This shit is ridiculous

I am so ready to roll into a new town and be bored, disappointed. I don't want it to happen, I'm just accepting it as an inevitability. But a month in, and Mexico is yet to offer up this frustration.

I'm in San Cristobal de las Casas, in Chiapas, Mexico's southernmost state. This town is goddamned amazing. I came in Friday morning, having failed utterly to sleep on my overnight bus. The city is pretty, colonial architecture sitting in a valley surrounded by very densely forested green hills. I chased bad hostel leads for a few hours, gave up, went in to the Cafe Katrina and had, without a doubt, the best pineapple juice of my life. As a juice connoisseur, this was a serious event for me. Walking around a bit, I finally found a proper hostel, the Plaza Central, and quickly passed the hell out, tired, tired.

I woke up, hungry, energetic, and curious. I walked to the zocalo, the main square. In the zocalo, a youth organization was putting on a youth concert. The band played 'black metal,' which was actually pretty awesome. The bass player got real funky and primus like at times, and the drummer had serious abilities. I was impressed by the group, JULE, jovenes unidos por libre expresion, and their sincerity in promoting the art of these kids. And once again, I loved the tendency of Mexicans of all ages and whatever other stratifications to stop and give their attention and consideration to people who are artistically putting themsleves out there, even when it's something as difficult to get into as metal.

After that show, I walked a block away to the cafe/bar Revolucion, which I never ever want to leave. Live music every night with no cover, a happening downstairs, a relaxed upstairs, bartenders who know what they're doing, and cooks in the back making some serious goddamn oven toasted sandwiches. When I got there the band Fractal had just finished warming up. The singer thanked us all for being there, and they then proceeded to kick unbelievable musical ass. Acoustic guitar, five-string bass, accordion, cello, and a variety of djimbe type drums from around the world. It was a weird kind of fusion folk, Celtic, Zydeco, Mexican, Triplets of Belleville style French Craziness, but at the same time didn't sound like crap 'world' music, it felt like they were just playing what made sense to them, and they sure as hell did it with passion and talent. The singer's vocal abilities were absurd, and he wasn't the least bit timid about yelping and shrieking. He reminded me of Tom Waits at times, Frank Black at others, with a bit of Rahzel when he felt like it. We, the audience, were dancing, shouting, losing our damn minds. One of the best shows I've ever seen, only for the price of a bottle of beer.

Taking the scenic route back to my hostel, I passed the Dada Club, where, what do you know, there was another free show going on, real funky jazz, amazingly talented musicians. Went to bed smiling. Live music has a wonderful healing effect on me. If you're counting, that's three concerts in one night, my first night in town.

The next day, Saturday, I went to Na Bolom, the former house of the Blooms, European expats who lived unbelievable amazing lives here in Mexico. Frans Blom was a cartographer for oil companies, which involved loading up mules and wandering blind into the jungles. After falling in love with the jungles and the Mayan ruins they held, he quit working for the oil companies who would only destroy the selva, and became an archeologist. He was amongst the first to excavate the old Mayan city of Palenque, my next stop. He met his wife, Gertrude, in the jungle. This woman LIVED. She was an anti-fascist journalist and organizer during WW2, jailed by Mussolini. After she was freed she went to Mexico City. After reading the work of anthropologist Jaques Soustelle, she decided, hell, why not be a jungle explorer. In 1943 she convinced a government official to let her join an expedition to find the Lacandon Maya, the only Maya group not conquered by the Spanish, having hid deep in the jungle. The elusive, camera shy (understatement) Lacondons immediately warmed to her. They revered her, she went on to do great things for them, agitating for their rights, helping them recieve medical treatment, much more. They called her queen. She ended up writing a book about her experiences with them, and took over 50,000 black and white photographs of their lives, even of their religious ceremonies. If I tried to photograph one of their ceremonies, I would be airmailed back to the states as a red chunky substance. She later became one of the first environmental activists, protesting the deforestation of the Selva Lacondona, and growing trees to reforest it. The UN awarded her in the early 90's for this effort.

The two of them founded Na Bolom, their house, cultural center, library, residence for visiting friends, including Lacandonans. Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo used to pound mezcal with Frans. Gertrude yelled at the Swiss ambassador for putting his elbows on the dinner table and forced him to finish his dinner at another table. She died just before the Zapatistas took over this city in 1994. The EZLN torched a lot of hotels and government buildings, but Na Bolom they would not touch. Subcomandante Marcos sent Na Bolom a fax saying that they were not terrorists, they were Maya, and that they would not harm the home of 'the great lady for us, Dona Gertrudis.' It still attracts anthropologists from around the world, as well as functioning as a hotel.

Pretty inspiring shit, for me, as far as living one hell of a life.

That night I went out to a cool little theater that plays pirated dvds of indie movies, then another really good free concert. I love this city, this country.