CHAPTER 6
The tiny town of San Cristobal de las Casas sits in the southernmost state of Mexico, Chiapas. It is a quaint run-down town thriving on the multitude of tourists that stop there on their way further into the Yucatán. The narrow coble stone streets are lined with colonial era buildings, which are filled with restaurants and cafes catering to the throngs of tourists, and women and children begging for a handout, all dressed in a peculiar “uniform” (we later realized the story behind the “uniforms”). The town also boasts its nearby proximity to the traditional Mayan village of Chemul; a tour can be arranged on any street corner. As much as we like to believe we are not typical tourists, we do still enjoy the occasional guided tour.
There is an irony to the scene of a “traditional village” as Chemul. Our tour guide, Rodrigo, was certain to assure us that we were going to witness the authentic Mayan way of life and that the villagers were not adapting or exaggerating the traditions in any way to impress the outsiders and in turn lure in more tourists. But as we were aggressively approached by the various sales people, I found myself feeling skeptical of his statements. I wondered what a typical day actually looked like for their late ancestors when there were no prospective buyers wandering their neighborhood. With this in mind I proceeded to tour with a critical eye. There were sheep, goats and chickens wandering the dirt roads that were lined with one room houses made of sticks and mud; men, women and children all dressed alike; and elderly women hunched over metates y manos (stone tablets with a circular grinding tool used to crush the dried grains, same idea as a mortar and pestle) grinding corn for the thousand of tortillas that would then be cooked over an open flame.
One of the stranger things we saw was the cemetery, which lay on the fringe of town and looked decrepit from afar but as we got closer Rodrigo explained to us the reasoning behind its ramshackle appearance. There were no straight rows of marble grave markers precisely placed on perfectly manicured lawns, like we are used to. Instead there was a haphazard assortment of small crosses differing in color depending on the type of death, be it by old age, sickness, or un-natural causes. Where there was one cross, there were five crosses. Instead of putting flowers or a patriotic flag in honor of the deceased, on the anniversary of the death the family of the deceased would place an identical, but new cross in front of the original, creating a horizontal stack of crosses. Not only was this simple cross style grave marker traditional, it was also mandatory, and failure to comply with the standard practice could result in banishment from the tight knit community.
Though not recognized as an autonomous government body, the town elders wielded their own authority through a strict set of social laws. To disregard any of the village laws meant punishment and possible expulsion from the community. If you were unlucky enough to receive such harsh punishment, you and your children would probably end up on the streets of San Cristobal. This was the unfortunate fate of the scores of “uniformed” street vendors we had seen earlier. The uniform was the traditional clothing used in Chemul, which they chose to still wear.
Members living in Chemul all dressed alike in traditional clothing, making it easy to distinguish who was one of them. The women wore near floor length black wool skirts that were tied tightly around their waist with a bright colored piece of fabric, and an intricately embroidered, lilac colored blouse. The men wore suites akin to a halloween gorilla costume: long wool tunics covered in matted bunches of black hair. Walking around in our western style clothes signified that we were tourists with peso filled pockets looking to buy local souvenirs. The girls learn at a young age who their target market is and in no time at all they become quite skilled at making a hard bargain. So skilled that once we had handed over every last peso to our name in return for handfuls of brightly colored woven bracelets, one cute little girl got away with Dave’s favorite, then emptied, small rubber coin purse, on the premise that she wanted it as a gift.
With nothing left to spend we entered the far from standard Latin American church. We were surprised to find a lack of pews (no pews at all), a ground that was blanketed with fresh pine needles and littered with burning candles and bottles of soda pop that were offerings to the respective saints, live chickens that had been brought in to be sacrificed within the church, and many Mayans kneeling in prayer to the dozens if effigies that lined the room. The religion they practice is a bizarre mix of Catholic doctrine and ancient Mayan rituals. It felt as though we had stepped inside a time machine and traveled back hundreds of years.
On our way back to San Cristobal we wondered if what we had seen truly was an accurate picture of the contemporary Mayan lifestyle. Considering Chemul was the first Mayan village we had experienced we had nothing to compare it to. However, having traveled through several other Mayan villages since our time in Chiapas, we now have the opinion that the village of Chemul is at the far end of the spectrum. Most of the other villages have maintained their Mayan traditions without resorting to the extreme social laws and religious customs that make Chemul so unique (and such a tourist trap).
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