The Maya Creation Story…the center of the universe was a three-stone hearth. Just like the center of a Mexican home is the three-stone hearth where the women cook the maize.
Category: Modern Mexico (Page 1 of 2)
When you ballroom dance, the man decides where the woman is going to go. His aim better be good.
When you travel try eating something new; how about papadzules?
The noisy path
Pierce, Sally and Cheryl naturally got up and walked off together. Agua Azul were rapids and water falls on the Rio Xanil. Aqua colored water flowed rapidly over pinkish round rocks. The Maya worshipped water, and rivers represented the underworld to them.
They walked for awhile and soon Cheryl realized she wanted to putter around by herself and take photos. She could feel she was holding them up.
“Hey, you guys can carry on, I’d like to stay here and take some arty shots. I’m not interested in seeing the end. I’d like to go slow.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’ll meet you back at the bus.”
With a wave, they walked on and Cheryl enjoyed being alone as she meandered along the path that traveled beside the water; it was covered in vines and what looked like cacao pods. Three young girls were seen eating the seeds out of one of the pods. Cheryl forgot herself and nearly asked them if she could try one too.
By herself she took some photographs and then tried to soak in the environment. Unlike Canadian forests, life in this jungle along the river and waterfalls was not peaceful. Above the sound of the rushing water was the high pitched whine of the insects, cicadas mostly. Cheryl assumed they were cicadas, as well as other buzzing insects. The cicadas sounded like little engines getting ready for take off: chucka, chucka, chucka, chucka, chuk chuk chuk chu….whine…..whyrrrr whine.
Cheryl wondered if she ever lived here would she get used to it.
She popped into the merchant areas that were on the opposite side of the path from the water and there were many T-shirts available, but she was beginning to get the idea that the T-shirts were the same no matter what city or site they were in. They weren’t unique to the area.
It was the uniqueness of the textiles that got her attention. Hanging on the dark canvas walls of a store she saw some blouses with a cream-colored cotton bottom, but a cross stitched top. The cross-stitched section had a dark green background with large fuchsia pink, peony flowers. Cheryl had seen women along the road wearing this exact blouse so she decided to get one.
The Maya woman who ran the little shop was attentive and offered to bring down any shirt Cheryl looked at on her wall. There must have been living space on the other side of the dark brown canvas, as a little boy kept peeking his head underneath. His Maya mother kept gently pushing his head back with her hand along with a torrent of words Cheryl didn’t understand, but the meaning she could guess.
When traveling, we need to be reminded that things are not done the same way as in our native lands. When Cheryl visits the market in Chamula she is mindful to be open to experience.
She takes a deep breath, and walks in.
It was time to visit a couple of small towns, where modern Maya live. The first was Zinacantan.
Hopping in a boat on the Grijalva River, the travelers view the wildlife in Sumidero Canyon.
The two major volcanoes near Mexico City that you drive past on the way to Puebla.
A mellower sun
It was their last morning in Mexico City and Cheryl was determined to sit outside on the rooftop patio for her breakfast. She gingerly walked out and looked up. The sky was grey with a haze that kept the sunshine at bay: it would not be her enemy today. A mellower sun hung in the east like a round yolk just to the right side of the cathedral. It was sweet to see it rise above the square Zocalo.
They left Mexico City for Puebla that morning and spread out on their full size bus. There were only fifteen travelers, including Daniel and Jose the driver, so they each had their own seat. This initially looked like a good arrangement, but it kept the travelers from getting to know each other. It kept Cheryl lonely.
Cheryl sat a few rows from the front of the bus where Daniel sat. She watched happily out the window when a restaurant with a large sign came into view. The yellow sign said Vips. “Daniel,” she yelled, “is this what you meant when you said Beeps?”
He looked where she pointed, “yes.”
“Okay, thanks.” Cheryl popped back down.
Daniel thought it was a weird question. She was full of weird questions. After a few kilometers he stood up and held the microphone to his lips.
“Just letting you know that we are driving past two very important volcanoes. Iztaccíhuatl, that means white woman, and Popocatepetl, or smoking hill. You can begin to see them on this side, and we will pull off the road at a better location. Hopefully there won’t be clouds or pollution and we’ll be able to see them clearly.”
Cheryl took shaky photos through the window of snow covered mountains that evolved into volcanoes. Iztaccihuatl was visible first; a series of snow covered peaks that resembled a woman lying down. Popocatepetl appeared next and was the quintessential volcano shape: a round peak with snow on the top and puffs of white smoke. Their bus pulled off the road and they unloaded into a field. There they both were, both volcanoes smoking, and both so much a part of the lore, myth, and history of the Mexican people who trace their ancestry from mountains. The travelers took pictures of themselves and each other. Debbie insisted they take one of her and Cheryl, so she could look at it later and remember that “crazy Aussie lady.”
Back on the bus Cheryl noticed that Daniel was not pronouncing the ancient Mexica sound of “tl” correctly. It was a tull sound you made by holding your tongue against your teeth. This sound did not add another syllable as it was a consonant, and not a syllable. The word tepetl, which meant hill in Nahuatl, was only two syllables: te-petl, but when Daniel said it he made it three syllables: te-pet-tul. Cheryl remembered the pronunciation from university.
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