In the highlands of Chiapas, just a short drive from San Cristóbal de las Casas, two neighboring towns, San Juan Chamula and Zinacantán, offer a window into the living traditions, resilience, and syncretic spirituality of the Tzotzil Maya people. Though separated by only ten kilometers, each town holds a distinct identity, shaped by centuries of history, ritual practice, and an enduring connection to land and lineage.
Visitors to these villages often come seeking color and culture—the woven textiles of Zinacantán, and the incense-filled rituals of Chamula—but what they encounter, if they move slowly and with respect, is something deeper: a continuity of belief that has survived conquest, colonization, and modern tourism alike.
For those wishing to experience these two communities with context and care, we recommend joining a locally guided tour such as this Chamula and Zinacantán Guided Tour from San Cristóbal. The experience allows visitors to travel alongside knowledgeable local guides who share insights into Tzotzil culture, language, and everyday life while ensuring visits are made respectfully and sustainably.
The highlands: a brief context
Chiapas is one of Mexico’s most culturally diverse states, home to more than a dozen Indigenous groups. The Tzotzil and Tzeltal Maya, who inhabit the central highlands, trace their roots to pre-Columbian civilizations that once flourished across southern Mexico and Guatemala. After Spanish colonization in the 16th century, many communities retreated into the mountains, preserving their languages and customs through a delicate blending of Indigenous and Catholic practices.
Scenes from San Juan Chamula and Zinacantán
The region’s cool climate and rugged terrain have long shaped local life. Most families farm maize, beans, and squash on steep milpas, combining agriculture with weaving, trade, and artisanal work. Religious festivals punctuate the agricultural calendar, blending elements of Catholic feast days with ancient rituals honoring nature’s cycles.
San Juan Chamula: faith, ritual, and resistance
San Juan Chamula sits at 2,200 meters above sea level, surrounded by pine forests and mist. Its population of around 80,000 is overwhelmingly Tzotzil-speaking, and the town functions as a semi-autonomous municipality with its own internal governance. Outsiders are welcome to visit—but always on local terms. Photography inside sacred spaces is strictly prohibited, and rituals are to be observed with quiet respect.
The church of San Juan Bautista
At the heart of Chamula stands the church of San Juan Bautista, one of the most remarkable sacred sites in Mexico. From the outside, it appears like a typical colonial church—whitewashed walls, a green and blue-painted archway—but stepping inside is to enter a world apart.
The church of San Juan Bautista in San Juan Chamula
The floor is carpeted with pine needles, replaced weekly to keep the space fresh and fragrant. There are no pews, no priest, and no centralized altar. Instead, hundreds of candles of different colors and sizes burn directly on the floor, their wax pooling among the pine needles. The air is thick with the smoke of copal resin incense, an offering that predates Spanish colonization.
The walls are lined with glass cases containing statues of saints—Catholic by name but often considered embodiments of older, pre-Christian deities. Devotees kneel before these saints, lighting candles and whispering prayers in Tzotzil, sometimes accompanied by soft chanting or sobbing.
The chicken ritual
One of the most distinctive—and often misunderstood—rituals practiced in Chamula is the use of live chickens in healing ceremonies. Locals believe that illness can be caused by spiritual imbalance or the intrusion of negative forces. To restore harmony, a healer known as a curandero or h’ilol performs a cleansing ritual inside the church.
During the ceremony, the curandero passes a live chicken over the body of the afflicted person, transferring the illness or negative energy into the bird. Prayers are recited, candles are lit, and soft drinks—often Coca-Cola, now a culturally integrated symbol—are shared and burped to help expel the sickness. When the ritual is complete, the chicken is sacrificed, its spirit carrying away the ailment. The act is solemn, not violent; it represents exchange, not cruelty.
Outsiders may find the ritual unsettling, but within the Chamula worldview, it embodies reciprocity—life given to restore balance. To witness it is to glimpse a form of spirituality that bridges Catholic symbolism and Maya cosmology, where every living thing participates in the circulation of life energy.
Syncretism and self-governance
Chamula’s religious system is an intricate blend of Catholic and Indigenous belief. Saints are revered not only as Christian figures but also as mediators of cosmic forces tied to rain, fertility, and protection. The town’s hierarchy of mayordomos (stewards) and alfereces (festival leaders) maintains this balance, organizing ceremonies throughout the year that align agricultural rhythms with spiritual observance.
Colorful market produce and decorated church facade in Chamula
Since the 19th century, Chamula has maintained a fiercely independent identity. Its residents expelled Catholic priests in the 1970s, choosing to conduct rituals without external clergy. Today, their version of Christianity—distinct, localized, and community-led—exists outside Vatican authority but within deep moral coherence.
This autonomy extends to civic life. Chamula operates as a self-governing municipality with Indigenous law, language, and custom recognized under Mexican legislation. While tensions sometimes arise between traditionalists and evangelical converts, the community remains rooted in collective identity and ritual continuity.
Zinacantán: the valley of flowers and weavers
Just 15 minutes west of Chamula lies Zinacantán, another Tzotzil-speaking town, but one that moves to a different rhythm. Where Chamula feels austere and ceremonial, Zinacantán is colorful and open, known for its textiles, floriculture, and warm hospitality.
Colorful homes and embroidered textiles in Zinacantán
The name “Zinacantán” comes from the Nahuatl word Tzinacantlan, meaning “land of bats.” Its population of about 40,000 is spread across a fertile valley that bursts with flowers year-round. The town’s economy is rooted in agriculture and weaving, with many families cultivating flowers in greenhouses that paint the hillsides with rows of red, pink, and white blossoms.
The weaving tradition
Zinacantán’s textiles are among the most beautiful in Chiapas, characterized by intricate floral embroidery in vivid purples, blues, and pinks. Women weave on backstrap looms, a technique passed down through generations. The patterns are not merely decorative—they represent local cosmology, ancestry, and identity.
In many households, weaving remains a daily practice. Mothers teach daughters to weave from an early age, and finished textiles serve both practical and ceremonial functions: huipiles (traditional blouses), shawls, tablecloths, and altar cloths used in religious celebrations. Each stitch carries cultural meaning, a form of storytelling that resists erasure.
Textile shops and a woman weaving in Zinacantán
Visitors are often invited into family workshops to observe the process. The rhythm of the loom, the scent of dyed threads, and the warmth of shared conversation make it clear that weaving here is not just craft—it is continuity.
Religious and community life
Like Chamula, Zinacantán blends Catholic and pre-Hispanic practices. The church of San Lorenzo, the town’s patron saint, is central to communal life. Inside, flowers cover the altars, and candles burn throughout the day. Outside, during festivals, processions wind through the streets accompanied by drumming, flutes, and bursts of fireworks.
Unlike Chamula’s stricter photography and ritual rules, Zinacantán is more welcoming to visitors. However, respect remains crucial, especially when entering homes or photographing people. Many families supplement their income through tourism, but their hospitality is grounded in cultural pride rather than performance.
The role of flowers
Flowers hold a special place in Zinacantán’s cultural and spiritual life. They are offerings, decorations, and symbols of renewal. Every household keeps vases of fresh flowers on altars. During festivals, floral arches frame doorways and saints’ statues. The landscape itself seems to echo this devotion—fields of marigold, carnation, and rose stretch across the valley, cultivated for both ritual and livelihood.
Flowers commonly used in Zinacantán’s weaving and rituals
The annual festival of San Lorenzo in August is one of the most important events in Zinacantán. It brings together processions, music, dance, and communal meals. Participants wear traditional clothing adorned with embroidered flowers that mirror the surrounding fields, blurring the boundary between person and landscape.
Shared history, distinct character
While Chamula and Zinacantán share language, geography, and ancestry, their paths diverged through history. Chamula’s reputation for autonomy and closed tradition contrasts with Zinacantán’s openness and economic integration. Yet both embody forms of resilience—the ability to maintain distinct ways of life in a globalized world.
During colonial rule, both towns were part of the encomienda system, supplying labor and tribute to Spanish authorities. Yet they also served as centers of Indigenous governance, where ancestral leadership structures persisted under the surface of imposed Catholic hierarchy. Over time, the communities adapted the religion of the colonizers to their own cosmology, creating a uniquely Chiapaneco synthesis of faith.
Scenes from San Juan Chamula and Zinacantán
That syncretism continues today. In Chamula, saints stand in for ancient deities, and the pine-needle-covered church floor transforms Catholic ritual into a Maya cosmology of renewal. In Zinacantán, woven flowers and embroidered textiles keep alive symbols of fertility and abundance once tied to Maya earth rituals.
Both towns stand as living archives of Indigenous adaptation. They have survived centuries of external pressure—colonial, political, and economic—by holding fast to collective identity.
Visiting with respect
For travelers, visiting Chamula and Zinacantán is a privilege that comes with responsibility. These are not tourist attractions arranged for outsiders but living, breathing communities whose rhythms are guided by faith, tradition, and mutual respect. Entering them requires attention, humility, and an understanding that you are stepping into spaces where belief is not a spectacle but a daily practice.
In Chamula, visitors may enter the church of San Juan Bautista, but photography is strictly prohibited. This is not merely a rule for decorum—it reflects the sacred nature of what unfolds inside. The rituals, the candlelight, the murmured prayers are not performed for the gaze of others. They are intimate acts of devotion, meant to remain unmediated. The best way to participate is through silence: to stand still, breathe the pine-scented air, and feel the weight of time settle in the space.
In Zinacantán, the atmosphere is more open, though equally grounded in respect. Families often invite visitors into their homes or workshops to witness the weaving process. When purchasing textiles or flowers, fair payment is expected and appreciated. Every woven piece represents hours of labor and centuries of accumulated skill.
Traveling through these communities means engaging with them on their own terms. It means asking questions kindly, deferring to local customs, and allowing moments to unfold naturally. To visit with respect is to participate in a kind of exchange, not of money for experience, but of attention for generosity.
The living continuum of tradition
In both Chamula and Zinacantán, the preservation of tradition is not about freezing the past; it is about living it. Practices that date back to the colonial and pre-colonial periods remain active, evolving as new generations reinterpret them. The result is a living continuum, a culture that changes without breaking, rooted yet responsive.
In Chamula, the chicken ritual continues as a powerful symbol of spiritual renewal. It embodies the Maya understanding of balance, reciprocity, and the interconnectedness of all beings. Each ritual is both a personal and communal act of healing, carried out with reverence rather than superstition. Visitors who witness such moments should recognize the seriousness with which they are undertaken.
Zinacantán, meanwhile, demonstrates how art can carry culture forward. The weaving of textiles, with its vibrant threads and floral motifs, keeps alive a cosmology in which nature, fertility, and the feminine are central. Each woven garment is an archive of memory, a tangible record of lineage, land, and labor. The women who weave are both artisans and custodians of meaning, their looms connecting household life to cosmic order.
These practices speak to a broader truth about Indigenous life in Chiapas: resilience is not resistance alone; it is creativity, adaptation, and care. The people of Chamula and Zinacantán continue to move between worlds—ancient and modern, rural and global—without losing their grounding. Their strength lies not in isolation but in continuity.
