MEDICINA MAYA

Yesterday we visited the Museo de Medicina Maya.  Medicine made from plants.  The Museo is dedicated to the idea that the plants cultivated and employed medicinally by the indigenous people are an important and irreplaceable part of the area's biodiversity and are worth preserving.  These plants have provided the source material for many modern drugs and continue to be employed by the descendants of the Maya (and others) for curative purposes.  And now Monsanto has purchased a local seed supplier and made lots of money subsequently with their Roundup-Ready, genetically modified seeds.  Farmers who buy these seeds have to promise not to save them and not to plant any other seeds, thus destroying thousands of years of seed saving and interfering with the area's biodiversity.  Bad.

The Museum has displays depicting the daily life of the Maya.  Here is childbirth, Maya style:  father at the left, midwife at the right.  Better than lying flat on a table, don't you think?

There is an extensive garden with labeled plants and their uses.  The garden could use a little Pete and Donna attention:

A place to sweat:

A composting toilet:

There is also a pharmacy which sells potions made from the plants.  We bought a liquid for "general debility."  I'll let you know how it works.

VIAJE TURISTICO

Yesterday we took a tour with six other people, all Mexicans, to several Mayan villages.

This is a view of San Cristóbal from the van as we went up, up, up to Chamula, where we were not permitted to take pictures of any natives:

A typical house made of mud bricks.  The tile roof is not traditional:

Black sheep, originally brought here by the conquistadores, are like "members of the family," according to our guide, who spoke tzotzil, the language of the locals.  Women here (and in San Cristóbal) wear hair skirts made from the hides of the sheep.  They wear long blouses tucked in to avoid chafing from the sheepskin.  Surprisingly they do not eat the meat of the sheep.  Nor do they drink the milk since they are lactose intolerant.

Corn is everywhere, in every nook and cranny and up and down the sides of mountains.  We took this photo because there's a tobacco plant in the front.  We know our tobacco since

North Carolina is the cigarette state:

The non-Catholic Mayan church.  The residents here (and elsewhere, I suppose) were not very fond of the conquistadores and their religion and, in more modern times, they have kicked out Evangelicals who tried to gain a foothold in the town.  So what goes on inside this church, where a priest shows up only occasionally to perform baptisms?  The floor is strewn with pine needles.  Hundreds of candles burn on the floor.  People gather on the floor in front of their particular Shaman for answers to their physical and emotional problems.  There is a baptismal font in the "negative" (western, where the sun sets and darkness reigns) side of the church.  Baptism is the only sacrament the locals accepted, probably just to get the Dominicans out of their lives.

Then we went to Zinacantán, where we were given the opportunity to purchase local handicrafts:

Julia made us each a tortilla to get us in the mood:

This structure is a traditional house of mud brick with a thatched roof.  Cool in summer, warm in winter and resistant to damage from earthquakes:

Yes, we spent some money here.

CHIAPAS II

El sr J took some pictures today, mostly of things that don't move.  Here is the cathedral, the focal point of the city.  The cross is an early-morning meeting place for people who want to purchase tours of the outlying area:

Another of the many churches, the Iglesia de la Merced:

The Puente Blanco (White Bridge), which dates from 1865-66 and replaced several earlier versions destroyed by floods.  It is said that 7 decapitated bodies were encased in the pillars for reinforcement, so the new bridge would withstand subsequent floods.  It spans the Rio Amarillo, which is more a sickly grey than yellow:

Here is the Templo de Santo Domingo, the plaza of which is devoted to a daily artisans' market:

The arcade on the west side of the central plaza.  It contains a Subway sandwich shop, of all things.  The colorful truck carrying a passel of locals was, thank goodness, moving very slowly:

Tomorrow we're off to Zapatista pueblos.

SAN CRISTOBAL DE LAS CASAS, CHIAPAS

Los Jubilados are taking a 2-week vacation in Chiapas.

The first thing we noticed was the tile roofs.  We have flat, cement roofs in Querétaro.  It rains a lot more here.  This is a view from our patio:

San Cristobal is a colonial city, which means that the streets and sidewalks are narrow and made of stone.  Traffic in the historic center is one-way--a good thing for walkers.  But because of the rain, the curbs are really high, making it difficult for walkers to step off and on the curb to allow people with disabilities and babies in strollers to pass:

Back before I was jubilada, I taught a course on the Zapatista Revolution, led by a masked philosophy professor from the capital who called himself Subcomandante Marcos:

I'm not sure where he is now, but the revolution lives on the fronts of various houses:

"Stop repression of the popular movement:"

"October 2 will not be forgotten."
  October 2 commemorates the 1968 massacre of students and civilians by the Mexican government. 

Below:  "To be young and not revolutionary is a biological contradiction."  Allende is dead, but some of us old revolutionaries live on.

"Stop agression against the Zapatista community:"

Tomorrow we hope to take a tour of the area where the Zapatista movement lives on.

DIA DEL CARTERO

Today is Mail Carrier's Day.  We know this because it's been stamped on our letters and an envelope announcing same was left in our mailbox on the front door.  I wasn't going to leave 50 pesos in the envelope for anybody to grab, so I left a note on the door asking sr Lopez to knock.  He did and got his $50.

Over lunch el sr J and I were discussing how the mail system is different here.  The cartero arrives on a motorbike with our mail.  He doesn't walk up and down the street daily like in the US, since the receipt of mail from the government-run Correo is not necessarily a daily occurrence.   Private couriers, not the cartero, deliver our bills.  There is no junk mail except for the occasional flier stuck in the door.

When I think of all my unsuccessful attempts to stop junk mail in the US, I just have to say again, ¡viva México!

DANS LA VIE

There's a new French film cycle at Rosalío Solano.  The first one we saw was "Dans la vie," directed by Philippe Faucon.

Two French women from Oran, Algeria, one a Muslim:

the other a Jew:

become friends when the Muslim is hired to take care of the Jew who is confined to a wheelchair.  The film explores the prejudices in both communities and French prejudice against Arabs in general.

It also answers the questions:

What is the difference between halal and kosher food?  

Not much, but keep that cheese away from the meat for kosher.

What does the Imam say about a hajj paid for with wages earned from a Jew?

No problem.

In which community do the females have more fun?

The Muslims sing and dance together while they cook and they have women's day at the Turkish baths.

Before the Jew met the Muslim she was lonely, irritable, and contemplating suicide.

Wouldn't it be nice if life imitated art?

NATASHA KORSAKOVA

soloed with the symphony on Thursday:

There were very few empty seats. 

The audience was transported and gave her a standing ovation with 3 curtain calls.  If the marketing for her upcoming performance of the same piece with the Evansville Philharmonic is any indication, she will get another very receptive audience.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4v1qUIFGteU&feature=fvwrel

SERGE GAINSBOURG/JANE BIRKIN

This post is for all you Francophiles.

I recently read a review of a biography of Leonard Cohen, I'm Your Man, by Sylvie Simmons.  I couldn't buy it because the price violated my principle of not paying more than $9.99 for a Kindle book.  (Well, I've violated it a few times, but not for a biography).

I googled Sylvie Simmons and saw that she had written an earlier biography of one Serge Gainsbourg. 

 Who was he, I wondered.

.

As Wikipedia says, he was a French singer, songwriter, poet, composer, artist, actor and director, regarded as one of the most important figures in French popular music.

His lifelong partner, even though he co-habited with other women, including Brigitte Bardot, was Jane Birkin, British/French movie star, mother of Charlotte Gainsbourg, who I knew from having seen her in films.

Jane

Charlotte

A good book for $9.99, and I've filled a gap in my education.