Where the Streets Have Two Names August 3, 2021
A volkswagon bus pulls up in front of Arco del Carmen, the magnificently domed gateway to the city. In the 17th-Century, this was the way that a gentleman would enter the city, passing the suspicious eyes of the Franciscan nuns, secure within their cloister. The giant bell would ring, the converted native ladies would line the rough cobblestone in their black-woolen skirts, with gifts of flowers and fruit, to honor your arrival in the capital city—Ciudad Real.
Those chivalrous days of walled Catholic fortresses are over. Ciudad Real turned out to be not so real after all. The name was changed to San Cristobal, and the capital was moved to Tuxtla Gutierrez, a lesser Catholic stronghold, as the Counter-reformation of New Spain gave way to the Neo-reformation of Mexico. The most symbolic secular change, however, may be the closure of Arco del Carmen. The old gateway is now gated and fenced, surrounded by a park, while the new gateway is a busy one-way street straight from the main bus station, aptly named Calle Insurgentes. Like its namesake in Mexico City, this no-nonsense thoroughfare cuts a swath into the city center like a guerrilla’s bayonet.
The gringo driver of the Volkswagen is annoyed to find that the narrow streets do not allow him to turn. He is the newest arrival at the moment, and he is looking for someplace free to park. This shaggy guy is playing the frugal bohemian, simply out with his girl to see the world and hawk his wares, but his Trustafarian claims on pennilessness are no match for this place. “Keep Portland Weird,” reads his bumpersticker. He may need a bigger bumper for the weirdness ahead of him.
Like Valladolid and Merida and other Spanish-Catholic cities, San Cristóbal possesses a grid-design oriented around the central cathedral, but, unlike those colonial cities, which use a number system, San Cris names its streets—after events, places and people—and navigating the narrow passages can be a challenge. More confusing still, these street names can change as one crosses midpoints on the grid. Thus, my own Calle Francisco León becomes Niños Heroes when it reaches Insurgentes. Likewise, Calle Guerrero becomes Calle Almolonga, but not until it crosses Calle Madero. Oddly, Madero keeps its name throughout its length. It makes sense to name an important street after Mexico’s martyred president, even though the fallen statesman’s tenure did not last nearly as long as his street does.
The traffic on Insurgentes is bumper to bumper, as always, allowing the nimble-footed to cross though the standstills. Today it is standing especially still, as there has been an incident that has attracted onlookers, rubberneckers, and a rather mysterious collection of municipal authorities. A few wear official-looking shirts, but others seem to conjure their own authority. Tzotzil venders and their children join the crowd of observers with embroidered purses and gross treats for sale.
A young Mexican driver has backed his car into the one available parking slot on Insurgentes without noticing it was already occupied by a mango cart. The cart—consisting of a wheelbarrow, mangos, mechanical juicer, and some sort of giant glass terrarium—is now crashed on the pavement. Twisted metal, mangos, and glass are strewn about, as one man crouches to examine his damaged vehicle. The young driver responsible for the collision rubs his forehead with worry and checks his wallet, undoubtedly concerned that he will not be able to pay for the damage, whatever it turns out to be.
As it stands, there seems to be quite a few people expecting a piece of the pie. There is no sign yet of police, just five or six men in the vicinity who step up to arbitrate this dispute, informally, without the interference of the law. And, if there is no agreement to be reached, these guys in charge can always keep the car. Other cart-pushers strain to study the negotiations, gaining tips for the future. My anonymous source and I, as eyewitnesses to this mango mishap, take our place in line to collect our compensation.