Magical México

México: The country where yes means maybe and no means maybe; where now means later and tomorrow means maybe never; a country where the impossible is possible and the possible impossible, where everything is fluid, flexible and negotiable.

México: Its language as shapeable and alive as your imagination. A place where time stands still and at the same time passes at lightening speed. The perception of time is subjective and timeliness is in the eye of the beholder.

A country where the family remains holy, the church untouchable, friends the key to success and law enforcement a private enterprise. A country with rich eco-diversity, culture and language diversity; tiny village and huge metropolitan cities; food as flavorful and colorful as its landscape, dogs as ubiquitous as sand on the beach, children plentiful and playful and people as hospitable and generous as the kindest of grandmothers.

México: a place where magic becomes alive and life becomes a never-ending surprise.

Mexico City: City of contrasts, city beyond reality

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If I have ever seen a city of contrasts, it is Mexico City. These contrasts permeate all aspects of life. The city bursts with life as 20 million people rush around their busy lives in an infrastructure built to accommodate about half its population: streets overflowing, horns honking, breaks squeaking, subways overcrowding, but somehow the next day comes.

Steep contrasts between rich and poor are impossible to ignore: Lavish private country clubs, fenced in residences accessible only to the select few. 15 year old teenagers transported in limousines and escorted by police protection. While just a few streets away a beggar extends his hand for a coin, the army of walking salesman struggles all day for a few pesos, the millions of shopkeepers waiting in their stores or street stands for a few customers, a homeless person searching the waste for food, the ghettos filled with indigenous people from the country all looking for a better life in the city, the street child that sells his body for sex because he sees no other way to survive.

The architecture is equally diverse: pretentious colonial structures next to modern day sky scrapers, deserted allies, quaint residential areas, beautiful plazas, hopeless ghettos and a few remaining pieces of green refuge that the city parks offer.

Faces of happiness: laughing university students in the metro, children playing football in the park, tequila shots at the night club, a relaxing cup of coffee at a street café so close to faces of despair: the child whose stomach has not been fed in days, the woman with the bruised face running away form her husband, the qualified university graduate unable to find a job, the family whose daughter is kidnapped and held for ransom or the family of 8 living in a one bedroom apartment.

Happiness and sadness, wealth and poverty, city of opportunity, loneliness among millions of people; Mexico City, city of contrasts, city beyond reality.

The story of Veronica and María: San Juan Chamula, Mexico

The breaks squeak, the collectivo mini-van stops, we verify the destination, get on and the journey begins. Beforehand my friend Saul and I had bought breakfast at the San Cristobal de las Casas market (consisting of bread and a bag full of fresh peaches). We quickly notice that there are two young girls behind us and anxious to hear their stories we strike a conversation.

Veronica and Maria introduce themselves, we introduce ourselves and then try to break the ice by challenging them to guess our age. The trick works and we get some smiles out of the after claiming we are 60 years old. We offer each of them a peach and before we cold finish the invitation the two had stuck their little hands into the bag and each grabbed one and taken a big bite with their little mouths.

Veronica, 12 years old, tells us that she goes to school because she thinks it is important to learn how to read and write. Maria, 10 years old, however, thinks that school is boring and she rather not go and do better things with her time. Our attempts to convince her otherwise do not seem to hit much fertile ground. They tell us that school in their town is voluntary and most children do not go but rather help their parents earn money. We offer another round of peaches. Maria having lost some of her original shyness, takes two at once and starts taking big bites. Sometime later it becomes obvious that it is Veronica that is answering all our questions and I wonder if that is because she is the older one, does not have as much peach in her mouth, or is the one of the two that goes to school?

It turns out that both Veronica and Maria are from San Jan Chamula, the town to where we were headed. To make the trip more amusing we suggest to trade a lesson in Tzotzil, their native language, in exchange for some sentences in German and we would throw in some more peaches on top of it. We struggle as much with the foreign pronunciation of Tzotzil as they do with German, but we all laugh a lot.

The bus arrives and we ask the two to give us a tour of their indigenous town. The two happily agree. As we exit the bus a horde of men greet us each selling their our services. Conveniently we tell them we already have two professional guides. Veronica and Maria smile (this time showing some of their teeth because the peaches that before covered them have long been gone along with the bread we had bought and the big bag has been emptied by the two hungry mouths).

The highlight of the town of San Juan Chamula is the church at its center but not because of its physical appearance but because of what takes place inside. I enter and am almost blinded by the bright candle light. No chairs or seats exist in the church and most of the ground is covered with lit candles making the inside of the church more than comfortably warm. Several ladies are walking up and down the church waving bowls of incense that make the whole experience more mystic. In a corner several men are softly playing instruments (drum, harp and guitar) while another man is gently chanting a mantra.

This church is home to an important healing ritual: In this indigenous tradition a sick person comes to this church together with a healer. They kneel down on the floor (but place a layer of green leaves beneath them for padding). They then light about 50 small candles on the floor while the healer chants traditional prayers. She then takes a raw egg and rubs it over the body of the sick person. The egg is believed to have the power to remove sickness. Thereafter the healer takes the egg and touches it against a live chicken (thus the disease is returned to the mother of the egg). To make sure that the disease stays with the chicken, the healer twists its neck a few times (killing it in the process) and trapping the disease inside the dead chicken. To top things off, the sick (and now healed) person has to take a large sip of Coca-Cola and then burp. This burp is believed to release the final spirits of sickness. A few more chants and the person is healed. As we leave this Catholic church I am fascinated by the unique fusion of traditional believe of sacrifice and healing blended with traditional Catholic creed.

We continue our tour of the city with our professional guides. As we walk past a large and luxurious house (certainly relative to every other house in town) I ask Veronica who lives here. The persons with the Coca-Cola franchise is the answer, who else.

The tour is over and after taking parting photographs with Veronica and Maria (she still has not said much) they gift each of us one of the hand-made bracelets they are selling, along with one of those unforgettable smiles that only children can give.

Selling to the Salesman: San Cristobal de las Casas, Mexico

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Similar to most touristy areas, income generated from tourism is a main pillar to the San Cristobal de las Casas economy. It has not taken long for the locals to figure out that many of these tourists enjoy the arts and crafts that the Chiapas region produces. Indeed, arts and crafts are on display everywhere in this city, not only in the market but just about everywhere a saleswoman could encounter a customer. Most ingenious of them are the walking saleswomen who have realized the uselessness of waiting all day behind a stand for tourists that never show up or purchase, better to go look for them directly. Consequently there are armies of saleswomen marching through town approaching every tourist in sight. It is impossible to find refuge from these entrepreneurs (except in your hotel room), they even enter restaurants (feeling no shame) move your plate a bit to the side and spread out their merchandise on the dinner table and refuse to leave until you make a purchase. Initially amusing but after a few days annoying, my friend Saul and I had to think of a solution.

The plan was simple; we would beat the saleswomen at their own game. From that moment on, I was a professional photographer and Saul a watch salesman. Every salesman that approached us, we would advise that we were also in the business of selling and if there were so kind as to buy one of my professional photographs or Saul’s watch we would gladly return the favor and make a purchase from them. The strategy worked like a charm. Most saleswomen disappeared within 2 seconds of hearing that they were supposed to buy something. Others just stood there in astonishment not quite sure what was going on.

Not only did we have a lot of fun with our sales efforts (I have to admit that I failed to sell a single photograph and Saul still has his watch) but from then on we were able to move about the city in peace.

Marbin Janci and the White Dog

Prelude: It is late, very late. As the last two visitors my friend Saul and I just helped to close down the last bar in town at 3:30am. In San Cristobal de las Casas on a Monday night; we walk up and down the streets (with the last beer in our hands) convinced there has to be another bar open, a party somewhere. The image of a bar with dancing music and one more cold cerveza Modelo keeps us searching. The fact that the last five people stumbling home have all told us that there is nothing else open leaves us unimpressed. For sure they are mistaken.

Bright lights blind our eyes. It is the middle of the night but the whole side of the street is illuminated. Security guards have blocked off the streets and movie cameras, directors and staff are going about their business of preparing for the shooting of a movie scene. Intrigued by the display I approach. Some moments later I spot a security guard by the side of a van. I walk up to him to greet him and in festive spirits, shake his hand, laying my arm around him and padding his shoulder. “What is going on here, dude?” I ask him. “We are shooting a film, “ he responds. I am about to ask the next question when I feel a slight pull on my arm. It is Saul pulling me towards him away from my new friend. As we get some distance he starts out laughing loud and finally asks: “Do you know who that was?“ “You know the security guard?“ I ask him surprised. “He is the main actor,” he laughs, “and very famous in Mexico. And you just ruined the scene.”

The main act: Some moments and some streets later, we turn around a corner and see a person but yet it seems difficult for him to keep the bicycle in between the two sidewalks, swerving back and forth. Only about 2 meters in front of us he sees us because all his attention is focused on keeping his bicycle. His eyes light up, the bicycle breaks squeak and he attempts to get off his bike nearly falling in the process. “You have to help me,” are the first words out of his mouth. He introduces himself as Marbin Janci and immediately points out that he is German (as one can easily tell by his name), although he looks as indigenous as it gets and is no more than 1.50 meters tall. We start walking together, he leaning on his bicycle for support.

In front of us are some 8 dogs playing and after a few more steps it becomes clearer that 7 of the (male) dogs are all trying to win the privileges of a sole female dog. As we approach the commotion Marbin Janci gets increasingly nervous. Finally he repeats: “You have to help me. These dogs are very dangerous.” With curiosity and shaking tails some of the dogs sniff our legs. Terrorized Marbin Janci jumps backwards, holding onto my shoulders tightly, trying to hide behind me. “What is going on? These dogs are harmless,” we tell him. With fear written in his eyes (somewhat diluted by an overdose of alcohol) he exclaims: “These dogs bit me. These are very dangerous.” His hands holding on tighter onto my shoulders. “Which one bit you?” I ask. Immediately forgetting all his fear, he jumps out from behind me (sometime it can be helpful to have a short memory) and shouts: “This one!” pointing at the white dog (the only white one of the bunch). The white dog takes a step back in intimidation and obviously knows that Marbin Janci is referring to him. “How often did he bite you?” Saul continues the questioning. By now we are both laughing heavily because the situation is just too funny: 4am inebriated Marbin Janci is scared of a helpless white street dog (granted, we are not completely sober either). “Look here,” replies Marbin Janci immediately and pulls up his jeans pants as if proudly displaying an accomplishment, ”he bit me 3 times in the leg.” And indeed there are several teeth imprints on his leg. Suddenly, as if struck by a profound insight he jumps up and declares: “I am going to kill this dog.” He reaches for his backpack and continues: “Good thing I brought a pistol with me.” (It is not too unusual that people carry guns in this part of the universe). He already has his hand inside the backpack (and seems determined to follow through) when we manage to calm him down. But when all attempts to dissuade him fail we change strategies. “If you shoot the dog there will be a lot of noise. Better you beat the dog to death with your bicycle,” we suggest to him and our persuasion works. He returns the backpack onto his shoulders (we breath a sigh of relief) and lifts up the bicycle and starts running towards the white dog (the other dogs jumping aside left and right). And what follows is a display I will never forget. Drunken Marbin Janci chasing after the white dog trying to hit it with his bicycle; the problem being that Marbin Janci cannot even walk straight, let alone hold up his bicycle. Saul and I are dying of laughter and even the white dog seems to be laughing at him and easily avoids the clumsy attempts to through the bicycle in his direction. Eventually Marbin Janci gives up tired and disappointed. The white dog and his friends look perplexed, not sure what the commotion was all about. But Marbin Janci’s pride is strong, the urge for revenge deep. Again he reaches for his backpack: “This thing with the bicycle does not work,“ he explains, “Better I just shoot the dog.” With the ingenuity of two “well oiled” brains we change the diversion strategy. “Marbin Janci, we are invited to this big party going on right now. Don’t you want to come with us? We are going right now.” And the magic word “party” does the trick. He immediately forgets about the white dog and turns his attention to us. His eyes light up, “you are going to a party,” he says excitedly. “I want to come with you.”

And so we continue our journey through the night of San Cristobal de las Casas, Marbin Janci providing free first class entertainment. All of a sudden he stops and exclaims (sometimes it is difficult to talk and walk at the same time), “What am I going to do with my bike at the party. Better I bring it home first and then go to the party.”

One moment ago Marbin Janci was barely able to walk but all of a sudden he is back in the saddle of his bicycle and riding as if his life depended on it. The last thing we see of Marbin Janci is our new friend racing into the night, the pistol inside the backpack on his back, on his bicycle which only moments ago was used to chase (or to amuse) our other new friend, the white dog.

Author’s note: this is a true story and only one of the fun and unforgettable encounters of San Cristobal de las Casas. As “coincidence” will have it the following night Saul and I are making our rounds once again. We turn around a corner (this time a different one) and see a movie set (which looks suspiciously familiar. A few moments later we spot our friend, the main actor (this time not dressed as security guard). Politely we wait until the scene is over before approaching. We ask if he remembers his two friends from the previous night. He smiles, says yes, and invites us to take a picture. (Take a look at our movie start, Jesús Ochoa: http://cinemexicano.mty.itesm.mx/estrellas/jesus_ochoa.html)
A few corners later we spot a group of dogs running about the street. Of course it is our group of dogs and the white dog is posing for a photo moments later. Thirsty we decide to have a drink at the next bar. We enter and inside is Marbin Janci dancing the night away. Excited he hugs us, we take some pictures to document the story and the night continues…It all feels like déjà vu.
All the photos below are actual photographs of the actual participants of this story (however taken one day later).