That night we had our first experience of sleeping in a Pemex parking lot. That's right, we slept at a gas station. We pulled into the parking area around 4pm, happy to see that the pumps were not functioning, and found a spot parked up against the back wall. We both used the restrooms in the convenience store, then returned to the car and said “Now what?” We had a few hours to kill before it was time to prepare dinner, and there really wasn't much to do in the parking lot. We drove into the town of Cintalapa and found the supermarket and purchased a few things for dinner. Now Cintalapa is not a town that many other tourists visit, so suffice it to say that we were the only gringos in the market that evening. Upon returning to our gas station home for the evening, we got to work setting up our camp kitchen, moving all our gear to the front seats, and setting up the bed. About halfway through this process a man started walking towards our car. We nervously assumed he might ask us what we were doing, but instead he proceeded to the Lady of Guadalupe shrine tucked in the corner of the parking lot and turned the light on. “Buenas Noches” he greeted us as he walked past the car. Mexicans are so friendly! [The perks of this Pemex being that the restrooms had Grape scented soap, much to the delight of Jason and Victoria when they informed us of the place]
Daylight savings had ended that weekend in Mexico (one week earlier than in the US), and so it was dark just after 6pm. We finished dinner and crawled into bed to watch some TV and kill time. I think I was asleep by 8:30pm. We slept amazingly soundly considering our location. The next morning we tore down our “camp” and were back on the road. We quickly realized our 12v outlet in the car had suddenly stopped working. We ran the fridge through the car the entire drive the previous day with no problems, but now the outlet would not work. We've been running our refrigerator off the car when we are driving to let the battery charge completely, so we knew we needed to resolve this problem once we arrived in San Cristobal.
We decided to stop at Sumidero Canyon, a large canyon that is believed to have formed around the same time as the Grand Canyon in the US, en route to San Cristobal. We followed a sign along the main highway, indicating the way to the canyon.[This being after we followed the signs to the first stop, a place that was fairly run down and completely empty. We assumed they'd moved across the river, but once on the river and going past the place, we realized they just weren't open when we'd strolled in] Pulling into the parking lot, it looked like we were the only ones there besides the souvenir vendors. We found our way to the ticket office and purchased tickets for the 2 hour boat ride through the canyon. It was us and about 15 other people, including several Mexicans, a group of Italians, and some other English speakers. We donned life jackets and piled into the small boat. Luckily the thick fog that we awoke to had cleared by this time, and the canyon sparkled in the mid-morning sun. We passed under the highway bridge and soon found ourselves deep in the canyon, with walls reaching 1000 meters at one point. Our guide pointed out crocodiles, spider monkeys, waterfalls, and other interesting geological formations. Our favorite part was seeing the “Christmas Tree” waterfall.
Highway bridge at the start of Sumidero Canyon
The water was said to be "full of crocodiles." We only saw 3.
The Christmas Tree waterfall.
A cave with pink and white colored walls. Also has a shrine to the Lady of Guadalupe. Can you spot the rock formation that looks like Christ on the crucifix? (Hint: to the right of the ladder)
Lots of garbage is washed out into the river. Here our boat is making it's way through a bottleneck in the river where the garbage collects. Eww. You can see boats with other people cleaning the garbage. They collect plastic bottles, tree branches, etc. and recycle/reuse them.
We rolled in to San Cristobal around 1pm and were planning to stay with a nun. My great aunt is a nun and had put us in contact with Hermana Mary, another nun in her order who had lived and worked in Chiapas since the mid-70s. Hermana Mary had given us directions to meet her at the parish, but we had missed the first turn and were completely lost. After bumbling down a few streets we pulled over and waited in a parking lot along one of the main roads. I tried calling Hermana Mary a couple of times, but to no avail. A few minutes later she texted that she couldn't talk right now. We waited in the car for nearly an hour, then spotted a market nearby. We walked on in to explore, stock up on limes and other fresh produce. We were immediately struck by the friendliness of the Chiapaneco women running the stalls in the market. They were soft spoken and kind in dealing with us. [huge smiles too] Not that other Mexicans had been mean or rude to us, but perhaps they were a bit distant or uninterested in dealing with us. Not these women. We paid 25 cents for a bunch of fresh mint (mojitos!!) and 50 cents for several large limes. Gotta love that cheap, fresh produce.
We took our haul (which did include more than mint and limes, believe it or not) back to the car. About that time we got a call from Hermana Mary. She was done with meetings and would come meet us at the market in a bit. We ventured back into the market in search of chicken, planning to make more Mole Poblano since we still had some sauce left. Most of the vendors in the outer row of the market had been selling either produce or cheap house wares. We found a side walkway that went into the covered part of the market. We finally found a woman selling chicken, but she only had whole chickens out on display. I asked if we could buy just the breast, and she immediately starts hacking away at a chicken. She had that thing cut into pieces in less than 3 minutes. I should have taken notes... it takes me much longer. We walked our chicken back out to our car, and after a few confusing phone calls as Mary and I tried to relate our location in the market to each other, we finally met up with Mary in the parking lot. She hopped in our car, with me crawling in back, and she directed us to the parish parking lot, where we met the secretary and the priest. [We were slightly delayed as the Padre had to clean out a cut he had from a chicken beak. The chicken nestled snugly in his arm like a football.] She then showed us the way to her home. We pulled inside her walled property (very common for urban homes to have brick or cement walls with an entrance gate to the property), and were soon greeted by two large and very energetic pups. Meet Chula, the calm and sweet 7 year old German Shepherd, and her younger companion Cuncun, a 10 month old pup full of more energy than he knows what to do with. Ike was instantly their new BFF.
Hermana Mary has a beautiful home that she built in San Cristobal 10 years ago. She asked the architect to avoid square rooms, so all the rooms are oddly shaped in rectangles, triangles, and some with semi circles. The home was also full of beautiful, natural light. What a treat to not only have a solid roof over our heads for a few days, but a beautiful one at that! We had planned to stay with Hermana Mary for only our first couple of nights in the city, then move to the campground on the other side of town. However, she was very hospitable and we very much appreciated having a bed to sleep in, a nice hot shower, and a stocked kitchen to cook in. We ended up staying for our entire time in San Cristobal, which turned out to be 6 nights. (Yes, 6 whole nights! What a luxury to be in one place for so long.)
Hermana Mary's gorgeous home with Cuncun and Chula playing out front.
Cucun, a force of constant energy
Cool and collected Chula
Hermana Mary always donned beautiful local textiles
Hermana Mary's home is on the road that divides the city of San Cristobal to the rural community of San Felipe. So right across the road are pastures with cows!
Breakfast of champions: tamale sampler plate, courtesy of Hermana Mary
Fajita night!
That night we stayed in, cooking dinner and relaxing in Hermana Mary's comfortable home. The next day we ventured in to the historic center of San Cristobal. We walked a couple of blocks along a dirt road out to the highway, then flagged down a local colectivo, which is basically a miniature bus. We hopped on and I immediately proceeded to embarrass myself by trying to shut the door (it was a side sliding door, similar to that of a mini van), only to have the driver tell me it shuts automatically. Doh! At that point we sat tight, waiting to observe the locals to see when we pay, how much it might be, and how to request a stop. Turns out to be not such a big deal. Pay anytime after you get on and before you get off, handing money to the passengers closest to the driver if necessary. This particular colectivo was 6 pesos (or 50 cents) per person each way. Yes, I think I can get used to life in Mexico. [Also a big fan of the public transit experience in Mexico: Anytime someone got in or got out, they said 'good afternoon' and 'thank you', rode quietly, made room for other people hopping on or off. It was a lot like being back in Japan!]
We hopped off the bus near San Cristobal's cathedral and explored the downtown markets and pedestrian streets on foot. Chiapas is known for it's ornate textiles, so of course I wandered in to a few textile shops to check out their wares. I fell in love with a beautiful long shirt, priced at 1500 pesos ($115 US, ouch!). At least I have good taste. I tried on a few pieces and asked prices, but planned to wait to purchase a shirt since we had a few days in the city. We bought a few gifts for our family (Christmas shopping in Mexico = best thing ever!) and returned for a relaxing evening at Hermana Mary's home. [For me, relaxing is relative, as I enjoyed playing fetch with the dogs, but Cuncun's energy being so high naturally passed to me by osmosis! I quickly learned that having gloves on to play catch made life better, not to protect my hands so much as to keep them dry. Those dogs drool like they were bred for it!]
One of San Cristobal's central churches
More of the protesting
We were considering taking a guided tour out to one of the indigenous mountain villages outside of San Cristobal, but Hermana Mary informed us that the village we were thinking of visiting was now very commercialized. [It has a weird obsession with Coca-Cola. Apparently they used to have an indigenous drink they'd use for religious purposes that was similar to carbonation. Upon discovering Coca-Cola, they quickly switched over to is to save them the hassle of brewing their old stuff.] Instead, she recommended that we visit Tenejapa. I did a quick Google search to see what I could find, but the only thing was a blog from early 2013. Not very recent information, but we decided to make the trek anyway. [Really trekking hard, sitting in the car for an hour. ;)]
We set out in our car that morning and headed up into the mountains. Not long after we were out of the city we began to see people wearing traditional clothes and small farms dotting the hillsides. Farmers here seem to plant corn wherever there is some open space, so often times there were small patches of corn right along the highway. We saw goats, chickens, cows, and sheep roaming along the road. Oh, not to mention dozens of topes to prevent us from speeding. As we approached the village of Tenejapa, we saw a beautiful cemetery along the road. It had a dozen or so tall, blue crosses, surrounded by graves. This was the Thursday before Dia de los Muertos, and people were already preparing the graves for the celebration. We even saw a ferris wheel and other carnival gear being set up. That village must really know how to party! [The mountainous terrain really isolates the villages quickly. Despite being pretty close to San Cristobal, Tenejapa felt like it was in the middle of nowhere, as it was a couple of small mountains away.]
The cemetery near Tenejapa, where they were setting up a carnival for the Day of the Dead festivities. We found this picture online.
A bit further down the road we arrived at Tenejapas. The one article I had found happened to mention that Thursday was market day in the village, and when we turned the corner we saw the downtown area was full of people milling around, despite the drizzle that had started as we climbed into the mountains. We found a small side street and parked Sweetcakes. The first thing we heard when we got out of the car was a loud MOOOOO. Oh, yup, there were a couple of cows for sale off on the side. Tempting to buy one.
We kept walking and soon after we were at the start of the market. By this point everyone was staring at us. We were the only foreigners in the market. We were soon approached by a middle aged, local man wearing traditional clothing. He grabbed my hand in an extended handshake and asked where we were from. I was surprised that a local approached us so brazenly (having heard that the village people didn't like to interact much with tourists), but it didn't take long to realize that this man was drunk. We politely made conversation for a couple of more minutes, then said Hasta Luego and were on our way.
Since it was drizzling, all of the market stands were covered with small tarps that were haphazardly strung across the street from one booth to the next. This made obvious the height disparity between the locals and us. Many of them were not much taller than 5 feet, some much shorter. I was having to duck to get under many of the tarp lines, poor Ike really had to hunch over to walk around. This only added to us sticking out, and we continued to get stares from nearly everyone we passed in the bustling market. We continued on and saw what was being sold in the market: everything from produce and meat, to traditional fabrics for the belts and skirts worn by the women, to any sort of cheap Chinese-made good you could imagine (kitchen wares, t-shirts, earrings, toys). After walking a few blocks we came to the end of the market and had a quick pow-wow about what to do next. The drive out to the village took over an hour, and we had just walked through the market in 10 minutes. Since it was raining, not much else was going on that day. I decided I wanted to buy one of the traditional belts and perhaps some flowers and fruit.
Nearly all of the women were wearing the traditional black skirts, made of a thick woven fabric with a 3-inch wide decorative, brightly colored embroidered pattern towards the top. The skirts were simply a piece of fabric that was then folded and pleated to fit, then tied with a traditional belt that again was a black woven cloth, about 6 inches wide, with brightly colored horizontal lines. I was surprised to see that most of the women wore what I would call “western” tops: t-shirts or simple blouses with sweaters or sweatshirts. Most of the men wore “western” clothes: pants or jeans, tshirts, etc. However, some of the men dawned the traditional clothing. For men, this is a black smock from the shoulders down to the knees, usually made from a fabric that looks furry (some of the women wore skirts of this fabric as well), with traditional fabric for skirts and what looked like a plain white shirt. On their heads they wore wide-brimmed black hats with long strips of brightly colored ribbon going from the center of the hat out over the brim. I had read online that the indigenous peoples do not like to have their pictures taken, so here are some photos I found online.
So, back to the market. On our initial pass through we had seen vendors selling the fabric for the black skirts and also the traditional belts. We headed back into the market and about halfway through we approached a group of 5 or 6 women sitting on the sidewalk, each with dozens of belts set out in front of them. Most looked very similar, but a few had different colors or were slightly different widths. I randomly chose one of the women towards the center and picked up a belt to look at. She said something to me, but I couldn't understand because she was speaking the native language. (On our first pass through the market I hardly heard any Spanish being spoken). Luckily a young girl sitting next to her was able to translate to Spanish for me. The woman was asking 100 pesos (something like $8 USD) for this beautifully woven belt. I set it back down and glanced around at the other women's belts to see if there was anything I liked better. The old woman said something to me, again in the native language. This time a young woman translated for me. With a big smile she said “She wants to know if you will buy it.” I asked her if the different colors on the belts had any significance, but she informed me that it was just a style choice. I turned to Ike for the money and paid for the belt. We were about to walk away, but I wanted to ask someone how to wear the belt. I could have figured it out, but I wanted to wear it the correct way. I asked the young woman who had translated for me for help and she gladly accepted.
By this time there were several groups of people standing around watching the spectacle. I took off my jacket and we got to work. An older woman stood by my side and helped also. I was holding cords, tightening the belt, tucking ends here and there. Everyone in that part of the market was watching and giggling (including me!) at the sight of a gringo wearing one of their traditional belts. When we were all done, I thanked the woman for helping me and she asked “Are you going to wear it?” And I said “Why not!” And so we set off through the rest of the market, me wearing my active wear clothes with a beautiful native belt over the top. We caught even more stares than the first time through. The locals were all so curious and interested in us.
We decided to buy some oranges and limes on our way out. Everything was so cheap, less than a dime for each piece of fruit. We also purchased some beautiful flowers to bring back to Hermana Mary's house. Everyone we interacted with at the market was so very kind to us.
Beautiful church at Tenejapa
We were almost back at the car when we noticed a textile store on the main road. I glanced in and only saw small pieces, nothing wearable, so we went to the car. Thankfully Ike asked me if I was sure I didn't want to look around the shop (he knew I wanted to purchase a traditional shirt), and so I said I would go take a peek, but only for a few minutes.
I walked in and started looking around and noticed right away they had traditional shirts in addition to the smaller, place mat-size weavings. There were 5 women inside, 3 young ladies and 2 older women. One of the young ones started talking to me right away. Asking where I was from, and then once she heard I was from the US, she asked if I could help her find work in the US. She said she wanted to move there to clean people's homes, but didn't know how to do it. I told her I didn't know very much either, but that perhaps she could talk to the government office in the city for more information about the visa. She must have already done so, because she replied that to get the visa you need a signature from the company you will work for, but she had no idea how to find a company. After a while the conversation turned towards her life in Chiapas. She doesn't live in the “city” of Tenejapas, but instead in a community of about 200 people in the mountains. She was surprised to hear that I also am from a farm, with pigs and corn.
I then asked about the textiles. They had two different color themes: one with bright reds (that I had seen in other shops in San Cristobal), and another with browns. I found out that the red color is more traditional, but that the women only where these shirts on special days. The elderly woman in the store asked me if I knew how to weave, and I said that no, but that I did know how to knit. I asked if all the women in her village know how to weave, and after thinking a while she said “Some, no.” Around this time, Ike poked his head in the store. After all, I said I wouldn't be gone long, but by now it must have been 15 minutes, so naturally he was a bit worried about me. He helped me pick out a few shirts to try on, and then we purchased one for 1000 pesos (~$75 USD). The price of the shirts depended on the amount of embroidery, and they ranged from 750 pesos up to 2000 pesos. Very satisfied with our purchases, we hopped in the car, and drove back down the mountains to San Cristobal.
This is the shop where I bought my shirt, and the woman who owns/runs the shop. We found this picture online.
[Life in the car waiting for Bethany wasn't all that boring either. I sat in the front seat and enjoyed the people watching going on. First, a couple of women waiting next to the car hung out, eventually getting tired of what they were holding onto and placing it in the rear swingout. When I hopped out of the car later, they had a mini freakout and quickly yanked the stuff out. I also watched two young boys come walking down the street, see the gas can secured, and become infatuated with it. They both took turns trying to pull it out before their mom told them to stop goofing around and to hurry up.]
We had to stop and buy a few groceries on the way home, but it was lunch time and so naturally we were hungry. As we were walking into the grocery store we noticed a Chinese restaurant just to the side. Ike loves Chinese food, so we decided to eat lunch there. It's never a good idea for us to go grocery shopping while hungry. We split a huge plate of Chinese food, then headed into the grocery store. We discovered that when we shop just after we eat, we buy a ton of alcohol! We bought some agave liquor to bring back to the states next week, a bottle of rum, some triple sec, beer, and of course tons of fruit juice for our mixed drinks. [I think...I think we have a problem.]
Friday morning we headed off to a mechanic to repair our 12v outlet in the car, which had suddenly stopped working the morning before we arrived in San Cristobal. Hermana Mary had a mechanic who knew an electrician that could help us out. [Important distinction in Mexico: there are mechanics and car electricians. Few do both [and there are actually tire repair specialists too]] We showed up at his place, but had to wait for the mechanic to return (we showed up a half hour late and so he had left to run errands). Mary and Ramon left us to wait for the mechanic. Ike inspected the fuses (which all looked fine), while I swept out the seats and floor mat area. House cleaning! The mechanic showed up and re-tested all the fuses, seeing that they were not the problem. However, there was no current running to the 12v outlet. He decided it must be a problem with the wiring, so he pulled it out and re-strung another wire. But it still didn't work. He then pulled out the actual plug and noticed there was a small wire that was broken, so he sautered it together and voila, it worked! The whole process took him about an hour and we were happy to pay him 200 pesos ($15) to have our outlet working again. Ike and I joked with each other: now that that's working, what will be the next car issue we encounter? [spoiler alert: the 12v again]
Whatever works, right?
So, we're going to get one like this, right Bethany?
After our stroll through the cemetery, we made our way downtown to see what was going on. We purchased some pastries and horchata [best we've had in Mexico!] and sat down to people watch at the main plaza. The excitement was building for this weekend's festivities. The food and sweets vendors were busy, some people were unloading gates (to block off the streets?), and music was playing. A block over we found that some of the public altars had already been constructed. The city holds an altar contest every year, so there were 10 or so set up on one side of the plaza.
Horchata? More like Nom-chata
With our blood sugar recharged, we decided to climb up the steps to the San Cristobal Church, which sat atop a hill that overlooked the city. “Watch out for the kids, they want a school tax,” some other foreigners warned as we made our way up the steps. About halfway up a couple of kids appeared out of nowhere and started asking us to write our names “for school, for school.” We said “no thank you” and they continued to pester us for awhile, but eventually left us to finish climbing the steps. San Cristobal sits at 7,200 feet above sea level, so at the top of the hill overlooking the city we felt that we were in the clouds! The weather here has been continuously fluctuating between cloudy and bright sunshine. From there, we walked home, enjoying the nice weather.
We'd swung by the AutoZone in town [yes, the very same] to pick up some stuff for Sweetcakes. It's been surprising how much Mexico feels 'Americanized' as it's continued to industrialize, one of the major ways being the proliferation of American stores in Mexican cities. Perhaps as a status symbol to the town of their 'progress'?
Saturday was a lazy day. We slept in, made breakfast, and spent most of the day online doing research for the rest of our time in Mexico and looking forward to Belize. We discovered that Jakob & Nikki from Sprinter Van Diaries, some overlanders we met back in San Miguel de Allende, were in town, so we made plans to get drinks with them that evening. Late that afternoon we hopped on another colectivo downtown and wandered through the markets, purchasing yet another Christmas gift, then set off looking for a place to grab some delicious dinner. Several of the pedestrian streets near the cathedral are full of restaurants catering to tourists: international food of all sorts in addition to the local fare. One thing the restaurants all had in common is that they were pricy. We found a hole-in-the-wall taco shop and enjoyed watching the futbol game with the locals during dinner. We walked around the plaza for a bit, trying to stay warm (it was in the low 40s that evening.... it gets cold up in the mountains when the sun sets!). We found Nikki & Jakob and headed to a Mezcaleria to catch up and swap stories.
Celebratory Mezcal shots with Nikki & Jakob from Sprinter Van Diaries
"Dance and enjoy, because life will eventually end!"
Sunday morning we woke up to a bright, shining sun. I headed to the cemetery to participate in the noon mass for Dia de los Muertos. The cemetery was even more bustling than it had been on Friday. It seemed as though half the town was packed in there. Several dozen vendors were outside, selling everything from flowers to decorate the graves, to balloons to entertain the kids, to scrumptious food. I was surprised to find that even though there must have been thousands of people in/near the cemetery, there were probably only 150 people at the mass. I texted Ike to come meet me to enjoy the celebrations. We walked around for awhile, observing families hanging out together near their family tomb, celebrating their deceased loved ones. There were roaming mariachi bands, picnic lunches, and everyone was having a wonderful time. We reflected on the different attitudes towards death between the US and Mexico, and hope that our future family will celebrate our lives when we move on from this world, rather than dwelling on our absence.
Entrance to the cemetery: "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live even though he dies."
Another gate in the cemetery: "Life is an illusion. Death is the reality. Here begins the rein of the truth."
The next day it was time to leave San Cristobal. We had spent a wonderful 6 days in the city, but had to catch a flight from Cancun in just a few days, so it was time to hit the road. Our next stop was the famous Mayan ruin site at Palenque. Highway 199 connects San Cristobal with Palenque, but we had heard and read stories of violence on this road in the past. We had poked around online, but were having troubles finding any recent reports. Hermana Mary thought we wouldn't run into any serious issues (perhaps a few local roadblocks, which are really women or children selling fruit), and Sprinter Van Diaries successfully made the trip the previous day. We set out early Monday morning and braced ourselves for a tedious drive down out of the mountains. Although it was only 130 miles, we heard this drive took around 6 hours due to all the speedbumps!
The first half of the drive was pretty uneventful: lots of elevation changes and topes but little else. We saw our first 'local' roadblock over an hour in: a young woman standing in the middle of the road in traditional garb, while a bored looking young man sat along the side of the road holding the string taught to make the rope roadblock, a small red flag along the middle lazily drifting in the wind to let us know they indeed had something strung across the road. We didn't have to confront the issue though, as the car I was following was having none of it, not even braking as it approached the rope. The young man dropped his hold on it, the rope went slack and it fell to the ground. We zipped on through without issue.
Another hour later we arrived at a military checkpoint. We pulled over, and actually received a true inspection – the serviceman poking through the car, particularly the souvenirs we had instead of just looking in and waving us through. There we no issues though, and we continued on. Shortly thereafter, we arrived in a small town and saw a fair number of people milling in the road, several with signs regarding the missing [murdered] students. Approaching this group, we slowed, I opened my window and passed a $10 peso coin to one of the masked men holding a collection bucket as he gestured to the signs listing their grievances. We made our way through another small group of young men who were speaking to a Taxi driver, and continued on, happy that the peaceful protesting didn't slow us down. [We've heard several reports from other travelers who've been stuck in traffic for hours due to protesting blocking roads.]
The rest of the drive we encountered several other 'local' roadblocks, all of which saw the ropes drop when it became apparent that we would not be stopping. One woman pushed her luck with the timing and received a clipped 'beep' from the horn.
Before arriving at the ruins, we made a quick stop at Misol-Ha, a famous waterfall. We had heard that there might be an unofficial entrance fee in addition to the official fee. This was certainly the case. We had to pay 10 pesos per person to use the road entering the park (the unofficial fee), and then pay 20 pesos per person to enter the park (the official fee). The waterfall was gushing and had a stunning, sheer drop off. The path led behind the waterfall and we were quickly drenched from the spray.
Due to a conflict between the government and the locals, you have to pay two entrance fees. This sign apologizes for that from the government.
As we arrived at our destination, we made our way towards the National Park, first paying our entrance fee to receive the exact same wristbands we had at the gorge. It said it was valid for a single day, but we figured we'd be fine wearing them when we made our way into the ruins the next day. We found the campsite / cabana / hotel we were staying at, and made our way in, one of only two groups camping in the lush grounds. We set up camp, and realized that we hadn't used the tent in over two weeks! We'd also put it away damp and never dried it, so now we had spots of mold. Sighing, we took it over to the wash station and went over the whole thing with soap and a scrub brush.
Taking a stroll later in the afternoon, we made our way towards the ruin entrance, wondering if we could examine the museum now to save us time the following day. As we approached, a local informed us the museum was closed [3pm?!] and wouldn't open until 9 the following morning, despite the park opening at 8. Yeesh.
The following morning we woke up, had breakfast, and made the walk up to Palenque, the whoosh of wind from the tour buses frequently flying past us on the road. We were told to get there in the morning to avoid the tour groups that came in the afternoon [some doing San Cristobal to Palenque and back in a day. Yuck] but if this wasn't busy, I'd hate to see the afternoon. We got in and made our way past the initial tour groups to get out and explore.
Palenque is one of Mexico's premier Mayan archeological sites [many more exist in Guatemala]. Flourishing during the Mayan classical period [300-900 AD], it was a provincial capital of 8 thousand people, allied with some nearby powers, fighting others. The Mayans didn't function like a nation-state, but much more like the German principalities of the 18th century. Each city had it's own ruling monarch, and while culture, writing, language, and religion was shared between Mayan states, each had local flourishes and differences. The extensive restoration process at Palenque that has gone on for over 5 decades allows tourists to visit a whopping 2% of the buildings discovered at the site. The rest remain buried under the thick jungle growth.
Panorama of some of the major structures at the ruins.
Vendors galore, selling trinkets to all the gringos.
Look closely and you an see flowers painted on the walls. Reassuring to see that floral print has been ugly for a millennium.
Side view of the Temple of the Inscriptions.
Ok, so I liked photographing the stairs. :)
Beautiful view looking out over the jungle and ruins, from atop one of the temples.
The sacred ball field. Mayans took their ball games very seriously. We learned that the players from the losing team were beheaded after the games. Maybe if we implemented this in modern day America the Lions would stop losing?
Jade mask found in one of the tombs at Palenque.
Some of the hieroglyphs found at the ruins.
As we wrapped up in the late morning, we returned to the campground and tore down the rest of our stuff. The drive to Cancun would take upwards of 12 hours, so we expected to get to the town of Escarcega a few hours away and camp at a Pemex. As we left around noon, we quickly discovered that the road conditions on this side of Palenque were vastly different from the mountain route coming up from San Cristobal. Long stretches of flat tarmac, few topes, small potholes. Cruising at 100kph, we hit Escarcega at 4, but figured we could make the push to Chetumal. One thing we hadn't anticipated though, was with the daylight savings shift, it was completely dark by 6pm, with the moon high in the sky and shining brightly. This went against our normal rules of no night driving [partly for safety [damn topes!], partly as insurance in case the campsite wasn't there], but Bethany had done her homework and we knew the place was there, and the nice roads left us feeling comfortable with our decision. Soon after dark, we passed another military checkpoint. They motioned to us to stop, but after a few simple questions (Where are you coming from? Where are you going?), we were back on our way. We arrived just after 7, pulling into a beautiful campsite, full of lush grass and seeing the moonlight reflect off the calm ocean.
Dinner was a heaped mountain of rice with seafood, aka paella. As we'd skipped lunch, we found ourselves devouring it all, and paying the exorbitant amount of $30 for food and drinks. We also struck up a conversation with an RV'ing couple from Belize, returning from a summer in the states.
Mmmm, paella!
The following morning greeted us thusly:
We met Sigo and Hilu, a German couple overlanding [already two years in, with several more to go!] in this sweet german Cold War surveillance truck [originally built in the 50's, they have the last model from '82]! Amazing!
Further inspiration came as we spoke to a couple from Edmonton (Alberta, Canada) traveling with their two boys, ages 5 and 2. Having seen 130 countries, spent 13 years biking around the world, we found our jaws needing picking up. We got hearty enthusiasm for Africa, and Bethany and I realized that maybe this travel thing needs to become a way of life instead of a one-off trip. The more we explore, the more we realize that the world is a big, beautiful place full of amazing people. Some of the best experiences we've had are when we push ourselves into new areas, meeting new people and seeing how under the amazing complexity of life and experience other people have, just how similar we all are.
We did find that spirit evaporating a bit as we made our way up the Yucatan coast towards Cancun. Seeing the amazing places we've seen over the last few weeks, I found myself feeling a bit condescending towards the tourists zipping around in Mustangs along the pristine highway. “This isn't Mexico! Get out and see all it has to offer!” I kept yelling at them in my mind. Then I kept remembering how we were just here two years ago, though, just another tourist. What we really hope is that the comfortable tourist experience people have here can introduce them to enough 'true' Mexico to entice them to come back and see more.
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