I´ve made a cozy little detour in my travels and have taken root in the hilly, colorful, albeit cold, but very magical town of San Cristóbal de las Casas. A patchwork of forested mountains surround the city, continuously drawing my gaze up from the valley, as I savor the last slant rays of sun before it drops into another sky, or as I try to predict the frequent rain showers by the chaotic movement of clouds in the distance, or as I just glance up and smile, alive in this naturally beautiful setting.
Within the city there are layers upon layers of clay-tiled roofs, old colonial structures cracked and fading, other colonial mansions renovated and stunning, Guadalupan prayer flags streaming across narrow streets that wind past neighborhood tortillerias, fruit markets, and rows of colored houses, up any given hill to a plaza and an ancient church, then wind down those hills in the shape of colos del Diablo (Devil´s tail).
It has a small-town feel to it, with three long, car-free streets packed with tourists, locals, Tzotzil and Tzeltal indigenous people who stream in from their neighboring pueblos to sell textiles, crafts and fresh produce. It can be really fun to cruise these streets because you´re bound to run into someone you know having coffee or wine at an outdoor cafe. But at the same time it can be quite sad because there are kids, some as little as 4 or 5, trying to sell you something, an animalito made from wood for example, or just simply asking for a peso.
I hope that these kids can go to school and learn to help their families and communities in more substantial ways than a peso or two here and there. But for now, the market scene of San Cristóbal is the central nervous system of the city as well as the blood and livelihood of the people from this region, and there are some families that need the help of each and every one of their members.
There are three main indoor markets, but there is more happening outside, where the market spills into the streets, barely leaving enough room for the seemingly infinite number of taxis and collectivo vans constantly running in and out of town. You don´t even have to leave the house; the market comes to you – vendors slowly cruise through each neighborhood, carrying their wares on their backs, heads or bicycles, shouting their offers at each corner.
You can buy things ready-to-eat: corn on the cob (a la mexicana with mayonnaise, salsa, chile and cheese), tamales, tacos, roasted plantains, or mango on a stick. You can buy things to stock your kitchen: green and red tomatoes, onions, carrots, beans, chiles, herbs, spices, queso, limes, bananas, on and on. You can buy a whole tree, chickens alive or dead, soda not in a cup or bottle but in a bag, sheets of aluminum, DVDs, shoes, candles, flowers, on and on.
I go to the market almost everyday. If I don´t get lost in the labyrinth of city streets, I for sure get lost in the labyrinth of the market. But each time, I eventually figure out the way back to my apartment with a heavy bag, stuffed with new ingredients. I´m learning how to cook Mexican food, and having a blast in the kitchen. And the eating part is pretty fun too.
Earth Eats 