Walking San Cristobal

When we crossed into Mexico on December 28th last year I was not expecting to get any further south than Zihuatanejo but life intervened and now we find ourselves in a city I have heard much about and had never seen. 

Decades ago Chiapas was in a state of ferment as the Zapatista movement led a revolt against the Federal government. This city was the heart of a protest against government abandonment not without merit. The Zapatistas took over communities and ran alternative governments. 

Times have changed, Chiapas is firmly part of the Mexican state and sub commandants Marcos is alive and well and retired with his movement nominally in existence but not an armed uprising. 

San Cristobal is no longer a mysterious mountain redoubt but a modern hipster destination and hang out for young people from abroad in which to find themselves. Auto Zone Walmart and fast food have taken root. 

This modern city of 200,000 set at 7300 feet has a well preserved and clean old town, a grid of cross streets paved with modern cobbles largely Tope ( speed bump) free and packed with automobiles lining the ancient streets.

Despite the beauty and historic preservation I found San Cristobal to be largely a disappointment. I have no doubt the squads of young people spending their ample inheritances in the fashionable sushi bars and hot spots around town would disagree but we found the town unlivable. 

The traffic is insane and I try to use that word judiciously. Cars drove far too fast in narrow streets packed with people. Sidewalks are narrow and hopelessly uneven and totally inadequate which makes walking, my favorite way to meander totally impractical. My photos reflect this because we found ourselves forced onto side streets in an effort to avoid the dodging crowds of people and cars. 

It’s a mountain town so the casual outdoor seating we enjoy is absent. There are eateries with courtyards but buildings present blank faces to the world and street life is a kaleidoscope of rushing vehicles and people. The back streets though pretty are largely lifeless. 

There is furthermore an absence of warmth. The atmosphere reminds me of the sullen resentment of a local population forced to put up with gentrification in order to live off the visitors who make it all possible. I’d like to think it’s part of the process of self confidence created by the Zapatista revolt carried over into non violent daily life, a phenomenon I noted in Nicaragua 20 years ago even as the Sandinista revolt was imploding into corruption and the cult of personality. 

In the midst of this stew of tourist lethargy, social agitation and Disney-esque prettification there are interesting oases we have found. Our campsite has been filled largely with European vehicles and a leavening of Canadian travelers. US travelers are largely absent as the social protests put the fear of Armageddon into rugged individualists. 

I shocked our French Canadian neighbor who came by and tested us by greeting us in French when I replied in the same language and we had an extended conversation for a while about traveling Chiapas. I noted we were the sole American registered vehicle and we laughed about the perception of danger that animated every US conversation about these places. 

There was a large contingent of French speakers with children who kept to themselves but we got to know a young Swiss couple (German speakers) who left home under parental protest two years ago and drove Eastern Europe (stark poverty) Turkey and now Mexico and Central America. Never did we mention danger. It’s a different mentality. 

The employees managing the campground are cheerful and friendly as you might imagine and the showers have abundant hot water so we do have our oasis. WiFi has been strong but died suddenly so this post may be delayed a while until I can find a strong phone signal to upload it! The reality of this kind of travel is that nothing is certain and what we find today, as simple as  phone signal, may be gone tomorrow! 

As of this writing we didn’t get to the market or textile museum, both on our list but we did see the Na Bolom exhibits in a beautiful house of two unusual characters who discovered San Cristobal in the 1950s. He got a street named after him; she didn’t! 

Frans Blom was from Denmark but fell in love with the Maya in this area and devoted his life to the exploration ( as he put it) of their world.

Gertrude Duby was Swiss and emigrated to Mexico after an anti-Fascist youth in Europe when President Lazaro Cardenas opened Mexico to Europeans in need of a new home.

Na Bolom means ‘House of the Jaguar’ in Mayan and they bough the sprawling home after his father died and left him some money. In life it was an in and a research center, in death ( she died in 1993 long after him) it’s still a research center and museum. 

They are worth reading about if you are interested in the Maya and this early explorers of Mexico as the 20th century took hold in Mexico. 

Gertrude took the pictures and often failed to take notes or even develop them so there are tens of thousands of images, particularly of women with no identification. He explored and uncovered archaeological sites and between them they lived half in the modern world and half in the ancient. 

The recurring Mayan theme of humans and wild cats is seen everywhere including among the many wild murals of this town. 

And yes, water as art. We bought 15 gallons of the purified stuff in a moment of practicality.

I shall leave San Cristobal glad to have finally seen the place but not anxious to return. Our plans are to drive the winding mountain road down the border with Guatemala without crossing and we have heard rumors of some interesting mountain lakes to swim in. 

In the spirit of Blom and Duby we cannot leave all this beauty to the Europeans. Can you imagine how dangerous Chiapas must have looked in 1953? For those seeking danger and drama Ukraine is the correct destination, not Chiapas, land of the extenuating irritations. 

Chiapas Route

Over the course of the following week we plan to follow roughly the little blue line. It is likely we will see neither cell phone service or WiFi after we leave San Cristobal de las Casas.  

I trust our disappearance will provoke neither alarums nor despondency. In the unlikely event there is some other cause for our silence we shall live each experience to the fullest. I keep telling myself I am not a flat tire hater…

I mention this possibility now as loss of internet tends by its nature to happen unexpectedly and last time this occurred we were asked why we gave no warning. Here it is. 

San Cristóbal De Las Casas

 I am writing this entry at the Rancho San Nicolas Campground in San Cristobal, and furthermore because they have a strong WiFi signal, for now, I am writing this on my lap top instead of my phone. My cup floweth over and quite frankly its about time because it was a shitty day getting here. Let's not forget this is retirement life so when a day goes not so great it's still way better than sitting up all night answering 911. 

Traffic was fairly heavy at the tail end of the commute when we left the Hilton in Tuxtla Gutiérrez. The man in the photo above earns some sort of living washing windshields for a few pennies when the light is red. So my crappy day is way better than other peoples' every day lives. I'm feeling rather shy about admitting it was crappy getting to San Cristobal...

We made it to the Sumidero Canyon entrance to drive through and have a look down at the famous canyon. We paid 108 pesos (six bucks) for the two of us when I mentioned Rusty and they said "No dogs."  Huh? We'll look after your dog for you while you drive in they said helpfully. So I'm a helicopter parent right? You think I'm going to let a man with a shotgun look after my precious Rusty? They said no refunds for cash purchases which was just shitty and we drove away feeling like gringos with a hard luck story. Bollocks I said I hate Chiapas. What a great attitude I had, I know. Then Layne spotted a roast chicken stand and they offered free Cokes with their food. The Cokes were full sugar which is too strong for us so Layne gave then away to a passerby and we worked hard to regain our equanimity.

The entrance to 190D, the cuota (toll) highway was jammed. I stepped out and asked a collectivo (minibus) driver if the road was closed. Yup he said, blockade still. I have no idea what they were expecting but we left the traffic jam piled up against the toll booth where you pay $3.50 to get stuck on the mountain, and we doubled back to the Libre (free) Highway 190 to San Cristobal. 63 kilometers couldn't take long even on the Libre could it? How long could 40 miles take I wondered...five hours it turned out so you can see why it seemed like a less than optimal day on the road. I'll explain.

San Cristobal is a city of 200,000 people set at 7200 feet above sea level in a long narrow valley between the mountains. It's the cultural capital of Chiapas and has the sort of narrow streets and Spanish colonial architecture you can imagine in a classic Mexican mountain town. Gringos go there to learn Spanish and be cool but with our presence in the city the foreign cool factor took a severe plunge. Two Florida retirees in an RV do not raise the cool factor one jot, I'm pretty sure. However if you want learn Spanish to to cook Mexican or to eat sushi in a Mexican mountain setting, San Cristobal is the cool spot for you. Most gringos fly to Tuxtla and take a bus and leave the driving to imperturbable Mexican chauffeurs. Drivers not like me, then.

The first part of the drive was rather pleasant actually with enough room to pass the occasional heavy truck grinding up hill, or to allow sedans to pass us with ease and the surface was quite smooth. We wound up the hillside with a Michael Connolly novel on the speakers. Layne was along rather reluctantly on this second attempt to get out of Tuxtla Gutiérrez up to San Cristobal. We weren't even sure this road was open so we faced the prospect of driving back down the same winding road we are driving up. That thought was at the back of our minds. We passed our 30th checkpoint since Arizona, this one run by the Army, which ignored us completely as usual.

I kept hoping we were there but we kept climbing. The weather deteriorated and we got some raindrops on the windshield. I rather prefer rain on a van than rain on a boat which is where I got a lot of rain upon me. Then it went foggy.

If that fog looks bad know that it got worse and I was peering into wall of gray, and it was so bad the vehicles behind me dropped away as we all struggled to find our way round the hairpins in a thick gray blanket of nothingness.  This was not fun. 

Eventually even the fog gave up and we were looking out over the valley and there I thought, were the outskirts of San Cristobal at last. We had no mapping as cell service had long since died and I lost the map page accidentally so we were following the many signs and driving the single road across the mountains. The cuota (toll) road took a different path apparently around the valley.

Chiapas is a Mayan state and the women wear colorful dresses while the men wear Western clothes in one of those weird gender splits I've seen in many countries. I'm not sure why the men don't wear traditional clothes too but there it is. Plus the place names involve a lot of consonants and weird glottal sounds I can't manage:

This village that I had hoped was San Cristobal wasn't but school kids were out as it was early afternoon by now. Lots of pedestrians.

Oh there were lots of topes (speed bumps) on the Libre.

A volcano school project I think.

Unaccompanied kids. Mexicans love their children but they wander at will in ways American parents would freak out.

Then the coup de grace: a massive traffic jam.

I hate Chiapas was my refrain. Stop and go, stop and go, on and on and on. It didn't feel like a road block because traffic was coming towards us and we moved very slowly but steadily. Layne asked the itinerant vendor selling crispy sweet discs like large wafers, what was going on and he said it was a traffic light. Huh?

It went on and on and on.

Every weekend in winter Islamorada in the Florida Keys holds a huge festival of some flavor or another at Founders Park that screws up traffic on the Overseas Highway for miles in both directions, so when we saw this festival with some really heavy thumping music we immediately said "Oh, we must be in Islamorada!"

Nope. We were just stuck in an endless jam and we were still hoping there was no road block. Finally we got to San Cristobal and our moods were not of the brightest.

That red speck of light was the cause of the trouble. One traffic light caused a back up of miles into the mountains. Anyway we had skirted the blockade so that was all to the good. Only slight problem? More effing traffic jams. The main road into town was a sea of vehicles. I was forced to ponder that fact that this is the poorest state in Mexico but every damned street was packed with cars. How was this possible? Plus gas is more expensive here than in Tuxtla. Luckily at least we had remembered to fill up in the capital before we left. $95 dollars of 87 octane Magna at Pemex. We did get to the campground without blowing a fuse just in case you were worried. Rusty was delighted to arrive, and as we are surrounded by Canadians and Europeans you know Chiapas is too dangerous for Americans! 

This is indeed a beautiful city:

I avoided the traffic jam breading the map on my phone and taking a side street parallel to the main road to the center. Not too shabby:

Every time I saw a scene like this I turned left and took a side street putting us a few blocks from where we needed to be but we kept moving. Layne spotted an Agua Purificada (purified water) store so we stopped ina convenient parking space in front of the store and bought 15 gallons to fill our 30 gallon tank. Cheapest water we've seen for miles at 50 cents for five gallons. I siphoned it into our tank and we are good to go for a while.

I have to confess I was ready to arrive when we reached the street where the campground is located but I didn't;t look closely. I drove through a gate with a "For Rent" sign on it and we found ourselves in the tightest tiny development you have ever seen. I kept going because when I'm frustrated I can be pig headed and we got to the end of the dirt road and we were stuck. I put Gannet 2 into reverse, locked the front wheel drive differential and scrabbled back up the hill. Some how I backed us all the way back uptake narrow winding lane and got us back onto the street. For a while there I was really quite worried I had got us stuck.  Everybody gets to have a bad day from time to time I hope...even if he is being silly. Layne was perfect and said nothing. Lucky me.

Other than that final act of stupidity we made our way to the campground. "I wondered why you came and went and came back again," the dude on the office remarked looking at me sideways. Yes, well, not a great day!

We are going to go into town on Friday and see what's what. There are a couple of museums and I hope there is some outdoor seating as we still prefer to take basic Covid precautions. Note the ambulance below-  another fine Promaster van managing the difficulties of Mexican roads!

This sort of driving is way too easy, a wide street and no topes.

But check this out, a Ram dealer at our service. I was quite surprised but we had changed our oil at the dealer in Veracruz so we are good to go for now with nearly 35,000 miles on our 2020 Promaster. I like how the van copes with my driving and the roads we force it to take. So far so good and we are snug in San Cristobal - who would have guessed we could pull it off?