MAYA-HO DOS!
_{To Central America, 2005}

DIA TRIENTE SIETE:
Jueves Santo, 24 March 2005, Holy Thursday
San Cristobal de Las Casas (SCLC) - night.

A national holiday. We didn't leave the compound. Spent all day doing pictures (MAX is done!) and reading, etc. We were invited to dinner by Jim and Melanie -- was to be hamburgers but all the meat markets were closed, so turkey sufficed. We talked (or I listened) about Mexico and art and Jim's research into Gutenberg. A musical procession walked by melodiously, dozens of people singing and playing and turning into a doorway at the corner. Then in dropped Suzanne and Bob (he's ex-mayor of Sebastapol, California) who are about to go to Mendocino to be wed, then return to their house here. A day is planned for tomorrow.

This casita is starting to feel homey and thus a bit boring. We have our evening and morning rituals, periodic toilet clogging, afternoons in the patio. Soon we must shop in local tiendas, chase a water truck, walk around more locales, but no need for taxis or buses or collectivos. We're weaving into the fabric of local life but we can go unstitched at any time -- like in three weeks.

DIA TRIENTE OCHO:
Viernes Santo, 25 March 2005, Good Friday
San Cristobal de Las Casas (SCLC) - night.

THIS MORNING we sef off (on this national holiday) with Jim and Melanie to see the bloody re-enactments and processions from the Templo de Mexicanos to the zocalo. The soundtrack was Beethoven's 9th Symphony, 2nd movement, very Roman-sounding, with actors lip-syncing to the soundsystem script. The major procession looped around town; we caught it at a couple zocalo corners too, complete with Roman troops and haggard Jesus and scourging and pleading and crying and defecating horses. The crowds were immense.

A smaller procession carried large holy figures between various open streetfront doorways containing small prone crucified figures; a call-and-response of song from the followers, amid much smaller groups of onlookers. This procession made its way to the cathedral and performed overlooking the plaza, with bullhorns to convey the message to the world.

EARLY AFTERNOON we all met near with zocalo with Suzanne and Bob for a fancy and legendary seafood lunch, but the fine establishment's amplified marimba-and-horn band was MUCH TOO LOUD. Maureen and I bailed out, had cheap HawaiianBurgers, and stomped around some more. Up at the Textile Marketplace below Templo de Santo Domingo in Barrio Mexicano, more booths and vendors than we'd seen before. Loud music from a CD seller: the old country classic OH LONESOME ME done as a fast Oaxacan two-step. We staggered warmly back to the casita, rested.

TOWARDS EVENING: We revived on chicken mole, then walked back through fading twilight to the cathedral, just in time for the torchlit Silent Procession, said processionaries bearing the large casket-topped-with-crucified-body float and all wearing those KuKluxKlan-like hooded robes. They left; we went inside, sat, rested, talked about the past and future, about Esperanza (see below).

After an hour we left the cathedral, strolled across the zocalo, around the runway, and reached the far corner just in time for the return of the torchy klan Silent Procession. Then we meandered around the zocalo again and headed homeward from another far corner, just in time for the Holy Figure procession-with-call-and-response-song from Barrio Mexicano, also torchlit, no hoods. Needless to say, I took many many photos.

SO TONIGHT downtown SCLC was packed and festive, the Queen's runway nearly finished, the vendors thick and busy. And we? Totally done in, from stomping these miles of asphalt at 7000 feet elevation in warm (but pleasant) weather. Not to mention my leg pains. At least there are no scorpions. Good night.

DIA TRIENTE NUEVE:
Sabado Santo, 26 March 2005, Holy Saturday
San Cristobal de Las Casas (SCLC) - morning.

The program guide only lists a few events for today, all much later -- some games, some benedictions, the burning of Judas, etc. So we'll take it easy, get to an iNet cafe to post journals and email, buy some avacados, etc. Meanwhile, here are explanations of some of the above:

BARRIOS: A bario or colonia is a neighborhood. In SCLC, newer street signs thoughtfully remind you of which barrio you're in. Our first hostel was in Barrio Guadelupe, stretching from the edge of the zocalo zone up to Templo and Cerro Guadelupe. Our casita is in Barrio Cerrillo, east of B. Guadelupe. I'm not sure which barrio is just north of the zocalo (haven't paid close enough attention to the street signs) but north of there is Barrio Mexicano, with the big textile and produce markets, the former wrapped around huge old Temple Santo Domingo. One of these days, probably just before we leave, I'll be completely oriented as to SCLC's neighborhoods and thoroughfares and templos.

MY LEG PAINS: Back in 1974 I traveled by train and bus from Texas to Mexico City to Arizona. I stayed in a nice rooming house just across from the Zona Rosa, Mexico City's expensive district. Something stung my left thigh. There was a little necrosis, a little sloughing-away of skin, but the main result was a 3-inch circular scar. Then a few years ago I noticed a deadness there, a lack of feeling. And maybe three years ago, some minor tingling. Now, after standing or walking an hour or more, I get shooting pains. My doctor says it's neurological damage, nothing to be done. I like to walk a lot. This puts rather a crimp in that. Maybe we won't walk the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu after all. Damn.

ESPERANZA: That's Spanish for Hope. We have many hopes. One hope is to spend a few weeks in a language school. As mentioned earlier, they're rather pricey here, around $175-$225 per week per person. Somewhat cheaper in Guatemala, but we're concerned about safety there. Ah, but our guidebooks mention the town of Esperanza, Honduras, as having language schools for US$49 per week. So we HOPE that this is true, and we HOPE that Esperanza is a nice quiet mountain town with cool clear air and cheap rentals. Thus, nosotros esperanzas (our hopes)...

FUTURE: Which leads to our plans. We know that we want to visit Huehuetenango and the vicinity of Quetzaltenango (Xela) and some ruinas, and revisit Chichicastenango and Lago de Atitlan and Antigua, Guatemala. And we know that we want to see the mountain regions of western El Salvador and southern Honduras and northwest Nicaragua. But when and how? The current fantasy is, transit Guatemala en route to El Salvador et al, collect pottery and palabras along the way, then stop in the Guatemalan sites on the way back, hopefully after the rains have started. But we'll see.

Sabado Santo, 26 March 2005, Holy Saturday
San Cristobal de Las Casas (SCLC) - evening.

The SCLC Semana Santa y Primavera Feria (Holy Week and Spring Fair) program guide (printed by Coca Cola) lists events hour-by-hour, some of which actually occur. For 3 PM there are JUEGOS AUTOCTONOS (aboriginal sports) in the street beside the cathedral. Ah, kids' games. What I saw was a sort of pelota, a ball game, played with real pelotons, big lumps of hair and string, a sort of stickball, street hockey. There were hockey sticks and curved branches, wielded by a couple teams of indigenous kids in traditional costume, knocking the 'ball' around in the street between the cathedral and the zocalo.

I snapped a few pictures, then went up the road to an iNet cafe to upload the latest. When I returned, the 'balls' had been set on fire and the kids were gleefully whacking the fiery turds at each other, offsides into the crowd and under adjacent cars, etc. Then the kids were gradually replaced by women young and not so young, some dressed athletically, most not. Here's a middle-aged matron in a flimsy dress with a hockey stick, the flaming ball rolling between her legs, stuck on her feet. The crowd laughs, wondering if and when someone will go up in flames, or when a car may explode. But all ends well, a splendid time for everyone.

EVENING: As we walk downtown, the outlying streets are quiet, the centro is jammed. All possible lights are switched on. We're at the plaza behind the Municipal Palace, the Parque de Heroes, where numerous political effigies are suspended, the 'Judases' of the governments, of NAFTA, of US policy. The effigies are to be exploded, the "burning of Judas" fireworks show. Don't stand too close, eh?

A large quiet crowd is moving slowly, carefully studying the display. Some seem impressed that we're reading all the posters. A gringo is explaining to his young daughter what they all mean. Many are pointing at the caricatures, the texts, the symbols. There are no vendors in this crowd.

In the adjaacent cathedral plaza are scores of empty sealed-off white tents. The rest of the plaza is filled with tables, food sellers, families eating. Spicy hot drinks are served from large porcelain pots. People circulate endlessly. A full moon pokes through puffy clouds on this massive quiet family gathering. As yesterday, the night sky is startled with heat lightning, flickering like a cheap neon tube. And here come the plainclothes stiltwalkers!

The wall of humanity lets us see the burning effigies only through the low arches surrounding El Parque De Heroes, fireworks worming their way overhead. My leg hurts too much to stand anymore so we sit in the cathedral, in time for a benediction The congregants applaud the bishop. On that note, we head home. A neighbor practices conga drumming into the night, then stops.

We smelt more alcohol on the breaths of the young and those not so young. We heard less traffic but more sirens. The streets were fuller. The dogs ran more. We ached more.

DIA CUARENTA: PASCUA
Domingo de Resurreccion, 27 March, Easter Sunday
San Cristobal de Las Casas (SCLC) - early afternoon.

We lay in the casita all morning whilst our appendages recovered somewhat, listening to drums and explosions (not like Antigua, bigger and slower), then crawl out in early afternoon. We missed the Sunday Market and the Easter Parade and everything. Traffic is much quieter than usual, whatever 'usual' is. Thunder and clouds but no rain yet. My navy blue nylon clothes somehow are stained -- how did that happen?

We walked by the textile marketplace at Templo de Santo Domingo; very few vendors out today. Then down to the zocalo. Ah, we caught the end of the parade, or some parade, anyway. Floats and cartoon characters and bands and cars. The girl on the float with flapping butterfly wings isn't getting much breeze. Here are the demurely dressed girls wearing cola banners. And the not so demurely dressed girls ("she's wearing a thong bikini and shaking her big ass!" notes Maureen) on the beer floats, dancing with large frosty bottles.

We watch all this from the side door of the cathedral, shaded. A little girl is carried into church, dressed in her sunday best and Mickey Mouse ears. Guys are asleep, stretched out in the pews. Mexican tourists in shorts and tank tops circle the altar with camcorders.

Those white tents in the cathedral plaza host the Cultural-Commerical Fair. Signs around town (in cardboard and metal and flowers) proclaim FERIA DE LA PRIMAVERA DE LA PAZ 2005, the Spring Peace Fair. The whole centro is thronged. Streets are full of parade debis and confetti and occasional unidentifiable organic blobs and blotches. We gingerly walk home.

EVENING: Back to the zocalo, passing some VERY pissed borrochos. Fireworks, skyrockets are visible in the direction of the bullring. A dance is scheduled for the Parque de Heroes but it's screened off, invitees only, don't bother the governor. Many fewer vendors around -- maybe they took the early collectivo home? It's been a busy week. The amputee beggers have gone in. Easter is over, spring is here.

SCLC's Spring Fair of Peace begins on Easter Sunday

DIA CUARENTA UNO:
Lunes, 28 March 2005, San Gontran
San Cristobal de Las Casas (SCLC) - Monday night.

Another down day -- we left the casita only for gas and food. Driving around SCLC is always an adventure. We took an adventitious turn en route to the supertienda and found ourselves back on the peripheral road, driving past the cola bottling plants. Pepsi is large, Coke is much larger. We are told that they are big employers but mixed blessings, that they have diverted water sources from indigenous communities, leaving indios to walk many miles for polluted liquid.

At the indredibly loud, huge, modern store we stand in a very long, slow line for tortillas, the mixing and cutting-baking machines tended by a single guy who also wraps and dispenses the product to customers. Doesn't demand suggest the need for more equipment and staff? Back home we have explosions and sound trucks by day, drumming and music into the night. We're getting itchy to be back on the road. Another couple weeks...

DIA CUARENTA DOS:
Martes, 29 March 2005, Santa Gladys
Personal observations by Maureen

A QUIET MORNING -
An unusually peaceful morning at 38 Diego Dougelay...no dogs barking, no water delivery trucks playing rain drops at mega decibels or gas trucks dragging very loud clanging rings of metal , or bands thumping...so far, a lovely day. Gazing out the multipaned black wood framed windows into our garden I see dark fuchsia colored bougainvillea, mauve roses, shouting bright orange geraniums, and carpets of pinks and ferns, all surrounded by high masonry walls of primary yellow and flamenco pumpkin (well I had to give some name to that color), crowned with hibiscus trees of giant white and rose flowers in riot, cozying into a grapefruit tree's stiff shiny leaves and many festive globes of yellow fruit. One neighbor's roosters crows; occasionally a car passes on the street outside our compound of four casitas and an shared garden. Only we and our neighbors over a shared patio wall (expats from Ft. Worth, Texas) are home these weeks of Santa Semana and Primavera.

PARKING -
Yesterday, the Monday after Easter, a trip for food and supplies could no longer be avoided. We chatted with our neighbors on the way out the front gate, which is of dark wood and as tall as the building with a small arched door within it. Down the block and off one street to the left past a doctors office is the Estaciamento (parking) for our car. A deal at 350 pesos per month for covered parking, although not what you'd expect from a stateside experience. The lot is unpaved and dusty. There are old broken terra cotta pot shards in the channel to the street to lessen further erosion in the rainy season, which we are told can fill the street to curb height of over two feet in some places. Yes, in some places of this city crossing the street takes jumping off and onto high curbs. The covered parking is cobbled out of bits of wood and metal panels; each space is numbered. The lot is locked between 10pm and 6am. The proprietors are a middle aged ladino man and his wife, sometimes attended by a marginally surly teen age daughter.

QUEST AT THE SUPERMARKET
There is a direct way to the supermarket, the big one on the Pan American Highway. Take Guadelupe Real west to Diego Rivera to the intersection with the Pan American Highway. If we miss catching Diego Rivera it can be a delightful or aggravating adventure , depending on mood and traffic, to wind around the crazy streets which contrary to the city map are not all on a grid. And some blocks run for half a mile before there is a cross street, where there is a fifty-fifty chance in this city of 99% one way streets of being the one way that we want. We missed Diego Rivera yesterday, a day for an adventure. Using the compass in our car and Ric's usually dead reckoning we made the supermarket in fairly good time.

This our third trip to the supermarket Chedraui should have been fairly wired, for by now we knew the layout of the store and approximately where the products on our list were located. The bakery on the far right, dairy right back, meat middle back, produce left back, hardware middle front. However, any new item usually warrants a search party.

Like, searching for push pins to attach a bit of cloth to the ceiling over the bed where the ceiling boards are not sealed against the birds -- sounds like birds, not rats, that nest in the space between the ceiling planks and the terra cotta tiles of the roof. The killer West Nile virus is not here in San Cristobal at 7,000 feet elevation, but just the thought of sleeping at the bottom of a bird cage is at least disgusting and in reality most likely unhealthy.

The landlord provides towels to cover the dishes which are stored on open shelves, but nothing to protect the people from the residents overhead except a sheet of paper. Sounds like we are living in a dump, but I assure you this is a very classy place when judged by the neighborhood (Barrio de Cerrillos) which is just at the edge of the centro historico, by security (two high walls with locked gates to our front door which is also locking), by lots of outside space (a communal garden as well as a private patio garden), by good room layout, by lovely arts and crafts decorations from the local Mayan villages, by handmade tiles in both the kitchen and bath, by a tiled fireplace, and comfortable furniture. All this luxury for 3,300 pesos a month which at the current exchange rate is $300 US. But unsealed planks for the ceiling.

Searching for push pins we covered the entire store from one end to the other, twice, and it is an enormous store similar in size to a super Wal-Mart, and we concluded that there are no push pins, or tacks in San Cristobal, unless they are in a Papeleria (a paper and office supplies store) in the city center. We found a selection of nails but are reluctant to nail into the landlords ceiling or through our beautiful hand woven and embroidered artesanal souvenir. I'll try good old duct tape tonight and continue the quest tomorrow.

Anyway. The other items were fairly easy to find. We bought delicious pastries (pan dulce) in the bakery for 13-26 cents each, and a kilo (2.5 pounds) of fresh just of the conveyor belt tortillas for 495 pesos/.45 cents. Other staples are very cheap (barato) too. Avocados are 18 pesos for a kilo, squash 12p/kg , smoked turkey 24.90p/kg, chicken thighs 22.90/kg, Washington state delicious apples 18p/kg. Non essentials are pricy (caro), like potato chips at 32p/350g , and shaving cream at 26.95p/74g. To give you an idea of the pesos value here, for the price of those chips we can both have a meat torta with avocado, lettuce and tomato, plus a fresh fruit drink at one of our favorite hole in the wall sparkling clean comedors for 35 pesos without the tip (propina).

THE GRINGO MARKUP -
We have also shopped the smaller grocery markets in the centro that are within walking distance of the casita. The big ones, the SUPER MAS, have a pretty good selection but as you would expect in a large city, higher prices than the supermarket on the Pan Am highway. Their pastries are, however seriously overpriced, as I found out one night when we just popped in for a few pastries to keep on hand. I selected a one serving size custard pie and a one serving size pineapple pie and was totally amazed when the bill was 20p each. I expected that I had been given the gringo markup which is rampant any where that prices are not posted, but several days later in another Super Mas where the prices were posted, the pies were indeed 20p. So now I feel better that I was not gouged by the cashier. I hate feeling ripped off because of my race. It makes me cranky.

NEEDING NO TRANSLATION -
Consistently I have found the people here to be openly friendly and interested to learn where we are traveling in Mexico and where we live in the states. Whenever we encounter people who look uncomfortable near us, we are about twice as tall as the locals, we smile and say 'Buenas' . That hasn't failed yet to get a friendly response.

On Easter Sunday we walked to the Zocalo, about 1.5 miles round trip from our casita, to see what was shakin'. As we stood at the side entrance of the cathedral taking photos of an enormous dragon parade float a woman passed me going into the cathedral holding a nina (girl child) who was dressed all in pink and wearing a Mickey Mouse hat. The adorable child and I exchanged smiles, and her mother seeing this smiled back at me. No translation needed!

FYI Disney fans - Mickey Mouse hats here have black ears on a silky red and yellow cap and are embroidered with Mickey's signature in red on the yellow, Very striking. .

While walking through the extensive artesanal market all in white plastic covered stalls around the ancient and fabulous Santo Domingo church and park I noticed a Mayan woman at the waning hours of the day waiting with some hint of urgency in her eyes for some not so simpatico (sympathetic) tourists to make up their #*&(@^ minds on a purchase. Our eyes met, I acknowledged her situation with a look,and she smiled back and with a look told me 'oh well ..' No translation needed!

The tiny old lady who talked with us in the Chedraui supermarket about her family in El Paso Texas, Ric wrote about her in an earlier entry, told me in Spanish how thankful she was that Americans had made all their lives better and made my day when she concluded our chat with a hug. How delightful.

STREET VENDORS -
The street vendors at the Zocalo park were a major pain the week before Semena Santa. Hungry for sales, they were like flies on *#^ at every sighting of a potential tourist, which we being not Mexican were considered. I found by observing novios (sweethearts) in the park at night that a kiss worked well as vendor repellent. From then on Ric and I have had fun smooching at every sighting of an incoming vendor. Mostly it is Mayan women selling woven shawls, and belts and wrist bands in brilliant colored macramé patterns. When not smooching, I now tell the vendors while looking them in the eyes that we are not tourists, we live here, and that I have all I need of their beautiful things.

I've seen that many Mexicans dismiss them with the wave of a hand as if they are less than human. I can't do that. My eye contact with the women seems to be taken as a sign of respect. However, there was one uncomfortable contact with two teens who repeated my words back to me with as we say a 'snotty' voice. I told them they would make no sales with rude behavior and walked away. I have a great empathy for the women. I have seen their poor villages, and the many hard hours they spend walking the pavement and stones of the Zocalo park in poor shoes or no shoes at all. My neighbor Melanie tells me that Mayan females in the surrounding towns begin mature at 12-14 years, and reach menopause in the mid-thirties, and are ancient by fifty.

SOCIAL WELFARE -
I was surprised on Monday about a two weeks ago to see a very long line of indigenas, the term indian is an insult here, extending out of the bank and trailing along down the street. I found out later that this was the line for the monthly dole when each adult receives pesos equivalent to 30 us dollars. To give you an idea of that value remember what I wrote about grocery prices, and the cost of a cheap torta meal in a comedor. One us dollar is worth about 11 pesos. To compare the dole to wages, the going rate for a maid who comes in 8 hrs a day to clean and cook is 3.50 us dollars a day. I read that over 90% of the indigenous people live below the Mexican poverty line. I don't know where their government draws that line, but it must be at a very meager amount.

I hate to say that I am getting used to seeing old indigenous people begging on the streets or just holed up in door ways. The situation is very different from American cities. To compare with San Francisco, California... here the people look extremely old... by stateside measures about 80-100 years, though I expect they are much younger and worn by poverty. In the states I've seen more youth and middle aged people, often looking to be itinerant by choice, or by alcohol or drug addiction or by mental infirmity. Here it seems to be age and /or physical infirmity... One unfortunate man who I help with small gifts of pesos, is terribly affected by the damage from a stroke. He can barely mumble 'ayuda' (help) and he trembles uncontrollably as he shuffles along. Another one I help is a very old, bent woman who is as wrinkled as an old apple doll and as dark as a walnut. Her eyes are clouded and her body is all skin falling away from her bones. This is so sad! But I hope enough small gifts of pesos keeps food in their bellies.

Some people from the states come here to help in the villages but I don't want to do that. I can't get past the fear of disease and the political situation. The political situation seems to be not overtly bad, but, remembering our scary encounter at the roadblock in the mountains, seems to lurk with potential to become dangerous.I remarked to one expat that we were trying to stay out of political quagmires, and was told that 'everything is political'.

Here are two sad stories of indigenous life that I heard. In at least one village where pigs are raised,there is a epidemic of brain damage from the parasites in the meat which is not cooked enough. Some of the people are blind because of it. In another village the women must walk a very long way to get water from a polluted stream, and haul it home in large plastic jugs strapped to their backs, because my source said the Coca Cola plant in town diverted their water for industrial use. I have seen the water carriers preparing to walk on after a rest. One very small woman who had an enormous translucent rectangle container larger than her back filled with water, was bent on her knees while two other tiny women likewise burdened helped stagger her to her feet.

QUEMA de JUDAS -
One very interesting event of Semana Santa, on Saturday night was the Quema de Judas (the burning of Judas). We discovered that it was a political protest. It was attended by throngs of quiet Mexicans who eased their way to the front to view several constructions in the shapes of a cowboy (George Bush by inference), an obviously Vincente Fox in an electric chair, two demons overcoming a peon in poncho and sombrero.... each construction with signs describing the lies made and promises unfulfilled of the Fox government and the Bush government. One denounced the US for using Mexico as a dumping ground for radioactive waste, one was for something against NAFTA. I must translate them all in full a little later on.

What was most amazing was that the crowd was so orderly and quiet. I heard no comments from the people about the signs. I was a little concerned at first about being a gringo but there was no need. Several persons seemed to approve of Ric taking pictures. Later on to a crowd ofthousands, the constructions were set afire. Some contained fire works. One sent rockets blasting over the municipal building.

EN PERSPECTIVA -
Well, as you may surmise all these observations have been burning in my thoughts these last few weeks. There is so much that you'll never find in a travel guide book!!! I have much more to write about but my darn hands are telling me to quit while the pain pills can give me some relief.

This trip is a wonderful adventure, and I am hoping that we can stretch our small resources to fulfill our dreams of Honduras.

To all our dear friends and family in the Estados Unidos (United States of America) .....I am reminded daily how by accident of birth I enjoy a comfortable, privileged, safe, clean, healthy life. .... And as much as I hate self serving politicos, that I and we all have the responsibility to use the rights of our 'democratic society' to keep our country sound within the greater context of our global citizenship. Interpret that as you may. .

THE SUNNY SIDE OF LIFE -
One more observation so you won't think all is poverty and struggle here....it is not. From Thursday through Easter Sunday, there were many Mexican ladino (Hispanic-Mestizo) families out and about town. Well dressed, healthy and with money for goodies from the street vendors and shops. The garb most favored by the stylish women was.. well cut slacks and femine blouses, some with sturdy walking shoes but usually something more feminine and some few flimsy high heels. The men also were groomed and dressed in modern clothes not out of place in any city in the states or from what I've seen in Italy, Switzerland, Canada and Ireland.

The children are doted upon... with darling outfits, lots of hugs and attention, some of them towing bright foil balloons or pulling toy animals on wheels. The families and friends greet each other... hand shakes with pats on the shoulder or belly among men...hugs and kisses among women...handshakes or hugs between the sexes depending on relationships. It is fascinating to see generations from the same genetic cookie cutter strolling together. Although the travel books warn to leave the jewelry at home we see plenty of lovely pieces on the women and elegant watches on the men. The shops selling the famous Chiapan Amber are mobbed. Almost everyone who looks economically comfortable is carrying a package or bag. Almost everyone is eating or drinking something from take away (para llevar).

DIA CUARENTA DOS:
Martes, 29 March 2005, Santa Gladys
San Cristobal de Las Casas (SCLC) - Tuesday night.

YADD (Yet Another Down Day) -- no Sumidero, no Na-Balom, just Maureen writing (see her previous observations) and me picture-processing (I'm almost up to Uxmal). Early evening, we go to an iNet cafe to upload the previous stuff, than walk by the zocalo. The night air is cool and moist, a band is setting up. Then the rain starts. We dash into a favorite comedor amid the Noachian deluge. Tables and chairs are moved away from the walls, as rain is pouring in beneath the roof overhang. Power vanishes as we finish eating, reappears as we try to pay up. I'll bet that gathering in the zocalo broke up fast!

Tonight's storm is fortuitous. The streets and air get a much-needed scrubbing. Just don't live downstream. It's like being splashed with spray from a waterfall in Guatemala -- just where has that water been, which villages has it passed through? Many streets in SCLC have high curbs, from 6 to 24 inches. Many streets become minor (or major) rivers. We're told there's much flooding in the rainy season.

DIA CUARENTA TRES:
Miercoles, 30 March 2005, San Regulo
San Cristobal de Las Casas (SCLC) - Wednesday night.

YADD -- plans for visits to dentist or seamstress or Sumidero Canyon Nat'l Park have been delayed. We're told that the Guatemala border is closed. We did a net.news search but only found a week-old report (on AlJazeera) of a temporary closure of the Pan-American Highway near Huehuetenango due to anti-CAFTA protests. We'll search further. We still have two weeks to decide which way to go next.

(Sidebar: Bush's shitcanning of the dollar has already put Europe off-limits for most USAnian travelers. By pushing through CAFTA, we Nortenos will also be personas non grata in Central America. Even Canada is more expensive and hostile now. Thanks a bunch, Dubya.)

Strolling is costly. We bought a bright Chiapas guidebook (200 pesos) and a nice Guatemalan-fabric purse (75 pesos, not for me) and a great animalito-style Turkey bank (8 pesos, for ME!) Hey, that's less than those little animalitos -- I been CHEATED! Oh well...

DIA CUARENTA QUATRO:
Jueves, 31 March 2005, San Benjamin
San Cristobal de Las Casas (SCLC) - Thursday night.

MORNING: We had planned a Sumidero Canyon trip today with Jim and Melanie. Jim couldn't make it so our threesome left early, down first to hot Corzo de Chiapa to admire the intricate pila (fountain, original source of water for townfolks) and ancient convento and to do some window shopping. (Corzo also boasts an archaeological site but we skipped that for thermal reasons.)

Along the square, in doorway after doorway, shop after shop, stall after stall, much the same brilliant stuff. A young girl points out to her grandmother the articulated wooden birds fluttering on wires over the sidewalk, telling stories about them. Marimba music floats from shops. Many Mexican tourists are in Corzo but we're the only gringos.

The heat is not yet oppressive, until we browse the sunny street stalls awhile. Then we take ourselves down to the jungle riverfront for a cool fruit juice and breeze but no overpriced 'guided' boat ride up the canyon. (We hear that the boats tour as fast as possible, past the single tame crocodile and spider monkey -- see the wildlife? And Jim said that the for-pay museum and park guides he's encountered have mostly spouted bullshit.)

We buy a hammock and some marimba CDs and a ritual dolly (we'll call him Salvador) and some trinkets, then walk back up past the landing's many artesania stalls, past the square's many shops in shaded arcades, back to the car. Temperature is now 104°f -- it's time to go.

AFTERNOON: We scoot along the outskirts of steamy smoggy state capitol Tuxtla Gutierrez, across the Rio Grivalva bridge for a glipse up into Sumidero Canyon. (Tuxtla boasts a world-class zoo, but we skipped that for thermal reasons.) Then into the Parque Nacional and up up up to the series of five miradors (lookouts), three of which were accessible, featuring a couple good UmmaGumma points (locations where one's eyes bug out and one utters the phrase OOOMAH GOOMAH!!) The spectacular deep sinuous lies below and beyond, with tour lanchas snail-trailing through the thin water far under our perch.

This is the dry season. Assuming we continue southward on this journey, we'll return this way in a couple months, after the rains start and the greenery replenishes. THEN we'll do some photography. Many digital cameras are in evidence today anyway, one in the hands of a young fellow who comments on my Ganesha medallion.

I have a theory about cameras, photons and scenic locales. (Hear me out.) Light is composed of photons, wee little packets of energy that spew from stars and fires and light bulbs, and that bounce off everything, and that are captured by eyeballs and photo film and digital sensors. At especially scenic places (like the Golden Gate Bridge and Grand Canyon and Mt Fuji and Sumidero), many many cameras capture many many photons. I believe that such places can easily suffer from PHOTON DEPLETION. But like water seeking the lowest level, photons will flow in from elsewhere, lowering the photon levels everywhere. Will a photon-environmental crisis result? We need more research.

But I digress. Now it's mid-afternoon and we're hungry. Back down to the heat and smog of Tuxtla, and we randomly pick a roadside eatery (no doors, no air conditioning) that's clean and pleasant. We're served quesadillas (tortillas stuffed with cheeze and goodies) with fresh guacamole and chops, and bowls of verduras en escabeche ('pickled' greens), like a very light and bright giardiniera. We could have lunched on the latter alone. If this is typical lowland Chiapas fare, we'll be back for more and more.

Thense we return up the 7000 foot climb back to SCLC on the old highway, like climbing out of Los Angeles to the heights on a bad day. Today we had some shopping, some viewing, no collisions, no bus plunges, no heat stroke. Just a fine day.

MASSACRE: Whilst driving and chatting, Meli mentioned a (recent?) slaughter in Chamula. Not troops vs peasants or Zaps vs tourists, but HOLY WAR, Prods vs Catholics. Evangelistas are stirring up shit. Conversants are kicked out of traditional communities. Passions run high. WE'RE HOLIER THAN YOU!! YOU'RE SATANIC!! And then come the shootings and rapes and house-burnings. I'll have to do some research, find out more of the when and who and why.

But wait, doesn't this sound familiar? In place after place, time after time, it's sect vs sect, faith vs faith. MY invisible friend(s) is/are better than YOUR invisible friend(s), so YOU have to die. Some years back I wrote a song about Methodists killing Hindus in Fiji, but I could fill lots of space and airtime with accounts of such slaughters. Can't we all just get along? Apparently not.

Yet it may seem strange that we old athiests spend much time in old churches, looking and photographing. Why our fascination? Maybe because they're foreign places, with exotic old art and rituals, alien to our upbringing. Old temples (Catholic or Native or Jewish or Buddhist or whatever) are cool places and alien sites. It's especially interesting to see mother-goddess worship (Marianism) here and elsewhere. Ritual trumps theology.