Southern Exposure

The original intent of the trip to San Cristobal de las Casas was to visit Na Bolom. I first read of Na Bolom in 1000 Places to See Before You Die; a well cataloged but sometimes suspect list of the top highlights of the vagabonds world. I figured that Na Bolom would be a primary centerpiece of this now tourist mecca; on the same level as Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs.

Nestled in a high alpine valley at roughly 7000 feet, San Cristobal has the same sleepy feel of any mountain town, cold nights driving the thriving, body-warming cocktail scene, dreadlocked hippies slinging their quintessential mota-styled wares alongside the indigenous Chiapan Chamulan women and their textile crafts. While the cold bitter nights could be anywheretown with an elevation over a mile high, the warm and sun-soaked, but not quite hot, daylight hours are an intoxicating hybrid of Spanish Colonialism, native peoples, and backpackers from all the reaches of decadent society. It’s a incredible place that you can get lost in, just relaxing and soaking up the tranquillo. Even the most seasoned traveler, tired of the backpacker scene, won’t be disappointed and will look past the standard tourist traps and see the wondrous, true nature of the city.

As is our usual style, we rolled into San Cristobal right at nightfall. Halfway down the road to our designated camping rancho was the beginning stage of a sewer repair; seven cars deep we reached the unsigned street blockage at the front of a pack that included a large diesel dump-truck-esque behemoth that was unlikely to back down the quarter mile stretch of narrow one-way that we had just traversed. Natalie, thinking the deviascion (detour) was simply another construction of the Mexican game of F-with-the-gringos, jumps out of the van to remove the rocks blocking the way. Two late working construction workers decide that this gringa is not to be trifled with, and instead of protesting her efforts they join in the removal of the road block for our now un-countable collection of horn blowing, impatients.

El Rancho San Nicholas sits on the outer stretches of the cerro de Templo de Santo Dominguez. A rustic alpine collection of cabañas and full-hook-up RV spots, San Nicholas attracts the

The dining room at Na Bolom

more bohemian, vagabond types along with the less comfort-obsessed Europeans.  We pulled into our designated spot, now fully concerned with chalking the wheels for more optimal levelness in order to maintain cat piss infested refrigerator operation. Our neighbors were a French couple RVing it with some German counterparts in a bandito styled rear-windowless Volvo. They were definitely not feeling it in Mexico, having been the victims of a recent break-in and theft. The real charm of San Nicholas was our new traveling companion Emilie, a Frenchie by way of Lyon, via Atlanta and parts in between. Emilie immediately invited us to join her around the fire with her marshmallows. We contributed our galletas (cookies) and chocolate for our second attempt at Mexican smores.

The next morning the three of us, ventured off in search of Chiapan cappuccinos, fighting off some of the incessant street vendors while Natalie modeled the local stylings. We climbed some of the hills for better views of the meticulously painted inglesias and strolled the plazas people watching the international mixings of language, fashion, and playing guess the nationality. Eventually, we motivated to search out Na Bolom. We walked by the unassuming entry having to stop and ask directions from the locals. Aside from the entryway the sprawling complex of museum, communal restaurant, guest rooms, haciendas, and demonstration gardens is anything but unassuming. A true regional treasure, the seemingly deserted former hacienda is still devoted to the protection of the cultures and artifacts of Mayan descendants, specifically the peoples of the Lacadon jungle. Sadly, it seems the majority of visitors to San Cristobal never even know it is there.

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