The road turned red… through aloof villages… deforested zones… cattle pastures. A sign said, “You are entering the territory of Zapatista rebels…” The road turned red into the rain forest… into the steam and consuming greenery. We exited out by a military checkpoint in San Javier. Nothing. Three or four dispersed structures… empty road to either side. The soldiers came and made polite chit chat in the sunshine… with their guns… we got away as fast as we could.
We followed the track seven kilometers to Lacanja Chansayab… flanked by dark and dense foliage… in the midday sun… the heat, the moisture, the sweat was overpowering. The hike took nearly an hour… moving though shady sides when we could… asking directions… marching forward. Lacanja Chansayab serves as the largest of three villages for the Lacandon Mayas… located in the south-east of Chiapas… it is home to about 600 people… the edge of a rapidly diminishing rainforest… the fringe of the Montes Azules Biosphere reserve.
A good deal of anthropological intrigue surrounds these people… the ‘Lacandon’… or in their own language… ‘Hach Winik’ – ‘Real People’. Until fairly recently they were living a pure existence… in isolated and dispersed households across the jungle… they escaped Spanish domination to some extent. These people were ‘discovered’ (that is, publicised) fifty years ago… hunting with bows and arrows… practicing pre-Colombian rites. A fair amount of romantic postulation ensued. Perhaps these isolated forest people were a living link to the pre-Hispanic past? A window onto the ancient? Perhaps the direct descendents of the people of Palenque? It all seems doubtful. More likely, the Hach Winik were children of Chol and Yucatec refugees… the sons of those who had hoped to escape Spanish tyranny. As for being a window to the ancient… it is a fact that the Lacandon have never really dwelled in static isolation from the world. Records show that trade persisted between Hach Winik and Palenque… that produce was exchanged for modern tools during the 18th and 19th Centuries… Old world plants such as bananas and oranges were present on their farms. In fact, bows and arrows were long ago substituted for guns… today they’re just artifacts for the tourists.
‘Tradition’ is almost dead. Changes in the twentieth century spelled disruption to former patterns of settlement, economy, substinence, religion. State run timber companies have exchanged community projects, medicines, supplies and trucks for lumber. This has meant that Hach Winik have herded into close knit settlements. Their seven million peso trust fund has also mysteriously vanished… but that’s another story. The Zona Lacandona was a boundary created to help protect the forest… but generally, lines of territory are not adhered to. Waves of resentful and landless peasants have been entering the region since the 70s… taking what they can. As a result, the soil has grown largely sterile. Cattle ranches consume vast tracts all around the area. The rainforest possesses only a thin top-soil where the great majority of nutrients are held in the plants and trees themselves. After deforestation, the land is good for nothing. The general destruction of the region by lumber companies and farmers, however, does not completely account for the ‘death of tradition’. Increased communications technology… satellites, phones, TVs… in addition to the growth of tourism… road construction and increased commerce… have all contributed to a decline in former lifestyles, beliefs, practices.
‘Tradition’ is a complex issue in any case… where any given group is continually evolving… the notion can be hard to define. Perhaps the idea of change or death can be identified no more easily than with the differences in current and former religious practice. Lacandon religion has always been the favoured focus of anthropologists… always the fascination. Presently, a handful of Lacandon are performing rites pertaining to the Pagan World View that formerly pervaded… mainly for the benefit of tourists and in the northern community of Naha. The remainder maintain an atheist / agnostic stand or have converted to Protestantism. The has been an enormous drive by U.S. churches in Maya country… to ‘rescue’ or divide the communities… depending on your stance. The Hach Winik’s final spiritual leader was Chan Kin Viejo. He lived to be 103… fathered 13 children and died without a single grey hair on his head. Chan Kin Viejo said that nobody talks to the gods anymore… his father was the last to do that… the knowledge is lost.
We took the road into Lanaja Chansayab… grasses thick and high around us. We came to a ranch where a woman made tortillas in an old shack… there were little tykes in white tunics… a middle aged man sat in the sunshine… playing on gameboy.
“Cross the bridge,” he told us. “Continue straight on…”
We continued over the bridge… passed a couple of campgrounds… gave up dead with exhaustion at Martin’s camping. The place was pretty… healthy… green… scattered with manifold chickens, roosters, turkeys. Martin’s wife showed us a cabin… not bad… a little lofty. We paid our fair and put up our feet… ate a dinner of vacuum packed tortillas.
Later on, we went for a little wander. The village boasted its own airstrip… a little red and white propeller number… we watched it take off and land. They had an ambulance too… a surgery, a nursery school, a primary school, several large satellite dishes. The community must be proud of their assets. Then a big tour bus arrived full of Jesus freaks… some old, mostly young. They wore blue t-shirts with red crucifix logos… they filed out of the bus… pointed around with some wonder… the palms, the banana trees, the flowers… how god’s work is great. I went and fetched a few beers from a store… the people there were very kind, very soft. As day turned to night, the village sank into darkness… no street lights, only scattered fireflies… flashing blue and green upon blades of grass. People stood in groups… talking in the blackness. I took my beer back in the cabin… amidst fluttering moths, mosquitoes, beetles… a small bat came crashing in from the roof.
The next morning we took breakfast at Martin’s… Huevos Mexicana with black beans, tortillas and coffee. It was good and stodgey, nice and filling. Then we had a wash and began our grueling 24km hike to the ruins Bonampak… 12km there, 12km back.
It was 3km to the site entrance. Along the way, Lacandons would pass on bicycles and say ‘hello’… sometimes in tunics, sometimes not… sometimes with long black hair, sometimes not. That is their traditional attire… white tunics (long for southerners, short for northerners) and long hair (center parted for southerners, fringe cut for northerners). Generally it is a code reserved for dealings with tourists although some elders and all children adhere to it outside. After we passed the Bonampak gates we didn’t see anyone for the next 9km to the ruins. They had more sense… the took taxis. Fortunately it was cloudy and hence cool… the road was straightish… flat… composed of chunky, chalky stones. It was not the worst road in the world… and it went right into the rainforest.