9 posts tagged “mayan culture”
A couple days ago, we visited the twin towns of Chamula and Zinacantan. While they are ethnically similar, they have diverged into two very different and distinct towns, despite the few miles that separate them. Their divergence occurs with a signal event during the conquest: to cooperate, or to resist.
Chamula is a fairly large town of resisters who specialize in wool production. Although as Chamula Indian may not be Catholic, and in fact are considerably likely to be Evangelical Protestant,, to live in Chamula, as a Chamulan, you must be a member of their Catholic Church with its idiosyncratic hierarchies and traditions. While I am sure there is more to it than just the church, the main divergence for me, appeared there. The outside is colorfully decorated with various Mayan symbols. Inside the church, the saints line the walls in boxes decorated with symbolic flowers and tokens. There are no pews- instead, there are tables with candles on them, each with a different meaning according to their color. When the candles have taken over the tables, people pray on the floor, with specific numbers and colors of candles according to their prayer surrounded by a thick layer of pine needles that covers the church floor. Sometimes, healers with accompany them, or give them directions on how to cure an illness in the family, or misfortune. I saw one woman swinging a bag of eggs over the candles she had placed on the floor.
In addition to their different church customs, the Chamulans also have a mayordomos. To be a mayordomo is a great honor, because it is indicative of the fact that the elected person is a spiritual leader in the community. When you are chosen, you are responsible for buying all of the drinks and food for every major celebration in the community: weddings, baptisms, funerals, etc. They, like the rest of the Chamulans, also have a distinct costume, which I have put into a picture to the left. The traditional clothing of a Chamulan is usually a white or black wood tunic for men, and for a women, a woolen black skirt and a white blouse. I have seen very few Chamulan women wearing their hair in anything other than braids, although I have seen girls running around with their hair behind them.
Zinacantan means “Land of Bats” in the Nauhatl language of the Aztecs with whom they traded extensively with in pre-Colombian times. When the Spanish arrived, they were more gracious to their invaders than the Chamulans, and have thus acquired a better reputation that continues today. To call someone a “Zinacantan” means nothing, but calling someone a “Chamulan” is a racial slur. Through my eyes, the people of Zinacantan dress similiarly to the people of Chamula, only they tend to appear more wealthy because of their more colorful clothing. Traditionally, the men wear a more colorful tunic and the women wear indigo skirts, a white blouse and/or an indigo shawl embroidered with elaborate flowers. This is because the Zincantans are responsible for a lot of the tropical flowers shipped throughout surrounding Mexican states and the flowers have thus became important to their culture as their means of prosperity.
While the Zinacantans have adapted Catholicism similarly to the Chamulans, they are less notable because they just seem happier. Maybe it’s because no one mentioned mandatory expulsion if they abandoned their specific brand of Catholicism? Perhaps it because they seemed to have means of acquiring money other than farming on poor land and hawking goods to the tourists? For me, although I was exposed to more intimate aspects of their lives- a traditional Zinacantan house, weaving of their clothing, delicious tortillas filled with ground pumpkin seed…they struck me less. I was interested, but I found my curiousity sparked more by the people who were more often sticking their hands, empty or full of pulseras in my face while I was sitting down at a restaurant.
If the discussion of how civilization began isn’t at the head of the line when history class begins, it’s definitely somewhere in the front. This proved to be just as true in Mayan class as it has in Mr. Dennis’ Simpsons-riddled U.S. History. This discussion is inextricable from the rise of agriculture, usually the domestication of corn. This leap is the modern “discovery of fire,” because it permitted us to settle into groups and perpetuate a more extreme division of labor that characterizes our society today. It should be no surprise, then, that corn, or maize, would continue to be one of the integral aspects of our society more than 7,000 years later. In the U.S., our dependency on corn is staggering, and the situation, compounded by the effects of globalization, is no different here in Mexico, or in any other place in the Americas.
The rise of corn in Mexico began with the nixmal process which combined lime and corn to create a complete set of amino acids and prevented protein deficiency. It’s not small wonder that these are the two most prevalent food items in Mexico, and the tortillas (originally tamales) they are made into and lime are served with every meal, whether you feel that they are necessary or not. In fact, I have never seen a flour tortilla in Mexico. Instead of the dry, super-processed pieces of wheat-derived cardboard I have grown accustomed to in Tex-Mex restaurants, I have been treated to smooth, soft corn tortillas. They may have been had pressed in my view by a tortilla maker or pressed through a machine owned q small tiendas. Either way, they are delicious, and probably have fewer food miles and less processing than anything we can get at home because they are so pervasive. It pays to make them locally, especially in San Cristobol.
In addition to tortillas, corn is on almost every street corner in one of three forms: elotes y esquinas (most common), elote ice cream, or popcorn (least common). In fact, roaming around near the Mercado de Artesanias and Dulces last night, I encountered the corn trifecta. The elote is basically corn on the cob, and prepared the way my host family likes it, slathered in mayonnaise instead of butter, rolled in cheese and given a generous squirt of chile. While I am not a particularly big fan of this preparation (mayonnaise!!), I am a big fan of elote ice cream, which puts vanilla to shame, just as long as it isn’t textured with corn kernels.
Unfortunately, corn production in Mexico is rife with strikes for political oppression and environmental damage. The primary mode of agriculture here is slash and burn and while yields twice the land use here in Chiapas than in the Yucatan, it comes at the cost of releasing considerable amounts of carbon into the atmosphere and the destruction of forests. Moreover, the milpa farmers are traditionally poor indigenous Indians, who are oppressed through a variety of ways, not in the least the eminent-domain seizure of their land. These farmers are also to struggle to keep up with cheap imports from the United States, fueled by NAFTA, and they are forced to sell their crop, non-genetically modified, at costs that approach exploitation. They are, fortunately, not defenseless- they have Zapatistas at their back, for better or worse.
NAFTA does not supply our only impact on Mexican corn culture. The entirety of own corn culture is so monolithic as to be entitled a cornarchy by food activists, such as myself. I challenge anyone who doesn’t believe me to find me a processed food item in the interior of the grocery store, freezer shelves included, that contains no remnants of corn. Even if you find something, the time it takes is convincing of how pervasive it is. High fructose corn syrup (HFCS) is particularly ubiquitous in processed foods, and its these foods that are shipped globally- things like soda, candy, bread (I’m not talking about pastries), and “just-add water” meals, among many, many other items.
Corn isn’t just food for people, though. In the U.S., there are four routes for corn to go: food for people, food for cows, ethanol and exports. Consider the environmental and economic impact of thousands of industrial corn farms that are producing feed for cows, who in turn produce their own devastating impact in terms of worker treatment, waste and its chemical components that infiltrate our water supply, and the carbon byproducts of cows (such as gas) that contribute to global warming. Farming for ethanol is just as damaging. Just because ethanol is sustainable in the sense that we can grow it in the form of corn, does not mean it is environmentally friendly- it is a carbon-based fuel just like petroleum. These non-food producing fields are taking up valuable space that could be used for grass-fed, free-range livestock, that don’t need to be pumped full of growth hormones and antibiotics, or pushed through a factory farm, and also for the fruits and vegetables that could reduce our national health problems and increase our diet diversity. Finally, we arrive back at the problem of exports- individual milpa farmers, just like domestic farmers, cannot compete with industrial monocultures. And you can’t discount the cost of transport for all of these corn-derived products any more than any other resource.
If you’ll permit me to continue to make a political statement about both of our cultures dependency on corn, it’s this: everything in moderation. While some aspects of our corn-dominated societies are not inherently damaging, and can even be tasty, our dependency is just as toxic as our dependency on oil. When I came to Mexico, I naively expected to participate in a different kind of food economy than we have at home. While I have been privileged, especially here in San Cristobol, to more locally-produced food, the effects of globalization are already taking a toll here as they have in Merida. The Zapatistas can only keep Wal-Mart away for so long.
After our Maya post-final today, and the last of the ecology presentations, we visited a Mayan milpa. The visit was something out of Alice in Wonderland, with Angela, our host and white rabbit, leading us through the milpa at the mercy of Hugo, our Cheshire cat, and her small, seven-year-old-daughter, whose name means hummingbird, as our Mayan Alice. We explored strange vegetation, ate unfamiliar fruits, touched things we shouldn’t have, and did battle with ants near a stream before colliding with the Red Queen: our beloved and treacherous Coca-Cola, which tempted us on our way out.
Where to begin with yet another unique adventure? It began in a functional maize field, or milpa. In addition to the maize, they also grew several types of leafy greens and kilabasa (sp?), my favorite of the new vegetables that have entered my diet. It’s about the size of an average grapefruit, green and has a texture someone like a cooked zucchini when its boiled or in soup, which is the only way it has ever been served to me. After the milpa, we entered a zone known as acahaul, which is a second-growth milpa field inhabited by the local forest vegetation as a reforestation effort. As we passed through this area, we were shown large, black legume seeds which are used in local handicrafts. Someone special out there has a necklace waiting with one of these on it. When we were finally through the jungle, we spotted our white rabbit and the innocent Alice.
For someone who is certainly still young but our standards, Angela looked like the sun had aged her. If she had aged at all, however, it was only her skin because this woman had more energy than me! She zipped us through her backyard orchard, identifying papaya, pineapple and yerno, a kind of sweet potato, among other herbal agents and seasoning. Of the leaves I heard about included two antibacterial agents, one used in tea and another in bathing, achiote which is used in cochinita pibil, a dying agent for clothes, and a type of orange tree, which was identified only by its smell. The woman also made a point to dig several small but energetic holes in the ground, implicating a mole for making her papaya trees fall down. Additionally, we were treated to a strange red fruit, which cracked open like a hard shell of a banana and revealed a sticky, mushy white stuff in the middle with semi-large black seeds for a pod about as long as my pointer finger. I acquired a good sense for its taste because there was larvae in my sample of the many she physically shook down from the tree and collected off the ground, but it was sweet like a banana but without the distinctive banana smell.
She led us into the forest once more so that we could examine the fruits the kinkajous favor, and additional herbal agents including an anti-coagulant, we found ourselves assaulted by a long stretch of ants which led immediately onto a two small branch/stick bridge into the season’s milpa farm. While I was not among the initial small group to fall into the hormigas vicious grip immediately by following our white rabbit innocently, I was nevertheless a victim to a few assaults even through my sneakers. After dodging through their territory, through the stick bridge faster than I intended, I arrived at the destination I expected to see when I was told about the milpa trip: more maize. Amongst the maize were landmines of chives, which we had to dutifully watch our feet to avoid trampling on, and occasional nuclear silos of squash. Our Alice led one of our unsuspecting classmates to touch one, and the white rabbit made herself available to scold Alice because the squash don’t grow if their touched.
We worked through the landmines, crossed the stick bridge, rebattled the hormigas and traipsed through the jungle again to return to her orchard. We took a break to rest from our lively visit before heading out, only to be tempted by Coke just when we thought we were safe. I won’t lie, I gave in. I bought a Lift (carbonation, high fructose corn syrup and apple juice!) and gummy bears, but I earned it.
We wound down our day to a bonfire and charades, saying our ceremonial goodbyes to the jungle, our semester guide Hugo, our faithful driver, Cesar, and our Mayan professor, Rebecca. It’s hard to believe that this trip can continue without them, but it will, and our next month will be as amazing as the last two, although they will surely be missed.
Another amazing day in Mexico comes to a close, and I still have to pinch myself to convince myself that I am really here, and things are really this great. I will be sad to leave.
Today, we visited a Mayan family living in as much of a traditional Mayan way as you can live in the 21st century. They live in a small community, one married couple with children and two older men on the land of an old livestock hacienda. Each of them live in a series of palapas, which are essentially huts made out of sticks with palm thatch roof, filled in with mud or clay to keep out the morning cold. Rainwater is collected for drinking and they use a purifying sediment in limestone to make it potable, although it takes about a day for the sediment to do so. For food, they grow maize on milpas and raise Africanized honeybees, in addition to some sporadic foraging. It seemed to me that the milpas were for sustenance farming, while the honey was primarily a means of making money for what they couldn’t derive from the environment. I won’t pretend like they live luxuriously, in fact they would be considered to live in worse than poverty if they were in the United States, but they were definitely happy and friendly people. One of the men eagerly told us stories about the people that used to live on the land, about the hacienda, and about his way of life. In many ways, although it was definitely a special occasion for all parties involved, it was like visiting a neighbor. It was also been the highlight of my trip so far, if only because it provoked many interesting questions and observations.
When I think about poverty at home, I think of the 9th ward, or the Ed-Lou trailer park off of Grant Road. I think of people who don’t have electricity or water or a phone because they didn’t or couldn’t pay the bill. I think of people on sustaining themselves only on disability or social security checks, food stamps and/or welfare. I don’t think of people who don’t have access to what we consider the basic elements of “civilized” life: electricity, potable water and food. I think of people who can’t afford enough of these things. Here in Mexico, poverty also includes a significant portion of the population who not only can’t pay, but don’t have access, and have even fewer opportunities for government support. This Mayan family, while a perfectly happy one, is a good example of a community without access, and probably one that doesn’t even think about acquiring it. While it is certainly something that would make their life more convenient, if not markedly more expensive, they don’t need it, so they don’t have it. In fact, that was the common theme of the visit: everything they owned served an important function.
How incredibly different is that from the way we live? I can’t even begin to recount the differences: I think I need my laptop, but I don’t. I only “need” it because I am in school, and I only “need” to go to school because I don’t want a blue-collar job (among more and less noble reasons), and I only “need” something better because I have cultural prejudices about what constitutes “having enough” and “being successful.” Think about all the things we think we need, but can actually live perfectly fine without. We only think we need them because we can’t imagine life any differently. This Mayan family, by contrast, probably can’t conceive of the world they way we do, although this doesn’t make them less than us in any way, only different. I can only imagine how bewildered this family was the first time someone took their picture, because they didn’t recognize themselves when Robert showed them the pictures he took of them last March. We live in a culture that is incredibly preoccupied with image and vanity- everything is all about presentation. I wonder when the last time, if ever, they had looked in a mirror? When was the last time you looked, and for how long?
I could honestly write for pages and pages about this family. I found so many things fascinating because they were different and so many more things fascinating because they were exactly the same despite drastically different, but comparable, worldviews, experience and knowledge. I will spare you the meandering philosophizing for now, though- I am sure it will come up some time in conversation, much like the haunting spirit of CIE.
(For pictures, check out the photo of the day for Feb. 15, at ascsd.net, courtesy of Cindy Taylor's dad)
It is a little known fact about me that I love Art History. I was a Senior Officer of the Art Club at my high school, and I passed more time at lunch with my sophomore Art teacher than anyone else. In fact, I snuck into her room pretty much anytime I was bored, stressed out or needed a place to finish the calculus homework that was due at the end of the day. One day, in what amounted to skipping school, I tagged along on the Advanced Drawing field trip to the surrealist museum, The Menil, downtown. As a result, I picked up an lasting appreciation for art, one that expresses itself in trips to the Menil and its surrounding museums when I have days off. (Whatever those are.)
Consequently, being in Mexico is a breath of fresh air. There is art everywhere you look! There's art in the Mayan ruins, in the government buildings, in the plazas, churches, and other public places- not just squandered away in museums, although it's beautiful and present there too. This is real art, too, not some wimpy naturalist painting. it makes a statement beyond, "I am small and the world is big." It's art you have to experience, not art I can take pictures of.
Unfortunately, I could not take pictures in the museum, and you'll have to forgive me for forgetting the artist (possibly the same, but different style?), but there was an equally dramatic, although far less subtle painting in the museum that dealt with the same theme. In it were Mayan workers, all suffering differently on an henniquen farm. Some were wincing in heat of the fire, holding tools for harvesting the henniquen. Another man was essentially crucified on one, with the sharp leaves of the henniquen plan piercing his bodies in several places. At the base of the plant, you could see that its base was a group of poisonous black vipers, rising out of the ground. Unlike the paintings in the Palacio, this artist chose much more vivid, unobscured lines, and this made for a startling presentation. I wish I could have sat in silence to stare at it longer, but for whatever reason, there are people in the world who think that it's acceptable to chatter loudly in large, echo-y rooms.
As I left the museum, I couldn't help but wonder about the struggles depicted in North American artwork. Although I tend to be more familiar with surrealistic art, I couldn't think of very many, especially not works that were willing to be as politically open about their message. Where is the artwork in government buildings about the large-scale subjugation, importation and exploitation of millions of Africans, well after other "industrial" countries had prohibited this practice? Where is the art about Japanese prisoner camps or the Trail of Tears? Of course it exists, but why is it not celebrated in the same way? At least here, it is probably celebrated because of the large Mayan population, the fact that these people were strong in the face of opposition, and because the Spanish were the intruders and therefore have something to be ashamed of. Perhaps it is because, as the winners of these conflicts, we are the ones who have something to be ashamed of, and therefore just sweep it under the carpet, eager to point to the Lincoln Memorial if anyone questions us. Nevertheless, it is interesting food for thought.
Check the tags for more pictures of artwork, including some that I found at the Palacio in Valladolid.
Dzibilchaltun is Mayan for "Hahaha, listen to the gringo pronounce our city's name!" It was named as such by an omniscient shaman who foresaw our future difficulties far into the future when her people founded the Mayan city, which is now no more than restored ruins. I actually don't know what it means, but I am sure it's interesting like the story behind the name of the Yucatecan pennisula. You see, when the Spanish landed, they presumed the Mayans would understand them like civilized savages would. Of course, the Mayans didn't, and told them so. Unfortunately, the Spanish didn't quite grasp the misunderstanding immediately, and took the end of the Mayan phrase for "I don't understand you" as the name of the penisula. So, "Yucatan essentially" means, "Huh?" which was exactly my sentiment the first time I heard someone say Dzibilchaltun.
To ease us into our first Mayan city, we visited a museum on Friday. While there were occasional references to everyone's favorite part of Mayan history, human sacrifices, one such being that they threw the bodies into a sacred cenote, the reality seems to be that they may not have committed human sacrifices after all, just executions of rival war leaders. They might have played that game of basketball for less sinister reasons. Amazing, right? They did however, deform the skulls of important male infant children.
Then, bright and early today as is the Dawley way, we trekked by two large vans to Dzibilchaltun. Here, we were treated to another Mayan museum, and they had stingless bee hives on display. I consider this to be pretty cool because I have had limited interaction with my species of choice, but I am more excited for the real thing. The museum also set up two Mayan huts, one utility and one living space, for us to walk through. Of course, there was a gumbo limbo tree nearby. I won't snitch on the handful of people who thought eating the bark might alleviate the crazy combination of illnesses that has infested our class, but at least one of them seems to be feeling better. Good for her.
There were restored ruins as well, and species sitings. I know I saw a black vulture, but there was also a turkey vulture siting on top of the same temple. There was a ctenosaur on top of a pyramid. There was a Spanish church built in the middle of the Mayan plaza, for the obvious reasons (to remind the Mayans who is in charge), but it was unsurprisingly vacant of life. There was also a cenote, but this one was not underground, and I have a little bit of a sunburn to prove it. When I take the Mayan course later in the semester, I'll be sure to enlighten you all on the function of the many buildings I saw on this trip, but for now you will have to contend with as many pictures as Vox permits me to upload in a single post.
Pictures in no particular order. Click on them for captions and explanations, if you haven't been already.
No pictures today. Aside from the fact that the applet is giving me difficulty, as evidenced by the scattered pictures in the last post, the things I experienced today aren't really the kind of things you take pictures of anyway.
So, today, for the first time, I really experienced Mexico. We took a trip to the central market where we gawked at the ma'kesh. These are decorated scarab beetles you wear live on your shirts, and they move around on a little chain. I could tell you about the "prohibited love" story behind these beetles, but you know how I am about mushy stuff. Basically, a princess couldn't marry this guy she wanted, she cried about it incessantly, and a shaman turned her into a scarab. Or maybe the shaman turned him in to the scarab. I don't know, and you know why.
Then, this afternoon I had lunch with the house dad. Because Megan was upstairs and the house mom was preparing food, we had an opportunity to discuss what is going on in the in the world without the groan that usually accompanies those discussions with certain other people. Instead of just talking about what is going on in the US with our dismal economy and unpredictable primary/caucus season, I asked him about why it was important to him to pay attention, what effect it had on Mexico, etc. This came in the form of, "So, am I correct in understanding that the value of the peso is connected to the value of the dollar?" The answer was a resounding yes. More of less translated, he said: If the U.S. coughs, Mexico gets pneumonia. The great misfortune of this, though, is that while we are going to see stock markets around the world mirror our fate in regard to the credit crises and housing bubble, the worst is yet to come. In fact, I'm not an economist, but I'd bet an incoming recession giving the particular tangle we're in. My house dad pays attention for that reason. The choices we make, economically and politically, affect him too, as well as people all around the world, and while we may be able to disguise our worries with credit (isn't that our problem?), he may not always have the privilege. Mexico is not on the list of inconvenient foreign investors who own our debt. They have plenty of their own problems to insulate us from ours.
On a lighter note, Shoji and I went out to El Centro with the intention of starting our gift-shopping. While I returned futily with only one gift, but many ideas, I did experience proof that the gay community is alive and well, regardless of any aspect of your identity, or you ideology about that identity. Moreover, thanks to two very friendly members of that community, Shoji and I were treated to a free guitar concert that was amazing, and that we wouldn't have otherwise known about. It was held in an auditorium with incredibly acoustics, just off of Plaza Centro. There were three guitarists, and some accompanying musicians, and they played many kinds of music: some Renaissance, some mariachi, some very classical, and others a little trovo. Trovo is the traditional style of the Yucatan that we learned about one day in culture class, and went to a museum for, but that I didn't write about it because I'm musically-inept and don't want to embarass the artists, its fans, or myself. Also, as a sidenote, there were many frequent comments/jokes? about eating panuchos during the breaks when the guitarrists alternated sets. See? It all ties together!
So, amazing night for yours truly, but it's late now. Buenas noches, mis amigos!
I'm having a hard time believing I am half-way through my second week in Merida. Between cenotes, the beach, nights on the town, trips to museums, salsa dancing lessons...it's really been a lot. Normally, I have nothing to say when I call home. OChem tests are the event of the week, well...if by some miracle they happen to be the only test I have that week instead of one of four.
This week has been relatively slow, though. Lest you all think we're on some Ursinus-sponsored vacation designed to catapult our GPAs, we have two Bio quizzes a week, blogging, and a fair amount of Spanish homework due on a regular basis on top of progress on our ecology project. Today, before most Ursinus students have even moved back into the dorms, we had a midterm which was surprisingly difficult.
We have still fit in time for fun, though, but that fun this week has deprived you all of exciting (but still interesting!) pictures. Yesterday, we visited CICY, the Center of Scientific Investigation of the Yucatan. We took a Dawley2 led tour through their botanical gardens. The second picture is of the gumbo limbo/naked indian/tourist tree. It's called the naked indian tree because it's red, and the tourist tree as a rebuttal because it's red and flaky like the skin of gringos. You'll have to defer to someone else for all the cool uses of this tree, but apparently it cures everything. Below that is a particularly useful plant as well, along with its accompanying sign, declaring it vegetation of Texas. It's a member
of the Agave family, which no surprise, includes the Agave plant that is responsible for tequila, and the trouble-making mescal. The particular species you see was that "important fiber" from the cenotes, heniquen.
I hope you all took notes! There's a quiz on this information tomorrow! At least for me, anyway...Phylum, Class, Order, Family, I'm sure.
Today, even more excitement because we made panuchos. It's derived from Pan de Chucho, Chucho being the nickname for Jesus. As a result, regardless of how offensive it may be, I am calling it Jesus bread because it was delicious. It's two tortillas glued together with frijoles, then deep fried until the tortillas are crunchy. Then, you sprinkle lettuce, a little bit of chicken or egg, onions, and tomatoes on top, and eat it like a taco. My blood pressure is a little higher for eating two of them, but I'm not inclined to feel guilty. I wish I had pictures, but we were too busy cooking, standing around as other people did work, and eating to do so. I guess you guys will just have to wait until I come home and clog your arteries with the Jesus bread.
In order to finally catch up with all that is going on, I have decided to deprive you of the unnecessary details regarding my first week in Merida that would otherwise clutter a daily post. If you really, really just have to know how late and for how many minutes I was lost on X night, please feel free to stalk someone else.
So, the common theme for this week, just to get it out of the way, is getting lost. It is usually inopportune, as in very far from home in the sweltering heat, too late at night for anyone to hear you scream, or when someone is expecting you to arrive somewhere on time. Regardless, I have become an expert on this subject and feel myself qualified to write a guide on How to Get Lost in Merida. The first chapter will be about leaving the many copies of a map of the city you have in the same place, especially a useless one like your room, in the back of the closet, so that you won´t remember you put them there if you wisen up enough to think to bring one along. The second chapter will be about getting off at the wrong bus stop, and the third, about the Mexican cab driver not undestanding you bad Spanish and driving to the wrong colony. I´m open to suggestions for the next few chapters. Feel free to leave me a comment with your idea.
Anyway, I went out at night three times this week, although others went out more frequently than me. Once for Aakash´s birthday, another time because I was under the ipression that I should, and then again, last night after a long day at the cenotes. Since Aakash´s birthday has both been mentioned and faded in importance in my mind since the pictures are better left on my hard drive than the Internet, I´ll only discuss last night. First, we visited the main festival with live music and lots of oversized carnival-like food, Mexican style. I didn´t eat any of it, but I found plenty of amusement in watching my fellow classmates enjoy gigantic cocunut-flavored ice cream cones. After we exhausted ourselves there, we went to the central plaza where we normally hang out. At some of the resturants, the tables were set out on the the sidewalk where you could watch people dance salsa, mambo, etc in the street to live music. I chose to forego myself the embarassment of associated with participating, but a few people have more faith and/or rhythm and danced with the locals, either next to them or with them, depending on the person. Either way, they put the salsa dancing lessons we took on Friday to good use, and since this is one of the many weekly festivals that Merida has to offer, we'll be sure to do it again
Ealier in the week, we went on a tour of Merida. We were shown many of the monuments in the area, as well as some strange pieces of abstract art which look like they belong at Ursinus for how quirky they are. We were shown some very large private residences as examples of the various types of architecture prevalent in the town, and a history lesson associated with how their influences landed here. We were also shown the historical Itzimna church was was built out of the blocks of a deconstructed Mayan temple, and the prettiest plazas in the town. I have so many pictures and I would love to share them all, so for that reason I am going to stop procastinating on creating a flickr account. In the meanwhile, just believe me that it was fantastic.
Yesterday, we did something that puts all other study abroad trips to shame: we swam in cenotes. For those of you ignorant in the ways of Mexican recreation, a cenote is basically an underground cave that opens itself up to the outside of the world when the limestone that the region is made out of falls in. This cave is full of deep, blue water, and they are absolutely beautiful- I´ll have to get better pictures next time because all of mine are blurry.
We arrived at this cenotes on a railcart pulled by donkeys that existed as a remnant of an important fiber farm (henniquen?) at that turn of the century. We visted two of this underground caves, although the picture to your right is of only the first one. I´d say more, but I really don´t want to spoil the experience by talking about it retrospectively- I´ll recapture my excitement about how freaking cool these things next week when we visit some more.
Today, we went to the beach and I acquired sunburns that prove that I am sunblock-application challenged. It was exactly what I expected of all but a few Gulf of Mexico beaches. The water was brown. In places, the sand was so fine that it felt like you were sinking into four inches of bird crap. The water was chillier than I expected, though. But, don´t take this for complaining, I had a lot of fun studying for my bird taxonomy while Pelicaniformes circled over head. There were adventures, too, besides inducing cancer and swimming. We went to a resturant which served us free food that was descent in exchange for order drinks. They were even nice enough to bring out vegan food for Katie. I also went banana boating twice, which involves sitting in an inflatable ¨boat¨shaped like two bananas, for all the innuendos that will induce, and holding on for dear life as a real boat jerks you along in the water while you scream like a stupid gringo, ¨más rapído!¨ The real fun involves gettting thrown violently from this psuedoboat, but I was only treated to this on my first ride. I guess I am wise to the ways of the sudden 90 degree turn now, and will never fall of again.
So, all in all, it has been a very successful and exciting week, although I am looking forward to it slowing down to accomodate bird and plant taxonomy quizzes. I´d also like to avoid getting lost, but I can´t finish that guide if I don´t!
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Ursinus in Mexico Updated: Dec 3, 2007
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