Chamula is a sweet, beautiful and cute little village, with a large market in the centre of the main square, a church that touched me in its own special way and a really cute viewpoint.
As I was mainly in Chamula for the church, I took a quick stroll around the market square, where, as always, there was all sorts of things to buy, and then quickly headed towards the church. At this point, I’ll quote my diary entry from that day, because the church was something very special for me:

“I enter the church. The first thing I notice are the grey/brown curtains, which are loosely stretched from the ceiling to the side as if cut in half and form a kind of roof-shaped arch in the church. They hang in such a way that you can see not just one, but several at once. The second thing I notice is the smoke and an accompanying incense-like odour, which is particularly thick at the back of the church. Then I notice the “sea” of candlelights along both walls and the people praying in front of it on the floor. I perceive the accordion accompanied by a buuum buuum bum bum bum, the people squatting on the floor and praying quietly and loudly, the smoke rising from the candles, the shaman/priest/ I have no idea, holding a chalice made of leather and wood in his hand from which smoke rises and moves it up and down over figures on the wall and the candles in front of it, consecrating it. The wall is framed by figurines in glass cases, all representing some important figure from the Bible, I assume. The floor is covered with a kind of long, hard, dry grass. I have no idea what it is exactly. What I realise immediately is that this church is not like all the others. It is special, unique, almost intimate.

The atmosphere is incredibly personal, private, I have never seen people praying so seriously and absorbedly. It is so intimate that I feel like an intruder, like someone who should leave the church out of respect for people’s faith and this special atmosphere. But I fight with myself and stay. Because this is the first church that instils respect in me, that makes me pause, that lets me soak up the atmosphere like a sponge, that brings tears to my eyes and that touches me. No church has ever managed that. Not one. That is precisely why this church is not like all the others. It is unique and different. It may be that the churches in en Pueblos Indígenas are all like this. But for me, this experience will remain unique and unforgettable. I slowly begin to walk into the church. There are no photos or videos taken allowed it said on a sign outside. At first I thought ‘Höh? Why?!’ Now I understand. It’s a privilege to be allowed in here. To be able to experience this atmosphere. We are already the ones who disturb others in their privacy when they speak to God – whether I believe in it or not, you can see how serious it is. We are entering a place that is absolutely holy for these people. A place where they are not vendors from the street, neither mother, nor daughter, nor anyone else. Here they are talking to someone they trust completely, having conversations with themselves, so to speak, with their innermost desires.

On my way to the altar, I see children, women and men praying in front of rows of candles on the floor. One man is praying almost out loud and looks so pleading that I don’t dare to watch him. It’s a too personal scene between him and the God he believes in. I continue through to the back and am soon standing in front of the altar. Music is playing next to me. When it stops, Coke is handed out to everyone in small candle-shaped shot glasses. A few of the older men are drinking what looks like alcohol, but it could also be holy water, as a woman sitting right in front of the altar is pouring it on the candles to the left and right, as if to consecrate them. The woman next to her has a chicken with her, which, after being quietly placed down, simply remains sitting next to her, almost like a dog. This church here is unlike anything I know. It touches me and I would never have thought it possible that a church could do something like this to me.

I move a little further away, see another chicken, a woman breastfeeding her baby, countless people kneeling on the grass and praying, talking to the candles. Nobody is afraid that something might be set on fire. Everyone is calmly watching together for safety. One man quickly wipes a few blades of grass a little further away from the candle with his foot. Just in case. It’s….. the atmosphere simply leaves me speechless, casts a spell over me and doesn’t let go. I would have given anything to be allowed to take a video and photos here, but at the same time I can understand very well why this is not possible. The fact that I am allowed in here at all feels like a privilege and almost unpleasant.

I walk very slowly towards the entrance of the church, trying to internalise everything, remember everything, soak it all up like a sponge. Because I’m sure of one thing: I won’t be coming back. Not because I don’t want to, but simply because, logically speaking, it probably won’t happen. And also because the scenery is a bit overwhelming. It makes me feel like an intruder. I would like to sit there, but again I would find that disrespectful to the people who are actually sitting there and praying. The situation is too sensitive, too intimate, too direct, the people too vulnerable. I couldn’t reconcile that with myself. And so I let the music group pass me outside and then climb the mini-steps myself back out into the open. The church leaves me thoughtful, with great respect for the vulnerability of this place and the people of this village and as sentimental as I never thought I could be after going to church.’

I wrote all this on the same day because this church really did something to me back then. It was one of the most impressive experiences of my entire trip. Naturally, I continued walking around for a while, emotional and moved. At some point, however, the camera came out again and I went on a discovery tour.
The streets of Chamula depict the real, true Chiapas. Quite poor dwellings, as well as huts or houses with in some cases a car in the front garden. At the same time, I found the ‘posters’ on the walls (murals) with emergency numbers, pregnancy tips or tooth decay somewhat funny, as well as very indicative of how local life is in Chamula. Above all, however, I found it incredibly interesting and extremely impressive to see how different everything is compared to Europe.
To get to the viewpoint, I had to climb up a small driveway. And you could actually see more from in between than from the very top – trees upon trees 😀 – but yeah. Mexico tbh. You never quite get what you expect, but that kinda anways usually puts a little smile on your face. At least if you’re open to it 😉

Chamula yes or no? For me, Chamula is an absolute must day trip. The church, the little village and all the impressions you get and how much of Mexico you can see just by walking down a few streets… It’s really worth the trip! 😊