Vuelta de los Caracoles

By the end of our tour of the Caracoles in Chiapas, we have driven over a thousand miles and visited 4 of the 5 central governing communities in each group of Zapatista municipalities. They have all been quite different in character, and the last one we visited, Morelia, was perhaps the most active, vibrant and hopeful. The murals were vivid and evocative, in one case featuring the unusual image of the white, bandana-less woman next to an equally unusual depiction of a very tall and strong Comandante Ramona (a central, somewhat mystical native Mayan leader in the Zapatista movement who, in life, was physically quite small.) It was also the one where we met and talked with the most people. This has given us a somewhat better idea of how the Zapatistas are doing in creating autonomous communities where, as a collective, they work together, govern, teach and train themselves to be self-sufficient, and manage their local resources with care and respect to the people and the environment, without government involvement or corporate manipulation. These are not military camps. There were never any visible weapons or any sign of them (in contrast, the average military guy on the street in and around San Cristobal had pretty serious looking automatic rifles.) That said, we knew about (but didn't see) the separate military side to the Zapatistas, and it is primarily defensive, aiming to protect their communities against military and para-military taunts and attacks, which happen from time to time, from what we've heard and read. These collectives are peaceful, tranquil communities, with families and kids of all ages around, working, playing and studying. You see kids and teenagers hanging out like any kids and teenagers do. Basketball courts are always a central fixture in the camps, and usually active. When we met with the Juntas or other groups, there were always fairly equal numbers of men and women present, demonstrating the Zapatistas' strong emphasis on equality and egalitarianism. We're just scratching the surface, but it's really compelling to get a little first-hand glimpse of the Zapatista lifestyle. Lots to learn.

Street Food

Street food in Mexico might scare the bejesus out of many a gringo, but I have a serious weakness for eating on the street and food carts are everywhere. These over-stuffed quesadillas were Mexican heaven. Another favorite has been the elotes carts, which serve corn on a stick smeared with mayonnaise, hot sauce and cheese. You just gotta choose carefully and have a little of the pink stuff (Pepto-Bismol) on hand, just in case.


Then there are the endless hole-in-the-wall taquerias. Across from our hostel, we couldn't resist the 2 for 1 tacos al pastor, which we covered with onions, cilantro, salsa verde and pineapple, of all things. Sooo good!

Zona Militar

This huge, ostentatious military base being built just outside of San Cristobal was not a subtle hint that significant money is being pumped into operations in and around Chiapas. We hit military and police checkpoints a few times during our long drives around Chiapas. Although we had nothing to hide, it's definitely a bit scary to be asked to pull over in a foreign country by heavily armed military personnel, especially when another car nearby is having it's contents dumped and combed as helpless passengers stand by nervously. We pulled up and a couple of armed guards immediately stuck their heads in the windows and peered around the inside of the car looking for signs of contraband of one kind or another. We were asked to get out and open the trunk and I started wondering if all of our camera gear would raise any suspicions. Fortunately, my two Mexican compañeros vouched for their token gringo. The talk was friendly, but firm. It looked like we would be let through without turning the car inside out. But then there was something that they didn't like about Raul's pants of all things, which were surplus US military issue camouflage: "There's another checkpoint down the road and those guys are real fuckers. If I were you, I'd change those before you get there." A mile down the road we pulled over for a road-side pants change. The next checkpoint finally appeared maybe an hour later and all apprehension was quickly erased when it was pretty clear that the guards were thinking more about tacos and cervezas and hardly gave us a glance as we drove by.

Road to La Garrucha, continued...

Back to the main story from a few days ago (the road to La Garrucha.) After another half an hour of dirt (at the end of 4 hours of driving), La Garrucha finally appeared and we turned into a little side road and found a locked gate and guard house with a man and a few kids hanging around. This time, however, there were no bandanas or ski masks and they seemed almost happy to have someone visit their remote outpost. Apparently it's a somewhat rare occurrence at La Garrucha. We were invited in to the guard house where they checked us in and didn't have to wait much more than an hour or so for a meeting with the Junta. The meeting with this masked group was somewhat different than the one at Oventic, less skeptical and perhaps more interested. (Or maybe, with the visit to Oventic, we're gaining some confidence in our story and plan.) After some back and forth, we were granted access to the grounds and were free to take photos as long as no people appeared in them (unfortunate, because without people, the camp seems rather bleak!) This camp was quieter, desolate almost. The buildings a little more rundown with many covered in faded murals. Not many children or teenagers, as we saw hanging around at Oventic. We learned from one of the residents that some people had even left the caracole, perhaps because they weren't happy there or because the government has been paying people to leave and join other, (government supported) communities that dot the countryside. La Garrucha, being remote from other villages and very remote from any cities, may be suffering from this fact… it's just difficult to live out here so isolated from the rest of society. Nevertheless, there was a school and church on the grounds and a communications shack, along with a number of other buildings for specific purposes, like a communal kitchen and a store (rustic, but functional), so signs of a well organized community were evident. In our discussion with the Zapatistas, the thing that they are most willing to talk about is the healthcare and education systems that they have developed and for now, those are the threads that we are following for the documentary. Without subtitles, I'm working from quick and dirty translations and the general vibe that is coming across in our conversations. The vibe is one of a strong, self-sufficient group of people, who are determined to forge their own way of life… to be autonomous. That word autonomy is frequently mentioned and is probably the best word to keep in mind when thinking about the Zapatistas.

Choca Chola

If driving through the wilds of Chiapas is spoiled by one thing, it's the Coca Cola marketing folks. Soon dental offices will probably start popping up in nearby towns, too.

The A's are Playing Mexico?

"So that's 7 dogs with mustard, onions and relish?" Actually, he's just a tour guide explaining the significance of the number 7 at the ruins of Palenque.

Here it comes

San Cristobal de las Casas is about to get a little wet.

Power in the Park

The circuit breakers are probably up to code. Not sure about the rest.

Drink, Baby!

If you weren't drinking liter after liter of water in the heat at Palenque, then someone was making you drink.

Palenque

One of the real gems of Chiapas are the Mayan ruins of Palenque, at the edge of the Lacandon Jungle. We spent an afternoon wandering around, climbing on and through the pyramids in the sweltering heat. Only about 2% of the ruins have been excavated. The other 98% remains buried in the jungle and requires a guide and about 2 to 4 weeks of trekking to see it. We decided to save that for another trip and herded like cattle with the other tourists under the trees trying to escape the heat.

Agua Azul

We took a day of rest after that grueling trip to La Garrucha and back (10 hours out and back!), then headed out for another long drive to Palenque, about 4 hours away. Fortunately, the roads got better after the half-way point at Ocosingo and we stopped at the impressive multilevel waterfalls of Agua Azul for a break from the heat. We took pictures. Most people had the good sense to go swimming instead.

The Road to La Garrucha

After our first visit to the Caracole of Oventic, we were primed to venture further into the backcountry of Chiapas to find the remote Caracole of La Garrucha. We got some directions that indicated that it would be about a 4 to 5 hour drive from San Cristobal, through the city of Ocosingo and beyond. So we headed out and cruised the windy mountain roads through lush green countryside that featured an assortment of men, women and children (occasionally a 5 year-old carrying a baby!) walking along the road, pickup trucks filled to overflowing with families or workers, little roadside stands with snacks, fruit, gas in carboys (no pumps), lumbering trucks, flying buses that barely fit on the road, dogs sleeping, transport vans zipping tourists out to the jungle, incredible vistas with billowing clouds, horses, quite good road for the most part, but inexplicable sections of missing pavement here and there and endless vicious speed bumps sneaking up on us and shredding the bottom of the car with a horrible sound that made us look back, half expecting to see a trail of car parts. After a few hours, we began asking for directions to La Garrucha, but only got vague answers and quizzical looks, maybe because some people didn't even speak Spanish (Tzotzil and Tzelzil are common indigenous languages spoken in these parts.) It felt like we were getting close, then the road turned to dirt. And not just dirt, but a rutted, potholed jeep trail that rattled the car and forced us to slow to a crawl much of the time, and occasionally navigate huge crevasses that threatened to swallow the car whole. Fortunately, we met a few people along the way who gave us hope that we were headed in the right direction. We learned that there would be a fork in the road at some point, and a sign there to show the direction. After half an hour of dusty bumping along, the fork came. No sign. Left? Right? We had a hint from one conversation or another that we should go right, and we weren't about to turn back now, so off we went. Further along, folks at a roadside stand confirmed our choice, with the happy advice that it was maybe another half an hour to La Garrucha. Maybe. We got an unexpected stretch of paved bliss for a while, but it didn't last and we were back to the rutted trail again. Where the hell is this place?

Pineapple Boy

Stop for gas and pineapple boy appears, ready to make a deal.

Jungle Weed

The Bamboo King will appreciate this one.

Volks on Bikes

We met two Americans, Jason and Jeff Volk traveling by bike through Mexico who started in Alaska last year and we're making their way to Argentina via Cuba. No panniers on Jeff's bike here, but he's got 6 liters of water onboard. Bicycling in Mexico seems crazy with all the narrow roads, rim-trashing speed bumps, big trucks and steep cliffs sans guardrails. But apparently, the drivers have been friendly and travels have been good. Roads are generally pretty good, but the hills are endless in this area and those speed bumps are hell. Check out their blog at volksonbikes.blogspot.com.

Caracole Characters

From the caracoles of Roberto Barrios and Oventic...

3 big Zapatista Heros: Zapata, Marcos & Che.


Even the Virgin Mary is a Zapatista.

A Little Street Music

Raul shoots a music video on the street in San Cristobal.

Bananas, 1 Peso

Hard to refuse to buy bananas from someone with that look.

For Everyone, Everything - For Us, Nothing

(We've been out in the sticks for week, but now back near some internet, so the story from last week continues...)
Then we arrived. Signs. Locked gates. Eyes peering out over bandana covered faces. A deep breath. Holy SHIT... here we go! I anxiously watched from the car as Raul and Diana got out and initiated conversation. It was a little tense, but they seemed friendly... as much as I could tell, anyway, from the sound of the conversation and the look in their eyes. No guns (relief!) They took Raul's printed documentary proposal and our passports, told us to wait and walked off. So we waited. Cameras stayed in the trunk. We hoped to make introductions, gain some trust and get permission before even thinking about taking any pictures. At this point, we were just happy to meet them and have a reasonable chat. People eyed us suspiciously from corners of buildings. We eventually were invited into the general store and made our first step into the compound. Then we waited some more, wandered around the shop and checked out the goods, including one of their specialties: hand-made combat boots. Talked to the shop keeper (no mask) a bit. Nice guy. We waited there for 20 minutes or so, hoping for further discussion and approval, which would likely come in the form of a meeting with the Junta, the central government of the Zapatista municipality. We were starting to feel a little more at ease when the masked men came back and had us come outside. There they gave us their answer: "No." That was easy enough to understand, no matter what the language. But then the discussion continued, somewhat more intensely, but animated, and even with some laughter. I couldn't understand exactly, but the situation was definitely evolving and apparently we weren't taking no for an answer.


Turns out our story wasn't good enough to gain entry, but then, with a little hint from one of the masked men, Raul made a quick change to our motive and along with a convincing plea from Diana, and a meeting with the Junta was on! But first, more waiting. We sat outside the Casa de la Junta and pondered our next encounter. When we were invited in maybe half an hour later, we found ourselves in a small, dimly lit room facing half a dozen people wearing either black ski masks or red bandanas. The situation had a very foreboding look, but it was quiet and calm. The Junta, as far as we could tell from their balaclava covered heads, appeared to be a diverse group in gender and age, some looking like they were in their teens and the oldest maybe 40 or 50. A woman in the center behind a desk began in a quiet but firm voice and asked us our names and other info. Then we had to explain ourselves and our mission. Raul talked for a bit, then another in the Junta asked some questions and we went back and forth for a while. Finally, a man who seemed to be the oldest started to speak and launched into a long story about the history of the Zapatistas, starting with the Spanish conquest of Mexico, I think. He eventually became somewhat animated, which provided some relief from the clandestine mood in the room. I was hoping by some miracle that his Spanish would make sense and I would suddenly understand everything, but it was not to be, and my imagination drifted more towards the visual of a big pot of boiling water waiting for us somewhere out back. 20 or 30 minutes later it was over and we headed out the door into bright daylight and I got a quick translation: Great news! We were invited to wander around and take pictures, but not any people and no interviews. This was as about as good as we could have hoped for. We got the camera gear and went off to photograph an amazing village of buildings covered in murals depicting the Zapatista characters and their struggle. You've already seen a few pictures in the blog.  More to follow!

Viva el Vocho!

As many who have travelled south of the border know, el Vocho is still alive and well and living in Mexico. Internet access has been non-existent for the past few days. More posts coming soon!

Caracoles

Our destination is one of the 5 caracoles (literally 'snail') in the Zapatista land, which are the centers of government for each group of municipalities in which they live. We drove silently in the car, in anticipation of our arrival. How would we know when we were there? Would there be a sign? Would they have their foreboding ski masks or bandanas on? Would they have guns? Would we be welcome? We occasionally stopped to ask directions, hesitant to say exactly what we were looking for, but as we got closer, we had to make ourselves clear. Diana fulfilled her role as guide well, making friendly contact with all we met along the way and translating for me as we went, (Jeeze, I wish I knew more Spanish!) but a lot could be understood in the musical emotion of these roadside chats and the locals were always friendly and helpful.

Another Roadside Attraction

We ventured slowly and carefully today into the hilly countryside around the beautiful tourist destination of San Cristobal, which is high up in the mountains (about 7000ft), thankfully far from the oppressive heat of the lower elevations. The roads were actually pretty good, but somewhat curvy and slow going thanks in part to the speed bumps at the entry and exit of the many rural villages we drove through, nasty things that threaten to rip the whole underside of the car if you don't slow to a complete halt and gingerly nudge the car over them. Roadside attractions dotted the countryside, from cheap music and movies to fruit stands to little snack shacks in seemingly every building you drive by.

The Zapatistas

The story of the Zapatistas is usually defined by their uprising against the Mexican government in 1994, which had been in planning for many years beforehand. These oppressed indigenous people of southern Mexico, mostly Mayan, finally had enough of the years poor treatment from the government (going back to the days of the first Spanish invasions, actually) and decided to take back some of their ancient lands and create their own autonomous government. The armed uprising in 1994 quickly escalated to violence, but in a matter of days, turned to tense, but more peaceful negotiations with the government. Since then, although they've been the victim of occasional violent attacks, they maintain a peaceful stance and continue to hold some of their acquired turf in the mountains of southeastern Chiapas. There's obviously a lot more to this story, but for now, I'll try to let others tell the history that I'm just learning (start here).

The uprising coincided with the day that NAFTA came into force and also with the explosion of the Web in the early 1990's and like no other uprising before, it became a tool of the Zapatistas to broadcast their intent and get the support of other like-minded people and groups around the world, enabling them to counter the overwhelming military strength of the Mexican army. But of course, the Web and the occasional Zapatista t-shirt you see around Berkeley, can only convey so much about what is happening with a group of revolutionaries who are hiding out in the woods and hills of southern Mexico. So, as scary as it seemed, there was also something very compelling about being a first-hand witness to what these people are going through. As we prepared for the trip, we started making contact with many people who would help us along the way and who were excited about the work we were about to do, which motivated us and got the planning into gear. Now we were about to set out make contact with the Zapatistas, hopeful that we could engage with them, talk with them and if we were really lucky, take some pictures. An interview would be a home run.

The Day and the Journey Begins

This beautiful little hostel in the heart of San Cristobal is our base for the next few days and a bargain at 70 Pesos a night, including a hot breakfast. We came here to the southern state of Chiapas in Mexico to start the production of Raul's documentary. As students at the Berkeley Digital Film Institute, Raul and I enjoyed working together on several other projects, including my film of a scene from the forthcoming opera, Machine. More recently, we were working together on a project that had us driving all over the Bay Area doing interviews for a client and we got to talking about our own film projects. Raul wanted to go to Chiapas, Mexico to investigate the Zapatistas, something that he had been thinking about and planning for several years already. Little did I know that a month later, I'd be here with him, driving deep into the Mexican backcountry, looking for a close encounter with our first Zapatistas.

In trying to continue to work on the daunting prospect of making filmmaking my next career, I've taken every opportunity that has come along so far, and the next one that presented itself was this trip to Mexico, a place that I've never been, but have wanted to visit for along time now, especially considering the Spanish and Mexican culture that permeates California and the Bay Area. With all the well publicized drug violence around the border regions, especially Juarez (Raul's former hometown, in fact), I was initially pretty hesitant about the idea, but upon further discussion and investigation, I realized that Chiapas would likely be a fairly safe area of the country and with planning and preparation, we could have a pretty safe, yet eye-opening experience. After my trip to India last year, I knew the only way to go is with a good guide and translator. Raul grew up here, so I had a good start, but then we added Diana, who was highly recommended by a fellow filmmaker at the Zaentz Media Center. A native Mexican with knowledge of the region and previous work with indigenous communities, not to mention huge interest and enthusiasm for the project, Diana made the prospects for a successful trip far better.

Into Chiapas

I think we set foot in Mexico as soon as we stepped into the Mexicana airline waiting lounge at Oakland Airport late Saturday night. I was the only gringo in sight and not a word of English was heard except for my conversation with my travel partner, Raul. It was a long trip, hopscotching our way into Mexico on 3 over night flights, first to Guadalajara, then Mexico City and finally landing in Tuxtla Gutierrez in the southern state of Chiapas at about noon today (Sunday). We were a little too excited to be tired. Our guide Diana was there waiting for us. We had no problem find her because she looked just as she described herself in her email: brownskin and short, long black hair. Good thing it was a small airport.

We drove in the heat of midday (about 100°F) through Tuxtla and headed right out of town, for San Cristobal and cooler air up in the mountains. Along the way, we stopped at a little village and had some lunch, fresh fish from the nearby river, then took a 1 hour scenic boat ride into a spectacular canyon, dozing off occasionally in the blasting wind and blazing sun. As we entered the canyon, our river guide pointed out an unbelievably high diving board on the side of the cliff.

Back in our little white Chevy rental, we wound our way up into the mountains for about an hour an a half, kind of like driving from Sacramento to Donner Summit, but on a smaller, slower, windier road, up to San Cristobal de las Casas at about 7000 feet. Much cooler here. Lots of tourists. More on San Cristobal to come... we'll be here for a few days.