one of these cinemas, and she told us to catch a microbus around the corner. We followed her directions and hopped on the next one that came by. Turns out we were heading not toward a nice little independent cinema, but a massive Americanized movie theater inside a massive Americanized shopping mall. If I weren't in such good company I might have been very upset, but hey, gotta roll with the punches. We had time to kill before the show started (an American film with Spanish subtitles--exactly what I wanted to see), so we went in search for dinner. There was nowhere to eat outside of the shopping mall, so we took our various shopping mall dinner options into careful consideration--Domino's, McDonald's, or some sketchy looking Mexican fast food place--and agreed on a large pizza from Domino's. I felt as though I could have been in any given American city that night, walking through the mall with it's bright lights and tile floors and glass store fronts. Even the movie theater served over-sized buckets of popcorn and giant sodas and boxes of Whoppers, Raisinets and Sour Patch Kids. For those few hours that evening I no longer feeling like I was in Mexico...
Antoine had decided to leave the following day and head toward Puerto Escondido--and warmer weather. San Cristobal was cold. And I mean cold. The old colonial city sits at almost 7,000 feet elevation and although it was sunny during the days, once that sun set I couldn't even wear enough clothing to keep me warm. I slept with three wool blankets, my sleeping bag liner and multiple layers of clothing. I bought a wool hat and gloves and scarf at the market to wear in the evenings--and slept with them, too. Antoine, Antony and myself had all planned to stay at least four or five nights, maybe even a week in San Cristobal, but the cold ultimately drove us all away.
That night, my last night (after Antoine left, Antony and I had both decided we'd be leaving the next day), Antony and I went out in search of one of the real cinemas. I had seen earlier that they would be showing a documentary about the Zapatista movement in San Cristobal and Chiapas that occurred in the 90s. Remember, this is the guy whom I communicated almost strictly in Spanish with, so it made for an interesting evening in which I was forced to practice the language. I had no idea just how much I had actually learned until after that night, and I was pleasantly surprised with myself! The film was quite moving, and didn't hold back on showing dead bodies. It was hard to believe that all of this happened in places that I had just recently stepped foot on during my short timer in San Cristobal.
By the time the next afternoon rolled around, I was more than ready to leave this ice-cold city. Had it not been so cold I likely would have stayed longer, but with less than two weeks left of my travels, I wanted to end in a warm place before heading home to the cold and rain back home to the Pacific Northwest. So, at 5pm I said bon voyage to Antony and adios to San Cristobal, taking a night bus to Tulum.
Oh, I left San Cristobal on the evening of Halloween, but didn't leave too soon to see all of the adorable children parading through the central square in their costumes earlier that day. I have never seen so many children dressed in such great Halloween costumes. I only got one picture, but I chose carefully and captured this cute little guy--he was adorable:
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