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San Juan Chamula – Same continent, another worldBy Ursula Maxwell-Lewis
Carefully I sidestepped wax-anchored rows and semi-circles of creamy three-inch candles flickering on the mosaic tile floor. Next to the now inert fowl sacrifice a rheumy-eyed indigenous elder hunched forward staring bleakly through the haze towards the crucifix and flower-powered alter. Perhaps what ailed him had transferred to the rooster's spirit. He looked suspiciously hung-over. I’d been warned that the worshippers would pay a buddy to intercede for them when an overdose of local tequila interfered with the prescribed weekend ritual worship. No one forewarned me about the neck wringing. Warily I glanced round at the assortment of apparently hypnotized snowy hens lovingly wrapped in white cotton dozing before their owners. Fear of the tough looking dude at the door who had demanded my cameras be securely stowed made me resisted the urge to warn the unsuspecting ‘flock’. Devoid of pews, the entire congregation sat cross-legged at ground level on a fragrant carpet of fresh pine needles. Glassy-eyed plaster saints silently stood guard over the scene. Sun streamed through the full-length windows bouncing off shards of mirror – believed to be an effective direct portal to the heart of a favorite saint. The significance of the three eggs worshippers dangled in mesh bags over their candles eluded anyone I questioned. To no one’s surprise the original church had burned down. Years after the event, the saint concerned was reputedly still in disgrace for not keeping a keener eye on things.
Ethnic groups in the central highlands are comprised of the Tzotzil and Tzeltzal tribes, which, like the majority of other Chiapas tribes, speak languages derived from the ancient Maya languages. The Tzeltal idolize "talking crosses". According to legend these are associated with pre-Hispanic idols, and are reputed to talk to the faithful. The Chamula Carnival, also called Kin Tajimultic, is the most important fiesta of the Totzils and features ritual dances and the spectacular fire running. Such ceremonial activities reaffirm the group's identity and an ancestral religion based largely on agriculture.
Tourists are tolerated, but photography is generally forbidden. A wizened female fruit vendor straight-armed pebbles at me fearing she'd been included in a picture approved by a nearby merchant. Old superstitions linger here. "Have you ever been stoned before?" joshed my guide, Maria, after assuring the still skeptical woman that her aura remained intact outside my camera. Entrance to the church was free, and zocalo vendors seemed ambivalent about sales. Bargaining is the custom, but merchants rarely moved much on prices. Farming keeps the indigenous fed and housed, providing a security not generally associated with city centers. The local economy is based on cultivation of corn, beans, squash, potatoes, pears and other vegetables. Pigs and poultry are plentiful. A profit sharing co-op called "Sociedad Cival" encourages the preservation and revitalization of Mayan art. Locals can study and recreate ancient textiles, natural dying methods for wool and cotton, and ancestral weaving techniques.
My trip to Chiapas was routed via Mexicana Airlines from Vancouver via Mexico City to the vibrant city of Tuxtla. The drive north from Tuxtla is not for the faint hearted or those prone to motion sickness. Mountainous and scenic, the snaky road is a seemingly endless whiplash of twists and turns – much a which our driver nonchalantly navigated from the centre line. My ancient eyes were out on stalks attempting to research the on-coming traffic around the blind turns. A few well-chosen words in Spanish altered his technique. “Just want to get off this road before dark,” he grinned. I was all for that! Ancient history, politics, crafts and lifestyles unlike any you find in touristy coastal areas abound. Weather-wise many Mexicans say Chiapas has the best conditions in the country. If you go to the San Cristobal area around November take some warm clothes – it can be quite cold at that altitude. The rainy season is June to September. In general the North Americans find the weather warm, but not as oppressive as in the coastal areas. For more information surf www.travelchiapas.com or dial 1-800-44MEXICO (1-800-44639426) Photos: Ursula Maxwell-Lewis |
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TM
Despite
the Mexican heat, I felt an instinctive chill. It preceded the pagan vibes that
washed over me as I stepped into the smokey, cavernous body of San Juan Chamula
Church far from the Mexico’s coastal meccas. Glassy eyed and trance-like, a
chanting Chamula male on my right reached down and efficiently snapped the
scrawny neck of the unsuspecting rooster dozing at his feet. Any doubts I might
have harbored about this being a run-of-the mill village parish church vanished.
San
Juan Chamula, 10 kilometers from San Cristobal in the central highlands of
Mexico’s infamous Chiapas, is nestled peacefully among lush green hills, and
entrenched in eerie traditions. Fiercely independent, its people are proud and
superstitious. Rumor says St. John chose this site as a ceremonial centre in
ancient times. Pre-Hispanic and Christian traditions, a legacy of 16th century
friars, produced the strange Catholic/pagan cultural mix I'd witnessed.
Impressively,
the white adobe church anchors the village and looms imposingly over the
rambling, flourishing marketplace splaying out from the church walls. Be sure
to avoid my mistake of rolling in without extra pesos. Chamula women are
talented weavers, and you’ll find it hard to resist the vibrant hues of Mexico
woven into clothes, blankets, and tablecloths from the wool of local sheep.
Thanks to the discovery of an ancient icon of St. John the Baptist holding a
sheep, sheep are protected here, so their long fine wool is a plentiful local
resource. The squat, stocky black-haired women are the tough little work force
of this tight-knit community of 59,000. Aloof macho males saunter casually
around the zocalo and village sporting impressive white wool vests. 
Children
hawkers can be pesky and aggressive, and keep your eyes peeled for ten-year olds
driving pick-ups packed with passengers. Licensing – to put it mildly – is lax
here, and so are the rules of the road. Need I also say beware of pickpockets?