San Cris, revisited (o, San Cris, vuelta a visitar)

As you probably guessed from my first San Cristobal post, I adore this historic mountain town. There is so much to see and do, and so much worth seeing more than once, that I was excited to be able to go back with a friend, Erika, and her adorable and incredibly well behaved 18 month old son a couple weeks ago. We were so excited and wrapped up in talking that we missed our first bus. But, lucky for us, there was another one 15 minutes later. I "pretended" to have missed the call for our bus because I didn't understand the Spanish announcer. The truth is, no one understands the announcers, even Erika who is Mexican and a native Spanish speaker missed it. But, with little trouble, we were on the next bus.

I didn't remember the sidewalks being so cracked and bumpy the last time, but then again, I wasn't imagining navigating a stroller. San Cristobal is not meant for strollers. If only Erika had bought a traditional baby sling instead of a wheeled stroller. All of the women use slings, and after 20 minutes we understood why. Erika ditched her stroller for the day at our first stop, the trolly tour. I skipped this my first visit and opted for walking, but am glad to have boarded. I love nerdy tours like this one that infuses sightseeing with tidbits of historic tales. I had to focus quite a bit to understand the Spanish, and was grateful to have Erika to reassure me that I was understanding everything. We drove down the narrow roads that felt almost European (which makes sense considering the huge Spanish influence in this part of Chiapas) past a couple cathedrals that I didn't come across on my first trip, including the temple of the patron saint of the town, Saint Christopher. The Saint Christopher temple is on a huge hill, a mini mountain really. The view from the top made the climb more than worth it, even though the church itself was closed.

On our way up the countless steps, we were approached by two young boys. This is one thing that I don't think I'll ever get used to here in Mexico. It is so common to see children asking for money or selling gum and candies. There parents are nowhere to be seen. Kids as young as six and seven seem be taking on responsibilities far beyond their years. These boys didn't ask for money at first, but for us to sign a paper for a project for their school. Then after writing my name and where I was from, they asked if i could donate money to help them pay for school supplies. I passed along a few pesos and we continued our trek up the hill. I really hope the money I gave them goes toward their education, it seems to be the only way to ensure that their lives improve, and the cycle of poverty can be halted.

It's like a different world when you are looking at a town from so high above. There was a refreshing breeze and we quietly looked out over the seemingly calm city. I guess everything seems peaceful when you can't see all the details. It's always so dwarfing to look at landscapes like this, but also reassuring that you are a part of this great place.

Back down in town, we stopped at a candy store to quiet our grumbling stomachs. I had my first traditional candy, a deliciously sweet coconut treat. I can't remember the name now, but it's like a log of coconut and sugar dyed a brilliant pink, yellow or orange.

After lunch we found the fruit market that I missed the first time. Blackberries and raspberries begged to be bought and the only thing I regret is that I didn't buy more. In addition to fruit, there was meat. There is always meat, but not cooked tacos or something tame like that, no, it was chicken feet. I looked down an aisle and there was all sorts of unidentifiable meat sold, out in the open, unrefrigerated. I opted to go down a different aisle. Oh, and there were also flat screen, right in some of the booths. I peaked in and could see some of the vendors catching the Pre-game Superbowl entertainment.

That's right, it was Superbowl, there were specials. Our last stop, the Kitch and Bagel (the same place I saw the flamenco dancer the first time), had two for one and the game on in back. We opted to sit outside instead. I ended my second time in San Cris with a cappuchino and Rompompe (a vanilla-ish liquor that mixes fantastically with coffee) and enjoyed people watching until it was time for us to catch the bus back to Tuxtla.

They're everywhere (o estan por todos partes)

Nearly a month ago, my friend Anna read my mind and wrote this blog. Ok, well, she didn't read my mind so much have a very similar experience and articulate it in a way that I won't be able to top. The short story is that Mormons are everywhere. The long story is really not all that interesting as it involves a pretty dull conversation between me and two Mormons from Wisconsin, so I'll spare you the details. Simply read Anna's blog and imagine it taking place in Mexico. For example, you can substitute her mention of Chinese for Spanish and stoplight for sidewalk outside of my school and boyfriend for school security guard.

Anyway, I tried to think of a better way to say this, but Anna summed it up for me perfectly, "In a way it's kind of cool that they [Mormons] send their people out to different parts of the world, but my problem with them is their approach. It's an arrogant worldview - they're not there to learn about a culture, or respect it in any way. They're going into someone else's land, one that has nothing to do with them, just to tell the people that how they live and what they believe is wrong, and should be more like them. It makes me ashamed, and hope that no one associates me with people like that just because we're from the same country."

You can't say no to someone else's grandmother (o usted no puede decir que no a la abuela de otro)

Don't tell Anthony Bourdain, but I'm a vegetarian. Many of you probably have heard this story about why I became vegetarian, so you can skip down to the next paragraph to avoid yet another rendition. For those of you who don't know, or simply can't get enough of the tale, my decision to become vegetarian is tied directly to one of my favorite radio turned television shows ever, "This American Life." A couple years ago, during one of the first-aired TAL television programs, reporters toured an Iowa pig farm. I've seen farms before, and I can't drive 60 minutes from my condo in Milwaukee without passing at least a quasi-farm, but something was different on this farm. Before entering, visitors have put on sterile suits. Why? Well, these pigs were essentially genetically homogeneous. These genetically engineered creatures never get to run amuck, to play in the mud, or do anything remotely pig-like. It was sad. And disturbing. And I decided I did not want to be apart of it anymore. I know that not all animals are treated this way, and that organic/free range farming is becoming more popular. However, it is highly unlikely that the meat I can afford, or the meat that will be used at my favorite restaurants will come from farms where the cows are grass fed and chickens roam free. So, I am opting out. I am not saying that people who eat meat are terrible people, some of my best friends are carnivours. Most, really. But, that's why I don't eat meat. I believe animals should be treated well, and that pigs should be able to get dirty.

Being a vegetarian in Mexico hasn't been as hard as I thought it would be, especially since I'm living on my own and can choose where I eat (mainly quesadilla and torta stands where quesillo and eggs are aplenty) and what I but from the grocery store. But, there was one thing I wasn't prepared for, grandma. My friend, and fellow teacher, was kind enough to invite me to his grandmother's house two Saturdays ago for her birthday. They were going to have tacos. I saw his aunts preparing the pork meat in a pot on the grill outside, and knew I was toast. There is no way to tell a Mexican grandmother that you don't eat meat. There aren't many vegetarians here, and no one really seems to understand how its possible that I don't eat meat, not even chicken. My friend basically said there is no way around it, I would have to suck it up and have some tacos. So, like any good guest taken in by a kind family, I took a corn tortilla from the stack and filled it with a small portion of pork I told myself came from a happy pig on a ranch just outside of town, added salsa and limon, and took a bite.

Luckily I was in charge of the meat portion in my tacos because all I kept hearing during lunch was "they'd be better with more meat."As is the case with most traditional, simple home cooked meal, it was delicious (as was the strawberry-filled birthday cake). But, this doesn't mean I'm a full blown carnivore now. Even with the little lie I told myself about the pig, I don't think I can keep that lie going every time I order carne asada or a steak taco. So, with that momentary lapse, I am back to being vegetarian. That is, until someone else's grandmother works all day preparing a traditional meal centered around meat.

San Crisistobal: Tuxtla's Madison sprinkled with cathedrals (o San Crisistobal: El Madison de Tuxtla roció con catedrales)

For $3.50 US you can take a coach-style bus up into the mountains and arrive an hour and a half later in a small town peppered with centuries old cathedrals that also features dedicated pedestrian-only streets lined with eclectic cafes, bars and restaurants, a market with amazing hand-made items and a secondary market selling fresh berries in February for as little as $1 per pint.

My first trip to San Cristobal I wandered the city alone, soaking up the history and the fresh air. It's refreshing to be out of the city and up in the mountains, the air is different up there. Like I said before, there are cathedrals everywhere in San Cristobal, which makes sense since the city is named for the first bishop of Chiapas. On my walk from the bus station to the center of town (about a 5/10 minute walk) I was drawn into St. Lucias. The red and white flags in front of the building usually signaling a celebration contrasted brilliantly against the sky blue building. I was drawn inside to find fabulous architecture housing a beautifully decorated church, despite the semi-frightening statues (Catholics don't seem to mess around when it comes to realism).

The main cathedral snuck up on me. I couldn't see it's massive main entrance from the way I approached the building. The yellow, centuries-old building is huge, like nearing airplane hanger size (or maybe helicopter hanger). Candles blazed in front of every saint's statue and there was a room to the side dedicated to Mary. The doors are imposing and look as though it takes three men to pull them open. from inside the cathedral I could look onto the plaza where a large cross is the focal point standing its ground in the middle of people selling shawls, rubber balls and other trinkets you might find at a tourist trap in the United States.

I stumbled upon one of the car-less streets I mentioned earlier and walked up to the artisan market. I found a few great gifts for my sisters (and, if you're reading, no, I won't tell you what they are. :p ) I also bought a beautiful painting of a Queztal bird from a local artist who told me all about her drawings and the different local animals she painted. I have to admit, I was gave myself an imaginary pat on the back twice that day for communicating with Spanish speakers with enough fluency to learn first hand about their culture and their art (once with the painter and the other with a jewelry maker). Next to the seemingly endless market was the Iglesia de Santo Domingo.

This church was by far the most ornate in decor and architecture. It has a light peach colored exterior with spectacular etchings. Buildings of this grandeur and age always take me aback. I am first amazed at the amount of work people dedicated to create this structure, especially in a time when modern machinery wasn't an option. Then, I think of all the people who have walked in and out of this church. How many people walked in single, and happily walked out hand in hand, husband and wife; how many babies had their heads dunked in the baptismal fountain, and how many people said goodbye to loved ones?

A few steps later I found myself on another carless street, this time, in addition to cafes and restaurants, I walked past at least five hostels. It was a great street to people watch. At the end of the block was the Temple of Guadalupe (at the top of about 100 steps that seemed like more). It was worth the climb to see the city from up above. The sun was beginning to set and there was a slight breeze, it was really a perfect spring-like evening. Places like this (and Santo Domingo), while they have the ability to make me feel like nothing more than a speck, a tiny piece of a huge puzzle, can simultaneously make me feel happy to be a part of something this grand, this beautiful. I stopped every few steps on the way down to soak in more of the view.

I eventually found my way to a cute cafe called Kitsch and Bagel. I was drawn inside by a Flamenco dancer performing and a server offering hot chocolate. I took a seat, sipped my cocoa and enjoyed the last few minutes in San Cristobal listening to the dancers heels click on the wooden platform.

I would return to San Cristobal for the second time a couple weeks later. More on that trip later...

Monkeys and Macaws and Jaguars, oh my! (o ¡Los monos y los Aras y los Jaguares, ah mi!)

I have a soft spot for zoos, always have, probably always will. My admiration most definitely stems from my childhood, when summer meant sunny days spent with family and friends at the Brookfield Zoo. I still remember watching the polar bears dive into the pool to cool off, and the monkeys on Monkey Island cleaning each other. And, with little prompting I could probably recite the Captain Planet theme from the dolphin shows (although I can't remember what year that was). I carried my love of zoos into adulthood and got a zoo pass to the Milwaukee County Zoo after college. One of my favorite Milwaukee Zoo memories is "Feast with the Beasts" (which, if you haven't been, let me know and we'll plan an outing this summer), and watching the wax animals being created in the 1970s machines.

So, why all this rambling about zoos? Well, I'm lucky enough to be living in a place with one of the best zoos in Mexico. ZooMAT (named for the first director, Mexican conservationist, Miguel Alvarez del Toro) is dedicated to preserving the local wildlife of Chiapas in a natural state. Before people came around, this part of Chiapas had a lot more jungle. The zoo highlights the variety of exotic animals that would have been seen roaming around less that a couple hundred years ago I imagine. For example, at ZooMAT, the spider monkeys swung from tree branch to tree branch out in the open, no cage, no glass. Granted, there was a mote around the large forest area, but I even spied the monkeys in non-exhibit trees. There were giant birds that flew into trees (pictured here), and crocodiles, pumas, cougars, an aviary, iguanas, three different types of macaws, and a creepy insect exhibit that I spent less than a minute in as to avoid terrible nightmares. One of my favorite exhibits was of a sign behind glass that read "Here you can see the most foolish and destructive species, that even threatens to annihilate itself." Of course, looking at the glass, all you could see was your own reflection. ZooMAT was also filled with several gems about protecting our planet and the environment engraved on rocks placed among the fauna. It was great to stumble across them walking on the tree covered paths next to the small flowing creeks.

I capped my zoo trip off with a trip to the concession stand, where I found quite possibly the best invention for a non-chocolate dessert ever: ice cream frozen inside of hollowed fruit. I chose a pineapple. The hollowed pineapple was filled with delicious pineapple flavored ice cream. I unknowingly would receive an entire pineapple (not just half like I thought) for about $3.50US. A bargain in my book.