It's just after six in the morning, and there's again the sound of fireworks going off somewhere nearby. I don't think there is a time of day when they don't: intermittently, not many at once, but even in the middle of the night. This is how Latin Americans celebrate the Christmas season, with lots of noise and lights and honking horns, with drums and brass and singing in the streets, a celebration indeed. Here in the Yucatán this takes on another dimension: on December 12th is the day of the Virgén de Guadeloupe, the patron saint of this region. For a whole week before torch runners are underway from one city to the next, whole teams, often wearing team jerseys, stopping in cities along the way where then special celebrations are held with music, speeches and food in the plazas. Not only that, however: highways and inner cities are filled with cars, pickups, minivans, motorcycles, once I even saw a gravel truck decorated with colourful balloons, often in the Mexican colours green, red and white, the pickups often with a life-sized picture of the Virgin, horns honking constantly, sometimes with sirens and lights like police cars. When they pass through small communities children run to the edge of the road, jumping up and down, waving – it is quite amazing to see for northerners like us. We noticed it first in Palenque on the weekend, and now, here in San Cristóbal de las Casas, it is the same – just so much more because this is a city of more than 200,000 people and a major tourist destination here in the Yucatán.
We said goodbye to Palenque and our dear Fátima and her kids two days ago, a bit sad as always when a place felt especially warm and welcoming. We had chosen San Cristóbal de las Casas because it is supposed to be very different from many other cities here, not least for its different climate: at 2,160m above sea level it is quite a bit cooler here, right now about 20 or 21 degrees during the day and down to 9 at night, a far cry especially from the night temperatures in the low twenties in the lowlands.
This time we were confident regarding travel because Fátima is originally from San Cristóbal and could tell us with absolute certainty that we would get there by colectivo, first from Palenque to Ocosingo, about 2 1/2 hours, then right from the colectivo station there to San Cristóbal in another colectivo, total travelling time about five to five and a half hours. Of course we could have travelled by regular bus, too, but that takes more than eight hours on a much longer route. Since we had used the colectivo the day before to get to the waterfalls we knew where to go and were on our way to Ocosingo by eleven. We were lucky to be there early, because by the time we left the vehicle was fully loaded - and yet along the way we picked up more and more people so that always two or three were standing or sitting on the bags and boxes piled up beside the first seats (which were ours). Whenever someone got off in one of the small villages another one or two took their place, though finally we were full even by the standard of the driver and he waved his hand -'no' – when people indicated they wanted to get on.
Higher and higher we climbed until we reached Ocosingo by two pm. There, other colectivos displaying 'Ocosingo-San Cristóbal' were waiting already, and before we knew it we were ushered into one where we snatched the last two seats. The ticket seller only asked briefly if we were okay with one of us sitting in the front beside the driver, which was no big deal, it seemed, except that it was an elevated middle seat that was kind of an add-on. Johann sat in the middle of the very back row and could stretch his legs into the aisle. Very soon I realized that my seat was going to be quite uncomfortable since the head rest dug into the middle of my back and I had to pull up my legs. Holding on to the backpack with one hand and the seat to the other I managed not to slide into the driver on one and the young woman on the other side, at least most of the time.
Still climbing we now didn't have a hint of sun anymore. Instead, low clouds, fog and likely smoke from cooking and heating fires combined to make it dreary, at times it felt almost oppressive. The road became poor, and the driver now slowed down more for patches of very rough road, deep potholes and, for a stretch, muddy sections from a recent landslide. To the right, where it dropped off precipitously, the road had been washed out in a few spots and was 'fenced' off with plastic tape. From my position it looked dangerous, but at least there was room enough to pass it, and the driver didn't seem to be concerned at all.
We passed through remote highland villages that looked like they had been like this for centuries. Men carrying big bundles of firewood on their backs, suspended from a belt going around their foreheads, women tending cows on a rope, chicken, hogs, sheep and – rarely – horses grazing on the side of the road, dogs playing in the middle of it, unconcerned – the driver often quickly hit the horn to alert them, just like he did with the kids dangerously close to the vehicle. Wood was stacked high in 'Jenga' fashion to facilitate drying, laundry draped on roofs and over fences, women in traditional dress walked with their babies, sometimes toddlers, in a sling in the front or on their backs, sometimes wearing the hats typical for the region. Other than on the first leg of the journey we didn't stop once: obviously everybody was headed for San Cristóbal. Finally, the road improved a bit, and immediately the driver hit the gas pedal, which was more scary for me than the poor roads. We now drove through pine forests; I'm not sure if these were planted or grow here naturally, I assume it's the former. They yield wood for the mountain communities, in any case. At times, the road climbing in tight curves through this forest, I could almost pretend I was back in the Waldeck county of my childhood, which made it a bit less forbidding.
Eventually we reached a four-lane highway and soon were at the colectivo station in San Cristóbal, as usual teeming with activity. Of course the 2 1/2 hours had turned into 3 1/2, and it was once again dark, exactly what we had hoped to avoid. Stiff from sitting in this uncomfortable position for so long I gratefully stretched my legs and rubbed my aching back. We asked for directions to the centro historico which, right there, felt like it should be far away – but it wasn't at all. After nine blocks we reached the big plaza, and from there it was only about 200m to our 'Real del Valle' hotel. We made it!
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