Economics With A Face

We had to buy tickets to visit the Church that sat just off the main square. We had to promise on our lives that we would not take photos inside. The scene was an interesting mix of Catholicism and traditional Mayan religion. Entering the church, there were no pews nor was there a traditional alter; people sat on the floor. The floor itself was covered with pine needles and rows of burning candles, with thick incense in the air. It was a very unique scene, but you’ll have to head to Chamula yourself to get a look.

We walked around the market. A girl and her little sister approached us trying to sell us woven bracelets. We bought one, but they continued to ask “Cinco peeeeessooos. Poooor favooor.” The older girl talked us into buying her barefoot sister a pair of sandals at a nearby stand. As we walked away, they continued to haggle with the sandal seller (another young girl), perhaps trying to sell the sandals back.

After another hour of touring the small market and the surrounding streets talking to people where we could, we caught another colectivo towards San Lorenzo Zinacantan and were dropped off at a fork in the road about halfway back to San Cristobal. It was peaceful waiting alongside the rural road. It took about 20 minutes to catch a cab (all the colectivos passing were full and would not stop to pick us up), but soon we were in the small town of Zinacantan which is in the middle of a beautiful valley. The Tzotzile community of Zinacantan is known for its flower growing, and it was possible to see the greenhouses dotting the valley.

We took a look at inside the town’s church, which was similar to Chamula’s, although from appearances seemed a bit more traditionally Catholic. Upon exiting we decided to accept the invitation of a young girl named Maria Elena to see her family’s textile shop. She was dressed in traditional Mayan clothing specific to the Zinacantan community that we had seen in San Cristobal as well (evidence that they were from this community) as along the road into town: an embroidered black, blue and purple cape with a dark skirt. We followed her down the dirt road and we asked her where she learned her excellent Spanish, as it was not her native language. “In school,” she replied proudly. Her family’s shop was actually an open air patio in front of their home a few blocks away. Her mother and a few other women came out to show us their goods that were all of excellent quality. Em ended up buying a small scarf (she had given away the one she had to a 6 year old girl who was admiring it in Chamula so it worked out well). We were about to head out and explore some more of the town when they invited us into their home to try some corn tortillas. We accepted, and walked through the house to the kitchen, an open-air, covered structure in the back of the house. Soon were watching Maria Elena cook fresh corn tortillas over an open fire, behind her were the family’s corn fields. We sampled the hot tortillas with queso fresco, pepper, and salsa. They were delicious. Her mother sat down to chat with us.

When we were getting ready to leave I offered them some money for the food but they absolutely refused. I persisted a bit, saying we would have had to pay for a meal elsewhere, but the mother continued to say no and even turned to Maria Elena and told her daughter it was her decision. Maria Elena smiled, but also refused, saying it was their treat. We said good-bye, first giving Maria Elena our contact card. We’re not sure if she has access to the internet anywhere, but maybe someday she’ll be able to contact us.

We rode back into town in another collectivo and called it a night after dinner.