December Tour Day 8

A slight feeling of bunking of school, when we lounge around in hammocks and go out for fish tacos instead of going to see the Tulum ruins. In my defence I’ve seen them before (and Daisy and Mum don’t seem interested). Daisy enjoys another hammock, and playing with her Grandma. We’ve brought stacking cups with us, which she enjoys watching us building so she can knock them down.


It’s windy on the beach, but beautifully empty, and we see pelicans flying against the breeze, and go for lovely swims in the sea. Daisy is NOT keen on the wind (sand in her eyes), but manages to sleep in her crib all through dinner next door.

December Tour Day 7

We arrive at Tulum early in the morning, feeling like you do when you’ve done an overnight bus trip. Eyes full of grit and slightly dizzy with sleeplessness. Bel and Dave split off to have a romantic time at possibly the poshest hotel in the world (with a pillow menu, choice of room aromas and butler), but we go a little more rustic.


Dos Ceibas is right on the beach, with electricity only at night, and cabanas with beds hanging from the ceiling by ropes (seasick inducing). It’s right on the end of the Tulum development, and far more like the Tulum we remember from visiting seven years ago. Now, Tulum is all glitzy restaurants and hotels, but at Dos Ceibas it is still possible to be totally alone.


So alone, in fact, that we’re the only people for dinner and the receptionist has to call in the cook and waiter specially. They produce a thoroughly disappointing meal lit by candles, while Daisy sleeps in a shaded corner. It’s only made up for by the wonderful stars, brighter than I have ever seen them.

December Tour Day 6

Travelling with a baby seems to need slightly more equipment than the average space flight, and we spend an inordinate amount of time packing and unpacking. Daisy needs her bouncy chair, her collapsible cot, and a whole array of flasks, bottles and sterilising equipment. It’s amazing how much space it takes up.

Still, we finally manage to pack up and travel to Palenque on an even more twisty and turny road, with Daisy travelling far better than Mum does. The buses we travel on always have films to watch, and they never get switched off, which makes life interesting. Since they’re always in Spanish and I end up drifting in and out of sleep anyway, I have to guess large chunks of the plot.

I’m bemused by a talking dog with sunglasses that appears to foil an evil man running a puppy factory where he keeps the puppies in bottles, but I may be wrong. The dog may be an evil puppy stealer.


Anyhow, when we reach Palenque, it’s as impressive as ever. The pyramids are incredible, and must have been even more fearsome when painted red and blue to scare off invaders. However, the whole impression is slightly ruined by the overly manicured lawns, which makes it seem like the Mayans were too busy playing cricket to conquer anywhere.


It’s boiling hot, and while we rest in the shade we meet some children selling Mayan birthstones, and buy Daisy’s birth symbol. It’s always hard knowing whether or not to buy from children, since although it is part of the family’s livelihood, the children are obviously out selling instead of being in school.

Leydi, who sells us the stone, says she doesn’t go to school and can’t read. Mum starts to teach her to play Cat’s Cradle, and we’re quickly joined by a small flock of birthstone-selling girls who are eager to play. I wonder if they will get in trouble later for not selling anything.


We eat in Palenque’s ‘premier restaurant’, or so it says on the sign. The Margaritas are good, but the atmosphere is thoroughly morgue-like. Every couple in there looks like they have had a huge row, and are not speaking. Daisy makes up for it by shouting away.

We take the night bus to Tulum, on the Caribbean Coast, with Daisy slumbering in her sling nearly the whole way, and just waking for the odd feed.

December Tour Days 4 & 5

On the first stage of our road trip we travel by coach to Ocosingo, two and a quarter hours away. The journey may be short, but it is incredibly twisty, and we’re all pleased to arrive at Hospedaje Esmeralda, where we are the only guests.

The guest-house is owned by an American couple. We stayed on their ranch here seven years ago, but it has since been seized by a community allied to the Zapatista cause (which is particularly strong in this region and brings with it a dislike both of tourism and of any non-indigenous land ownership).

Ocosingo is not very touristy, and is real cowboy country, with boots and hats in all of the stores and lush green grazing land all around.


In the morning we visit the local Tianguis (market) where Paul and Daisy become the major attractions. The market is for women only, who squat in the dust in their traditional costumes selling the produce from their land. Any fears that anything here is put on for the tourists is soon quelled by Ocosingo, where there are no tourists and the Tianguis appears not to have changed for centuries.

We later travel to the Tonina ruins, the major reason for being in Ocosingo at all. They are some of the least touristy ruins in Mexico, beautifully preserved but not very famous. Tonina was a warlike city which conquered nearby Palenque, and is full of crazy murals of people having their heads chopped off and visiting an Underworld ruled by a large rodent.


We pass Rancho Esmeralda and other ranches seized by the Zapatistas on the way back. They are right opposite a large army barracks. Ocosingo was the scene of the bloodiest fighting in 1994 and the organisation is still strong here, but no longer martial. Our taxi driver says gloomily that the problem is that the ranches seized by Zapatistas are now not being used for anything at all. Whatever the rights and wrongs of the case, this seems a shame.

Leaving Ocosingo we travel to Palenque, in the depths of the jungle, packing everything up yet again. It isn’t easy travelling light with a baby, which isn’t helped by the fact that I smash a thermos flask we use for keeping water warm for Daisy’s bottles. Luckily they sell more in Ocosingo.

December Tour Day 3

We take our visitors on a tour of the local villages, Chamula and Zinacantan. I’ve been several times before, but Chamula never ceases to shock me with its ‘otherness’. It is the centre for thousands of local people who practice unique customs descended from the Mayans and mixed with Catholic traditions.


Each family unit has its own blue or green cross outside, which has more to do with the Mayan sacred ceiba tree than any Christian symbolism, and all marriage and death ceremonies are performed here. Each day the families bless the cross with incense, and garland it with leaves to represent the tree of life.

Life in Chamula is governed by a system of ‘cargos’ or religious responsibilities. Each cargo-holder represents a Catholic saint who is also a Mayan god, and is responsible for holding fiestas in the saint’s/god’s honour. Therefore there are parties every day.

Our guide, Alberto, explains things very well. We walk round the village, seeing places I have not seen before, and stopping in front of the large ceremonial crosses next to an area where the women are doing their washing. He explains how the Mayan calendar ends a phase in 2012 and the Mayans believe a new type of world will dawn.


Watching women washing their clothes in their traditional costume with their sheep tethered nearby, it seems like nothing has changed for thousands of years, except if you look closely they all have mobile phones.


For any first time visitor to Chamula the real shock is a trip inside the church, where taking photos is forbidden. Built by the Conquistadores and subverted by the Chamulans, the church contains thousands upon thousands of candles, lit by families asking for healing from physical or spiritual ailments. The saints, who are not really saints in the Catholic sense any more, are arranged round the walls, where people can ask them for help to heal them (or harm others).

Chamulans will go to a local shaman when they have a problem, who will take them to church, light candles in front of a saint and perhaps kill a chicken to exorcise evil in the body. He is also likely to suggest drinking Coca Cola or another refresco in order to burp and cleanse the body further. It really is an astonishing thing to see.


After Chamula we visit Zinacantan, an altogether more prosperous village where the Catholicism is a little less outlandish. A local weaver’s family cook us tortillas and try to sell us weavings, but mostly end up carrying Daisy around and chatting to her. Bel and Dave look lovely in some traditional Zinacantecan costumes and we taste ‘posh’, the local spirit.


In the evening we visit another traditional family, in the form of Enrique and Mariet. They are all in their best clothes for the occasion, and we feel bad for turning up in jeans. We visit ‘Mr Taco’ to buy tacos ‘al pastor’, although Conche insists on eating ‘cow’s head tacos’ instead. Mum, Bel and Dave decline a taste of them. Considering Mariet and Conche don’t speak English and the family don’t speak Spanish, it goes surprisingly well.

December Tour Day 2

We spend the day showing our visitors San Cristobal (when we can prise them away from playing with Daisy). We visit the market and see live chickens, people selling handmade tortillas and the slightly smelly meat market (though perfectly reliable - it's where our meat for the lasagne comes from). Mum says it reminds her of her childhood.


We also go for a slightly unsuccessful Mexican meal. We order specialities from enchiladas to mole (a savoury sauce with chocolate) and chiliquiles. They don’t like any of it, and much prefer the chicken risotto we cook in the evening.

The real high point of the day is when our taxi driver friend Mario manages to retrieve Bel and Dave’s luggage from Tuxtla – we didn’t really believe it was ever going to turn up.


Daisy enjoys her new presents from her family – stacking cups and a rattle that squeaks, And even more she enjoys the attention that is being lavished on her – even having an audience for bathtime is apparently fun.

December Tour Day 1

Much excitement, when Paul goes down to Tuxtla to collect Mum, my sister Bel and her husband Dave from the airport. They have all arrived in one piece from England, but unfortunately their luggage hasn’t.

I spend the morning in a state of high excitement, and Daisy and I go to prepare their rooms in Posada Belen next door. We’ve carefully chosen a selection of stuffed animals from Santa Domingo to place in their bedrooms, along with water and other little bits and bobs. The woman on reception clearly thinks I am mad, but never mind.


It is so wonderful to see the family here in Mexico, and Daisy seems to recognise them immediately, despite the long absence. We eat, chat and go for short walks, and then they collapse in bed.

Week 10

We take a trip to Simojovel, a little visited town in the Chiapas highlands that is the centre of Chiapas’ amber trade. Laura, Paul’s Spanish teacher, has hired a van, and nine of us (and Daisy) set out on a bone-shaking ride.


In the front of the van, the trip is quite comfortable, and the driver has an excellent CD of the Rolling Stones and The Beatles as a slightly incongruous accompaniment. However, we stop halfway because someone in the back feels unwell, and I swap, and quickly realise why he was so keen to change.

The trip to Simojovel covers nearly all of the Chiapas Highlands, and there are plenty of wonderful things to see. Churches celebrating the Virgin of Guadelupe are already gearing up for her big day on December 12, and one of them has painted the Mexican flag all the way down the steps on the hillside. We pass Zapatista-controlled villages full of slogans about land and liberty, and see women pasturing their sheep by the sides of the roads and drying coffee in the sun.

All these distractions, however, do not detract from the fact that the road is terrible and twisty. I’ve never been so glad to get out of a vehicle.


Once we arrive at Simojovel it becomes apparent that we have gone a little off the tourist trail. While there is plenty of amber for sale (and even a museum), you get the feeling that only traders and locals visit here, and Daisy is quite an attraction. Actually, we feel glad to have her there. It says on Wikipedia that Simojovel does not welcome outsiders, but it is difficult to be unfriendly to a cute baby who smiles at everyone, so we get a pretty good reception.

After a slightly random lunch in a restaurant around the Zocalo, we actually buy some amber. It is cheaper and more beautiful than in San Cristobal, and amongst other things we purchase a tiny amber bracelet for Daisy. Most babies here wear amber, because the local people believe it protects babies against the Evil Eye. I just think it looks rather pretty. With Daisy properly blinged up, we start our slightly scary descent. I am thankful to be in the front until about halfway down, when Daisy presents us with an offering that makes me wish for a little more fresh air.

Miercoles Semana 9

San Cristobal begins to prepare for Christmas, with tinsel appearing across the Zocalo, and Coca Cola erecting a tree and crib scene next to it. However, I pass the scene while it is still being set up, and it appears to feature a large polar bear with the Baby Jesus resting on its paws. I guess they will change it in due course.


It is easy, here, to believe that Coca-Cola really did invent Christmas, as well as the colour of Santa Claus. As well as the polar bear nativity, there will be a Coca Cola Christmas procession with a lighted van (just like in the adverts) giving out bottles of Coke to children. Sadly we are going to miss it because we’ll be away on our big trip.

The local paper is full of news about how San Cristobal is going to be lighted up more than ever before for Christmas, with thousands of bulbs all across the city giving a festive appearance. And who is sponsoring this extravaganza? For once it is not Coca-Cola, or even the electricity board. Instead, it is the chairman of the Green Party, which somewhat beggars belief.

Martes Semana 9

Still on the hunt for Christmas presents, we visit San Cristobal’s most famous ironworker, in the suburbs of the city. It’s a typically Mexican experience, as the only address he gives turns out to be his house, and the family are having lunch as we arrive.

They leave us sitting on their sofas while they finish, giving us ample chance to admire the selection of photos on their walls, featuring members of the family at important times in their lives. A picture of their daughter’s fifteenth birthday (very important here) features her in full ball dress, with a scroll by the side featuring all of her godparents for the occasion.

“Godparents” at occasions like this are more literally sponsors, who pay for a part of the celebrations and are rewarded with the honour of their name on a scroll by the side of the photo. They are arranged in order of importance (and personal expense). At the top come the godparents of the dress, the food and the drink. Squeezed in at the bottom is the godparent of the serviettes.


The metalwork man turns out to have his own museum, which the family drives us to, featuring everything from a metalwork Last Supper to many, many traditional Trees of Life. I can’t tell you what we bought as it might spoil some Christmas surprises, but it is an amazing place.

Holding Post

We're on tour with Rosie's Mum, Sister & Brother-in-law...normal service will resume soon.
P, R y D x

Semana 9 Lunes

Daisy is beginning to enjoy spending time in her sling facing outwards instead of inwards, so she can see the world. We pop to the market with her facing out, much to the delight of the stallholders.


Daisy has become a market celebrity. Everyone knows her name (particularly the fact she is called Nichim) and they throw in extra oranges and other fruits ‘for the baby’. It’s odd to think that next time we are here she will be able to try some of them.

Judging by the flavours of the baby jars here, Mexican like to wean their children on chayote, which is a kind of bland cactus, as well as mango and avocado. Bit different from at home, but we’ll just have to see what she likes.


We also begin to suspect that our drooling little girl is cutting a tooth, since we can see a little toothbud at the front. She’s having a good chew on everything she can find and is a bit clingy. Can’t quite believe she is getting so grown up.

Semana 9 Domingo

Baby Pablo turns six months old, which is apparently a matter for much celebration here. Pablo himself is in a totally celebratory mood and wants to show off his new trick, copied from Daisy, which is making loads of pterodactyl style noises.


We have a cake of some magnificence which Pablo doesn’t get to enjoy and neither does Daisy since we have put her to sleep in the bathroom so as not to wake her when Pablo arrives. She goes down surprisingly well and doesn’t wake until her boyfriend has gone home. We also finally manage to remove the crayon marks from the fireplace using some kind of lurid green stuff the cleaner has left by accident. It is probably highly toxic.

Semana 9 Sabado

Baby massage course number three is an exploration of how to massage the chest and arms, marred by a little too much talk.

Mariet and KiKi bring Itamar as well as Pablo, and she behaves herself surprisingly well, lying in Mariet’s arms to be massaged. Daisy is slightly less keen today and spends the entire time shouting, peeing and wanting to be fed. Never mind, we can always try again later.


After massage we buy a ready roasted chicken with tortillas and salsa (mmm), and share it with Kiki and Mariet. No sooner have they left than Sophia and Raul turn up in a state of high excitement. They’ve found a house their project can share with Chozita. It has several rooms and a garden with trees and lots and lots of space… and it’s really very affordable… they’re talking so fast I can scarcely follow them.. Paul promises to go and see it on Monday.

Semana 9 Viernes

Our house-hunting begins in earnest, when Lore and her husband Julio take us to see the terreno they are selling on the edge of the city.

It’s a site called a ‘fraccionamiento” which means that it is being divided up between people. On the edge of a protected reserve, Lore and family are going to build several houses, including their own.


It’s tempting, but we don’t think it’s right. It’s a beautiful place, and the houses the family will build there will be gorgeous (they own a local hotel, and we’ve seen it, so we know they have a real sense of style and taste). Also, they would build us a house to our own specifications (chimney, bath, etc).

However, it’s a little bit more than we’d want to spend (though still absurdly cheap by British standards), and would be harder to rent out when we aren’t here because it isn’t walkable to the centre. We’ll keep looking, but it was quite exciting to look at the possibilities, and nice that they would like us to have a house so close to theirs.

Semana 9 Jueves

We go to a Thanksgiving party, organised by Paul’s Spanish teacher, which turns out to be great fun. Laura’s boyfriend Ray is in the American Peace Corps, and a bunch of them are down here sorting out computing networks in the local university.

We celebrate with possibly the largest mutant turkey in the world, which tastes utterly delicious, and mashed potatoes, huge amounts of stuffing, and apple pie. The Americans are very happy and even let Laura (who is a born teacher) teach them about the origins of the Thanksgiving holiday. Daisy even gets to do some salsa dancing – at least one of us has some Latin rhythm!


Afterwards we have a cake (baked by Mariet, it’s nice to put some business her way) to celebrate Ray’s birthday. In true Mexican fashion he has to have his face pushed into it. When we leave, everyone is dancing, but Daisy has to go to bed.

Semana 8 Miercoles

Sophia and Raul, who run a project for young adults (slightly older than the kids at La Chozita) come for lunch together with Ivan, who used to work for Unicef, and is now helping out with the kids’ project.

It can be tough getting lunch together after a two hour Spanish class, especially when Daisy is not playing ball, and you have the slowest oven in the world. Daisy has just learnt to hold up her arms when she wants to be lifted up, and is NOT happy to be put in her seat when she could be having a cuddle, I’m torn between trying to make lasagne, chopping up bananas for pudding, making bread and carrying her around.


By the time Paul comes back three quarters of an hour late from his Spanish class, I’m frazzled, tearful and have béchamel sauce in my hair. Never mind, at least our guests turn out to be very nice, and kind about my beginners’ Spanish.

Sophia and Raul live out on a ranch in Teopisca, which sounds fantastic. They have chickens, pigs and other animals, and seem to have a very nice life here. I sigh, thinking about London, but I know we have to go back.

Still, it’s fun to discuss their charity and Chozita possibly sharing a building, which would be a great solution to the current problem with Chozita (i.e. what to do when Paul goes back to the UK and can’t run things). He has created a great bunch of people who want to help out with the kids in a really short space of time, which is really cheering. San Cristobal is that sort of place though, word gets around and lots of people want to help out… they also all seem to know each other, which is impressive. This really is a very small city.

Semana 8 Martes

Mexican Independence Day dawns fine and warm, and everyone is out in force to celebrate the overthrow of Mexican dictator Porfidio Diaz in 1911. I’d be more in the mood if it wasn’t for the cocktails the night before, but you can’t have everything.

Despite the general celebrations, my very serious Spanish teacher insists on classes, so I make my way through the crowded Zocalo to school, avoiding the candyfloss, icecream and balloon sellers along the way.


On my way, I pass San Cristobal’s latest attraction, a street cleaning machine. This is the first such machine the city has ever had, and it has caused much excitement, including an article in the local paper. It is so exciting that it even knocked a story about a chicken stealer (or robagallina – great word) onto the back page. The machine has not yet been allowed to do any actual cleaning. Instead, it sits in the main square with the plastic cover still on the seat, guarded heavily by police (presumably to discourage joyriders). People even have their pictures taken next to it.


Aside from the street cleaning machine, Independence Day’s main attraction is a desfile, or procession. Every school and sports team in the city takes to the street, and everyone who is left turns out to watch. Children dress as revolutionaries in sombreros and moustaches, which are called bigotes here, which is also the word for croissant.


Many schools organise processions of some complexity, involving strange shuffling dances, twirling batons, and the ever-popular human pyramids.

Well, some schools do. Other schools turn out in their jeans and the children slouch along looking bored – but no-one seems to mind, because apparently it is enough just to turn up.
After my serious teacher realises I can’t hear him teaching the imperative (dreadful, lots of irregulars) over the sound of a marching band, I’m finally allowed to watch five minutes of desfile. It’s great stuff, but mostly seems to involve girls in very mini miniskirts. I’m sure it can’t be good for the older inhabitants’ bloodpressure.

We then go for lunch with Eneas and Mari – which is thankfully offal and chicken’s feet free. Mari puts Daisy on her back for a bit while she does some cooking, and Daisy later throws up on Mari’s shoes, and also on the pink “Grandma’s House” dress we have had to put her in because Mari and Eneas bought it for her as a present. Maybe it will shrink in the wash?

Semana 8 Lunes

Daisy takes her first trip to the beach, to Chiapas’ busiest seaside resort, a place called Puerto Arista.


It’s a five hour drive in the university truck, borrowed by Enrique, so we all get up at six in order to make the trip there and back possible in a day.

Road trips in Mexico are an entirely different experience from at home. For a start, any villager who fancies it can set up huge speed bumps called ‘topes’ in the main roads, forcing everyone to slow down sharply or crash.

Road signs implore passing cars not to tear down the signage (but what happens if they tear down the signs telling them not to tear down the signs?) and not to put rocks in the road.

We stop in a town called Cintalapa for a somewhat bizarre breakfast. The woman in the restaurant (perhaps that’s giving it too strong a name), would have done well in Monty Python’s cheese shop. She has run out of orange juice and eggs, and most importantly, gas.

The gas man has not come round yet, so we end up eating tacos cooked on a barbecue grill with apricot flavoured Fanta. Not a breakfast I would recommend.

Things perk up when we finally reach the sea. For a busy resort on a public holiday, Puerto Arista is… tranquil, as well as 30 degrees. We set up camp under a palapa shelter and Daisy gets to try out her first hammock, which she rather enjoys.


Then, slathered in Factor 50 and without even a nappy, we take her for a first dip in the sea, which she seems to really like. Baby Pablo is less keen and cries like a big wuss.

Puerto Arista is a seaside resort for Mexicans, which is refreshing compared to the tourist beaches around Cancun. All the food on offer in the restaurant is seafood with tortillas, while local people come round with trays selling whatever it is they have cooked that morning – fish tacos, empanadas, cheesecake and various other unidentifiable items.


Due to a slight misunderstanding, we end up with far too many coconut cocktails, which are a potent mixture of gin, coconut milk and mint (a cross between a gin and tonic and a very good Mojito). We thought we ordered two, but end up with six, which we drink anway.

Paul and I fail to learn our lesson from the baby massage, and allow Daisy some nappy off time in the hammock, which gives her the chance to bless my legs, herself, and the hammock abundantly. Just as well the sea was there to wash us off.

She also discovers her feet, which she can now grasp and play with, which seems to occupy her for most of the day.


The trip back takes on a nightmarish quality, thanks in the main to coconut-cocktail and sun induced headaches. I try not to scratch my sandfly bites, and everyone gets more and more tired. For the final leg of the journey everyone’s squeezed in the front except for Pabs who sleeps wrapped in blankets out at the back of the truck. We finally arrive home at 11pm, ready to sleep. It takes a while to convince Daisy that the party is over, but she finally falls asleep, probably dreaming of the biggest bath in the world.

Semana 8 Domingo

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Semana 8 Sabado

Daisy turns four month old today and her parents learn an important lesson. Do not massage a baby’s stomach in public when she hasn’t poohed for a day and a half.


Baby massage class is its usual hushed and calm self. We have to compare our babies to things in nature. Other parents choose things like flowers and rivers. The only thing I can think of comparing Daisy to is a cyclone or a tornado (Pabs goes for ‘grasshopper’). Mind you, most people can see our point I think.

Daisy wiggles enthusiastically through the explanation, and the very kind teachers suggest we take our babies’ nappies off and lay them on some paper towels. Unfortunately, the second that Paul puts his hands on Daisy’s stomach, she er, becomes a little too relaxed. We use up most of the paper towels.

We also weigh Daisy at a local pharmacy. Pharmacies here do “medical consultations” for about two pounds. Their “surgeries’ are staffed by men in white coats who know less about medicine than the actors on ER.


However, they do have baby scales. Daisy has put on a kilo in a month, which is a huge relief. She’s now on the ninth percentile of those weird growth charts, which should be enough to keep the health visitors from grumbling at us. Hurrah.