Thursday morning, after a disappointing breakfast, we headed to Palenque Ruins, which made our stop in Palenque totally worth it. Set in the jungle, it was draped in a faint mist. The temples of Palenque aren't nearly as high those of Tikal, but the sites are far more complex and the carvings better preserved. Some of the walls even retained some of the original red paint (made by squashing insects and leaves)! We located what we thought were the original toilets, read some of the mythical tales about ancient kings joining their mothers after death, and ran into a nice Mexican named Jose, who had spotted us in Merida.
The rest of the tour brought us to two waterfalls, Misol-ha and Agua Azul. Unfortunately, torrential downpour had made both of these sites off-limits for swimming, but we still went exploring. Like fools, we wore our sneakers to go behind the falls of Misol-ha (Note: Ponchos are uselss in hurricane-like blasts of water). Agua Azul in rainy season is brown (though it is absolutely stunning the rest of the time, according to photos) but it is still trailed by a number of restaurants and places to shop. We got some coffee and sat with locals who were watching Mujer, a family-focused TV program that seeks to teach women about motherhood and other socially-acceptable behaviors.
Our driver brought us to a shady little spot (in front of a closed tienda) where another group was waiting for the connecting bus to San Cristobal de las Casas. Jose, who we'd run into at all three stops, was there with his mother and grandmother (so cute!), who are all vacationing together. The bus finally arrived at 6 (half an hour late), and our driver threw us on. We had no idea why he was in such a rush until we realized that there were not enough seats for everyone (and Jose and his family would have to find a hotel and get to San Cristobal a day late!) We felt so bad!
The bus we were on, which was “first class,” was freezing and packed. They insisted on playing violent movies (what is this obsession?) and almost put on a horror film called Art of the Devil. [Those of you who know me well realize that I would have gone straight to the bus driver and had him turn the damn thing off-- seriously, a horror film!!!??? Do you want me to have a heart attack?]
The ride itself was pretty miserable, because the driver careened around corners, not heeding signs of peligroso and symbols of steep cliffs. It was only supposed to be three hours, but the journey s
omehow took almost seven. At one point our driver got out for a forty-five minute dinner break, not bothering to turn off the engine. Then, when we were still an hour away, the bus broke down. It was pitch black, we were parked next to a cornfield, and the bathroom locked itself. Most of the natives were laughing, and we couldn't understand why until I smelled gasoline.“Dude,” I said to Sara, “we ran out of gas!”
She didn't believe me at first, but then it was pretty clear that the cops had shown up with a portable tank. That put us in San Cristobal at 1:00 a.m., without dinner, which was fine because we were exhausted anyway. Backpackers Hostel had open beds in the women's dorm, and we were out for the night.
Even in the darkness (and cold! so cold!), I could tell San Cristobal was a magical place. Nestled between mountains like Antigua (but not volcanoes), it feels a bit mystical and unreal. The Zapatista movement had a tremendous influence here, after NAFTA provoked groups of indigenous Maya to protest land allocations and workers' rights. Comrad Marcos, the leader, is said to have told tourists “Sorry for the disturbance, but this is a revolution.” It is also a cultural movement, as quite a bit of art and propaganda have promoted their cause. Much of it is stunning, moving and beautiful. In addition to selling the usual Mayan textiles and souvenirs, for example, everyone sells little Zapatista dolls (which look a lot like ninjas).
I can't imagine the psychological impact on a generation that witnesses this kind of empowerment and presence. The youth culture, in fact, seems really hip (and so well-dressed!). There are quite a few independent theaters in town (showcasing documentaries about Zapatistas) and plenty of opportunities to see natives demanding their rights. At this moment, a group of self-displaced refugees on a hunger strike are camping at one of the churches because military personnel has taken over their community.
So far, we've wandered around San Cristobal, taking in regional music and food. A bit of shopping , plenty of good eats including decent Indian, lots of excellent coffee (I am having an infatuation with espresso cortadas!), and all kinds of freezing our butts off. Since I only have one hoodie and one pair of jeans, and everything else is beach gear, I have yet to change my clothes LOL. But this is a town that, if From Houses to Homes were to set up an office, we might actually move to.
We've moved to Rudy's, who is a member of Couchsurfing, and are a little sad to leave the bonfire crowd at Backpackers Hostel. But Maria Elena welcomed us warmly before heading to Oaxaca, and we are excited about crashing with another local.
Tomorrow, Sara has a guitar lesson with a local performer. Wish her luck!
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