Los viajes de Amanda en el Yucatán, México

So I realize that I haven't updated in awhile.  Quite awhile, that is - nearly six whole months, and it is honestly so hard to believe that those six months -- both so fleetingly short and unbearably long -- have passed.  As I wrote while on the road, our journey was so much more than "the glories of past men and evolutionary theory / beyond the right answer, the best marks"; it was about the introspection of the road, the observance of a culture and people that can be so foreign and familiar at once, the complete inversion of my view of myself regarding both my place in the world and the estimation of myself.  Though six months gone and three months back, these experiences still replay in my head and my heart, and I know that I cannot ever forget those three months in Mexico: bittersweet and inolvidable.

Para siempre, somos los niños.  "From far away, things are sometimes clearer / like present retrospect / for our views become unfocused, vague, compartmentalized / and the bigger picture becomes so painfully obvious."  On the road, 1 de febrero 2008.

Regardless of my frequent nostalgia -- or maybe perhaps as some sort of remedy for it -- I've decided to post those blogs that I wrote and turned in to Ellen but never got around to posting here, due to two major factors: 1. the unending, yet so satisfying coursework of Biology of Maya Mexico, The Maya: Ancient and Modern, and Evolution; and 2. the fact that my computer ceased to function for a week in the jungle, and then quit for good on our second jungle excursion, never to awaken from its big sleep throughout our shenanigans in San Cristóbal de las Casas.  So here they are, if you're still an avid fan of UC in Mexico '08.  ¡Disfruta!

PARTE UNO: Musings about Merida

1:   War.

            So I realize now that I haven’t blogged about any of the incredibly exciting things to do around Merida, especially around the old city square (Zocalo), which actually sits on the same patch of land utilized by the Mayans as their holy city center, bounded on all sides by holy temples/pyramids (the biggest one named Xbaklamchaan), which were dismantled by the conquering Spaniards to build their own edifices.  It’s so hard to believe that the buildings we now revere and ogle at were probably despised by the conquered Maya (who managed to survive) and watched with spite as they rose from the ruins of their city, called T’ho (which means something like “ones with their faces to the sky”, implying that they were really into astronomy and such). 

            Ironically enough, the Spaniards used the biggest stones of these structures as the foundation for the construction of the Cathedral de San Idelfonso (1561-1599), a place which today is one of the biggest tourist attractions in the city (seeing as it’s the oldest cathedral on the American continent).  Now, if there’s a more tangible or evident way to express one’s dominance and authority than by tearing down the things most sacred to a culture and building an even greater monument to a different god with its rubble, then I don’t know what that method is.  Maybe their actions were a reflection on the exploits of the Moors in the early 8^th century, which I know about now thanks to the wonderful historical segments in the computer game Age of Empires II: The Conquerors (thanks).  After an appeal from a Visigoth lord (who apparently did not like the actions of the Spanish government), a group of Saracens (Moors) from Tangiers took advantage of the situation and, by 50 years later, had crossed the Strait of Gibraltar and overrun the Iberian peninsula.  While this influx of Arabic culture helped foster one of the richest cultures and economies in Europe at the time, this act of invasion served as an impetus for the Crusades and the seemingly eternal Christian vs. Islam conflict.  But the cycle had already begun centuries before, if not with the same people or religion, but under the same auspices: Rome invaded Iberia; barbarians (Visigoths) retaliated, won, and developed into a Spanish state; Spain oppressed a local Visigoth lord; the Moors invaded Spain; Spain helped, along with the rest of Christian Europe, to overtake the Holy Land; two centuries of fighting and turmoil ensued; Saladin united the Moors and retook the Holy Land; the states of Castille and Aragon, in Spain, won the final battle of the Reconquista (reconquering) of Spain in 1492, after the marriage of Isabel I and Ferdinand II; and Spain, under the euphoria of defeating their “oppressors”, set off to unknowingly perpetuate the cycle on a doomed society.

            So what’s the point?  It almost seems like we still haven’t learned our lesson of the redundancy of invasion: regardless of our motives for war (a happenchance discovery of a new world, religious differences, political differences, to end a dictator’s reign of terror, or even to help develop and shape a floundering or oppressed country (facsimile our own ideals?), there are always going to be terrible consequences for the act of war.  While it sounds obvious as I type it—war is always bad for someone, i.e. the loser—it just seems like the Spanish conquest of the Maya was a bad idea from the start.  Not that this can be said of all acts of war—just the premeditated, precipitated ones—but really, what were they thinking?  They had just won the reconquest of Spain after about seven bitter centuries of religious suppression, and instead of remembering how terrible it was to be oppressed, they took advantage of their superior technology and, in greed of the gold that wasn’t even there, destroyed a culture that could have offered innumerable things to the world.  For example, their knowledge of the land, animals, and plants (both wild and domesticated) was lost, as was the interpretation for their hieroglyphic language that still remains a mystery.  And regardless of their incredible accomplishments without the aid of pack animals or wheels, it was their land in the first place through which the Spaniards traipsed on horses in a fruitless search for gold, their families whom the conquistadors subjugated without reason, and their temples which the invaders tore down only to profane the ruins by building their own holy place on its very site, with its very stones. 

But regardless of the seeming cruelty of the Spaniards, the Romans likely torched the first pagan altar they came to and killed the shaman praying blessings beside it—but this cycle had probably been in place since before our first literary example of Cain and Abel.  Jealousy, it seems, and an innate desire to be the best permeates our subconscious and drives our every move, regardless of how badly the same thing has been perpetrated upon us in the past.

But I digress.  That whole topic of war’s redundancy—unless in cases of clear human exploitation, as in World War II—is a whole can of worms that could be debated or ranted circularly about for days, and I do not wish to open it. 

 

2:   Religion

            Also to be found in the main square is the Palacio de Gobierno (1892), a beautiful place that we had the privilege of visiting in Spanish culture class.  All along its walls—both inside the enormous old house and out—are murals depicting the rise and fall of the Maya.  They even go so far as to have the first murals done in only the five colors of the five directions, something that the Maya held sacred: black (north), white (west), yellow (south), red (east), and green (center, or the world, represented by the sacred ceiba tree, with branches that reached to the heavens and roots that spread into the underworld, Xibalba).  And while many things changed from their beginning to their spectacular end, I couldn’t help but wonder how the biggest change of all—religion—had become so successful despite all of the unrest we had heard about in the process of converting them all. 

            Even in considering where it all started—their creation stories—it’s hard to find a vein of similarity between the two.  While God finally made one perfect man at the end of creation (on the first try1), the Mayan gods made mistakes every time they attempted to get it right.  First they were of mud, yet lifeless; and then they were of wood, but they had no souls; and finally they were of maize, but they were too intelligent, beautiful, and far-seeing—so that the gods dimmed their sight to see only those things laid before them.  Even in this process it pits a perfect, infallible god against a group of deities that clearly aren’t so perfect.  And while the first Maya men were limited in sight from the get-go, mankind in Genesis messed it all up for themselves and are now condemned of their own accord.  For this Adam and Eve are vilified and held up as examples of what not to do in life, rather than models of what we should.  This is in direct contrast to the Maya view, who raised their ancestors up as heroes: for the defeat of the dark lords of Xibalba, they were accorded honor and prestige and even revered as the sun and the moon in the sky.  Clearly they have been deified, as multiple temples and structures were built to observe their contemporaneous stars and even mark their rising and setting at certain points in the year.  This extends even to today, where we forget our dead in overgrown cemeteries and dusty urns while people of Mayan (and Mexican) culture celebrate the Day of the Dead, offering their ancestors food and such as an act of reverence. 

            Considering all these basic differences, it’s really hard to believe that the two religions meshed together so well—well enough, in fact, to have a really devoted Mexican population thriving today, with saints honored in almost all houses I’ve seen and even found in every bus I took in Merida.  In a way I suppose this veneration is like honoring your ancestors and remembering what they did—as is shown in Day of the Dead celebrations, which I’ve already touched upon.  However, I do know that this seemingly smooth meshing has not always been so wonderful.  Upon their invasion of Mesoamerica—and the quest to convert everyone to Catholicism—the Spaniards built their churches with stone taken from the Mayan temples, which was not a very good first impression to make.  Everything they did seemed predestined to just turn them all away, rather than invite them in to the religion: an unwarranted invasion, oppression of the people, and later on in the process, torturous interrogations of the (few) people found with “idols” in their homes.  While I understand that the Spaniards (hopefully) had only the best intentions for the Maya—as in, saving their souls—they really chose the wrong route of conversion. 

So just as it had been in Iberia, when the Spaniards got sick of Moorish rule over their land, the native people decided to fight back—as did the Maya in the Caste War.  They fought and made it all the way to Merida, ready to finally win against the Spanish and win back their land; but alas, it was planting season, and all the Maya returned home to plant their maize crops.  It’s really hard to understand the logic behind this reasoning (they were about to win the war, and thus have enough food from Spanish stores without having to plant their own), but it’s another example of how deeply ingrained their heritage is for them—which isn’t necessarily a bad thing at all, but in this situation it certainly didn’t help them. 

This mix between Maya and Spanish is certainly something interesting, if not more confusing, and gives a complex insight into the Mexican people of today and the things that happen in this country.  For example, the pyramids at Acanceh are probably standing today because people remembered their Mayan roots and refused to allow the pyramids’ destruction, despite the fact they’re in the middle of town and almost right next to the Franciscan church.  This might help explain why very Mayan things survive today—hammocks, the Maya language itself, and even the district names in Merida (Itzimna)—because they both want to hold on to their heritage and move forward with their religion at the same time.

3:   Tourism

When I was younger—before I had heard of this study abroad opportunity, or of the Dawleys’ extreme bio, and even before I had even heard of Ursinus College—near the top of my list of “things to do before I die” was to visit a site of ancient ruins – specifically, Chichén Itzá.  And while I know now that they certainly aren’t the most interesting or even the most ancient or beautiful ruins in the Mayan world, the posterity of the name and reputation had always seemed to draw me to them.  Having visited there recently (on February 1) and not been as excited or fulfilled as I had imagined I would be all those years ago, I can only imagine one reason for my disappointment: tourism.

Now there is nothing wrong with tourism.  As the card issued to me by the Mexican government on January 6 states, I am a tourist with no right to be here any longer than three months.  However, even now it’s hard not to see a gringo and not feel like they barely know anything about the culture or history of the place their visiting—just here to see the sights, buy a cheap souvenir, take some tacky pictures of a place that looks more like America than real Mexico.  There are many incredible things about tourism—allowing the tourist to see new sights and discover new things, letting the institution in charge of the toured area make money, and even permitting local vendors to sell their crafts and maybe teach a little to those who wander through their town or maybe even visit their local strange monument.  Everyone gets a little something out of it, both monetarily and culturally—for example, our trips to Acanceh and Mani allowed us to see some incredibly old structures and learn all about them while adding to the local economy (shopping in the market, restaurant stops, etc).

            However, when the entire makeup of a toured area is changed (specifically, a ruin) and commercialized, not even the atmosphere of the place is the same.  For example, Oxkintok is a site much older than Chichén—predating it by six centuries or so—with some incredible things of its own: amazingly preserved Puuk architecture, two huge reconstructed pyramids right within sight of each other, little tunnels in the one that you can still crawl in (!!!), and the right to climb on just about anything you see there.  So what makes it different from Chichén?  Well, in the sense of location, it’s found way on the western part of the peninsula down a long dusty dirt road, while the way to Chichén is wide, freshly-paved, and takes just about an hour from Cancún.  In another sense, Oxkintok doesn’t have an enormous Castillo with serpents that slither down its four corners on the equinox.  It does, however, have an underground Labryinth, symbolizing the path to Xibalba, where only the king was granted access.  And while everything is pretty much blocked off at Chichén to climbing or approaching, you can still actually crawl into the base of the pyramid and explore the chambers just inside one of the two pyramids there.  Entering Oxkintok, it feels like you’re taking a step back in time to a simpler world, where it’s just you, the ruins, and the fascinating history behind the ruins: their purpose, their usage, their design—the fact that two buildings situated right next to each other could have been built 600 years apart.  So I guess what I’m saying is that Oxkintok still has that sense of mystery that seems to hover around ancient culture: astronomy, myth, legend, sacrifice.

Chichén, by comparison, is distinctly different: with such a big name, it needs a huge parking lot out front to accommodate the busloads of red-and-white tourists shipped in from Cancún.  And while they’re working to preserve many of the monuments there, in the process they have roped off many of them as a preventative measure—so while you can climb whichever pyramid you choose in Oxkintok and take in the beautiful panorama of the Puuk hills, at Chichén you can’t even walk among the pillars in the Temple of the Thousand Columns.  I feel that when tourists swarm Chichén just because it’s recommended by the industry, the aspect of discovering something old—of maybe connecting to the past—is lost a little bit when you realize that they aren’t there for the learning, just for a picture and a memory. Though I know I shouldn’t make this judgment—maybe everyone there is willing to find out why the Maya built their observatory in the direction they did, or why some structures there have incredibly detailed stone facades, or why the main pyramid at the site (the Castillo) had as many stairs and tiers as it did.

While any of the above-referenced information is easily found if you listen to a tour guide walking around the site (available in several languages!), what’s not so easily understood are the incredible connections to other sites in the Maya area—architectural (as in the case of the Puuk style of architecture), cultural (the references to the Maya calendar system with the number of tiers, platforms, and stairs on the Castillo), and theological (the orientation of the observatory to track the movement of Venus throughout the sky, or the placement of the pyramid so that snakes slither down its stairs on the equinox).  It’s much like going to Washington DC today and looking at only one aspect of the monuments: for example, visiting the WWII memorial and appreciating its beauty, but not understanding the purpose for the monument (to commemorate those who died) or even the cause for the war (major political and humanitarian differences).  So while these people come by the busload from Cancun to take mountains of pictures, buy a souvenir that’s the same as the one on the next blanket over, or even to appreciate the beauty and mastery of the Mayan’s stonework, they won’t ever get to find out that another site called Ek Balam—even more beautiful, in my opinion—is just up the road and gives an even more incredible example of an actual city and not a giant ritual plaza.  And they won’t get to visit Mayapán, where the stonework mastery of the Puuk was reused and plastered over in monuments of a later period for reasons unknown (to me, at least).  So it seems that tourism and preservation are two necessary evils that go hand-in-hand, one always trying to limit or even destroy the other.  

4:   Funding

How fortunate for those people living near Chichén Itzá, that it should be declared a wonder of the ancient world.  Driving through town, one is nearly unable to remember that they’re touring an ancient Maya site, let alone that they are still in Mexico.  I suppose it’s like the “what came first—the chicken or the egg” argument—but this time, it’s the tourists or the funding.  Now, I’ve already written my thoughts on tourism—mostly at Chichén, it’s exotic tourism (with tourists there more for the picture & the memory than the learning experience)—but funding is another closely related issue that I have thoughts about.

As I said before, the actual town of Chichén seemed overrun with signs in English hotels and restaurants to cater to tourists, among other things.  Nowhere else have I seen commercialism so bad—and it’s probably for the fact that Chichén is likely the most funded site, due to its wonder status.  With these funds, INAH is doing many good things at the site—restoring the skull dance platforms, protecting stelae & murals with palapas near the Temple of the 1000 Columns, and preventing further destruction/defacement of monuments by setting limits on where tourists can’t go.  While all this is well and good—preserving the integrity of the site and restoring what has been lost thus far—it raises the question of what can be done at the other sites for the same purpose.  If all funds are being channeled to preserve the dance platforms of Chichén, what about the Early Classic pyramids & palace at Acanceh?

While various palapas/roofs have been built over top of these uncovered masks, not much else is going on at the site.  It is guarded by an iron gate and a gatekeeper—and it seems that to get in, all one must do is call up the gatekeeper (wherever he lives) and ask permission so he can come and open it for you.  All around the periphery of the main pyramid are houses and shops directly abutting the base of the walls and even using stones of the crumbling pyramid as building materials.  Now don’t get me wrong—that pyramid is going nowhere fast (it has been surviving since 250 AD).  But the thought that Chichén, which isn’t a very special or outstanding example of architecture, can be held up as some sort of high standard of exemplary architecture and style while other places (like Acanceh or Oxkintok) can be seemingly left untouched after basic restoration is really troublesome.  Tecoh is another fine example of a place where a lot could be discovered if INAH would only appropriate funds to at least investigate the Pre-Columbian mound found there.  Granted, the Church of the Virgin of the Assumption does sit squarely on top of the ruins; so in this case, it becomes a matter of what the people hold more dearly.  And there’s also the fact that the church is still used on a weekly/daily basis, and the people care a lot about it because it’s a symbol of their religion & culture.  I suppose it would be like investigators going back in time to, say, Mayapan, to excavate beneath the Castillo & investigate the Teotihuacan influence shown in vultures, skulls, and decapitation—it just wouldn’t fly to have people (namely, scientists notorious for their non-religiousness) come and tear apart the religious/ceremonial structure of a very devoted and passionate people. 

So while there are several factors affecting which site gets what amount of money—tourism, location (i.e. distance from Cancún and a major highway), popularity, beauty, media attention, and potential proximity to other structures that prevents its uncovering/restoration—it still seems unfair that only those biggest, most popular sites get all the money & attention while the smaller, lesser known sites peter out and wile away.  Come to think of it, Chichén (with all its funding and popularity) seems much like the WalMart of Maya sites, slowly choking out its lesser competitors and taking over the market, and becoming a symbol of the industry in the country.  Much as Americans are judged for WalMart, hopefully the Mexico Maya tourist industry won’t be misjudged by its symbol of Chichén and the misappropriation of funds.

5:   Americanization (Carnaval)

            Despite all of the hype that I had heard about Carnaval before it began, our arrival to the festival on the thirtieth (and every single trip thereafter) showed me just how much Americanization has happened to Mexico—specifically in Merida.  In comparison with the other music events that I attended (Thursday nights in Santa Lucia, Saturdays at the end of Paso), there were none of the elements of traditional Mexican culture/dance present in anything at Carnaval, save for maybe some souvenir hats and the floats in the parade.  Overwhelmingly, though, I really got the sense that this was touted not as some type of cultural spectacular, but just a big festival where it was legal (for the only time in the year) to drink in public.  I sensed nothing different than anything that I could have attended in America, save for the fact that men could cross-dress without shame for the duration of the festival (it seemed to be encouraged), the music was almost entirely in Spanish, and the food was much cheaper. 

            Another wonderful example of Carnaval’s Americanization is the Sponsor, whose support is represented by huge signs and banners letting the crowds know just who is paying for the festival—Coca-Cola, Sol, and the ubiquitous TelCel—and use various ways to promote their product.  TelCel even went so far as to have a group of young women in a variety of outfits (it varied, depending on the night) and have them dance in front of the crowds while the next set was put together.  Now so far as I know, TelCel sells cell phones and has virtually nothing whatsoever to do with dancing, but I suppose that any sort of advertisement cannot be terrible when targeted to the right audience—namely, the young men in the crowd.  While I know that sex sells, I thought it had been relegated to the US as something strictly American in nature and execution—but this aspect of our wonderful culture seems to have spread south of the border, along with our free-for-all style of music festival.

            Despite the massive crowds and lack of any sort of cultural music (or anything cultural in general at Carnaval, save for the parade’s theme), other music nights—as in Santa Lucia and Paseo—were both entertaining and exciting.  These nights in the Park or the Paseo (without thousands of other people crowded in with us) were some of my most enjoyed nights out in Merida—I not only got to hear really wonderful traditional dance music, but I also got to see the wonderfully entertaining and endearing dances that go along with them.  [Directly contrast this to the TelCel girls and you’ll understand what I’m talking about.]  Along with dances and songs, there were bands—big instrumental bands, little mariachi trios, soloists, etc.—that played even more of this distinctly Mexican music that I had always imagined hearing.  In contrast to Carnaval, with its proliferance of mainly American-sounding bands and pop groups, I got so much more out of going for two hours on a Thursday night than going multiple times to Carnaval and expecting something enriching—which it wasn’t. 

            The most cultural thing I remember at Carnaval was the parade, which was themed to depict the Mayan heritage prominent in the Yucatan area.  Most of the people on the floats—around ages twenty to thirty—were half-dressed in traditional Maya-themed outfits (though they looked more like Halloween costumes) and dancing to more American-sounding music.  How cultural, right?  That Sunday at Progreso, we experienced another Carnaval parade that ran through the city streets—but this one had mostly children and older people on the floats, not only representing more the spirit of the holiday (everyone celebrates, not just 20-30 year olds in the city streets of Merida), but also showing that it was more of a celebration of everyone’s common cultural ties (Maya heritage, in this part of the country, as various signs hanging on streetlamps seemed to emphasize) and not just everyone’s love of Sol, or Coca-Cola, or their infatuation with TelCel as celebrated with overtly American music and festival arrangement.

So while Carnaval was fun, I really did enjoy the more cultural music nights in Santa Lucia or the end of Paseo, where I saw the real Mexico that is slowly disappearing (in Merida at least, it seems) as Americanization becomes more and more prominent throughout the country.  Hopefully, Mexico can reestablish and reaffirm its own cultural pride instead of continually just becoming more and more Americanized.

6:   Art Museum

One of the most shocking things, I think, in the entirety of the time I was in Merida, was my visit to the Museum of Modern Art, located just off the Zócalo—ironically, right next to the Catedrál.  Not all of the works there were as moving or symbolic as those of Benjamin Dominguez, but they were certainly the most memorable and scandalous.  I mean, in a country where there is a saint in nearly every house, bus, and government building, his works—a transparent vilification of the Church so engrained in this culture—really made me wonder who they were came to find their way into a free art exhibit in a very popular location.  And how did the people view these works?  I didn’t personally inquire as to any locals’ opinions—I doubted that they had seen them—but I suppose that any God-fearing Mexican (so to speak ) would have seen them with disdain and disapproval for the content, if not sympathy for the artist’s soul along with that. 

The first painting in the exhibit—and certainly one of the biggest clues in to the nature of the exhibit---was of two identical men, the left one clothed in a bishop’s outfit and peering over to his right at his brother, holding out a chalice.  This balding twin, his nude back facing the viewer, had snake and dragon tattoos slithering down his arm and across his back and a real snake that entwined about his body, sneering at his clothed twin brother.  Clearly, Dominguez wished to represent the Church and Satan (in other words, not the Church) as two equally powerful entities, identical in most ways—except that the church covered up its shameful parts [in accord with its own theology] with the ornate finery of “the cloth”.  While any good Catholic Mexican would probably not have interpreted this as such—and wouldn’t have taken offense to this at all, seeing the anti-church (symbolized in Satan) as a shameful, nude, underhanded, and offensive affront to the put-together, holding-out-the-chalice saving grace of the church—later pieces would prove them wrong.

In the fight between Jacob and the angel, the massive Jacob seems to be subverting the angel with incredible human strength—and all the glittering finery of the angel’s robes does nothing to save him; in another painting, an angel hangs dead, its back to the viewer, suspended in some sort of heavenly mantle-turned-parachute as blood drips down extended fingers into a bowl; and most obviously offensive of all, a dominatrix rides a bishop (or some other church official), bit-in-mouth, as he crawls like an animal. 

While the artistic merit is obvious enough to make this a presentable exhibit—vivid colors of clothes on pallored people against a solid black background, clearly depicted emotions on proportionate faces of proportionate people, and a common theme threading through the works—I still can’t quite determine why their content was deemed valid by the museum.  Were they interested in shock value?  It seems as if they copy everything American here, so I don’t see why not.  Was it just to seem more American, more cosmopolitan in their presentation of “culture” to show that Merida isn’t the place it presents itself to be on nearly every street?  To seem chic and more differentiated in culture than just the homogenous Catholic/indigenous mix of nearly all of Central America?  Other exhibits of modern art—nearly indecipherable to me—seemed to fill that niche, along with strange statuary and multiple outstanding pieces of lesser artists filling a huge downstairs gallery.  Plus, there wee no English descriptions on any of them, so it’s not like they were directed at traveling gringos as a sort of ‘look at our developing culture!’ vice. 

I’m not the person to decide why these paintings were in the museum—I suppose anyone could compose a formally-worded letter to the museum director and inquire as to the reason.  In considering what I wrote regarding the reason for their presence in the museum, I realize how many assumptions I had made—that Merida was some strictly-Catholic, straight-line place where every churchgoer is perfectly content with the state of the religion and everyone does the right thing.  The very existence of these paintings—in addition to their presence in the museum—shows that not everyone is exactly happy with the Church’s works.  Despite how devout the country may seem to be—with saints and churches found nearly everywhere you look—it’s as much a part of the culture as any other part, like mariachi music or sombreros or refried beans.  And it’s a very naïve assumption of mine—as I initially thought in considering why these paintings were there—that they were an exhibit to boost the cultural value and validity of the city, to present something different than what is normally seen.  Art is an abstraction, an outpouring of the artist’s thoughts and ideas made tangible—in words, or colors, or pictures—an expression of their temperament.  And since these paintings are so popular with people like us—and haven’t been removed due to controversy—goes to prove me wrong and show that plenty of Meridians (would they be called that?) share the same views as the artist, or at least respect his enough to visit his exhibit. 

This entire exhibit proved my thoughts of Meridians (would they be called that?) as erroneous: not all of them fill the premade mold that I had initially reckoned them to fit in.

PARTE DOS: Seeing the forest for the trees in San Cristóbal

En el camión y En Pie

11.03.08 – 02.04.08

I took a bus at least twice a day in Merida, no lie.  Living in Pensiones on the other side of the universe—oh sorry, the city—it was quite impossible to go anywhere without waving like a lunatic at the driver, handing him the five pesos, and finding a seat somewhere on the bus without stepping on anyone or making that oh-so-forbidden eye contact between strangers.  This daily grind is in direct contrast to San Cristobal, where I don’t think I even saw a full-size Merida-like bus, other than the beat-up old Colectivos that traveled back and forth to the Festivo.  In any case, the point that I’m making is that the lack of buses really forced all of us to walk everywhere in the city and discover new areas of town that we would never, ever have seen before.  Despite the obvious places that we could not take the bus through—such as the market at Santo Domingo, or the Zócalo—this spirit of walking and thus wandering around the city led us on many adventures to new places.  For example, we found the “Shady Market” near my house, which sold bootleg $1.50 movies and dried fish meat right next to raw plucked chickens (yum).  Not only discovering this extreme cultural difference, we also could walk past the occasional Zapatista making a statement—for example, I saw a Zapatista holding a zen pose of sorts postured next to a man whose body was painted entirely in gold (http://s268.photobucket.com/albums/jj35/jonroth/Mexico/Chiapas/San%20Cristobal%20de%20las%20Casas/?action=view&current=IMG_2334.jpg – thanks, Jon!).  With a golden bottle, plate, toga (of sorts), crown of thorns, and a cross, we supposed the man to be Christ.  In looking at the picture again, his feet are the only part of him not painted (strange, right?)  This reminded me of a biblical passage where Mary (of the Martha-Mary tagteam) anointed his feet with “very costly oil of spikenard” (John 12) and then wiped them off with her hair.  So maybe he was saying that all the church is gilded save for the sacrifices individuals make out of their own personal devotion?  According to the Bible, Judas was skeptical of this action, saying that the perfume could have been sold for a years’ wages and the proceeds given to the poor—but then the Bible says he was a thief, and as the ultimate betrayer with a San Cristóbal tradition carried out in his honor (shame?), why wouldn’t we trust the Bible’s POV?  Maybe that’s creative speculation, but I think it explains it.  In any case, I also saw a man on another occasion dressed head-to-toe as a ninja (with sword) posing in the Cathedral square for hours. 

            While there were not this many people making statements in Merida, I really feel as if it’s the rebellious atmosphere of San Cristobal that draws both the strange and the eclectic—not only those hippie types with dreadlocks and hiking packs who roam the mountains outside of town, but obviously those who are politically outspoken and nonconformist.  There are plenty of places that promote such liberty—two of them being Madre Tierra restaurant and dance club (a really fun place to go), and Revolución Bar (which has the best quesadillas in the universe).  In looking back at the city, it’s easy to see the elements of the Zapatista movement throughout the daily workings of the city.  The innumerable vendors that seemed to be everywhere really embodied the “bottom-up” approach of Zapatista politics and economy—that the resources of the state be utilized by the people and not the government, be it local, state, or national.  All those “people making statements” weren’t just lunatics looking for a venue for their political views—they had traveled thousands of miles [since none of them really ever looked Mexican, but it was hard to tell under all the paint and costume] because they also felt that the people should reap the benefits of the state and not vice-versa. 

            It was also interesting to note that there was no Wal-Mart in San Cristobal, and the Chedraui was far out of walking distance for most everyone—as if they sought to keep chain stores as far away from the city center as possible.  [It is interesting to note, though, that the Oxxo was always hopping at any hour of the day.  And Coca-Cola was sold, promoted, and priced as if it were going out of style.]  So in walking everywhere around the city, I came to discover in San Cristobal that they are really serious about their non-globalization efforts.  With artisans everywhere selling really cheap souvenirs, Zapatistas [and wannabes] fully costumed and demonstrating silently, and no Wal-Mart in sight, those in charge [smartly] have kept the EZLN’s wishes of supporting the local economy through local business (and not just employing the locals in something contrary to their entire way of life) and thus kept peace in the city.

            For now.

            I’d watch out for those ninjas in the Zocalo.

 

Chamula y Zinacantan

18.03.08

            I must say that the visit to Chamula and Zinacantán was like visiting another world from that of San Cristóbal—two worlds actually, if you want to get technical, because the two establishments were so different—and the entire day was certainly an experience.  Even though both cities seem like they should be remarkably similar—distinct outfits for each city, specialized economic products, modified Catholocism—the very atmospheres of each city (despite each one’s idyllic setting in the cool mountain valleys of the Sierra Madres) were completely different from both each other and San Cristobal.  In Chamula, we learned of the mayordomos, whose great honor it is to pay for the religious ceremonies in the city throughout the year and thus demonstrate their devotion to the people, the city, and most importantly the church.

            The Church of San Juan was absolutely the most fascinating aspect of the town in that it was completely unlike any other church I’ve seen.  Without pews, the smoky interior of the church was lined with stuffed saints in glass boxes, a fair amount of them still completely Anglicized (despite all the main characters of the Biblical story made to look more Mexican).  As the sound of discordant accordion music in a minor key wheezed through the incense-laden air, people dressed in the typical outfit of Chamula alternately knelt, prayed, lit candles, stared at our group of eighteen or so, or participated in the diagnostic rituals near the apse of the church.  While we didn’t get to look very closely upon the flurry of activity up front—I already felt way too much like a very disrespectful tourist invading their church service/religious devotions—I have heard that talented curanderos diagnose the maladies of worshipers—anything from your ordinary everyday bodily ailments to psychological matters.  These illnesses warrant a range of cures involving candles of specific number or size, saying a certain prayer, drinking pox, or even utilizing a live chicken as a sacrifice (?—or so I’ve heard). 

            So as the smells of incense and burning pine needles filled the air I realized, from the traditional Protestant values that I had been taught in Sunday School, that everything they were doing in this church (from consulting shamans to slaughtering animals for a cure) was completely sacrilege to my beliefs.  Apparently, Phil Coppens also finds it against his beliefs (though he seems to think the town’s very existence is an abomination): http://www.philipcoppens.com/chamula.html explains his view of the town, as I found when googling for more information about the town, and provides some “little-known-facts” about the city (even though his tone is somewhat superior).  What I found most fascinating (and what I didn’t notice while in the church) was that the Maya-ized saints of the destroyed San Sebastian were deprived of new boxes, made to face the wall, and even had their hands chopped off because of their inability to save the old church.  Weird, right?  I would have assumed, if anything, that the Chamulans, with their strict laws about renouncing someone who renounces their form of Catholicism, would revere their saints above all others.  But I suppose it goes to show that one’s straying from the Chamulan way of life is punished even after death.

            Surreal could be the best word used to describe this uber-Catholic and not-so-Catholic-at-all city.  For while they are devout and very committed to the things they believe, which is admirable in any religious branch, their actions contradict the very teachings upon which their religion is based.  I’m not judging them in any way—in realizing that their views are completely different from my own, I also realized that no sect’s religious views jive with any others’.  It is fascinating, though, that the infused elements of Maya are so blatantly obvious—the green ceiba cross, the speaking of Tzotzil, the use of shamen, pox, pine needles, and the suspicion of outsiders (and rightly so)—and yet they continue to identify themselves as Catholic.  Interesting.    

 

 

Los Zapatistas, O Artistas Indigenas

11.03.08 – 02.04.08

            Though I don’t remember the first time I was approached by a barefoot child dressed in what I now know to be the native dress of Chamula, I know it was in Merida and I know I felt really bad.  How could something like this happen? I would often wonder as I contemplated giving the child a peso or buying the bracelet they insisted I buy from them.  In looking to the child’s mother as she seemed to plead with people to buy a scarf, belt, bracelet, headband, or other heavy item that she’d been carrying around all day, I would often feel helpless as I assumed these women to beg for people to buy, in essence, in order for them to feed and clothe their barefoot, dirty children.

            And then I got to San Cristobal.

            The children didn’t have a simple wool skirt and indigenous shirt because their mother could only afford to dress them in that—it was the outfit typical of the village they were from, and it would have been an utter insult to yell that village name at them as they tried to pawn souvenirs off on relaxing tourists in the Zócalo.  They were not dirty because they lived outside all the time—they were that way because their mother wandered around the center all day and tried to sell her crafts.  While this tone may sound terrible so far, it was really disheartening to know that mothers would allow their kids to be used as helpers (pawns?) in their effort to sell things.  Why not just get a permanent stand at the Santo Domingo market and sell from there, instead of wandering around with your children all day and night?  Why travel the twelve hours to Merida with them, only to use them to convince the tourists there that the clothes on your back solely from selling friendship bracelets and headbands. 

            While I understand that many, many families in Mexico are impoverished and must sell things as a result—and indeed, they have to have their children along to help work, partially because there is no one to watch them and the family must make money—these families are not the target of this blog.  I once saw a woman in the Zócalo in the dress of Chamula chatting away on a nice pink Razr phone (which I don’t even have!) as her daughter approached, dirty and barefoot with a handful of bracelets.  Now I understand that kids run around, play, get dirty—but honestly, could the girl not have stayed home and gone to school?  I suppose I am in absolutely no place to judge, and the few pesos won by the girl on pity of a few tourists (spent on her mother’s cell phone bill) far outweigh the benefits of putting her in school and maybe helping her to get out of the city (San Cristóbal or Chamula, whichever).

            I understand that many in Mexico must work, and it’s often in the entire family’s best interest if the children just work as well.  And I also know that the Zapatista modus operandi is a bottom-up approach, with people selling their own wares for everyone’s benefit.  But how is this girl benefited?  I know that school was on break from our arrival in the city until the 1^st of April or so, but this girl did not appear (as shallow as it sounds) that she had ever been put in school.  What are the benefits that this type of system brings if children are out wandering the streets while their parents sell things?  I’ll never know, because I was fortunate enough to be placed in school while my parents worked hard to pay for the family to make it.  I’m not criticizing those who make and sell crafts—I bought a lot of stuff from them in the market—but I am speaking of parents who clearly don’t need to be out there with their children milking the propriety of tourists.

 

 

 

Los Toros

23.03.08

            While this was the first Sunday in my entire life that I did not attend an Easter service, it was the very first time in my whole life that I experienced a bull fight.  Arriving in our group of four, we could not help but remark how much the stadium reminded us of any American football stadium—it was even complete with annoying vendors who kept walking and stopping and yelling directly in front of us.  So after buying some cacihuates and soda, we sat back to watch the show.  Slowly the program exposed us to the proceeding of a Mexican bull fight: the first matador, on horseback, tired the bull out by allowing it to chase it all about the chalk-lined circle, inspiring oohs & ahs & screams of surprise from the crowd as it almost caught the horse. 

            While the action mounted from there—with the thrust of the Picadores’ spears into its spine, the jabbing of ribboned barbs into the same place, the trickery and flair of the matador’s red cape, the final stab (well, several stabs since three out of the four matadors that afternoon weren’t too good at it) with a sword into the bull’s heart, and the unceremonious removal by a huge white Ford.  This happened six times at the hands of four different matadors, each with their own personal style (or lack thereof) of enticing and striking at the bull. 

            Many organizations and people decry these types of events as complete barbarism, almost all of them voicing their concerns in a horrified tone recounting the utter barbarism of the event.  Though the question may seem pointless to ask (the facts of the event remain the same), have these critics ever even been to a bullfight?  It is undeniable that there is a significant amount of carnage involved in the fight, all with the intention of killing the bull.  What these cynics fail to mention, though, are the yells and boos of the crowd when the matador’s cronies do not jab the barbs directly into the right spot, or when the matador is incapable of killing the bull on the first try.  The crowd does not seek the abject torture of the bull—though it undeniably happens—it seeks the courage and skill of the matador.  The spectators are not ignorant of the bull’s pain: in fact, these catcalls and screams from the crowd show their displeasure with the matador’s shortcomings: if one claims to be a willing and able matador, then they should be able to finish the job quickly and professionally, regardless of how barbaric the event is.

            What these detractors also miss is the sportsmanship involved, if that is the proper word for it.  These matadors train their entire lives and risk everything when they enter the ring—and while some may say that any injury or even death is what is coming to them, their attitude towards the sport is evident in the manner of their fighting.  One matador, who later proved unable to plunge the sword right and thus immediately kill the bull, was very flashy with his cape movement, twisting it all around himself as he ducked to one knee and the bull charged past him.  Maripaz Vega, the lone female matador, looked the bull in the eye at times, reached out to touch its face, toyed with it in a very playful manner (even turning her back on it a few times!), and even smacked it on the butt as it charged past her standing form.  When stabbing, she was precise and professional.  Maripaz understood the sport; the first man did not.  She comprehended not that it was about the crowd’s love of her flair or skill, but of her understanding that it was between her and the bull—which had been chosen for the fight, and was going to be slaughtered via the matador and his/her cronies—and it was her job to end its life with grace and expertise. 

            The loudest yells came for Maripaz, as did the most flowers and flasks of alcohol.  They cut the ear off of her bull—in a sign of respect and for a purpose that I still don’t quite understand (yuck)—and threw it in the crowd as a grotesque memento.  Though gory, disturbing, and very bloody, the spectacle was one that I’m glad I went to (but won’t ever go to again, save to maybe take someone else) and got to experience the range of matador skill and attitude.  It was certainly an experience—no bull about it.

 

 

Judíos Enfuegos

22.03.08

            Expanding on the Zapatista influence in San Cristóbal, the burning of Judas dummies (and other papier-mâché models of various controversial things) is both symbolic and a sort of catharsis to not only appease the city’s progress-minded citizens, but also to make up for the constant police force that is required to keep the peace that has lasted since the 1994 takeover.  Signs are everywhere that the Zapatistas are still active—from those cute little 50¢ dolls or $1.50 Zapatistas on horseback to the graffiti sprayed across homes all over the city [‘Revolucion!’, etc.]—and activities like this that keep with the spirit of the city really do help San Cristóbal seem friendly and attractive, rather than volatile and dangerous.

            Unexpectedly, all of the vestiges are political in some way, shape, or form.    

            From what I understand, people make these effigies to make a point, and then they are burned with fireworks inside to excite the crowd.  Calling on Jon’s pictures once again, they included such fine topics as: NAFTA, the US & Cuba’s joint role with oil production (???—didn’t know we did that with them), the slow death of the world via global warming & famine, etc., Hugo Chavez’s idolization of Castro, and bullfighting, among others.  In going with anti-globalization, one entry had a farmer driving his maize cart in one direction while a truck ‘of the latest model’ drove head-on at him, the ‘frontera’ (border) distinctly between the two.  In seeking autonomy for local farmers so they can gain a profit, the creator of this effigy clearly wants to end US imports of a crop that Mexicans are capable of producing themselves and even selling for a small profit.  Another of my favorites was that of a matador hung and stuck through with the ribboned barbs (in the colors of the Mexican flag) that are used on the bull: even though I can see the sport in bullfighting, I definitely understand the frustrations that people have with it.    

            These cosmopolitan views are not limited to San Cristóbal.  As we drove through the mountains to reach the city, we saw the effects of such NAFTA agreements and the lack of Mexican autonomy: while Coca-Cola signs proliferated everywhere, many of the houses had people just sort of loitering around the front of them rather than out getting the field ready for planting maize or whatnot.  In Merida, the bags that we bought from the Chamulans that had set up camp in the Zócalo had tags that read “Made in India”—a fine example of how globalization has found a foothold even in the indigenous support base that the EZLN claims invaluable to their movement.  Even when we visited the self-sufficient milpa, a little tienda nearby sold more Coca-Cola products—which we were happy about—but it showed that even families that have remained afloat by their own productive efforts need some income on the side from selling the universally ubiquitous Coca-Cola. 

            So while there are everyday realities that truly affect the Mexican people because of agreements like NAFTA—which allow the mechanically harvested, much-cheaper tons of agricultural products (such as maize) to flood the economy, leaving the solitary farmers to sell absolutely nothing—the EZLN was/is mad enough to do something about it.  Their presence has even influenced the yearly carnival events of San Cristóbal, keeping the citizens informed and caring about the issues that originally drove the Zapatistas to revolt in 1994.  Thankfully, sparking these effigies helps subdue the spark of new revolution. 

 

 

 

A Note On Leaving

02.04.08

            With retrospect comes clarity, it is said, but I know that I need no retrospect—no matter how long it would take [or how late these blogs eventually are J]—to say that this was the best experience of my life so far.  Life in Merida—with the endless time I spent on the bus—let me watch out the window and realize just how different life can be in two different places.  Yet in talking with the people I came to realize that they were genuinely kind and genuinely happy that we were there exploring the culture of their city.  Going out to dance in places like the Mambo Café (and even the streets!) and visiting Progreso for the day, but the harsh realities of shoeless, disheveled people begging in the streets were constant reminders that this was not a vacation for everyone.  Life did not appear much easier for those families we saw out on the road in our O de A bus, whose main source of income was likely to come from a father following in his father’s footsteps working at the same profession in the same village.  As the Zapatistas of San Cristóbal protested, such legislation as NAFTA (which influxes the countryside with cheap products that the Mexicans themselves could make) and other globalizing policies really beats these people into the ground before they even have a chance to try.

            I am so thankful that our journey took us throughout four different (different used in the sense of not only separate entities, but also with distinct attitudes throughout each) states of Mexico.  This is the part of the program that I not only appreciated the most, but I learned the most from.  While Quintana Roo is very commercialized and marketed just for the tourists (as in, I saw several English-language billboards), and Campeche seemed likewise.  While Yucatan state (thank you, James, for the proper way to say it) was very warm and friendly, Chiapas also seemed to take its attitude from its weather temperament.  Somewhat distant and cold, the vibe given off by Chamulans, Zapatistas, bullfighting, and its setting in the middle of nowhere made this a great second city to live in—not overtly welcoming (as had been Merida), but interesting and complicated enough for experts of Mexican culture (like us) to contemplate.  Each city standing alone would not have been enough to give a significant picture of Mexico: while Merida was friendly and very welcoming, the Zapatistas of San Cristóbal were (theoretically, at least) none too happy with the policies in which our country sponsors and/or participates.  In traveling to Merida alone, I would have thought that all Mexican cities were as vast and friendly, as was San Cristóbal.  But if we had traveled to San Cristóbal alone I would have thought all cities rife with political activity and passion.  The build-up of seeing poverty throughout our travels from Merida to San Cristóbal (as in traveling to Cuzama, or even in Acanceh) really made me understand just what makes the Zapatistas so angry and demanding of change. 

            Our trip to Mexico was not only exhaustive in examining the language, biology, anthropology, and evolutionary history of the people.  In addition to learning in our four named classes, the cultural exposure to a country that always seemed to be our friendly neighbor south of the border was phenomenal.  While we consider a vacation to Mexico a luxury, people live, work, and die there without having earned anything because of our trade agreement policies (even as we saw in the movie in the barn before we left).  Though we devote ourselves to a field of study and understanding more fully the innumerable facets of biology, there are still people in Mexico who devote themselves so wholeheartedly to religious tradition that they are willing to excommunicate those who wish to do something else with their lives.  I’m not saying this to put these people in a bad light—if the pursuit of something makes a person happy, they should do it—but it was so fascinating to see parents praying so fervently in the Chamulan church while their children snuck glimpses around.  Were those children wishing to leave the church?  Were they there because they felt compelled to be there, or were they there only because they had to? 

            Was everyone in every poor town of Mexico like this?  It’s hard to say, even though we went to so many different places.  But having seen people in all of these places—from Merida to the towns near Kiuic and the isolated sites around and in La Selva Lacandon, and even in San Cristóbal—there was no recurrent trend throughout of people wanting to stay or go.  Though I thought that Mexico would be a place that everyone wanted to get out of to make a better life, it was not so.  People there—as here—are very proud of their heritage and culture and probably wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.  As in any country, there are problems in Mexico, and the citizens there seem to be working through them—though some are not as extreme as the EZLN, the presence of such ceremonies as the Judas burnings and the very controversial art at MACAY show that Mexicans are not all the stereotypical Catholic-hispanics that we assume them to be.  And the continuance of dancing in the streets of Merida, music in the park of Santa Lucia, and performance of productions such as Palenque Rojo speak to the fact that the Hispanic/Maya culture is alive and well—and thriving—throughout Mexico, remaining as the country breaks away from its strong conservative Catholic ties.  In the end, I’ve come to find that the Maya influence on these Catholic ties have made for an incredible, endlessly interesting cultural structure; as we saw with the cigarette offering at the dry cenote and in the eerie, smoke-filled Chamulan church, the Maya influence penetrates every aspect of life, no matter how far removed that life may seem from the culture of the Maya.

PARTE TRES: 23 Sites (written solely for the Maya class, but I figured I might as well)

[26.1.08]  Oxkintok

As the first major site we seriously visited, Oxkintok certainly proved to be both historically interesting and architecturally amazing.  Here we were introduced to the Puuk style of building (right in the middle of the Puuk hills!), with characters and figures carved right into the limestone building blocks—which have lasted much longer than the crumbled remains of their stucco-relief counterparts found elsewhere.  Since barely anyone was visiting the site—and INAH had determined that it wasn’t too popular of a place—we were able to climb atop both huge pyramids there and look over the entire Puuk region, with hundreds of hills (both natural and manmade) for as far as the eye could see.  According to Dr. Dawley, the most unnaturally shaped ones were pyramids and temples as-of-yet uncovered and consolidated.  However, lack of tourism implies lack of funding, so I doubt that these amazing structures will be unearthed anytime soon.  Despite this bad aspect of unbalanced funding, I did appreciate the atmosphere that Oxkintok (AKA Three Stone Flint) retained: out of the way, mysterious, and peaceful—as if we’d found it ourselves out there in the middle of nowhere.  I’d say that this deserted city was a great place to have our first Mayan experience.

[1.2.08]Chichén Itzá

Moving to the other end of the populated spectrum, Chichén was overrun with pink-and-white tourists dumped there by the busload from Cancún.  This really detracted from the historical feeling of the place—between the vendors, loads of people, and the roped off monuments—it really made me regret the guided tours and almost too-organized feel of the place.  While the touristy aspect was not appreciated, the incredible stonework of the Maya was.  The infamous Castillo, filled with allusions to the Maya calendars and even angled to have four sunshine serpents slithering down the sides on the day of the equinox.  The Temple of the Jaguars addressed Creation on its lower story and war on the upper, legitimizing the king’s power by connecting him to the gods.  In the great ball court—a place more ceremonial than functional—had a sort of E-group structure on the top, allowing the sun to pass through three stone archways on the top on each day of a major solar event—equinoxes and solstices both.  On the North Temple, inscriptions pertaining to Quetzalcoatl present him as a bearded man, which is interesting in that this is very uncommon in Mesoamerica, and other indications of Quetzalcoatl (like a 1.6 m tall skeleton) make some theorists theorize that he was maybe some sort of Viking (???).  However, as settlements from around 1000AD show in New Brunswick, it was entirely possible that they had sailed over to America and very well could have then skipped down the coast, thus discovering America—even though Columbus got all the credit. 

While the remaining structures were all interesting, they all had elements of Teotihuacan influence in them—for example, the skulled dance platform, the Temple of the Jaguars (i.e. the were-jaguars themselves), and the decorations on the columns (and the columns themselves) in the temple of 1000 columns (as evidence of architecture) show a clear link to this style.  And though Teotihuacan couldn’t possibly have invaded or overtaken Chichén, this emulation is a sign of Chichén’s Post-Classic status—a large Itza city with a cosmopolitan style, mixing old and new as the Maya people moved closer and closer towards the coast.  So while it’s unfortunately been commercialized, Chichén is still an excellent example of a Post-Classic city with multiple influences.

[2.2.08] Ek Balam

Of all the sites that we visited in the first part of the course, Ek Balam is by far my favorite, not only for its isolated aspect and the fact that it looked like a real city, but also for the incredibly preserved stuccoing on the tomb of Ukit Kan Lek Tok.  Although his corpse was unfortunately unable to see such a superb preservation, its destruction via careless excavation has placed a further emphasis on proper and safe (if not also time-consuming) methods of excavation.  Things salvaged from his burial chamber indicated the Ek Balam (the actual original name of the site!) was a well-connected city: a gold from from Peten (the first frog in the area), 7000 seashells and pieces of jade, and a stucco-covered cocoa pot (among other things) show that there was substantial trading going on.  However, inscriptions at Monjas indicated attack on a double-walled city—and since Ek Balam is the only one around, it very well may have been conquered by Chichén around 850—just about the time when it began to flourish.  Coincidence?  Maybe.  Or maybe not.

[5.2.08] Acanceh/Tecoh/Mayapán

It was certainly interesting to look down from the top of an early classic Maya pyramid and see an entire small town sprawled out around its base, especially since most of the nearby houses were constructed of stone from the pyramid and even connected to it.  While the thick apron molding demonstrated a Peten building style, the nearby palace’s inscriptions of goggle-eyed animals show more Teotihuacan influence, as was found in Chichén.  The Franciscan church, located adjacent to the main pyramid, was very simple and humble in comparison to the stone monster of a church in Tecoh, constructed in 1546 right on top of a pre-Columbian mound (with a pyramid beneath).  The “darkified” Jesus inside showed the regional adaptation of a worldwide phenomenon, as had been done in Mayapán with the incorporation of Chichén’s architectural influence on the surrounding area.  For example, similar if not shoddy replications of the Castillo, the Caracol (observatory), and use of serpent/skull/vulture/warrior imagery in stuccowork and murals (but not carved in stone—in fact, the Puuk stone remnants were used as rubble and building blocks for these new buildings).  Even more so, holes in the Castillo above stuccoed skeletons could have been used to hold cranial remnants of either ancestors or captives—in any case, further evidence of Teotihuacan influence.  As a Post-Classic site, Mayapán had other outside influence in addition to Chichén and Teotihuacan—a mural in the Hut of Fishermen show animals in the sea with a boat despite the fact that this city is not coastal.  Clearly, this city was heavily influenced by other cities.

[7.2.08] Campeche

So after a three-hour bus ride and a slow climb up a coastal hill to arrive at the ancient old fortress, I decided that the long ride was well worth seeing the artifacts and beautiful view of the coast from the roof.  Mostly found on Jaina, an island just off of Campeche’s coast, the artifacts revealed a plethora about their owners: they were upper-class and revered the condition of having crossed eyes, something that Maya parents arranged early on in their children (along with skull modification) by putting a piece of wood just in front of their nose to retrain their eyes.  The very existence of these artifacts showed that they were from the upper classes, since common people had little use or need of anything they could not make themselves with common materials (baskets, pottery, etc.).  The king of Calakmul was also found there, his body displayed with his jade-goods and dusted with cinnabar as a preparation for his afterlife.  Also shown at this museum were the ways to interpret the inscriptions on stelae, which were abundantly present in the second museum we visited in Campeche that day.  This enormous collection, found in a variety of sites, gave a deeper perspective on the different sites and styles of building in which they were erected—Peten, East Coast, Puuk, Chenes, and Rio Beck.  These museums gave us a much grander perspective of the overarching styles and architecture used throughout the Maya states.

[11.2.08] Kiuic

            There was no complaining about the proliferance of people touring this site, other than the fact that I lived with everyone on the tour for two weeks.  Located exactly in the middle of nowhere, Kiuic proved to be a very good example of funding, however large or small, put to good use in preserving and consolidating the structures present there.  A choltun and a mano stone found right in the vicinity of the camp showed just how old the inhabitation there was, dating back to 1000 AD right on the very hilltop in the center of the field station.  Further off in the actual site, a crumbling Puuk style building found on top of a (now) wooded hill proved to be a living space for the elite; this was deduced from the fact that one room could be closed off (i.e. the temperature regulated), that it was above the rocks and mud in the rainy season (& all the little people), and it was not on the precious farmland (as in, more crops could thus be grown if it were on the hilltop).  The lack of a secure water source also showed that these people were not hurting for much, since they could have used their elite status to usurp someone else’s water source just down the hill.  In the main plaza, bordered by a palace and a potential temple/tomb, there is evidence of several reconstructions on both the palapa and the amphitheater.  Though Catherwood made a wonderful painting of it around 1842, the House of Diamonds has since collapsed, due to his theft of the capstone; the story of its disappearance is another mystery whose answer might be known only by local farming families—one of which we actually got to visit. 

            These humble people lived on a very old ranch—dating to 1800!—and were quite resourceful: using bottle tops to staple roofing strips, an old car door as a door to their hut, and even stripping henequen to produce rope.  After showing us how they prepared their home-grown maize to make either tortillas or tomales (depending on the preparation), they allowed us to tour the property and see the old school, cattle watering trough, kitchen, and even the 80-meter-deep well (which is very high up on my list of favorite things seen in Mexico).  They also told us of Maya slaves who worked for the Spanish patrón, and the abuses incurred upon them—they were not even allowed to pick up a fruit found on the ground (regardless of its state) and eat it without permission.  In visiting this little compound—just a family of an older father, younger mother, two small children, and two very old brothers—I felt as if all indication of time had been suspended.  If not for the dress or the somewhat modern style of the trash (for lack of a better word) that they recycled and used, they could have fit in to any time period since the beginning of the Maya people.  So while life in Kiuic was about as modernized as it could be—solar power, wireless, (temperamental) running water—life in the jungle amongst these ruins really reminded me that the Maya were not just some ancient people whose ways and memories are lost.  They live on today farming (as did the family we visited) and even in cities (as in Merida, where we drove past their huts on the south side of the city and even lived with some of the more fortunate ones in our homestays). 

[12.2.08]  Uxmal

Just when I thought that I had escaped the commercialization and over-touristy nature of sites we visited Uxmal.  Not complaining, though—it was a very beautiful site that has been reconsolidated well since its fluorescence in the Late Classic and all the years of erosion in between.  While the House of the Magician was huge—the same height as the Castillo in Chichén, but steeper—the Nunnery Quadrangle was even more impressive.  With three tiers representing the three parts of the universe—underworld, middle world, heavens—and incredibly restored Puuk mosaic architecture, it was undeniably one of the most impressive things I’ve seen in all the sites.  However, the addition of the light-and-sound show hardware and the poorly fitted lintels gave me the feeling that this site was edging on complete commercialism; this feeling wasn’t helped by the sight of the huge (probably American) hotel on the horizon when looking out from the top of the biggest pyramid there.  So while Uxmal was very beautiful, it bordered on too touristy for my liking (but not as bad as Chichén)—but I suppose that the funding it gets out of it to restore the structures there is worth it.

[13.2.08]  Labná/Sayil/Kabáh

The random arch at the beginning was a very nice intro to the site—very Harry Potter-esqe, though we didn’t die when we walked through it.  The Temple of the Masks was very impressively well preserved, as were the statues and nearby palace group, which represented colonette Puuc architecture and the rubble corn behind each of the façade rooms.  It wasn’t too overwhelmed by tourists, but it still had more than Sayil, where we saw the incredible multiple-additions palace and the great Yum Keep, a scandalous fertility altar nearby.  However, the most impressive site of the day was the arch of Labná, incredibly beautiful and detailed—yet lacking the sense of forgotten legend that Catherwood endowed it in his paintings.  Though not as idyllic as in the 1850s, it was still a beautiful site with greatly restored buildings—El Mirador, the palace, etc.

[14.2.08]  Mani/Loltún/Oxkutzkab

Despite the fact that I almost ate it on the stairs down (not even in the cave!), Loltún was a beautiful & fascinating place, even if it seemed very pre-organized to Wow! the average tourist and thus leaves us seasoned professional students to wonder what the point of the light show and the mysterious stories was.  It was definitely interesting to hear how rebels holed up in there in the Caste War—in the same place where their ancestors had lived 1000s of years before.  Also included in this ancestral line were those accused by the religious authorities in Mani, where Bishop Landa basically put an end to Maya culture & religious tradition by fire with the intention of saving their souls.  While he’s now notorious for his acts, it was definitely neat (in the loosest sense of the word—maybe impacting) to see the place where one man destroyed all that we could have known about the ancient Maya..  This is one more example of Spanish development & betterment gone awry.  Oxkutzkab was pretty cool too, enabling us to see the striation of social structure (rich and poor, etc.) in a modern Maya Mexico city.

[22.2.08]Tulum

I’d call this place a seaside Chichén, with vendors & hecklers virtually everywhere as the group wandered around the site.  While I loved everything about its location on the very edge of a Caribbean cliff, its unfortunate proximity to Cancún  not only gives an influx of visitors, but also gives these tourists—who probably only visit Tulum or Chichén—the wrong idea entirely about Maya culture, architecture, & city building.  Tulum is a very unique example of a Maya city and should not be touted as one of the best representative examples of Maya cities.  On a lighter note, the fact that its name meant “stinky dirt” was very entertaining, while the temple of the Frescoes (w/ its depictions of opposites [life/death, eyes open/closed, Quetzalcoatl/Kuk’ul’kan, and the baby w/ its own umbilical cord]) was telling of the Teotihuacan influence at the site.

[29.2.08] Muyil

Following sprink break & floating downriver in upside-down life jackets, this site was a good break from all the mayhem of R & R.  I really liked the Castillo—with its round ceiba representation, birds linking the structure to heaven, and a whole mix of styles, I thought this main structure was a really beautiful example of Post-Classic architecture.  The temple on top of the cave was cool too, in addition to the fact that modern shamans still use it for ceremonies.

[1.3.08] Becán/Chicanna

As we moved further from Touristland, it was wonderful to once again climb these structures (though they were never meant to be climbed by normal people) and explore all the really awesome passages & archways found throughout.  It was also very impressive to see the altar of Quetzalcoatl, showing that the site was used for a really long time, from Classic to Late & Terminal.  Again, it was neat to find Chaak masks and realize just how prominent of a god he was throughout the Maya world.  It was also neat to see Rio Bec architecture—a nice change from the Puuc—and imagine how formative a defense the moat and a palisade wall could have provided in a time of conquest.  The Early Classic mask frieze was finely preserved, and it was incredible to finally see something whole from all those years ago.  It was the same story with Chicanna—beautiful Rio Bec architecture, cool Chaak masks, and well-preserved artifacts for us to examine.

[2.3.08 & 3.3.08] Calakmul

Calakmul, capital city of the great Ka’an empire, certainly lived up to its notoriety of massive size and power—the sight of structure 2 alone was enough to convince anyone of this city’s ability to gather enough resources for such a structure and construct it.  Along with these huge edifices, the numerous (thousands) of other structures showed just how huge & powerful this capital was.  It must have been incredible to be there in the Classic period fluorescence—with 1000s of people, huge painted & stuccoed monuments, it must surely have been a sight.  It was also really incredible to see Lundell’s original graffiti of discovery on Structure 3—it made me wonder just what the site looked like when they came across it in the middle of the jungle, and how impossibly long it would have taken to clear all of that vegetation out before even beginning to attempt to examine and reconstruct the dilapidated structures there.  It was definitely worth the 4+ hour bus rides.

[5.3.08] Palenque

Of all 22 sites that we eventually visited, Palenque was by far my favorite.  The sight of the Temple of the Skull, the Tomb of the Red Queen, and the Temple of the Inscriptions all staring down at us from the top of the hill upon entering were ridiculously impressive—and the sight of the Palacio sitting solidly and massively just across the grass was equally awesome.  This building—which I’m convinced is the best building in the Maya world ever—was so beautiful & absolutely unique, with its very own style—it actually seemed like someone’s house (be it stupendously huge, with courtyards, rooms, & archways) and not just some enormous ceremonial pile of stones.  Seeing the cross group from the top of the palacio, we visited this group as well and found it to have been built by Pakal I’s son, Kinich Kan Balaam I—and maybe he’s even buried beneath.  The waterfall at the end was especially spectacular, wrapping up a very beautiful day with a beautiful sight.

[6.3.08] Bonampak

Despite the sweltering heat of the day, this Early/Classic site was well worth the visit.  While the steale basically all legitimized the power of the king, the murals found in Structure 3 were the highlight of the site.  While #1depicted the heir designation of the king (“it’s a big party”), #2 showed a gruesome battle scene of torture & destruction; #3 showed a celebration of an event (battle victory?).  It was really awesome to see fully intact murals for once—not just bits of paint and stucco—but it was very disappointing to know that the first restoration attempts were done by complete idiots who had probably ruined them.  In all, though, Bonampak was a good example of just how productive & successful an undercity can be.

[7.3.08] Yaxchilan

While I had anticipated this to be my favorite site long before the trip began—a boat ride up a river, hijinx near the Guatemalan border—it wasn’t as impressive as the beauty of Palenque or the hugeness of Calakmul.  The preserved lintels were pretty amazing, though, and it was really neat to see the things pictures in books in the actual reality of carved stone and shadow.  Temple 33 was especially beautiful, with Rio Bec roof combs and the decapitated statue of Itzaamna Balaam II (built by Bird Jaguar IV to commemorate his father).  All in all, Yaxchilan was nice, but not as impressive as others I’ve seen.

 

             

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.