Erste Schritte in Mexiko Dez 10

On a Great Journey 2010-2012 – Part III

Is the world beautiful! Barely out of the airport building, we are greeted in typical Mexican fashion by a mariachi group. A huge butterfly flies past me. Plants with big pink leaves decorate the bus station. It is hot. Finally hot! I feel like in paradise.

The bus takes us to the city, where we are immediately guided by a Mexican to a cheap accommodation.
Cancun is quite touristy and we don't like it very much. Again and again small vans filled with soldiers or policemen armed to the teeth drive by. They are standing at every corner. This is normal, since the Mexican president has declared war on drug trafficking. A little frightening.

Our first night in Mexico is deafening. The disco next door goes full throttle with the worst pop songs. And that until it gets light. I guess there probably won't be more people than the DJ and maybe one Mexican guest.

We don't want to endure this for another night and continue to Tulum. It is much more pleasant here, we notice right away. The place is quieter, the people relaxed and less intrusive.

The first time I see Mayan ruins. They are located directly on the beach, which almost takes our breath away. The sand is white like snow and the water shines in shades of blue and turquoise. The ruins are well preserved, the grounds well kept. Large iguanas, proudly sunning themselves on the walls, keep catching our eyes.

We quickly get used to the Mexican daily routine: tasty food, which mostly consists of baked or fried corn dough (tortillas, tostadas, empenadas, quesadillas and others), fresh fruit juices and too-loud music that blares from across the street in the evening.

Mahahual

After a short drive and the end of a funny guinea pig hero movie shown on the bus, we arrive in Mahahual. Three places were available for us to choose from and the "toss" fell on this one. "A good idea?", I wonder as we catch our first glimpse. In front of us is a Caribbean beach filled with party tourists. Women bounce around in skimpy bikinis, painted up for mating season. Men seem to be practicing balancing beer bottles on their mouths. No, this is not what I imagine Mexico to be like. A guy shows us a hotel room, since we still have no plan where to spend the night. The room is richly furnished, even has a TV. When I then hear the price, I turn on my heel. 600 pesos, which is about 50 francs! What a rip-off!

Back at the bus stop. The luggage waits with me while Simon asks other hotels for the price. Soon he comes back with a note that says "Cabañas del Doctor" and "Morro". The former is supposed to be a cheap accommodation and Morro is the guy who recommended it to us and also lives nearby. These cabañas are more quietly situated and cost 300 pesos, we learn there. Still expensive, but looking further is hardly worth it. For the first night it should be good, long we will not stay here.

Later, during the first visit to the party beach, we discover a campground. It is a garbage dump where stray dogs have their fun. But what the heck? When we ask the Mexicans one house further for the price, we learn that it should be 70. We ask the guy who is already camping here. 30 pesos, he answers and points to another house in the opposite direction. "Great, you can try to take money from stupid tourists, although the place doesn't even belong to you." Camping is also possible at our cabañas, a bit more expensive, but clean, cozy and directly on the beach. The very next day we pitch the tent two meters away from the shore.

"Hey! There's Morro!!!" Simon calls out to me and off he goes in the direction of a curious house. The pirate house. It's red and built like a ship. On the "roof" a huge mast shoots up into the air, and in front there is a large steering wheel. Captain Morro is a small, young Mexican who greets us beaming over both cheeks. A second, taller guy, introduces himself as Carlos. He also lives here to work as a dive master. We agree on some Caguamas (big beers, about 1 liters, the "misils" are even bigger). Now it gets complicated. I speak practically no Spanish, they speak absolutely no English. And nevertheless I babble along with them enthusiastically. We talk into the night, wave our hands around, decorate the whole thing with idiotic noises - I feel comfortable with the two of them and learn more new words than ever before. The two offer diving and snorkeling, and also run a dive store. This is worthwhile especially because of the many tourists who dock a few times a week with the cruise ships. If there are no ships, it is absolutely quiet here.

So it is when we visit the beach again the next day. Absolute emptiness, most stores are closed, as if nothing had ever happened. We suddenly like it here very much. All of Mahahual stretches along the beach, children play in the street and locals enjoy the warm day in the sun. We spend the days most of the time on the beach and the evenings with Carlos and Morro. But today we go snorkeling with the two, and a Spaniard and an Austrian. The coast from Mahahual to Tulum is said to have one of the most beautiful coral reefs. We get the equipment from them and go out into the shallow sea. After a short introduction we jump into the sea and start paddling. The corals are huge and beautiful. They adorn the underwater world like delicate sculptures. Colorful fish hide in them and again and again we discover rays. For more than two hours we dive around, with constant: "Look, look!" Exhausted from this experience, we drink a beer with the Austrians. Two of them plan to run a bar in Mexico for three months and maybe even settle down somewhere proper.

We have settled in really well in the small town. Locals recognize us already and shoo annoying sellers away for us with: "Let them, they are from there! We soon can't walk through the street without getting stuck in a conversation somewhere again. How about just staying here? Sell something on the street when the boats are there and just enjoy the rest of the time? We could both imagine it very well. But still we are drawn to see more of this beautiful country. Returning is always possible.

Palenque – Maya Bell

Palenque, known for its Mayan ruins, is located in the middle of the green jungle of Chiapas. Mystically, scattered wisps of fog lie over the hilly forests as we arrive in the small town after a long night on the bus. A little outside, near the ruins, is Maya Bell, a small restaurant with cabañas and palapas (reed-roofed shelters where you can make yourself comfortable with tents or hammocks) hidden among the trees and plants. Here we quickly feel at home.

At breakfast we meet Humberto and are amazed when the Mexican suddenly begins to speak Swiss German. We understand each other immediately, and not only linguistically. For a few years now, Humberto has been traveling with his guitar to Switzerland and Italy every spring for a few months to earn some money as a street musician. "The rest of the year I live here at Maya Bell in my tree hut, making music for the guests and enjoying life," he explains with a slight accent. "In the evenings, I sit there on that stage and play Mexican and other Latin songs from eight to eleven. Sometimes alone, sometimes with other musicians." And this as a gifted talent we note when we listen to his tunes the same evening. Together with Sven, Seraina and I sit at one of the tables, drink fresh papaya-watermelon-lime juice and enjoy the ambience. Sven lives in Turgi - it's a small world - and is spending his vacation in Mexico to explore some of the most important Mayan cult sites. The graphic designer, photographer and Reiki practitioner provides plenty to talk about this evening.

We arrange to meet him the next morning to see a popular destination in the area: Agua Azul.
I feel a bit divided every time it comes to taking a tourist trip to a natural wonder. Misol Ha, the imposing waterfall we visit first, and finally, the turquoise blue cascades of Agua Azul, which pour over rocks into picturesque pools, are indescribably beautiful nonetheless.

I fantasize that I would be the first person to see these places. In the midst of the jungle, they radiate incredible power. But it takes a bit of imagination to do so if you want to forget the stream of tourists meandering through the countless market stalls and restaurants. In addition, there are the entrance fees and the questionable road tolls of the Zapatistas, which everyone has to pay, whether they want to support the resistance fighters in their dispute with the Mexican central government or not.

Nevertheless, it is worth experiencing the magic of these waters for yourself. We feel the same way about the Mayan ruins in Palenque, which Seraina and I visit a few days later. The palace, temples and pyramids are impressive and beautifully situated. We climb up and down some of the steep stairs, marvel at the views over the site and the forests all around. Many hundreds of years ago, when the Western Roman Empire was just collapsing in Europe and many of today's giant redwoods saw their first light in Northern California, the Mayans were looking at the stars at this spot where we are now. With their help, they created their peculiar calendar, which is supposed to end on December 1, 2012.

Die Ruinen von Palenque — The ruins of Palenque

Was so kreucht und fleucht unterm Zelt — What so crawls and flies under the tent

Much is talked and written about this mysterious date. Especially here in the land of the Mayas, it seems to be omnipresent. The end of the world? Few people believe that. Often I hear that we can expect something more subtle. A change in our consciousness and behavior towards our planet and ourselves. An opportunity, after the technical progress of mankind, to evolve spiritually, more connected with nature.
According to my dream last night, the reason why I mention this here, we will have one last chance if we don't want to destroy ourselves. Whether we use it, I am not able to say. I only remember that I could not simply take the bus home, but had to walk the way. Through a lot of green, nature had reclaimed a lot. Without any engine noise or artificial light, we didn't use electric electricity anymore. And past happy people who knew that not profit brought joy to life, but life itself is worth living.

The days at Maya Bell pass quickly. We spend them reading, eating good food, listening to music and having lots of interesting conversations. Getting to know different people is as much a part of being on the road as the daily bright blue sky in San Cristóbal de las Casas.

There is Markus, the Bavarian Rastamann, who carries Switzerland in his heart and has been traveling the world for many years, who teaches us (and himself) not to always utter every piece of nonsense, but to simply be quiet for a while in and enjoy - be it the sounds of nature, the music in a club or the suspense in a good book.

Or Tania, the Brazilian who works at Maya Bell. It is with her that I have my first acupuncture treatment when one day I am struggling with faintness and migraine-like headaches. Not only can she help me with my health but also with my Spanish skills.

Maja and Hans from Lucerne, arriving in their camper, tell us how they have spent their retirement on the road for three years. From Alaska, they are on the way to South America. "The record down the Panamericana is two months and something. Maybe we'll manage to set the counter record with our Tortuga, turtle, as we call our car," beams Maja. With this in mind, they have settled in at the Maya Bell for a month.

And then there is always Humberto, who in addition to his concerts every evening, helps out in the kitchen over the busy Christmas days, and now and then slips us an extra beer, orange juice, or cookies to go with our order, while his Schwiizerdütsch, not like our Spanish, is improving by the minute in our conversations. I have rarely seen such a contented person as him. As long as he has his guitar, all is in order in the world.

One thing remains to be mentioned. If you want to go for a walk in fields and meadows in Palenque or anywhere else in tropical areas, as Seraina did with Markus, the Bavarian, you should get yourself an ABC protective gear. Now, over a week later, she is still suffering from the itchy tick bites that spread over her arms, legs, stomach, and back. Despite protective clothing and tick spray, we had to remove at least 300 of these annoying beasts from her. The tarantula behind our tent didn't bother us as much.

San Cristóbal de las Casas

Through a green, hilly landscape that sometimes reminds me of the Jura in Switzerland, the road winds up from Palenque to San Cristóbal. We need a full five and a half hours for the 160 kilometers.
We were told that it is winterly cold here. Well, at over 2000 meters it already cools down to below ten degrees Celsius at night, but every morning when we get up, summer temperatures await us. And above all, blue skies and sunshine. Every day. For a week now.

It is seven o'clock in the evening and dark when we get off the bus and make our way to Qhia, a hostel that various people have recommended to us.

The streets of this city of 160,000 inhabitants are still busy. We have to ask for directions and approach two Mexicans. "That would be right back there. Hey, but if you want cheaper accommodation, follow us," they suggest. "A hundred pesos for a big room in a private house close by." Spontaneously, we decide to accompany them.

It turns out that Chino and Marcos, the two artesanos, artists who sell their jewelry on the street, have rented a house for a month together with Marcos' girlfriend Aline and Raquel, a Geneva native who has lived in Mexico for ten years. It was perfect timing again.
We nestle in a huge room on the top floor right next to the roof terrace, which offers eight hours of sun a day. The planned two to three days in San Cristóbal quickly turn into ten.
It has happened to many, he said, that a short visit here has led to a stay of several months or years.

It is pretty, this city. Colorful house walls adorn the alleys, VW Beetles are parked on every corner. Artists from all over the world present their works, Mayan women offer colorful skirts and embroidery. There is also no lack of places to go out. Almost in any bar live bands play every evening.
Nevertheless, we don't want to get stuck here. We make plans. Should we continue to Zipolite on the Pacific coast, where our Austrian friends from Mahahual are waiting for our visit? Or should we go on to Guatemala? Our Artesano roommates hurry to help us. They want to teach us their art, show us where to find stones, string, wire, and tools in Mexico City. At the same time, they rave about dreamy little towns in central Mexico, where they sometimes retreat to work.

We enthusiastically decide to go to Guatemala first, so that we can take our long-awaited, first steps on the shores of Lago Atitlán. Then, in March, we plan to return to Mexico to learn a new craft and further explore this beautiful country.

But we are still in San Cristóbal, everything else will follow naturally.

First Steps in Mexico Dec 10 - Jan 11