A Day in the Life: The Young Street Sellers of San Cristobal

The alarm goes off at 7am and it’s straight out of bed. Even a snooze button won’t do much good in a house full of thirteen children if one person’s awake. School starts at 9am, but there’s chores to complete before Carolina can get out the door. She’s one of the oldest kids living at home, so there’s a lot to do in getting her younger siblings ready for the day.

Carolina is your typical 10 year old girl. She goes to school in the morning, enjoys hanging out with friends and she loves her family. However, she is also one of the hundreds of young street sellers of San Cristobal de las Casas, Mexico that hawk their wares after school, on weekends and holidays. Carolina, along with her brother Juan Carlos, eight, and her cousins Alfredo, nine and Emilia, eight, together form a group of friends that trawl the streets of one of Mexico’s busiest tourist destinations hoping to bring in some tourist money.

Juan Carlos 8, Alfredo 9, Carolina 10, Amelia, 8

Over our 2 months in San Cristobal de las Casas we got to know their little group really well and would often find ourselves hanging out with them in the plaza and providing impromptu English classes. The kids were initially on the clock trying to sell us stuff, but after realising we just wanted to get to know them they quickly let their business guard down and opened up to us.

“Selling is fun, and we can play all day together” says Carolina as she jokes around with her best friend and cousin Emilia. The two girls share a strong bond that goes deeper than family. Together they front the sun and storms everyday to make sure they can pull in some much needed money for the family.

“I like school”, both girls comment after being asked. This is an encouraging sign, when so many youth street sellers of San Cristobal are working at such a young age. “When I grow up I want to be a primary school teacher, just like my teacher Sr. Luis”, Carolina adds to the conversation. She is the oldest of the group, and you can tell by her confidence that she is the leader of the pack. Emilia shyly responds to the same question, “I’m not sure what I want to do”. We reassuringly tell her that even at our age we don’t know what we want to do, and it raises her spirits.

 

 

School is an important aspect for the children of Chiapas. Rating as one of the poorest states in all of Mexico, it’s crucial to know that the future of Mexico are being educated. A typical school days consists of maths, writing, reading, Mayan culture and history, and all classes are conducted bilingually in Spanish and the local Mayan language Tzotzil. Classes in English and computer studies are generally limited, but sometimes come in later years. Although in saying that, not many people can speak English beyond the basic phrases and numbers, unless they come from the upper class minority.

The conversation between the girls turns to their native indigenous language Tzotzil for a moment. Although the girls prefer to speak Spanish, they often find themselves coming back to their mother tongue. “We speak it at home with the family”, Emilia adds, “but that’s only because our parents know it better than Spanish”. This seems to be a common trend among the older generation of street sellers of San Cristobal. There is a strong presence of their indigenous Mayan roots, with a few different dialects around San Cristóbal alone and many more around the state of Chiapas.

 

 

Both girls express their desire to pass on the Mayan traditions and will make sure to teach their families Tztozil as well. Although at the same time they are aware of the predominance of Spanish in the wider community. Carolina also adds that she is interested in learning English, stating that “it is important to make money in the future”. For Carolina this new skill will increase her ability to sell to foreign tourists who don’t speak Spanish.

The conversation continues for another half an hour as we talk about all kinds of things. From family and religion to more light hearted topics such as free-time activities and favorite music. As we had suspected, the girls don’t have too many after-school activities, because they’re always working. However, when they do get time they’re usually busy making the handicrafts and learning skills from their parents or books. That takes up most of their time, and when school finishes by 2pm it’s a quick trip home for some lunch and a relax before they hit the streets.

On an average weekday day the group will work for 4 hours until 8pm, depending on the weather, before they’re in bed by 10pm. On days off, such as weekends or holidays, they usually work from 12pm-6pm. All money earned goes directly to the family, and if they don’t make a sale there are no drastic consequences, they just have to head out the next day and try again. While we’ve heard some sad stories about what happens if the kids can’t sell, they assure us this is a non-pressured environment.

 

 

For the girls this is a long lined traditional from their foremothers, and their foremothers before that. Carolina is learning a family trade and tradition. She tells us she was learning how to make bracelets and stuffed animals by 5, and on the street selling them by 6. In those 4 years she’s walked up and down the main strip thousands of times, and if she follows in her mother and grandmother’s footsteps, she has many thousands of trips to go. It is only our hope that whether she decides to follow the family tradition or not, at least she has an opportunity at an education and the right to decide her future. She may be one of the lucky ones who even gets to finish her education, especially as a girl. For the boys, a lot of post-secondary work leads to a competitive career in construction. It’s a useful trade, but with so many unskilled laborers looking for work, it makes the competition a strain and leads many men to street vending as well.

 

 

The family tradition for both Carolina and Emilia follows a similar path. The women are all in the textiles trade and the men in the construction trade. Both girls note that their brothers followed their fathers into work from a young age, and have been there ever since.

So what does the future look like for these two girls? “I’d like to travel more and get to know more of my country” says Carolina. While the two don’t have a lot of knowledge about what’s happening outside of Mexico, remember they are only 10 and 8, what kid does? Emilia wants to travel around Chiapas and also visit the beach for the first time in Oaxaca. And in the future future, that’s just too far away to think about. A family, some kids and then who knows is what they both seem to think.

For now their story ends and we bid goodbye to our new amigos. What we learned from Carolina and Emilia over our 2 months  is that they’re really just like any other 8 and 10 year old. Once the camera and notepad were away they continued to goof around, while the boys wrestled in the street. They’re street savvy and have grown up a lot faster than most kids back home. But in a world away from Facebook, computer and all that other stuff, they have stilled managed to hold onto their childhood innocence.

 

 

Just before we left we managed to print a few pictures from the group of our time together, and Christine was able to make a few simple bracelets for them. They shyly accepted the gifts, but once out of our site we could see them looking over the pictures as they discussed who got what. On the back of the photos we included our email address, in the hope that one day they could get in contact with us. While none of them had ever used a computer, they assured as they would try.

 

Indiana Jules and the Mayan Ruins of Palenque

I’m running through the thick undergrowth of the jungle. The hidden Mayan ruins of Palenque, Mexico are my destination. The heat is unbearably smothering, as the humidity tips 90%, and my clothes start to fill up with sweat. All around me I’m surrounded by a maze of lush green leaves hanging from windy vines, intricately intertwined into a spider web of pure nature. The branches twist and turn around tree trunks like giant boa constrictors. Or maybe they are? I’m moving so fast that I can’t stop to tell the difference, nor do I want to.

Judging by my rough and torn map I should only be a couple of hundred metres from the temple. After dodging a few misplaced holes in the ground I finally bust through the vegetation and emerge into the clearing of this ancient Mayan temple. And it’s more magnificent than I could ever have imagined. Neglected moss covered stones stack 50ft tall, commemorating better times for the historical Mayan empire. If my information serves me correct the amulet should be tucked into the third chamber from the top. I size up the slippery rocks and carefully choose my route to the top.

I start my slow and cautious climb up the temple. I’m up 15ft and going strong when suddenly I grab a loose rock and slip onto one hand, dangling mid air only from the grip of my left. Keeping my composure I gracefully swing onto something looking a little more secure, collect my feet and resume my climb. I’m nearing 30ft and the chamber is in sight. The excitement and anticipatory nerves of this discovery are reaching new heights. My adrenaline is working overtime. I reach the chamber, the moment of truth, I scrap away the cobwebs and peer inside… and there’s nothing there.

Just then a sound in the distance raises my alarm and snaps me back to reality. I’ve been caught! Is it a tribal chief, with his band of warriors ready to shoot poison darts at me? Instead, I turn around to see a very frustrated man dressed in a neatly set uniform blowing a whistle and shouting at me in Spanish. “Get down from there! This area is not permitted within the national park”.

I slowly climb down the monument, empty handed and disappointed that my Indiana Jones fantasy is over. For just one moment I was taken back to my early childhood, dreaming of exploring the world and all it’s hidden treasures. But that one moment was all I needed.

Together we walk back to the official tourist track and chat about random things. I pretend I didn’t know about the restricted areas and that I was lost, but deep down I feel he knows this is probably bullshit. I just wanted to get off the path, and by the relaxed look on his face I can tell he’s not too bothered about it. We shake hands at the designated path and I join the other unknowing tourists for the remainder of the famous Mayan ruins of Palenque. My clothes are wet with perspiration and are clinging to me, I have cuts all over my bare exposed legs and dirt smeared all over my face. People look at me like I’m a wild native, but all I can do is smile. I got closer than they could ever imagine.

The ruins at Palenque, Mexico are incredible. While sometimes I feel like I’m ‘ruined out’ along my travels, Palenque had me back to the old days of running around ruins like a famous explorer. After years of travel and ruins visited, Palenque would have to be up among the best. While many other ruins might tell more elaborate stories of history and cultural significance, at Palenque you get a much more authentic edge. Not that I’m discrediting other sites, but there is something special about Palenque that makes you feel like a real adventurer. Maybe it’s the fact that only 10-15% of the ruins have been excavated to the public and that within the thick jungle, where the howler monkey’s echo, there is still so much left to explore.

Here’s a couple of tips to get the most out of your very own Indiana Jones experience;

    1. Don’t be afraid to deviate from the path a little, kind of like a broader metaphor for life really. There are signs against it, but the ‘I’m lost’ look on a travelers face can always buy you a bit of leeway. Note, it’s best to save the off-beat exploring until after you’ve finished doing the main stuff, just in case they do kick you out.
    1. Pack some food and water. You can buy it at the ruins, but it costs at least double. With energy sapping humidity in full force, you’ll want at least a couple of litres for a day of walking around.
    1. Know your limits. There’s no point trekking all the way through the jungle if you don’t know where you’re going or how to trace your steps back. It’s a wild place out there, and it wouldn’t be hard to find yourself lost within half and hour.
    1. Never take the guides outside the park entrance! Wow, they are pricey! Even some decent haggling doesn’t get the price down enough. Walk inside and you’ll find people more than willing to show you round for a lot cheaper. (Need haggling advice? Read out guide: The Art of Haggling)
  1. If you’re not feeling up to solo style exploring, you can always opt for a guide that will take you on a ‘mushroom tour’. You’ll find them just inside the park gates and the tour quite literally consists of consuming magic mushrooms, hiking off the path to find hidden ruins, with some boy no older than 16 leading the way.

Be safe out there! And if you get to the amulet, let me know!

Gallery: Surfing La Punta Mexico

While I love surfing, sometimes I’ve got to know my limits. And as 12ft walls come surging towards coast I decided it was one of those times.  Instead I popped the board away for an afternoon and took up a spot on the rocks to snap some pics of an epic swell that rolled through La Punta, Mexico.

When it’s not charging like a madman, La Punta is a pretty awesome spot to catch a wave. Just down the beach is the Mexican pipeline of Zicatela beach (which when pumping should only be for the experienced surfer), but chances are you’ll still grab a nice left at La Punta point if you can beat the locals. 

Where and How to Get There?

La Punta is located on the Pacific coast in the state of Oaxaca. If you’re budget backpacking like us, then you’ll bus it from either Mexico City or the south in Chiapas. Either way it’s a decent bus trip of 8-10 hours. But don’t let that put you off. Surfing La Punta Mexico is one spot not to miss!

Once you’ve made it to La Punta you’ll be glad you made the trip. This funky little beach town has all the makings of a summer surf retreat. Quiet beaches, beautiful sunsets, friendly locals and just enough expat/traveler life to keep you from getting bored. There’s only a couple of main streets, but each has enough bars, restaurants and hostels to keep this sleepy beach town interesting.

And if you do get bored and want to spread your wings, the vibrant coastal town of Puerto Escondido is a short moto ride away, or an even nicer half hour beach walk away.

Eavesdropping in San Cristobal De Las Casas

While sitting at a cafe in San Cristóbal de las Casas, Mexico I eavesdropped on a conversation between two travelers. This is the transcription of a snippet of their interaction that I overheard. I found that it accurately described two very different categories of backpackers.

“A friend told me someone got shot in front of that hostel.” Leaning back in his chair, a tall American 20-something lights a cigarette.

The petite blonde woman across the table from him lets her jaw fall.
“You mean a local?” she peeps out, revealing a posh British accent. She’s wearing a plaid button down and cut off shorts.

“No, a tourist,” he responds, leaving the British woman wide eyed.

“Wow, I thought Colombia was supposed to be quite safe now,” she murmurs.

“It is, for the most part. Most of the drug running has moved up to Mexico now. When Pablo Escobar died, there was a power vacuum. Mexico was happy to snatch it up.”

The woman nods her head, but doesn’t respond. Two bottles of Dos Equis sit on the table. The green bottles sweat beads of cold water as a brief silence becomes longer.

“Colombia was beautiful, but I think Cuba has been my favorite country on this trip,” he states, exhaling a puff of smoke over his shoulder.

“But I thought Americans weren’t allowed to go into Cuba? Isn’t it illegal?” she leans in across the table.

He takes a long inhale before answering.

“Nah, well, I did it,” he says with a smirk while shrugging his shoulders.

“Have you done a lot of travel before?” the woman chimes in before he starts talking again.

“Till I was 13 I went to Greece twice a year. I learned to walk there.” He pulls another cigarette out of his pack and lights it. “I think traveling shows you the person you ought to be, or the person you want to be.”

A brief silence and then he adds “travelers are who interest me. Everybody else is just.. pff,” he makes a popping sound with his lips.

A waiter appears at their table and they order another round of Dos Equis. The topic of conversation shifts from travel to over-medication of ADD in the states.

“I’ve been diagnosed with it, but have never taken meds.” The woman says, sitting up in her chair. “In Uni I would turn up for lecture and leave after 20 minutes. I have trouble listening to professors if I’m not really interested”

“I only listen to people I think are worth listening to,” he responds, a cloud of smoke escaping from his mouth.

“Well, I guess everyone learns in a different way.” The woman twirls her half empty beer bottle in her hand. Shivering her shoulders she squeaks, “I’m cold.”

“Here,” he says, grabbing a red and black scarf from his backpack. “Take this.”

She grabs the scarf and pulls it over her shoulders.

“No, no, not like that. You don’t wear it like that.”

“It’s okay, it’s keeping me warm this way.”

He laughs and reaches across the table to adjust the scarf. Then he leans back in his chair and says “There, that’s how you wear it.”

The woman leans back in her chair and gulps down the remainder of her beer.

Lucha Libre in Mexico: Wrestling Like a Pro

Lucha libre in Mexico isn’t just a sport, it’s a full on family outing of action and excitement. Wrestling is one of Mexico’s favourite past time activities, and everywhere you go you’ll find references to it’s popularity. The levels of production range from elaborately lit up stadiums in Mexico City, to dingy community halls in tiny towns. Either way, when an event is announced, people flock to the arena to see their favourite wrestlers battle it out. Today’s special event was in honor of el dia del niño, the day of the child, so  it was very fitting to get into the action.

In the lead up to the entrance you see fathers wearing faded vintage wrestler t-shirts, walking hand in hand with their sons to the stadium, just like their fathers would have done in years past. Kids wear tattered hand me down masks that show signs of passionate wrestling matches. And for people new to lucha libre in Mexico, you don’t need to go far to start your very own collection of memorabilia.

Before walking through the gates I find vendors hawking rip off masks, poorly printed t-shirts and small plastic figurines. An array of brightly coloured masks laid out on the ground twinkle beneath the afternoon sun. Sparkling sequences of pink and turquoise catch my eye from a mask in the corner; this is supposed to be a display of masculinity right? After much deliberation I fork out the cash for a mask in order to fit the part. I go the old favourite and opt for an el Santo mask, a timeless classic of silver and white, that is beloved throughout Mexico.

 

 

Inside the show people provide to-your-seat delivery service on everything from chilly nuts to 1.2L cups of beer. The smell of pop-corn wafts past and before I know it I’m chowing down on a fresh batch. They really aim to cater for the experience. The only time you need to leave your seat is to use the bathroom between matches, and judging by some of the half full cups you see at the end of the night, some people don’t even do that.

In typical Latin America fashion the show is running half an hour later than advertised. After getting impatient I wander off to investigate. I hop over the VIP section without problems and make a bee line for the wrestlers prep-tent. No one stops me along the way and before i know it I’m backstage and watching middle aged men in their underwear apply baby oil and stretch into tights. It’s a relaxed feeling in the tent and I don’t want to disrupt their preparation, so I say g’day and take a couple of pictures with them before heading out.

After another half hour the crowds impatience grows even further and some kids decide to enter the ring for a bit of pre-match entertainment. Slowly more kids join in and within 10mins it a royal rumble arena with tiny arms and legs flying every which way. Never one to shy away from a bit of childly fun, I slip on my famous el Santo wrestling mask, secure the back and once again pop over the VIP fence. It’s time for some action!

 

 

I jump into the dirty ring and enter with a sudden burst of flare, but unfortunately with none of the associated fanfare. The kids look up from their wrestling matches to anticipate my next move. Before i get the chance to react a sneaky niño slide tackles me from behind, buckles my legs and sends me to my knees. Ohh it’s on now!

I grab the closest kid, who’s totally caught off guard, and lift him onto my shoulder. I spin him round a few times before dumping him carefully onto the ground. Out of the corner of my ear i spy a kid ascending the corner buckles and making his way onto the top rope. Next thing i know he launches himself off the ropes and onto my back. Wish ease I flip him round a few times before dropping him on his friends.

More kids get involved as their confidence grows. A tiny kid, no older than 4 and wearing a loose fitting mask, comes up and begins to chop me in the stomach. I fall to the ground and do my best wrestlers acting to show my pain. I flip around on the ground holding my stomach to his delight. All around me kids are lining up to take me on next.

After 15mins of non-stop wretling I’m spent. I can feel sweat building up in the mask, but the polyester restricts any form of air flow. I want to rip off the mask and let my face breath, but that would ruin my masked identity. As it is, I barely manage to keep my identity safe as the scrawny fingers clutch to my face and try to unmask me. Suddenly some music starts in the background and it appears the show is going to start. Kids leave the ring to get ready for the show as I soak in the local applause for my valiant efforts.

I return to my seat with high fives all round and settle in for the show. Over the next 2 hours we bare witness to some of the most ridiculously foolish wrestling/acting I’ve ever seen. It made Peruvian soaps look like the latest Dicaprio performance in comparison. First there was the extremely flamboyant wrestler who’s secret weapon was kissing his opponents into submission. For a strict Catholic society, they were loving the gay wrestling. Besale besale, shouts the crowd, showing their desire for another kiss.

Then there was a guy dressed like the gimp from Pulp Fiction, although try to imagine a pirate twist as he was sporting an eye patch. We enjoyed making up nicknames for all the wrestlers based on their costumes. Other honourable mentions are; The Predator, for his sex-predatorish trench coat; and The Bee, for his uninventive costume of a yellow Quiksilver t-shirt with black marker for stripes.

As the show came to a close we were left thinking that the worse it got, the better it got. It was hilarious. Half backyard wrestling and half improv comedy. More importantly than the cheers and claps were the ear to ear smiles on every one of the kids faces as they cheered on their favorites and booed the bad guys. And on a day like el dia del niño it only seemed fitting.

If you want to see lucha libre events in Mexico City, be sure to check out regular shows on Friday nights for a couple of dollars!

Becoming a Mexican Beach Bum : The Do’s and Don’ts

You’re sitting in your stuffy office, with an ever increasing workload to complete and it’s only just ticked over to Wednesday. From this position it’s pretty easy to find yourself day dreaming the time away wishing for some remote beach location where you can pack it all in and start up a new life. At least until the unpaid bills you’ve left behind threaten to turn into a lawsuit. You picture yourself on a beach in Mexico somewhere, diving through the tropical waves, sun baking to dry yourself, sipping cheap cocktails and eating your way through some fresh tacos for a fraction of the cost of living you’re used to. It’s time to become a Mexican beach bum!

In your day dreams you don’t worry about deadlines, staff meetings or presentations. In fact your whole concept of time has changed to suit your new beach haven. A watch becomes an constant reminder of how time dictated your former life; so you stop wearing it. You throw away your alarm clock and replace it with the horde of roosters that will no doubt wake you up at the crack of dawn. If it’s not the roosters waking you, then it will definitely be the guy selling tortillas with the catchy jingle he blasts from his motorbike.

Your morning routine consists of swimming at the beach in the morning before it gets too hot or exercising, which depends on your level of activity the night before. You adopt the Mexican way of life and embrace this ‘siesta time’ that everyone’s talking about. Between the hours of 11am-3pm you do little to nothing. You might lay in a hammock and read, start work on that book you’ve always wanted to write or fine tune your cooking skills, but you don’t do anything too strenuous. That’s the only way to deal with the, at times, inescapable heat.

By the cooler evening you’re refreshed from a lazy afternoon and it’s time to embrace the second half of the day. You have a couple of options for the afternoon’s activities. You can take a walk along the ocean to watch the sunset in the late evenings. Maybe find a little spot up on the cliffs, or around the rocks, to quietly enjoy nature’s finest muralist paint the sky in rich strokes of pink, red, yellow and orange. If you’ve seen enough of the beach for the day and prefer a more refreshing wind down you can head to one of the many restaurants that line the white beaches. You opt for a cocktail in the comforts of a front row seat to the sunset with a local band covering all the Mexican classics in the corner. Your nights can consist of anything from outdoor beach movie screenings, salsa dancing or singing Mexican drinking songs in some dive bar, wearing a sombrero with the new local friends you met over a bottle of Tequilla. There’s something for everyone in Mexico.

In between jobs? Thinking of a career change? Looking to find yourself? Got some extra holiday time banking up? All great reasons to get out and experience something you might not ever get to do again. But before you go here is a simple beginners guide for the do’s and don’ts to deciding upon your new beach life.

DOs…

… your research and find out what location suits you best. Check the weather, avoid the rainy season in Mexico and stick with the endless summer. If you’re a keen surfer keep away from the well known spots because you’ll be doing more fighting for waves among the locals and learners than the seagulls do for a stray fish.

…send postcards to all your former colleagues and family members. Resorting back to the old fashioned snail mail will really show them how much time you’ve got on your hands. Let them know you’re having a blast and make them jealous, even if you don’t exactly know what you’re doing with your life.

… pack enough sunscreen to last the trip. At an extortionist price, sunscreen is more expensive than going out for a big night on the town. After coming out of hibernation from your office you’ll need it unless you want the local fisherman to mistake you for a giant lobster.

… get a little bit of Spanish under your belt before leaving. Something more than dos cervazas por favor. Not only will it make it easier to negotiate prices, but it will enrich your cultural learning of an amazing country. You will be appreciated among the locals a lot more for even trying.

DON’T….

…. go somewhere super toursity! The constant influx of the masses will become tiresome and overbearing to your new relaxed life. It’s OK for a small break to let your hair down at these spots, but a long time will grind you down. Your favourite restaurant will become a beer pong tournament hotspot at night just to make an extra peso and your uncrowded sunsets will clog up with older European men wearing less than you’d prefer to imagine.

… get stuck in a beach town for too long that you lose touch with the outside world. Whatever happens, don’t turn into a scruffy Mexican beach bum hippie that makes handicrafts out of wire and feathers by the beach. Leave the handicrafts to the locals and let them earn the odd peso from the travelling tourists.

… worry yourself about what you might be missing back home. Think about all the awesome things you’re doing now. Sometimes people’s lives pass years without anything significant happening so a few months won’t hurt you being out of the loop. You miss a music concert here, some birthdays, maybe even Christmas, but really it’s not going to be the end of the world. Christmas will come round again the same time next year and people will always get get older.

At the end of the day it’s your beach adventure so choose what you’re looking for and don’t look back. Outrageous beach parties dot the Mexican coastline all the way from the north western locations of Tijuana to the south eastern peninsula spots at Cancun. Between the parties isolated beach retreats sneak their way into the mix for quieter getaways of relaxing and personal time. Reference these do’s and dont’s as your starting block, but continue to build on them to create the Mexican lifestyle that suits you best.

A Stroll through San Cristóbal de las Casas

Before I even pull the latch on the clunky metal door of my apartment I can hear the melody of “Raindrops are Falling on my Head” becoming increasingly louder. How the song relates to the massive bottled water truck that blasts it from its rusty speakers is beyond me. The tune floats in and out of my ears most of the day so much so that I barely notice it anymore.

I walk out from my apartment on Diego Dugelay and into the warmth of the sun on the sidewalk. An older Mexican man walks past. His sunbeaten face, which matches his worn leather belt, is shaded by a pristine white cowboy hat that rests atop his head. He is pushing a bright torquoise cart. A peek inside reveals a stack of grey tarp that is fraying at the ends and on top lies a bag of pink and yellow ice cream cones.

Walking past the corner I acknowledge the cracking wooden sign for “Electrovodoo,” which always leaves me wondering what their business could be. Hostel? Disco? Haitian witch doctor?

Continuing down the street, the buildings transition from peach colored walls with red trim to pale mint green. Certain spots have chipped away revealing a mosaic of orange, blue and white previous layers. An archive of the buildings’ past lives.

Graffiti scrawled across the face of the building, in the form of “Fany, te amo” haphazardly confesses young love.

 

 

The uneven cobblestones of Real Guadalupe catch me off guard and my foot plops down into a puddle. Grey gutter water soaks into my shoe and leaves a streak on my calf that dries almost immediately.

I pass a store that sells everything in the form of cereals, spices and candy, but not much in between. The bitter and musty smell of dried chilis follows my nostrils as I walk by.

The daylight is quickly fading and I can barely make out the thin grey outline of the Los Altos mountain range in the distance as it fades into the hazy dusk sky. On queue, the streetlights blink on, announcing the start of the night.

As I pass different groups I catch snipets of conversation in English, Spanish and the local indigenous language, Tsotsil.

“Chiclet!” I turn around to find a barefoot young boy carrying a tray of gum, chocolates and cigarettes. I reluctantly decline and turn to go, only to be intercepted by his mother. She has a rainbow of shawls spilling over her arm and thick woven panchos over the other. Her eyes are large and dark brown and seem to be sinking into her face. A defined scar cuts across her upper lip. A second son pops out from behind her, his arms full of small animals carved from wood- yellow jaguars with black spots and orange horses with manes of red yarn.

“Compreme un pan,” buy me a bread, they compromise after I’ve given my 10th “no, gracias.”

I hear a shrill cry followed by choked sobbing. Its only then that I realize the woman has a third child nestled against her back, strapped to her body by a violet shawl, a faded version of the ones she’s selling.

As we get closer to the Zocolo, plaza, I can hear the carnival music that emanates from the park every night. A white car zooms through a side street and a teenage boy hangs out the window, a cigarette in one hand, calling for his friends who stand on the corner.

 

 

We arrive at our destination, our favorite cafe that has two for one hot chocolate on Thursdays. We give the server our order and grab a table outside on the walkway, a beautiful spot, but it’s a gamble depending on how many sellers are out that night. Sure enough, just as we settle in, an elderly Mexican woman makes a beeline for our table. Her baby blue sweater contrasts the satin peach shirt with opal buttons underneath. She is wearing the traditional lana skirt, a thick black wool that wraps like a puffy blanket down to her ankles. It’s held up by a silver woven belt. Most women hand make these using wool from their own sheep, but we’ve heard they can sell for up to $800 in the market.

“Como te llamas,” my boyfriend asks, always the first to break the ice.

Most venders usually give us a curt reply, eager to continue selling. But this woman looks engaged.

“Maria,” she replies with a grin that reveals more than a couple missing teeth. She holds up a handful of woven bracelets. A mix of different patterns intertwine plum purples, sage greens, poppy yellows and curry oranges.

My boyfriend engages her in a short conversation before she turns to me and says something in heavily accented Spanish.

“No,” I shake my head, “No gracias.”

The woman and my boyfriend just blink at me.

“She asked you your name,” Jules says, “not to buy something.”

Overcome with guilt for my knee jerk reaction, I give her my name in the friendliest tone possible.

“Maria,” she gracefully responds with a small bow of her head , “mucho gusto.”

One last nearly toothless grin and she waddles off down the street, showcasing her bracelets to the next group of travelers.

 

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