Los viajes de Amanda en el Yucatán, México

Or rather, Our Weekends are SO MUCH BETTER than your weekends!

Sabado, 19 de enero, 2008

Who could have thought that about 20 minutes out from the busy, noisy, modern center of Merida is a place whose ruins predate Christ?  I certainly wouldn’t have thought so.  In any case, there is such a place, and it is called: Dzibilchaltun.  I don’t know how to pronounce it, but I assume that one could say “Zi-bi-chal-toon”, and one of two things could happen: a person in Mexico could correct you, or a Gringo back home could say “Oooh, how exotic” and accept the strangeness of the name.  In any case, it was another eight-o-clocker as we took the van ride up to the site and learned a bit of the history as we stood in the gravel parking lot.  From what our driver/guide told us, it seemed that the place would only be the foundations of once-great buildings, the stones taken away piecemeal as souvenirs or hauled away to be ground up for gravel.  So into the museum we headed, paying ~$6 for admission and examining various Mayan artifacts, including weathered stone statues, various intricately carved idols of gods, artifacts from the Spanish conquests that are STILL older than our country, etc.  After seeing a typical Mayan hut structure, we headed for the ruins, first stopping at a thing our guide called the estile, or stile, onto which stucco was plastered and records of kings recorded into the material.  While the passing of years has worn away all records, leaving just the naked stone structure still standing, it was quite an impressive sight that towered above us.  Going next to the pyramid, our guide told us that it is the only building known on the whole list of Mayan ruins that has windows (oooh), and four of them at that, two facing east and two facing west to take lighting and religious advantage of the spring and winter equinox.  As we approached, we found it almost impossible to believe that we’d be allowed to climb up the steep, worn-slippery stairs these ruins and explore what (maybe) only those of highest holy power could see all those years ago.  Very, very exciting—and another opportunity to see pictures instead of hearing me drone on and on about it.  Having looked it up on Wikipedia, this ruin is called the Temple of the Seven Dolls (so called for the seven dolls found there when it was excavated in the 1950s), and it is the only known Maya building with windows and a tower—oriented such that the rising sun passes directly through the windows on the day of the equinox.

We next headed over to another huge pyramid, located on the outer edge of what used to be a huge gathering plaza/ball court (the Mayans used to play a ball game where the winners got to kill the losers, I think.  Fun, huh?).  Right smack in the middle was a chapel built by the Spanish masters-of-subtlety, who most certainly made their point with this building’s construction in whatever year.  At last, we headed over to the local cenote, and when considering its shape and the abundance of lily-pads, one could almost have mistaken it for a lake.  However, we knew by its clear blue water, absurd depth, and used-to-humans fish that it was a cenote.  Having brought my goggles this time, I got to swim down as far as was possible and see the rocks slippery with algae strewn about the bottom, the tangled, impenetrable roots of lily pads underneath their mass, the little dark shapes of fish as they darted past.  I can honestly say that this experience thus far is the closest thing to paradise that I’ve ever experienced—I mean, I’ve used and learned more Spanish in the past two weeks than I have in my entire life, and I’m at the point where I’ll stop whomever I’m walking with to get a picture of the bird hopping across the sidewalk, or even argue whether a plant is Helicaceae or Zingiberaceae.  Yeah.  This trip is INCREDIBLE, and I hope you’re all enjoying the start of classes back at Ursinus!  Or just the general coldness of the Northeast US.  Bye for now!

Lunes, 14 de enero 2008 a Viernes, 18 de enero 2008

            So this was probably the fastest week of my life—it feels like yesterday we were relaxing on the sunny sands of Progreso and cruising its non-existent waves on that absurd banana boat (so much fun!).  Inevitably, Monday (boo Monday) followed last Sunday, and we spent culture class learning about the origins of Spanish language, including its various influences (Greek, Roman, barbarian tribes, the Moors, &c), and how the local dialect has been affected by a large number of Mayan words (for example, Dana tells me that the Mayan “izitchi” = “barracho” in Español), which our host grandmother sometimes tries to teach us, but we usually forget. 

            On Tuesday (TUESDAY!!!!!!!!!!!), we spent the afternoon being eaten alive in the Botanical Gardens in the northern part of the city, taking ridiculous pictures of one another with the plants and seeing first-hand the flora that we would be tested about on Thursday.  I got home around *3:30 and prepared for my Spanish midterm (!!!) on Wednesday.  The culture class did not consist of a trip on Wednesday, but we did learn about one of the local dishes, called “Panucho”, which has a very interesting and a very good taste (we made and ate some too…yummm.)  So yeah, there was this little luncheria that was just about to close for the night when a customer entered, starving and looking for cena (a light-snack dinner, served around 9 o’clock at night).  Though the restaurant was pretty much out of prepared things for the evening, the cook (nicknamed Chucho) had a brilliant idea: use the leftovers of chicken, egg, onion, and whatever else was sitting around, fry it up, and serve it on whatever bread he could find.  Thus was born the “Pan of Chucho”, or as known today, “Panchucho.”  And now you know. 

            Thursday was another fun day of learning about Maya culture and wandering around downtown with my conversation class.  We first visited a big store full of all sorts of things, including jewelry, the ubiquitous terra cotta (???) face masks and statues of Chichén Itzá, handmade clothing, and all the rest things made from henequen.  We went to two other stores, tucked between mom-and-pop restaurants and other business in the side streets off of Zocalo (the big main square), and also made a visit to a jeweler that sold maquech.  What are maquech?, you may be asking.  Well, a jeweler with a lot of patience and very steady hands spends hours gluing jewels onto this maquech, fastening a gold chain and pin to it, and very carefully delivering it to the seller so that it can be sold for $200 pesos (~$20 USD).  So what’s the big deal?, you may also be asking.  Why pay so much for a pin?  Well, this maquech is made from a living, breathing member of the Coleoptera (??) family—that’s right, a maquech is a big old beetle with jewels glued to it.  Women can wear them to high society events and pin the bugs in place on their outfits, allowing them to wander around the confines of the gold chain like a cow on a picket line. 

            A little perturbed, but still fascinated, we were even more perturbed and fascinated the next day at the Archaeological museum, located on the Paseo de Montejo (Merida’s main boulevard) in the old house of the governor.  Ascending the marble stairs, and seeing the soaring ceiling inside, it was almost impossible to keep in mind that someone had actually called this spectacular mansion their home about one hundred years ago.  In any case, I can say that this has been one of the most enjoyable museums I’ve ever been in, with interesting exhibits and detailed explanations of things I actually care about.  For example, we saw skulls of upper-class men (and maybe women, too) who had had their heads reshaped—from birth, a child would be kept not in a cradle or hammock, but a contraption much like a sandwich pressboard, with gradual pressure slowly flattening and reshaping their developing skull to achieve the desired higher, oddly-shaped forehead.  We also learned of the incredibly accurate Maya calendar, their burial rituals, and even how they numbered things—a really cool system of lines and dots (one dot = 1, one line = 5) that, when stacked up in ascending values of multiplication (1^st row = x1, 2^nd row = x20, 3^rd row x400, etc.), can be used to represent huge numbers.  We also found out that Maya people regarded cenotes as entrances to the underworld, and sometimes sacrifices of pottery or food (somewhat common) or even people (!—not as common) would be offered to the gods by sinking them to the cenotes’ depths. 

            In retrospect of last week’s trip to the cenotes of Cuzama, and this week’s trek to Dzibilchaltun, I feel as if it’s necessary to give some sort of preface to (1) what cenotes are, (2) why they’re so darn special, and (3) what we can do to help preserve them.

            I guess I’ll have to start with #3, but I also suppose that it’s not really about conserving the cenotes—as giant caverns of rock filled with millions of tons of water, they’re going nowhere fast.  However, the villages around them use them as their main source of income, charging tourists a reasonable price for transport back through the low-lying scrub. I’m not complaining in the least—it only cost us $5 apiece to experience something we’ll never forget for the rest of our lives—and these villages certainly need all the help they can get.  Driving through Cuzama, I saw poverty like I’d never seen before in my life—stuccoed shacks cracking and crumbling around the intricate wrought-iron gate, one-room shacks made of sticks, mud, clay, and sometimes even corrugated metal, with open doorways showing a hammock and a chair or two obscured by the shadows from the hot Yucatan sun. 

            Dogs lazed in the dust—along the sidewalk, in the town’s square, in the shadows as people sat in doorways and stood silently on corners.  In spite of the apparent poverty, there is a statue of Mary or a saint on nearly every house (I even saw a sign on the way out of Mérida in the poorer south section that read ‘Se reparan santas [Saints repaired here]).  The people here are very devout to their religion…even if there was a bar on every other corner with a church in between…but I almost feel like they rely only upon faith (and not action) for any sort of progress in their lives.  I felt as if everyone in towns like these were simply waiting—for what I don’t know, maybe to soon have a richer life, to resume moving ahead in the future at some point.  I almost feel as if time has stopped in these towns—which is obviously not so, as evidenced by painted signs for Coca-Cola and Ivonne, a woman running for governor—and the people are living in suspended animation, waiting for their cue to resume their lives.  Not saying that all this waiting is bad—patience is a virtue—but sometimes progress takes a leap of faith.

            Some of the poverty so evident in the outlying towns of these areas can be explained by the agricultural exploits of the past century.  Around 1900 or so, several plantations popped up all over the place, specifically made for growing henequen, a plant that can be used in about a billion different ways—for handicrafts, medicine, rope, &c—and these few lucky landowners hired out local men to work their fields, which were demarcated by miles and miles of low stone walls all surrounding an enormous hacienda where the patrón lived.  After its time of glory, henequen went the way of all other agricultural phenomenons and went bust.  Today, the haciendas and stonewalls are overgrown with the creeping scrub of the peninsula, the money gone, the patrones’ names forgotten.  The only constant thing is that the poor are still poor, and do what they can to stay afloat—even use of the bathroom cost $3 pesos.  We each paid $50 pesos apiece to ride 4-to-a-donkey-drawn-cart down the old cart tracks, which paralleled the crumbling stone walls and once served as an artery system to bring all the collected henequen back to the town’s center for processing and such.  To imagine a life for these people today of driving foreign people around to swim for an hour or so in a thing my ancestors considered sacred is difficult for me, and it really almost seems as if they’ve had to sacrifice a piece of their own cultural history to stay alive in the face of modernization and economic revolution. 

            That sad story being said, cenotes, which you probably have never even heard of, are things that I thought I’d only ever see in movies and still be boggled by their incredible beauty.  In fact, I had never even heard of a cenote before the Mexico study abroad presentation last October, and though I can’t remember specifically if they showed us any pictures of them, I can only say that photographs cannot do these places any sort of justice. 

And now for something completely different

*Warning: Educational Content*

The entire Yucatan is a broad, flat plain made up of limestone, a fairly durable rock that can, however, be easily worn away (over time) by running water.  So after many years of the underground freshwater river system rising and rushing through fissures in the rock, enormous caverns of varying spectacular forms, shapes, and sizes were created.  Since the Yucatan has no natural rivers, and people obviously need fresh water to survive, the Mayans (or other early people before them, like the Olmecs) found these incredible places early on and used them—and still do—as a source of drinking water, and for this we still can’t use bug spray or sunblock before going in one…but a few bug bites and a minor third-degree sunburn are part of a small price to pay just to witness these incredible sites. 

            The Mayans thought they were pretty neat, too, and in a few they have found human skeletons, jewelry, pots, &c in a few of them—implying some human sacrifices in the distant past (but only in a few cenotes).  And while Dana can threaten me all she wants about making me the trip sacrifice, we all know that it was an honor to be chosen as a sacrifice (apparently) to appease the god of whatever—seriously, they had a lot, and revered them deeply.  For example, Chac, the god of rain, was sacrificed to in times of drought (every March or so, at the end of the dry season), and these sacrifices would continue in fervency and ferocity until Chac was appeased enough to send rain.  Fun story, huh?  I thought so too. 

            I feel as if words are definitely not enough to describe cenotes, as each one is so incredibly different and spectacular (even though we’ve only seen three).  The limitations of language, of little black lines and curves contrasted on the white background of Microsoft word document cannot do justice to the height of the uneven and stalactite-dripping ceiling above.  Nor can it describe the bat caves and natural crevasses hewn into the slippery rock walls by the rushing blue water, so clear and blue that you can see straight to the bottom far below.  Pictures, even, cannot capture the magnificence of the sun as it beams down from the tiny entrance above, lighting the entire darkened cavern in a surreal ambience before finally hitting the water, some reflecting off and some piercing below to provide a spectacular picture opportunity, as you can see.   Lulu, my grammar teacher, described them to us the first Friday or so, before we had ever even been to one, and I remember her using the word “profundo” to describe their great depths.  Though the translation pertains to the distance to the bottom, I can’t help but pretend it’s a cognate, so I’ll sum up cenotes with a few words: profound.  Bottomless.  Unfathomable.

            It’s no wonder the Mayans thought them entrances to the underworld, and it seems to this traveler, at least, that some of the human remains found at the bottom were of people attempting to enter the afterlife.  How unappealing can it be when the entrance to the underworld is found in the clear cerulean depths of a cenote?

So I realize that I probably should have posted over a week ago (sorry, people), but this is FINALLY the first time that I've had a decent enough connection to post.  But while you've probably all thought I'd been swallowed up by the jungle and therefore been unable to post, I've had time to get some perspective on my new experiences and I'm ready to write pages and pages about them.

Well, after spending what I thought were the four longest days of my life in the Rupp Barn in very cold and very rural Pennsylvania, I spent probably the shortest night of my life staying up with our party of five (myself, Katie, Shoji, Emily, and Dana [and Phil too, but he chickened out])--drinking the last of the tea, heating up apple cider, and gorging ourselves on the leftover three-day-old macaroni (not as bad as you would think, even at room temperature).  After passing out in several places along the way (in the bus, in the airport, and on the plane), we finally arrived in Mexico (!) and made it through customs without a problem.  And after meeting our nice, big, air-conditioned bus outside the airport, we also met our wonderfully funny and local host Hugo (pronounced OO-go, like Dana said, for you who don't speak Spanish) and went out to eat at a buffet restaurant that started with a P--but I forget the rest.  Oh well. 

So following this we boarded the bus a Merida and promptly all fell asleep.  However, the majority of us woke up for a beautiful magenta and orange sunset, prolonged by the fact that we were driving directly into it.  However, the beauty was short-lived as we passed a military checkpoint with armed guards and the like, giving us a glimpse of two different sides of Mexico. 

Well, after a long day of traveling we arrived in Merida, where Jessi and I met our host mother Gloria.  She’s somewhere in her forties with a 16-year-old son (Alejandro) and a 12-year-old daughter (Gabi).  As we piled into the little old VW bug, all sitting on each other's laps to drive the 20 minutes across town, I knew it would be a semester to remember.  Our room is somewhat larger than the car (thankfully), and we share a bathroom that’s even nicer than the one at my house (J).  There’s a two-month-old dog named Chíquis (I can only assume that’s how they spell it) who’s very cute and very excitable (as in she pees everywhere).  Our first night here, we went with Gloria and her kids to her mother’s house, where we had some time of “’Cake’ de Los Reyes.”  Apparently, it’s a custom followed here en el 6 de enero (also, the anniversary of the founding of Merida!) to bake a cake (bread?) in the shape of a ring with three plastic figurines in the shape of little people within (as in the three wise men), and whoever gets one must throw a party…or something. 

7 de enero 2008

Our first day of class was a lot of fun—I still don’t know how I managed to wake up and shower, because I was basically awake for about 40 hours in a row with ½ hour naps interspersed throughout before I went to bed.  After taking our placement exams (which in retrospect, don’t seem to have determined our class placement in the least), we heard all about options for buying cell phones and how to go about doing that.  Here are some pictures of our escuela pintoresca:

In culture class, we learned about the street numbering system and some fun things to do while in Merida, other than study, and then took the bus to downtown and visited the bank.  We then made use of the almighty bus again, ate puerco con frijoles, and then set out on the worst translation nightmare ever: buying a cell phone…but I won’t horrify you with those details.  Let’s just say there were four different stores with very little English being spoken in any of them.  As the Spanish phrase goes, Ay dios mio. 

8 de enero 2008

On Tuesday, we took our first taxonomy quiz (Amphibians & Reptiles) and reviewed the mammal taxonomy, which we were going to be tested on the following Thursday.  Spanish class was entertaining, as we had lost two members  in the grammar class (Adios, Dana—fuera mucho divertida mientras ocurró), and gained another in culture (well hi, Dana).  We sat outside in the courtyard, discussed the history of chocolate, and then walked down by La Plaza de Santa Lucías to buy some genuine, authentic Mayan hot chocolate—mmmmh.  Even if it was 90 degrees out, it was totally worth it.  Hot chocolate is actually Aztec in origin (from central Mexico), and was originally made with chili powder in it—but it only got popular when Europeans went and added sugar, which made it tasty, but really unlike the original.  So yeah, as we found out for only 25 pesos, it was incredible. 

9 de enero 2008

Today I switched grammar classes because we went over mostly nationalities and the use of el/la in the other class, which I found a bit too easy.  In culture class, we walked to a local Yucatan music museum…only to find that they now charge admission.  Seeing how we were all broke, we sat on the steps and read through the history explanation of the museum while listening to the catcalls of men as they passed.  After class, almorcamos in a famous restaurant nearby—the arroz con pollo was very, very good, and I’d definitely recommend it (others obviously have, already—read some other people’s blogs for the name of it).  Following lunch, we took a guided bus tour of Merida from 4 to 6, complete with both Spanish and English ramblings explaining the significance of the things we passed.  While I did appreciate the opportunity to see all the important sights in one trip, taking a blurred picture from the windowless, bright blue tour bus is something completely different from getting off, wandering around, taking different shots, and learning the history.  Thankfully, we got to stop en El Parque de las Americas and were allowed to run around for fifteen minutes.  We took several artistic shots, as can be found at the following link:

Overall, we learned many, many things about Merida, though it is impossible to remember them all.  I did learn the origin of the name Yucatan:  apparently, when the first Spanish colonists arrived some long time ago, they asked the first group of Maya they encountered something like ?Cual es el nombre de este tierra?  And the Maya responded something like, …[blah blah blah ]yu cat tán…  Which basically translates to “You idiots, we don’t understand your language.”  So yes, the name Yucatan means something akin to “I don’t know what you’re saying.”  We also found out that Merida is actually named for a city in Spain, and the only other major city named Merida in the world (other than in España) is in Venezuela.  The tour ended near Zocalo, Merida’s grand plaza, which is surrounded on all four sides by some of the oldest buildings on the continent—including the Grand Cathedral (insert year here), the Palace of the Governor, etc.  Following this, we unboarded from the bus and walked back to school past La Plaza de San Lucia, which we would visit the following evening for live music.

10 de enero 2008

Thursday found us progressing in Spanish grammar (yay) and listening to a lesson sobre los travadores, which are your basic serenading trio that can be hired for any particular reason if one wants to serenade a woman, from a sister’s birthday to a wedding proposal to a highly overdone apology.  In the evening, we ventured out to the Plaza of Santa Lucia, and after wandering around for a bit—examining folk art being sold in the streets (paintings of birds on the actual feathers!), buying giant ice cream cones for $2 (dollars), and taking our seats in the crowded plaza to listen to the performers.  While the first speaker’s message was lost on me, I caught the drift that he was talking of how much he loved living in Merida, and how wonderful it’s people were—as the next act showed.  Men in white suits—with pañuelos and fedoras—danced with women decked out in Maya dresses and intricate hairstyles to a traditional song.  It was so incredible, especially when they put trays on their heads and danced, spinning around and around .  Unfortunately, my photos have somehow been lost, but don’t worry—you can check one of the other students’ blogs for that.

11-13 de enero 2008

While Friday was exciting, with lessons in salsa dancing with a local teacher, our first trip to the cenotes was, for me at least, the most inticipated part of our entire trip.  So on Saturday we woke up bright and early to be at the school at eight in the morning in our swimsuits and all-terrain sandals to have our first experience with cenotes.  It took an hour to drive there, and on the way we passed through the towns of Cuzama and Acanceh, which seemed nearly exactly what I had pictured real rural Mexican towns to be: tiny little stucco houses in disrepair, dusty dogs lazing in the streets, people sitting in doorways and on walls, bars and churches on every other corner--though it was the worst instance of poverty I've ever seen, the people were still smiling and laughing as they went about their lives in town.  Arriving at the entrance to the cenotes, we paid $40 pesos apiece (that’s $4, folks) to ride on horse-drawn carts over the approximate mile to the first cenote.  While at first it seemed to be just an enormous hole in the ground, with a set of impossibly steep steps leading down into it, all of our first impressions of cenotes being at the top of our “most anticipated/most exciting things ever done” list confirmed.  I’ll let them speak for themselves:

            Following this incredibly exciting day, we decided to relax a bit the next and head up to Progreso, a beach just a half-hour and a $22 peso ride away.  We spent the day lazing at the beach, tomando el sol y viviendo las vidas de estudiantes en Mexico, the epitome of which was riding a banana boat twice for the sheer thrill of it.  In late afternoon, we all arrived home, exhausted, not ready to begin another week of classes, but still extremely excited to resume our learning about tropical Mexico.

For the past week or so, I had been thoroughly convinced that I had begun packing -- even to the point of telling inquiring relatives and co-workers that I had indeed started, and I was almost done.  However, now looking at the giant mess that is my room, I come to find that any sort of "packing" I've already done is more of throwing somewhat related items into separate piles on the floor near the bag I plan on shoving them into.  Not that I'm concerned about the actual process -- today was my last day at the wonderful Wind Gap McDonald's, so I have the next four days to really get down to actually folding my clothes and strategically planning the best way to pack so as not to anger the airport officials.  I received many convenient space saver bags for Christmas, but I'm concerned as to what those officials will think (especially those in customs, or even in Mexico.  Any suggestions?

Regardless of the packing that I should really be more concerned about, I am so incredibly excited for basically everything about this trip -- getting out of PA for awhile, meeting and getting to know some incredible new people, greatly improving my Spanish, experiencing a new culture with a history so old and complex that they have ruins (oooh), and even being fortunate enough to see these ruins.  So while my packing situation right now might seem chaotic, it will be done... eventually.

And Dana, here's another phrase for you to try out:

No hablo ningunas palabras de español, pero mis habilidades de francés son impecables. 

And for when you're at the hairdresser:

Le necesito cortar y teñir mi bigote porque tengo una cita íntima.