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 July 24, 2004
Exchange rate: $1 = about 11 pesos
Now that I've left Mexico I guess it's the time to do some summarizing, plus cover some traveling
that I did in the south of the country on the way out.
In all candidness my experience in Mexico was not that great overall! There were some upsides, but it was definitely
a test - sometimes a severe one. I liked the city of Zamora and the beautiful Michoacan area, plus I've already
mentioned the incredible cuisine. The Mexican people were excellent as I enjoyed their laidback attitude and friendliness
and I was very well treated, as a whole. My many extended bicycle rides through the countryside were exceptional…
I still have such vivid recollections from them. I also made a few good friends.
But although I found interacting with the Mexican people a genuine pleasure I must say in all honesty that I didn't
share that same affection for the students I had at Culturlingua, the school I taught at. Teaching them was by
far my most negative experience as a teacher ever! These were the spoiled rich kids of Zamora and many of them
were unmotivated, lazy and extremely disrespectful. Those I taught in Indonesia were also from wealthy families
but in that culture young people respect authority and age and I had virtually no problems.
As I've mentioned before most of the classes were very challenging since there were continual discipline problems,
regardless of how creative and adaptable I was as a teacher. In general, many didn't take either me or learning
English seriously at all! Unfortunately I got no support at all from the student's parents. I don't think they
really cared one way or another if their kids learned anything, since when I sent home detailed written reports
about students either failing or misbehaving I never got any response at all from any of them.
And when the school administration ever got involved in problems they displayed some support but were very careful
to not bite the hand that fed them…that being the one which wrote the tuition check. When it came down to who to
back up in any conflict it was clear that the teachers were the ones who were expendable. It's ultimately a business
and the almighty peso is God!
The other problem I had was readjusting to American culture. While living and working in Europe and Asia I'd had
minimal contact with either the people or culture of North Americans and being re-exposed to it was a rude reawakening!
In terms of day-to-day challenges, most of my difficulty arose from merely regular interaction with the other teachers,
both American and Canadian. I had some good experiences, but I sure had a heap of bad ones!
What I noticed most of all was how some had been terminally infected with the dread disease of "niceness".
Whether it's phony small talk ("It's been nice meeting you.", etc.), outrageous "political correctness",
or just not really saying what's on your mind, it's so important in N.A. culture to be nice. It seems that being
nice is far more important than being real! I'd forgotten how prevalent this mentality was.
I realize that I'm not everyone's cup of tea and I don't try to be…what's the point of that? I've occasionally
had my differences with others along the road of life and I can deal with that. Everyone is entitled to their opinion
about me, just as they are about anything else. But I was stunned by a remarkable intolerance and rush to judgment.
In some people's view, expressing a strong point of view was being "arrogant", being direct was considered
"pushy", confronting anyone about anything was "dictatorial and controlling", joking around
and teasing a bit…what the Brits might call "taking the piss"…was being "insensitive". Better
be really careful what you say!
But I tend to say what is on my mind and can be quite blunt, occasionally a bit tactless. I may have honed that
skill while living in Germany where it's a true art form! And often my thoughts and feelings are not mainstream,
maybe a bit unconventional. Ok, maybe very unconventional on some issues! Plus I wasn't fixated on being "nice",
but rather involved with being me. Apparently this was hard for some of the other teachers to deal with. I discussed
this topic with Bill, one whom I did get on with quite well. For one thing it was clear that I was too direct and
opinionated for some individual's tastes. I joked with Bill that maybe I should just not open my mouth anymore.
"Maybe not such a bad idea.", he smiled.
But eventually it was time to leave and so I packed up my life's belongings and climbed on a bus headed first for
Mexico City. Once there I immediately took a taxi across town to where I could get another bus to Cuernavaca in
order to meet up with an old friend from Phoenix who was studying Spanish there with his family. It was great hanging
out with Ken and his kin, which justified my being in a city I quite frankly didn't care for at all. Cuernavaca
is highly Americanized, with towering prices and lots of people in a big hurry. It is the least Mexican city I've
ever been to in Mexico.
But if you find yourself there, there is a medieval-style fortress worth checking out. Palacio de Cortes was built
between 1522 and 1532 on the site of an indigenous pyramid destroyed by the infamous conquistador Cortes. He lived
there, plus it remained with his family for a century after he returned to Spain before later being utilized as
a prison. Then there's Recinto de la Catedral, which in 1526 the Franciscans forced indigenous people to build
for them using stones from the rubble of their own temples which had been obliterated by the Spanish. In the cruelest
irony a fortress was built this way for the Spaniards to impress, intimidate and defend themselves against the
oppressed natives.
After two nights I was off to Oaxaca via a bus change in Pueblo. I'd heard a lot about Oaxaca…there are many who'd
praised its beauty and charm. It has narrow cobbled streets, many stone buildings, pleasant tree-shaded plazas,
chic cafes and restaurants, quality museums and galleries, plus reputedly the best handicraft shopping in Mexico.
It's the capital of Mexico's modern art scene and a popular choice for students learning Spanish, with a sizable
number of language schools.
But though it certainly has a nifty post-colonial ambiance I never did warm to it either. Attractive as it is,
I found it to be far less striking or interesting than either Guanajuato or Morelia in Central Mexico, or Taxco
just south of Mexico City. And the town center was loaded with vendors - wherever I sat they were constantly in
my face! But you'll find that I am in the minority… most visitors love Oaxaca and you should check it out for yourself.
One site there I did find to be superb was Iglesia de Santo Domingo, completed in 1608 by the Dominican order as
a monastery. It was the exterior I became infatuated with, the baroque façade with its delicate earth-tone
shades and textures contrasting with the radiantly bright colors of the surrounding plant life. When I could keep
the salespeople from hounding me I sat and savored the delicate hues in the shifting light…delicious! And there's
some fine carving to enjoy, as well. Apparently the Dominicans had a pretty good track record helping to protect
the indigenous people from the excesses and abuses of conquest…far better than the Franciscans, I've read.
There are fifteen indigenous groups in the state of Oaxaca numbering over one million, eachwith its own distinctive
language and clothing. You'll see many of them in the market area and central square, the women often wearing their
"huipils": long, woven tunics with intricate, colorful embroidery. They're magnificent! Unfortunately
these people have the lowest standard of living and still suffer widespread discrimination and even violence at
the hands of the mestizos (people of mixed ancestry). The further south in Mexico you go, the more this is true.
Which brings me to the next leg of my journey southward. For 291 pesos I bought an overnight bus ticket to San
Cristobal de las Casas. After twelve hours I arrived at 9 am, slightly nauseous from the wicked winding road that
leaves many a traveler on this jaunt puking in the bus bathroom. I was also exhausted, as I just cannot sleep well
on buses (or planes). But I'd saved myself the cost of a room that night, plus gained a day of sightseeing not
having spent it on the road.
San Cristobal de las Casas lies in the state of Chiapas, the southernmost and poorest one in Mexico. It's a varied
and fascinating destination and a cultural bridge in many ways to Guatemala, which I believe it's more similar
to than to the rest of Mexico. Once there you've entered what was once the magnificent Mayan world, an area that
predominately comprises southern Mexico (including the Yucatan), Guatemala and the southwest of Honduras.
It's culturally rich but economically deprived, geographically rugged and stunningly beautiful, and has also been
a hotbed of revolutionary activity in recent times. I liked it very much and stayed there a full five days and
nights. I strongly recommend it and to enhance your experience there, suggest that prior to going you read up a
little on its history, particularly that of the violent 1994 Zapatista uprising. But here's a brief overview.
On January 1, 1994 an armed group calling itself Ejercito Zapatista de Liberacion Nacional stormed into four towns
within Chiapas and sacked and occupied government offices. Based among the peasants and decidedly left-wing in
ideology, their objective was to strike against the centuries-old grip of a wealthy minority on the land, natural
resources and political power in this area. Here the indigenous people are the worst off of any within the country:
severely impoverished and lacking in basic education, health care and civil rights.
This strike by the Zapatistas hurled them into the international media scene, particularly after it was brutally
suppressed by the army, with about 150 Zapatistas killed as they were severely outnumbered and outgunned. The survivors
retreated into their forest and jungle hideouts and subsequently carried out their battle mainly through the media
while their leader, Subcomandante Marcos, became a cult figure of Che Guevara stature within this region.
The movement gained broad-based support from the peasants as the Zapatistas demanded political reforms and land
redistribution. In some cases farms and ranches were seized. Over the years, especially in 1997 and 1998, tensions
and killings once again escalated. Entire villages were massacred by the army, about 21,000 locals were displaced
and by 1999 about 60,000 troops were stationed in Chiapas with roadblocks becoming commonplace. Ousted members
of the ruling PRI party formed paramilitary organizations and contributed to the killings. The election of Vicente
Fox in 2000, the first non-PRI president in many decades, brought breakthroughs in negotiations and tensions have
eased, though more than 10,000 indigenous people still live in camps.
San Cristobal was a focal point throughout this decade of struggle and the high-profile propaganda campaign that
the Zapatistas waged. You cannot visit this area without bearing witness to its aftermath. For one thing, Subcomandante
Marcos dolls are sold everywhere…with balaclava masks on them, since that's the sole image known of him in public!
Can you imagine buying Mao dolls in China in the 1930s, or Fidel dolls in Cuba in the 1950s? Or how about Lenin
dolls in Russia prior to the October revolution in 1917? Who might they be making dolls of in the U.S. in the coming
decade?
San Cristobal is not just a beautiful city but is also a bit bohemian, with an active expat community. Plus the
indigenous people, the Tzotziles and Tzeltales, are high profile and colorfully present everywhere in their distinctive
garb. The main plaza (zocalo) is a great place to sit, though you will get pestered a bit to buy stuff. When I
was there a group of college-age students were maintaining a vigil with speakers periodically firing off some revolutionary
sounding rhetoric…at least it sounded like some. I couldn't really follow the speech in Spanish and was unable
to locate a participating student with English adequate enough to explain it to me.
A mid-16th century church, the Templo de Santo Domingo casts its lofty presence over the town center quite nicely.
There's a terrific Mercado (market) to shop in, whether it's for food or traditional clothing or crafts. Wandering
the streets up and down gently rolling hills will provide you with pleasant surprises, I assure you. And the bonus
is that Chiapas is by far the least expensive part of Mexico. For example, I got a choice private room at the Plaza
Central Hotel for only 50 pesos/night, far less than what I'd normally spent farther north. Make note though -
at 2100m elevation it's cold!
I took two trips outside of town worth sharing with you. The first was to San Juan Chamula, easily reached 18km
away via combi (mini bus) for only 7 pesos. A Tzotzile village 100m meters higher, the town itself is kind of bleak…it's
cemetery and church are what visitors come for. On the edge of town the cemetery surrounds a shell of an ancient
church and has different colored crosses on the graves, depending on how old the people were when they died. It
was worth a quick perusal.
But the church was incredible, at least for me. Templo de San Juan faces the main square and does so unimpressively,
though it's arch is colorfully painted. But once you enter it becomes remarkable. You're supposed to buy a ticket
for 10 pesos from El Departamento de Turismo Municipal de San Juan Chamula, Chiapas (sound official enough?), and
this "Autoriza el permiso para visitar la Iglesia Catolica" firmly informs in both Spanish and English
that all photographs are strictly forbidden and those not respecting this will be punished.
This is a point worth emphasizing. Within Mayan populated areas it's critical that you observe caution with your
camera if you carry one. Never, ever take a photo of an indigenous person without receiving clear approval…even
if it's a child…in fact especially if it's a child. Not only are many of these people very superstitious but in
addition there've been incidents of child kidnapping by Westerners in the past and consequently tourists have been
chastised, threatened and even beaten for careless photo taking. In the Highlands of Guatemala some tourists have
even been killed for their indiscretion.
The interior of the church is ringed by images of saints, most made of wood and housed in funky little cubicles.
This church may be Catholic but it bears small resemblance to any others of that faith I've ever been in. Christian
beliefs are modified somewhat as well as interwoven with Mayan and other animistic traditions. For example, occupying
a much greater importance than Jesus Christ is San Juan Bautista (St. John the Baptist), and his image is far more
prominent.
But what was of primary interest to me was what took place on the floor of the church. All over were scattered
pine needles that were hastily cleared for positioning candles - thousands of candles! Devotees would melt the
wax in order to stick them on the floor and here they would kneel and pray, chanting as they did. One woman was
holding a live chicken by its legs, wildly waving it in the air as she carried on! And to make it even more bizarre,
many were slurping Pepsi and Coke and belching away, which is believed to facilitate the expelling of evil spirits!
I was particularly fascinated since…aside from the occasional burping…it was eerily reminiscent of being in Tibetan
Buddhist temples in Nepal and Bhutan. The candles, the smell of incense, the bright colors and even the facial
features of the men, women and children, and especially the chanting…it was SO much like what I could vividly recall.
When I closed my eyes and took it all in those memories intensely rushed back at me.
Maybe you've noticed - how the cultures of numerous Native American peoples and those of various Asian indigenous
communities are so remarkably similar? I recall once being in a Dayak village in Borneo and experiencing the same
phenomenon as I imagined a Navajo ceremony back in Arizona. But since there was a land bridge connecting Asia and
North America some 20,000 to 25,000 years ago it all makes sense that I could have serious déjà vu
in both cases.
The other day trip out of San Cristobal was to Canon del Sumidero. For 30 pesos, a rustic local bus took an hour
descending to 550m near the city of Tuxtla Gutierrez, where the Rio Grijalva flows northward. We had the bus driver
drop us off along the road and a brief walk brought Steffan and I to where we paid 95 pesos each for a ticket.
(Steffan is a Dane I'd met back in Oaxaca and who joined me in many of my activities my last few days in Mexico.)
This is a boat trip not to miss!
Soon after leaving the dock the canyon narrows and the walls rise straight up to as high as 800 meters above you!
We zoomed along in a fiberglass craft powered by a massive outboard motor and it was exhilarating. Here and there
were caves and odd formations of rock and vegetation, including one cliff face covered with thick moss that vaguely
resembles a huge Christmas tree…if you have an active imagination.
Leaning back as we cruised in style, we spotted various waterfowl such as herons, egrets, cormorants, kingfishers
and the expected sea gulls. We also saw some vultures and owls. We paused by some towering trees and observed families
of frisky monkeys cavorting high in the branches. We even saw some crocodiles up close. The ride lasted 90 minutes
and was one to remember…and to strongly suggest!
While in Chiapas most visitors go to the famous Mayan ruins Palenque, which are apparently incredible. For me it
was significantly inconvenient and I also knew I'd later check out Tikal in Guatemala and perhaps Copan in Honduras,
so I passed on it. Instead I loaded up my hefty luggage on to a van with Toliman Travel (a good outfit) that was
headed for Lago de Atitlan in Guatemala and said goodbye to Mexico at the gritty border town of Ciudad Cuauhtemoc.
Here I'd expected to pay $20 to renew, before departing, my expired Mexican entry visa which had been issued back
in October for only 6 months. I'd been coached when at Culturlingua to inform authorities upon exiting that I'd
"lost it", rather that admitting that I'd actually overstayed my legal limit. Remember… I'd been there
8  months… naughty boy that I am! When I handed the uniformed officer behind the counter my
passport he asked me where my visa form was and I lied, "No tengo…no puedo buscar" ("Don't have…can't
find.")". He looked at me with surprise and asked me again and I told him the same answer once again,
and he then said to me in English, "Step over here." Well, "Step over here" is NOT something
anyone ever wants to hear come out of a border official's mouth! But I stayed cool, stepped over to where "here"
was, and when we repeated the same interchange a third time he just shrugged his shoulders and waved me through.
I reckon fast eddie pulled a fast one, huh?
I took this as a good omen and our vehicle quickly sped across the chaotic border to neighboring La Mesilla where
I got my entry stamp and was soon headed deep into Guatemala. That's where you'll pick up the next leg of my journey.
Hasta luego,
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Peace,