Forced Sobriety + Temazcal = rebirth (Or: Meanderings through the Selva Lacandona)

First, apologies to anyone who was upset by the apparent gruffness of my last post on this blog. Without going into details, I’ve been experiencing a fairly wild ride on this trip, a story for another time no doubt. And besides, poverty IS depressing. Think about it.

The good news is I’ve isolated the source of the physiological funk that has contributed to my state of mind and killed the little fucker. After a few weeks of feeling pretty shitty, I finally bit the bullet and visited a medico, who fairly quickly diagnosed me as having a kidney infection of some variety. This is obviously a fairly debilitating illness, especially when coupled with a well above average alcohol intake (an occupational hazard for a semi-pro traveller such as yours truly).

So, a course of penicillin and a full week without a beverage was to be the treatment, with a gutful of ibuprofen (gross) to alleviate the virus-like symptoms the infection was causing. It came at a time just when I was contemplating the impact of booze on my health and my bank balance, so it really wasn’t that hard. The fact that I left San Cristobal for the jungle, waterfalls and ruins of Palenque also made drying out/getting healthy a lot easier. Yes, well San Cristobal. It has been a while since I’ve communicated with cyberspace, so let it be chronological. Brace yourself, or scroll down for photos.

San Cris certainly was nice, although the aforementioned post does capture the tangible melancholy of the place fairly well. A bit like Prague or somewhere, the place seems a little fake – it’s all very nice, with the colonial architecture, the great coffee, the accessibility of Zapatismo. But you really feel like you’re in tourist central, as if the authenticity of the place has been sucked dry by the gringo dollar and desire for an experience of cultural diversity. Ooh, look at the Mayans!

Having said that, it is certainly a place worth visiting. Chiapas is undeniably a magical part of the world (again with that), and in my time in the city I managed to visit some natural wonder in the form of the Cañón del Sumidero (photos below), and fulfill a long-held desire to come face-to-balaclava with the EZLN.
Cañón del Sumidero

A little over an hour out of San Cristobal is the Zapatista Caracol (community) at Oventik. Oventik’s proximity to SC makes it the most commonly visited Zapatista site, and again the feeling was that it was all a bit of a show. You can’t deny the real work being done here however, which includes a clinic, a school and the seat of the area’s Junta de Buen Gobierno (JBG or Good Government Council). The Oventik Zapatistas are well used to welcoming interested gringos, and provided a comprehensive presentation on the history of the movement, its aims and how the caracoles work. For a ratbag like me, I was like the proverbial fat kid in the lolly shop.

To Palenque: Undeniably one of the most impressive ruins in Mexico, and a jumping off point for visiting any number of waterfalls, jungle treks or even crossing into Guatemala. Palenque is also famous for its hongos or magic mushrooms, which are in abundance along the road to the ruins and in the surrounding farmland. I think they were gold tops for those that are interested. I’m off the mushies, but by all accounts they are the goods.

Seeing as I know nothing much about the ruins and/or the many and contradicting stories the tour guides come up with to explain it all, some photos for your consideration. The place speaks for itself. Wow.

(Change of plans: Palenque photos are in RAW format, you'll have to wait until I've Photoshopped them, or do a google image search and pretend they're my photos).

The next day was taken up with a visit to two waterfalls: Misol Ha and Agua Azul. Both very impressive, and well worth visiting, although I didn’t swim. The empanadas available at 5 for AU$1 are also highly recommendable, especially the chicken ones.

By now, I had gotten to know a few people around the jungle where I’m staying, and got wind of a hippy commune/organic farm/retreat nearby named El Jardin. I’ve been on a quest to experience a Temazcal or traditional Mayan sweat lodge since hearing of it through the grapevine in Mazunte, but despite their ubiquity I still hadn’t managed to get inside one myself. It was with much joy that one of my newfound friends told me there were plans afoot at El Jardin to make a Temazcal the following day. I already had a ticket to go back to San Cris and on to Guatemala, but this was too good an opportunity to pass up.

We arrived early to help Martin and Silvi, the German-French couple who own El Jardin make preparations. We fetched firewood, gathered the stones that are heated and used to generate the steam, ate yummy vegetarian food with home-made chapatti, chanted mantras, sang around the fire and revelled in the bohemian-ness of it all. Many folks say el Temazcal can be an entirely transcendental experience, that the complete darkness, herb-scented steam and introduction of chants and meditations can result in a disassociation from the ego, and in some cases, divine visions and direct contact with whatever God means to you.

I sadly can’t say I reached this level of sweatiness, but not for a lack of trying. Perhaps the fact that we were making our own polytheistic version of a Temazcal, where ritual was more Hindu than Maya (Martin is a Yoga teacher) had some bearing. Nonetheless, I sweat out what little trace of the blues and any kidney infection there may have still been in my system and spent all of yesterday and today buzzing from the experience, with what I can only describe as a shit-eating grin plastered to my face. It was fucking intense, extremely enjoyable and I will be looking to do it again in a more traditional style.

So way over time and way over budget, my time in Mexico draws to an end (for now). Guatemala awaits; I’ll be kicking things off in San Pedro de la Laguna, on the shores of Lago Atitlan, a place of great beauty and apparently great parties. My first taste will be a reggae festival happening there this Saturday (FUCK. YES.).

More stories to come. Thanks for hanging in there.

Peace, harmony, universal love and light. Om Shanti.

Montezuma's Revenge

It has to be a record... 32 hours in to my time in Mexico I've been struck down with the squirts.

After finally sleeping off the combined jetlag and Woodford comedown, I set out to acquaint myself with the sprawling madness that is Mexico City. I sat down to a plate of huevos rancheros at a local cafe (organic and vegetarian, no less) and headed to the Frida Kahlo musuem, in the suburb of Coyoacán, where I'm staying.

The museum is Frida's family house, known as the Casa Azul, or Blue House. It has been tastefully converted into a musuem dedicated to the life and work of Frida and her malingering husband, and renowned artist in his own right, Diego Rivera. Seeing all the random letters and personal belongings of these two massive personalities was just as exciting as seeing some of their works – particularly impressive was Diego's collection of communist pamphlets and their studio space, complete with half-used paints, pastels and the like.
Unfortunately, no photos were allowed inside, so you'll have to come and check it out for yourself .

This is a shot of the outside of the studio. Frida and Diego were avid collectors of pre-Colombian artefacts, which feature throughout the house and its gardens.

Feeling particularly excited, I decided to check out the Zócalo, the city's main square and home to numerous tourist attractions such as the Palacio Nacional and Catedral.

I think photos will speak louder than words – the murals were done by Diego and as far as I can understand tell the story of Mexico, including invasion by the Spanish and the revolution of Pancho Villa and Emiliano Zapata.

I got back to the hostel by sundown and imediately fell asleep, with the familiar creep of nausea beginning to take hold. All I need to say is that I had a shitty night's sleep (no pun intended) and wished like mad I wasn't alone on the other side of the world from everyone dear to me. At one point, in a state of dehydrated delerium, I convinced myself I'd have to summon the repatriation arrangements of my travel insurance, such was the extent of my illness. Thankfully the dreaded bug gave up after about 10 visits to the toilet, when there wasn't anything left to expel from my body.

So here I sit, sharing my shitty experience with you over a litre of rehydration salts. I'm hoping that having been struck down with Montezuma's Revenge so early in the piece will harden me up a bit, and that from here on in it will be all good health and good times.