“I found religion in San Cristobal,” crooned Mal Blum through my headphones.
I don’t know if I would call it religion, but I’ve definitely found something in San Cristobal de las Casas. The vibrant city high in the mountains of Mexico’s Chiapas region had been on my radar for years, but had somehow eluded me on my previous six trips to Mexico. My nine-hour travel day from Tulum involved two buses, a flight, and a taxi. Despite all that, I was absolutely giddy with anticipation for my arrival to San Cristobal. I watched the dying rays of the sun bask Chiapas’ countryside in gold as my flight touched down in Tuxtla Gutierrez. I grabbed my bag from the tiny airport’s lone baggage claim and rushed out of the airport.
Oh yeah, COVID.
Airport security stopped me and escorted me back into a room that reeked of hand sanitizer. I filled out the necessary forms and got my temperature checked before finally hopping on a shuttle bus bound for San Cristobal. The sun’s light began to fade as we pulled away from the airport. The rest of the 90-minute bus ride through the mountains was guided by the brilliant light of the full moon.
The shuttle bus parked in a seedy garage off the side of the road well outside of San Cristobal’s center. I collected my bag and waved down a taxi. It would be another 20 minute drive to my hostel, a ride which in Tulum would have cost about 200 pesos.
“Posada del Abuelito, cuanto cuesta?” I preguntar-ed in my once-fluent Spanish that had grown rusty in gringofied Tulum.
“40 pesos.”
Fuck yeah. Mi Mexico querido, I am home.
Never had I been more excited to explore a new city. I practically waltzed to the reception of my quaint hostel to check into my private room. I had booked the private room in anticipation of simply wanting to crash after a long travel day. That was far from the case. The vibrant energy of San Cristobal was too powerful to resist. The sound of drums and music filled the air while my taxi weaved through its historic center, further awakening the adventurer in me. Within minutes of checking in and dropping off my bag, I was bounding for the main plaza, struggling to keep balance as I danced on the cobbled roads, adeptly avoiding dog shit.
The Plaza de Armas was temporarily closed.
Oh yeah, COVID.
I sought out a potential dinner spot while scoping out future potential dinner spots, perhaps my favorite hobby as a traveler. I had finally arrived in authentic Mexico, a country whose cuisine I held in the highest regard. At last, I could have authentic Mexican food at local prices.
*fast forward 5 minutes*
“Uh yeah, I’ll have the vegan ramen and a hot chocolate, por favor.”
Whatever, I’m going to be here a while.
