“When you travel, you experience, in a very practical way, the act of rebirth. You confront completely new situation, the day passes more slowly, and on most journeys you don’t even understand the language the people speak. So you are like a child just out of the womb. You begin to attach much more importance to the things around you because your survival depends upon them. You begin to be more accessible to others because they may be able to help you in difficult situations. And you accept any small favor from the gods with great delight, as if it were an episode you would remember for the rest of your life.
            At the same time, since all things are new, you see only the beauty in them, and you feel happy to be alive.”

- Paulo Coelho “The Pilgrimage”

Prologue
            After years of stressful North American living combined with cold winters, I’ve decided I had enough. Since global warming still hadn’t postponed winter indefinitely, I said the hell with it! Gave my 2 weeks notice at work, gave up my apartment, sold whatever I could and gave away the rest, had a huge going away party and left behind my life in Jasper. Such that on October 6th 2004, the happiest guy on the face of the earth that day, homeless, jobless, single, free as a bird cruising through the mountains of British Columbia happened to be me, on my way to Vancouver to meet up with some old friends.
            I stalled in Vancouver for a while, but came January, it was time to get going. The plan was perfect. With the freezing winter season now upon us and after 4 month of delays, everything was finally coming together. Finding traveling companions to leave on a road trip to Mexico was the easiest part. We had it all: the rusted ‘91 Dodge Shadow coupe, non perishable food supplies for a week, baiting suites, mask and fins, camera with lots of film, oh… we were ready for winter all right.
Our intentions: leave Vancouver ASAP and cruise 20 hours straight south, non stop, to get to the California boarder on day one. Then take our time following Interstate Highway 1 on the pacific coast, enjoying the giant trees of Yosemite, the surfing beaches and plenty of sunlight. Get to the Mexican boarder, leave the car in the ditch somewhere and destroy the plates and serial numbers (because insurance in Mexico is quite pricy) and somehow get to Mazunte (Little piece of heaven we heard of) on the coast of Oaxaca. On the way, the Canyon de cubre, Mexico City, Guadlahara, Real de Catorce, San Miguel de Allende, and any beach we might encounter. Hammock, Tequila, Sunshine, good times and freedom.

The ’91 Shadow we attempted to drive to Mexico.
“If you don’t know where you are going, you can’t get lost”            -Herb Cohen
Mon, 4 Jan 2004 19:25:07 -0500 (EST)
From:   "Simon Foucher" <simon.foucher@traveling.mx>  
Subject: Day 1
To: Friends@canada.ca

            After long, long, long last minute preparations, slowed down by the excessive drinking session performed the night before on a going away party (we managed to run the bar out of drink specials!), we finally got on the road for an “early morning” departure (@1:45pm). The car didn’t perform as well as I remembered it before Christmas. I mean, it’s not a Cadillac or anything, but it sill ran. We figured it was because on the inch of ice all over the roads and decided to leave anyways before the scheduled snow storm was to hit Vancouver (Generally, it never snows in Van). None the less, we got on highway 99 South, direction Seattle, with luggage, big smiles and loud hip hop. 

            About 20km from the boarder (not the Mexican boarder, the US one!), my fears became reality. We were doing 70km/h in 4th gear, engine revving @5200 RPM, no ice on the road anymore… the car is fucked. We figured we’d try out our luck and keep going as far as we could. Maybe the car would make it to California… maybe…

            Stopped at an Esso/Tim Hortons to get gas, coffee and check the transmission fluid level (hoping that maybe, hopefully, it had suddenly and for no reason dropped, somehow explaining the burned smell and blue smoke coming out of the hood).  Everything looked fine. Fuck! We finished our coffees and donuts and decided it would be wiser to turn around. Soon enough: “Vancouver City Welcomes you”, in big letter. We were still carrying our luggage and listening to the same CD, but our smiles were gone.

            Then it happened. While stopped at a red light on the corner of Oak and 72nd street -rush hour fun setting in- I put the car in 1st gear, drop the clutch, hit the gas and as we hear the engine revving like a mad horse, the car rolls backwards. Put it in 2nd, 3rd, nothing can get this piece of junk going forward. Clutch is burnt! As we backed up into the four lanes traffic behind us, the honking and flashing of middle fingers was getting bad.

            Put the 4 ways flashers and wait for the traffic to clear before backing up the car on a side street. We parked on 71st street and got a grumpy resident to call us a cab. We stripped the car of its valuables, and after massively denting the right fender with a necessary stress relieving roundhouse kick, we got in the cab. I don’t think the driver liked us. Not only did we have to pay him in USD (it was either that or Mexican pesos), but we also managed to break his tail light while unpacking the trunk. Good thing the duck tape was handy. 50$US later, we were home again. Yey!!
            Around dinner time, I dropped a jug of juice and lit a napkin on fire with a candle while replacing the pizza box.

            Let’s call it a day. I decided not to touch anything else and went to bed. We are going to investigate other transportation alternatives tomorrow.

See you.

Simon

Mon, 12 Jan 2004 19:10:10 -0500 (EST)
From:   "Simon Foucher" <simon.foucher@traveling.mx>  
To: Friends@canada.ca

Subject: Estamos finalemente aqui

Hola!!!
Que pasa!!

I know this isn’t as much of a personal message as I would have it, but the internet here is so slow that it is driving me crazy!

So the transmission of our pimp mobile broke down a few minutes after we began driving, so car got towed and we were back in Vancouver. We didn’t bother calling the people with whom we had a going away party the night before, and 2 weeks before, and a month ago. This rescheduling of our trip was to be the last one, and as far as our friends were concerned, we were already gone! We elaborated a plan “B” and searched for ways to get south, ASAP. We opted for the train to get us to El Paso, Texas, on the Mexican boarder. Bad idea! We spent three excessively long and painful days on a train. Because of the huge snow storm we so badly wanted to run away from, Portland International Airport was closed, so the train was jammed packed. Not to mention all the trees that had fallen on the tracks. At some point, there was “Something dragging from the back wagon” or so the intercom said when we stopped for the 4th time in 6 hours.
Fortunately, we met a bunch nice people on the ride south. We also met a lot of lunatics. I mean, I knew some people are odd, and its ok, but some of those train passengers… This women who smoked one cigarette after the other would not take her hat off because she said that birds spoke to her all the time and it drove her insane. Personally, I figured she was already insane to begin with, but I didn’t want to get her mad or anything, so I just sat there and listen to her strange and twisted stories. We still had a long way to go and even though she seemed a few beers short of a 6 pack, she was very pleasant to speak with. We finally arrived in beautiful El Paso, Texas. Berkh!! What a crusty town! It looks like a mini Tijuana. Ever seen all those cartel movies?! Well, they have a pretty accurate view on boarder towns. We left the train station and sprinted for the lines. Asked for some directions and followed the crowds going south. Crossing to Mexico was a joke. There was a little booth on the bridge that required us to pay the astonishing sum of 35cent (Each!), and that’s it. We didn’t even see any boarder patrol guards, no police, nothing.

Rio Grande in El Paso/Ciudad Juarez. Don’t go unless you have to!

We weren’t sure that we even were in Mexico. Everything looked so similar as the other side of the bridge. Mind you, there were more Mexicans and all the signs were in Spanish.

So there we were 3 obvious foreigners with the typical Canadian flag patches on our backpacks in Ciudad Juarez. Also bad place to be. Three million pore people, ripping off everything they can, fighting to survive. The town’s main economy revolves around smuggling drugs and Mexicans north to the US, and guns and stolen cars south to Mexico. We decided to go to the airport and leave this shit hole ASAP! No flight until tomorrow at 7am. The “Migration” tried to give us problems because our passports weren’t stamped. WTF? There wasn’t even anyone at the boarder! Arghhhhh…  What a bad week! Fortunately in Mexico, a few US dollars will get you out of any problems you might have with the local police. We finally got our paper work figured out and headed out looking for a hotel. Couldn’t find a place to stay, because all hotels were rented by the hour, for hookers, getting high and what not. We finally found a bed and went to sleep, hoping that if the day had been so bad, tomorrow had to be better.

The next morning we went to the airport and got us, as ACDC puts it, “Two tickets to paradise”! The Mexican’s customs security was a little odd. Everyone put their bags on an X-Ray machine, but there was no one at the screens looking at them; only 2 empty chairs. Union break, I guess. I still put my bag on the scanner, since everyone else was. Then you get to this room and press a little button. Green light you go, red you get searched. As I saw the 6 people in front of me get green lights, I knew what was coming my way. Press the button. BRRRRR! Red light! Damn it! I was a little stressed, but had nothing to fear. No drugs, no guns and now a legally stamped passport. I was 100% legit! The uninterested officer briefly looked at my hand bag, but I don’t even know if his eyes were open. I could have had like 3 hand guns at the bottom he wouldn’t have found them he was so useless. As I was struggling to open my main bag, which took me like an hour to strategically pack earlier that morning, I turned around and noticed the officer just brushing me away, saying “Todo estas bien, passe, passe!” I figured form the body motion that he wanted me out of there. Good. I didn’t argue and moved on.

Now that we had crossed Mexican customs (after a day in the country!), we headed to the luggage drop off. Took a last look at my cargo bag to make sure my hunting knife was there and spotted its casing. Everything good, dropped that off and cruised to the airport security gate. Then it struck me like a lightening bolt. I felt like a freezing hand was squeezing my heart, cold sweats, out of breath, my jaw dropped. At the same time I saw through the X-ray machine -there was a few military police officers sitting at this one- this big black knife shape, I remembered that I took my Rambo knife out the night before to cut some tomatoes and was planning to put it away but forgot. I’m not a terrorist; it was an accident… but do they know that? Was I going to jail? Where would I find a lawyer here? So many things to consider all at once yet frozen thoughts… Focus! And try to explain the situation to the 5 guards now surrounding me, all pointing their machine guns at my head and shouting I don’t know what in Spanish. I assumed they wanted to know why I wanted the knife on the plain and if I was planning to hijack it or something.

My forehead was drenched with sweat, my hands were shaking, which made me look even guiltier, I’m sure. Not to look like a pansy or anything, but it’s was the first time I ever got five loaded AK-47s pointed at me. And the fact that I didn’t speak the language that the people behind them used to yell at me, that those people had their fingers on the trigger, that I was alone and 4000km away from home… it just shot my nerves. I managed to spit out a few Spanish words to pathetically explain my point of view, and after a few minutes of diplomatic discussions, I think they told me I had to check my bag in the cargo or they wouldn’t let me in the plane. I didn’t argue, and as soon as they lowered their guns. I ran back to the luggage drop off, grabbed my journal from my hand bag, dropped it off and got on the plain. We took off to Puerto Escondido!

I met a guy on the plain named Mario. A Chilango form Mexico city. He practiced his English, I practiced my Spanish. I learned a lot about some Mexican history, geography and culture. There is a volcano by Mexico city named Popocatepetl. It took me a while to say the whole thing at once

We landed in Puerto Escondido at 4:20. It was a breathtaking experience. I could tell this was going to be good just by the line of palm trees on both sides of the runway (I had never seen a real palm tree before). Through the door, we crossed a wall of ocean scented humid heat. Late afternoon in January, it was thirty degrees in the shade! Palm trees, cactus and piss warm ocean. Everything is cheap here. You can buy a Corona for a dollar. It’s cheaper to drink bear than bottled water!!
We ended up at the hostel Shalom -means welcome in some language-. First night, I slept in a hammock, hung between 2 palm trees and met tones of travelers. Everyone is so… Spanish here. Most of the time I kinda listen to them, nod and say yes for a few minutes, then tell them I haven’t a clue what they just said when they stop speaking. I’ll learn the language eventually. It’s just so confusing at the moment, and the cheap beer, even though it takes some shyness away slows down the learning process.

First night in paradise, after a long and exhausting trip.

Today, we took the bus to Mazunte, a small beach town an hour south of Puerto Escondido, then a Collective (They are pickup truck- halfway between a bus and a taxi- they follow a route like a bus, but will pick you up and drop you off anywhere like a taxi) took us "downtown" (En la calla principal). Nice little town. Got a room made with bamboo sticks, with view on the beach. It’s so close we can hear the waves at night.
Tomorrow, we’re gonna look for a more steady home so we can start living the life we came here for, and hopefully get to do some laundry done.

            If you visit, don’t bring pants or sweatshirts. Useless. I got rid of all my warm clothes already.

Entonces, hasta luego.

amicalemente,
Miguel (figured I’d get a Spanish name while in the country. No one knows me here anyways. Still getting use to it) 

“Everything that is born is subject to decay. Since there is no external savior, it is up to each of you to work out your own liberation”
- Buddha’s last words

Fri, 16 Jan 2004 17:45:08 -0500 (EST)
From:   "Simon Foucher" <simon.foucher@traveling.mx>  
To: Friends@canada.ca

Subject: ¿look what these Mexican keyboards can do¿ñ

Hey!

So we finally found a place to live in a small fishing village called Mazunte, 100km south of Puerto Escondido. It’s amazingly beautiful, and so much smaller than Jasper, which isn’t really big to begin with. Only one paved road (“paved” is used as a figure of speech to describe uneven cracked cement blocks), and very few tourists. Paying 75$/month for rent, and 4$ for a fresh fish meal in a restaurant. I can’t believe how cheap everything is over here. On top of that that, I found a HUGE bottle of Mescal for 2.50$. Mescal is a local drink in the region of Oaxaca, kinda like tequila but fermented from maguey –a different kind of cactus-. The recipe dates back form the Maya days, so it’s got to be somewhat good.

Our home in Mazunte, a 2 minute walk from the beach. Our 1st Mexican friends: Jessica, Mellisa and Carlita.

Last night was crazy. Those Mexiacnos sure know to party. Insane fiesta! It was la fianle del “Carnival del año nueve”. A huge stage with musicians, the craziest (and definitely most unsafe) fireworks I’ve ever seen. It was a big wooden tower on the beach (In the middle of the dry season, of course, it hasn’t rained in 4 months). As they ignited the bottom, the fire works attached to the frame would light up in phases, kinda like dominoes, exploding and firing blazing colors over the crowd. In the mean while, little kids were running between the flaming projectiles with rockets they’d shoot at each other out of their backpacks. Damn thing lasted till 4:30 in the morning, and its not like you can sleep in or anything, cuz there’s a bunch of homeless roosters and donkeys all over the streets that wake up at 7. Then more fireworks at 9am. I really don’t know how they do it.

Getting so lazy with my roommates, we kinda all lay down in hammocks for most of the day, roast under the sun, listen to music and smoke cigarettes (dollar sixty a pack -how sweet is that-). As a project for tomorrow, we intend to build this invention we have designed: a plastic bag attached to a broom stick with duck tape, so we can reach stuff and pass it to each other without getting up. Hopefully we’ll have time to build it tomorrow. 

Typical day in Mazunte. Rest well in the shade before going to the beach.

I decide to go snorkeling today. Since the beach is pretty plain and boring to look at (from a snorkel perspective), I figured I just might try my luck and see if I couldn’t find something more colorful than sand by the big rock cliffs around the beach area. See more stuff, you know. Bad idea!!! Sure, I saw some alleges and sea urchins, but as I was saying wooow, something happened. I didn’t really know what the moment. My mask was off, everything was dark, my mouth was filled with salty water and I couldn’t breathe. I could feel loud rumbling of waves breaking on rocks and felt sharp pains on my arms, my knees, my head. I panicked. I mean who wouldn’t? I sporadically tried to grip whatever I could and push myself. A wave had sunk me in an underwater cave and I was freaking out like a fish on a dock, in the dark, out of breath and not knowing which way is up or down. I finally reach fresh air and sunlight. I don’t know if it was the adrenaline now flooding my veins or the same current that had brought that wave, but I made it to shore in no time.

There I stood for a while, besides Meredith, not quite knowing how to verbalize what had just happened and how much I felt like I needed some sort of comforting from her. At the same time, I was enjoying the sun like never I had enjoyed it before, my heart was just starting to slow down but the adrenaline still stopped me from feeling any pain… thinking about all those what if’s. It’s not everyday you get to stair at death right in the eyes, when you’re alone in the dark, far away from home, and tell it to fuck off. I stood under the blazing sun for a while and just enjoyed life in it’s purest form.

 You should have seen her face when she slowly turned around and opened her eyes, obviously not in the same state of mind as I was after a long tanning session. I was covered in bruises and blood dripping in the sand that was now burning my feet (mind you, that was the least of my concerns at the moment). Knees, elbows, arms and back are all sliced up. And those stupid fucking sea urchins!!!! Stabbed me all over the hands and fingers so badly I look like a porcupine. I figured at least I could get something back out of my medical insurance, but the thought that the nearest hospital was an hour and a half away brought me back to more immediate concerns. This village only got running water 7 years ago, and the odds of finding a pay phone are pretty low. We were lucky to even have electricity.

We found out from a group of fisherman repairing a boat that the sea urchins were not poisonous. So I wasn’t going to die. Good. I felt better, but the adrenaline rush was wearing off and pain was kicking in. We got to serious business. Pore Meredith who never wanted to be a doctor… She performed a little improvised operation with a razor blade, tweezers and peroxide. WORST half hour of my life!!!! You see, sea urchins’ spikes are not quite like blisters. They feel like rock and break up into sand very easley. The rubbing of tweezers held by my shivering friend’s hand against their grainy texture while moving in my now paralyzed hand’s muscles was one of the most unpleasant things I ever felt. Every time she’s slice my skin with the razor blade to get a new spike, my heart would freeze and cold sweats would go down my back. I was just staring at all that blood making the burning peroxide boil as the two mixed. I found it quite hard to remain focused and ignore the pain.
A couple of chugs of mescal and a well deserved cigarette later, I still carry a bunch of spikes that are too deep to remove, but I hope my body will reject them… eventually. Over all, I’m pretty glad I’m not dead, and in my books, that’s enough to call it a good day, believe it or not.

So here I am, sunburned all over (mores tanned than I was at the end of last summer), and typing with my remaining 3 usable fingers, still enjoying the fresh coconuts (¿you know they are green when you get them from the trees?), and the fresh sea breeze here.

I feel awesome!

Nways, we’re going to “La punta” to see the sunset, ttl.

Love,

Simon

Thu, 22 Jan 2004 20:45:30 -0500 (EST)
From:   "Simon Foucher" <simon.foucher@traveling.mx>  
To:       Friends@canada.ca
Subject:            So you had to drink the water, he?

Hey!

I know for sure now, I’m an idiot. Even before I left, people said: “don’t drink the water”, Guide books, other travelers… Even the locals don’t drink the water. So a while ago, we decided that we wanted to cook some home like pasta. Out of bottled water, and too lazy to walk to the store next door to buy more (our stick was great, but didn’t reach that far away), we figured we could boil some tap water for a while and it would be ok. Boy were we ever wrong! I have never been that sick in my whole entire life. The constant humid heat and the dirty toilet that flushes with a bucket of water you fill up in the shower didn’t make it any better. Some might argue that it was the insanity pepper sauce we used instead of pasta sauce (once again because no one volunteered to walk to the store) that rotted my stomach, others might say it was the excessive amount of really really cheap mescal we drank that same night that did it, but deep inside... very deep inside me, I know it was the rotten sour milk flavored water that did it. I just know.

On top of that, I made the mistake of passing out on the beach that night. No one ever mentioned anything about sand fleas! I was covered with itching red dots. I thought the rashes were related to my nauseas and that I had caught some weird unknown Mexican disease. Still recovering from the snorkeling accident, I figured this is it. Either I pack up and go home or I’m gonna die right here. Fortunately, the lady down stairs was a naturopath and gave me some weird herbs to eat that made me feel a lot better.

Since then, I’ve been sticking too simple Canadian like foods. Fish (and none of those exotic florescent ones), Ritz crackers, eggs and oatmeal are the main components of my new daily diet. And no, I don’t miss at all those pescadillas, enchiladas, tamales and all that other stuff I can’t even pronounce.

I figure you have to play it safe, you know. Considering my luck, if I don’t do anything, nothing bad can possibly happen to me. So I focus on spending as many hours in my hammock as I can.

Aside from the food, I’ve been slowly assimilating the culture, chilling with Mexicans. Rapidly falling into the doing nothing groove. Mañana, mañana, as they say here. The freedom is overwhelming. No phone, no address, no home, no job, no pet, no TV, no responsibilities what so ever. I don’t even bother moving fast any more. I still see people running all over the beach, like I use to do when I first got here, thinking I’d get to see everything. Soon enough, they’ll realize there isn’t really a point in wasting all that energy, when you can easily see the entire beach from one spot. Besides, it never really changes much from day to day, so even if you take a nap all day, you don’t really miss anything. Just day after day after day... Relaxing…  Always so hot here. It’s the dry season. The worst weather we got were a few clouds one day. 

I had a chance to go visit the “Centro Mexicano de la tortuga”. Very nice, and lots of big turtles. They had the same ones as in the movie “Finding Nemo”. Speaking of which, remember those crabs at the end, there’s millions of them on the San Auguostonillio beach, next door. Excellent beach for surfing and skim boarding. I like to chill there.

I’ll send more news when something happens.

Simon

The difference between genius and stupidity is that genius has its limits”
                                                                                                -Albert Einstein

Mon, 26 Jan 2004 22:16:51 -0500 (EST)
From:   "Simon Foucher"

Subject:            Con un ¡Hola! grande de Mexico

To:       Friends@canada.ca

Hey! ¿Commo estas?

I went to Zipolite today. It’s a gigantic 4 km long nudist beach. I didn’t get fully naked, mind you, because I heard some nasty stories about people falling asleep and burning at rather unpleasant places. And with my luck, I figured I wouldn’t take a stupid chance. Went snorkeling for the first time in a while. Quite a challenge in a surfing beach, but a lot of sea shells and pieces of coral all over. I managed to gather a pocket full of wonderful sea goodies I picked up beyond the breaking point of the waves. Returning to shore was the real challenge. It’s like everything is fine... la-la-la… signing in my snorkel, gently rocked by the waves…  too calm to be good. There had to be a catch! I poke my head out the water for a second, and all I can see is a huge 6 feet tall wall of water right in my face, breaking in slow motion over my head. Awwww shit… I figured at the moment that the best thing to do was to hold my breath. Then everything goes black and I start spinning. I’ve never been in a washing machine before, but I now have a good idea of how unpleasant it must bee. Water tumbles so badly it’s all foamy, I hit the sand a couple of times, trying to keep optimistic by thinking about how lucky I am not to be over a coral reef right now, do a couple of wicked flips and finally poke my head out of the water to catch my breath, ready for the next wave. After 4 of those, I finally got to stand up and walk to shore. I reach in my pocket, and all I have left of my treasury is 2 skinny shells. Of course my friends don’t believe me when I explained to them how I had a bunch but lost them all. Idiots! I gave away my 2 shells. My backpack is too full of junk already anyways. Mot importantly, I had a blast and managed not to hurt myself too much.

I’ve been hanging out with this sweet girl named Jessica. I guess you could call her my girlfriend, except for the fact that she doesn’t really speak English, and I don’t really speak Spanish. We have a few friends that can translate our superficial conversations, but it’s really hard to maintain. We spend the day yesterday on the beach. I’d point at stuff, and she’d tell me how to say it in Spanish. I got all the beach words figured out now.

Jessica with her niece, Carlita

You know, you have to meet Mexicans to fully appreciate the humor hidden in their mentality. Everything here is so different and odd. Its like, you buy a 600ml bottle of water for 10 pesos (1$). Since we are no sucker tourists, we were buying the 1.5L bottles for 10 pesos, also. Then I spot this 5 L bottle. I’m like he! maybe I’ll get a deal if I’m buying bulk (not working for 4 months really digs a hole in your budget). Well guess what, the big bottle is 10 pesos too. Since we’re living here for a while, we ask around to see how much those huge 18L blue bottles go fore. 10 pesos, you think? No. 11, but still, you get the idea.

And you can’t ask a Mexican for directions. They won’t tell you that they don’t have the slightest idea of what you’re looking for (And they don’t, trust me), but regardless, they’ll make up a story anyways and point you in some direction. Then when you get to 10 blocks away where you just got sent, and realize you’re not where you want to be so inquire for more directions, another Mexican gives you total opposite information. And it’s like that for everything: hours of operation (eventually found out that stores, banks and whatever are open from 10am to 3pm, then from 7pm to 11pm). You don’t know if a certain bank change travelers checks (then you go wait in line but Mexicans don’t really use ATMs, so you’re there for at least an hour), restaurant menus, why the base of palm trees are painted white (you wouldn’t believe the stories I heard about that). Mexicans just don’t know. They do their thing and that’s it.

Also, every Mexican is out to rip you off. It’s obvious you’re a tourist (wearing shorts in winter time, what are we thinking! Its only 20 degrees in the shade!). They figure you’re rich, and you kinda are if you can afford to leave your own country keeping in mind that people here earn around 100 pesos a day (10$US). They got those signs on the beach saying: “Por su salud, no dormir en la playa”, meaning: “For your health, don’t sleep on the beach”. I felt like it was just a rotten tactic to get people to pay for a room every night, instead of living on the beach. I had to prove them wrong. So I slept on the beach the other day. Nothing bad, no police kicked me out, nothing. The next day, though... Ayayay!! I looked like I had chicken pocks (and still do) Sososo many sand flee bites, its disgusting. And they are still itching. But how can you trust anything in this strange land?

Nways, ttl

Take care and enjoy a bit of winter freshness for me (I never think I’d say this, but I wish it would get just a little bit cooler at night or something. But no. Rarely any clouds, never rains, always that heavy humid heat)

Simon

“I refuse to prove that I exist, for proof denies faith, and without faith, I am nothing”
-God

Thu, 29 Jan 2004 18:13:07 -0500 (EST)
From:   "Simon Foucher"

Subject:            Fiesta en la ciudad de Oaxaca

To:       Friends@canada.ca

¡Hola!

A whole bunch of stuff happened all at once.

You would not believe it, but we finally got a little bored of sitting around in a hammock and beaching all day. Even though we made an effort to go visit different beaches everyday, our enthusiasm just wouldn’t spark up.
           
            We decided to take a vacation from our vacation and go visit the provincial capital, Oaxaca (pronounced wa-HA-ka). What an amazing culture shock. Beautiful town. The zocalo downtown reminds me of the plateau Mt Royal, in Montreal. Wonderful Spanish colonial architecture, with huge churches and colorful brick buildings, massive market, tones of little arts and craft boutiques. Musicians, children chasing after street dogs, business men getting their shoes shined, lovers on park benches, there is so much life all around, it’s almost hypnotizing.

We took the second class buss service (also known as the chicken buss –go find out why) to get there. We were gonna take the first class (only 2$ extra on a 6 hour ride), but the nice lady at the desk said that the 2nd class buss had a more direct route. To this moment, I still haven’t really gasped what she meant by "more direct route", mind you. It’s not like we didn’t stop at every single little village on the way (and these mexicanos sure know how to over pack a buss, trust me. Transportation ministry of Canada would have a heart attack on the spot), and its not like there is more than one roads that connect Potchutla (on the coast) to Oaxaca (The “highway” in question, even though it is drawn almost in a straight line on the map takes 6 hours to cross 300km), so I can’t see how the other 1st class buss can take much longer. I have learned the hard way, once again, that Mexican information unlike its Canadian counter part, is mostly designed to make conversation rather than to clarify facts (even if it is written down).

When we finally got to the city, we hopped on a city bus to get downtown. Why did we ask the driver to tell us when we’d get there is still beyond me. (Have I mentioned Mexicans are not to be trusted with directions? That includes bus drivers as well). Being bored and stuff, we located ourselves on the map. Realized that we were very close to the Zocalo (downtown park), and mentioned it to the driver. “Don’t worry, he replied, I’ll tell you when you’re there”. Kept getting further and further from downtown (according to our map. Maybe it’s because the map is 10 years outdated?), told him again, same answer. Finally 14 blocks north of downtown, he drops us off, with a big smile, happy to have helped us. We walked the rest of the way.

Zocalo of Oaxaca. Why are the trees painted white? I don’t know.

Later that night, trying to locate a movie theater, we ask 3 different people where it was, and got 3 different answers. And I’m talking about locations 12 blocks apart. We gave up the idea and went to bed early.

Next day, went for breakfast in a little restaurant besides the Market. Worst service ever. Very nice waiter though.

Later that day, we bumped into our waiter from breakfast, and found out he got fired a little after we left the restaurant. Good for him, he really needed a new job anyways. He was going to a friend’s friend’s 21st b-day and invited us. We didn’t really know the guy, but to be nice, we walked there with him, to se where it was, and maybe come back later that night. Begged us to get in, so we did, and immediately, the host mother sat us down around the family table, and fed us soup and beer within 1 minute. Too late to leave now. We were in for diner, no way around it, we thought. The soup was good at first, but got a really weird taste as it cooled down. After 5 minutes of half sign language mixed up with unknown Spanish words, we found out it was goat guts. We had to finish it to be polite.

The host mother kept feeding us food, and so much Cervesa. We felt kinda bad being acquaintances of a friend of a friend of the birthday girl, especially because there were only 20-25 people there, most of them family. But they treated us like good friends. When came the cake came, they shoved the b-day girl’s face in it (as we found out is the tradition here), then pictures. They insisted that I’d be in the center of their family picture with the b-day girl and the cake. Afterwards, every girl, aunt and grandma insisted on being in a picture hugging me in front of the cake. It was odd. Very odd. I don’t know these people, and I barley speak their language. And I was so very drunk.

After lots of boozing and dancing to loud Latin music, we finally got to leave at 1am (so much for the only going for 5 minutes plan). The host brother Alexandro gave Meredith a necklace, and gave me a silver zapotec pin (with the 925 state stamp proving that it is pure silver). Got a bunch of numbers, emails, hugs and invitations to uncles’ cottages. And still trying to figure out the evening. It was lots of fun though. We’re invited to a Salsa class tonight.

The next morning was brutal. We tried to go eat breakfast inside the market, forget it! All these women screaming in a still alien language their not too appetizing menu in your ear while shoving it in you’re face, loud noises, crowds of people… Let’s just say it’s not a proper atmosphere for the un-rested hung over mind. We left after 5 minutes with an empty stomach and a bigger headache. We voted for some sketchy 25 cent tacos in a little stand.

We later went to Monte Alban, visiting Zapotec ruins from 1500 years ago. They were at war with the Mayas. Very nice site, on top of a mountain surrounded be deserted plains. Beautiful sunny day too, since it never appears to rain here.

The field where the Zapotecs would play ball in Mente Alban: a religious mystical sport
            We also went and visit Tule, where a tree claiming to be the oldest in the world sits in front of a cathedral. It’s allegedly 2-3000 years old, 58m around. Oh, it was big. It’s only after I cut a leaf as a souvenir that I saw the sign explaining how badly you could go to jail for even touching the tree. No one saw me!
 

Feel lots better.

 Going to bed, now.

 Nos vemos

Simon

Wed, 4 Feb 2004 13:13:50 -0500 (EST)
From:   "Simon Foucher" <simon.foucher@traveling.mx>  

Subject:            Home, Sweet, Home

To:       Friends@canada.ca

¡Hola!
            How are you? We're finally back home, after all that partying in Oaxaca. We also had a chance to visit the provincial museum of history of Oaxaca. Very nice. Tones of artifacts since the Zapotecs times to the Spanish conquest. They also have a huge botanical garden full of funky cactuses. It’s attached to a giant cathedral. I’ve never seen that much gold at one place before. We had a little trouble finding the door to the museum. We inquired to a "policia touristica" agent (They have regional police, federal police, militaries and tourist police. If they weren’t all corrupt, this would be the safest country in the world!). Bad mistake. Mexican directions, once again. I know I know better. They directed us to the cathedral’s main doors, of course (Even police iz no good for directions).
            I had a chance to taste a local food called Chapolines. It mainly consists of chilly flavored deep fried grasshoppers. Sounds appetizing, doesn’t it? I managed to eat 3 of them. Aside from the salty taste and odd texture, (and the fact that you’re eating a bug) the grasshopper’s legs getting stuck between my teeth really made me gag. Disgusting! I brought them back to Mazunte, and our Mexican neighbors from Durango were very pleased of the present, since it’s not sold on the beach.
The ride back to the coast was awful. We spotted a "tourist shuttle". For only 3 dollars more than the bus, they express shuttle you to Pochutla. What a great deal, we thought! WRONG! Oh, we got there fast, ok, but Mexicans highways crossing mountains were NOT designed to go fast on. Left, right, slow down, up, down, faster, honk, break for a 120 degree turn, and so on and so fourth. For 5 hours! And I swear they rerouted the exhaust into to van (which’s windows you can’t open, of course, cuz there so luxurious with air conditioning). I felt like vomiting within 10 minutes of the trip. I spent the whole ride focusing on not throwing up, staring at the silver chain hanging from the mirror, going left, then right as the driver sped through the corners.
Then in Pochutla, this taxi driver spotted the Canadian flag on my bag. He just wouldn’t leave me alone, kept saying that the camionettas didn’t pass here, but he could take me home for very cheap. I told him off in French, with the most polite tone of voice ever. So polite that he thought I complimented his mustache, or something. Felt great.

Then the other day... –For some reason, very odd stuff keeps happening to me all the time-  
We took a colectivo to go to Pochutla to pick up some groceries in the market. Colectivos are a great concept (but they abuse it here). It’s like a cross-breathe between a bus and a cab. A collective cab. It runes a bus rout, but stops anywhere. So here we are, 4 British, Mer, myself and the driver, squished like sardines in a very small Nissan, listening to loud Latin music, on the highway, driver doing 95 over speed bumps (no more comments on the driving), then PLONK! We ran over a giant iguana.
Driver breaks. Looks back. One of the 4 British guys in the back seat reassures the driver. "Don’t feel bad. It’s still alive", he says. Driver backs up, spot the injured iguana in the bushes, stops the car and exits, holding a cloth. Picks up a stick and starts beating on the poor crippled lizard. Pikes it up with his cloth and opens the door. None of us were too excited at the idea of sharing this already full car with the 2 feet long half dead lizard. The idea of having it in the trunk with our bags didn’t delight us either. But no, the driver pops the hood and put the lizard on top of the burning engine! Comes back and explains to us with a triumphant smile that it is illegal to hunt them, but road kill are acceptable. Iguanas are a delicacy in tacos and they are worth 200 Pesos on the market (=20$US average 2 days salary here). Finally got there, he opened the hood and pick up his beaten, half cooked still twitching iguana. Charged us 5 pesos extra each cuz he didn’t have change. I suspect he was lying. Damn thieves!
Besides that, nothing much happens here in Mazunte. I just live the life of a beach bum. I shaved my head. The hair is still too long to put sun screen on my scalp, yet short enough to let the sun through. What do you think happened?
Amazing sunset yesterday, pink clouds, orange sky, the almost full moon reflecting in the waves on the way back home. Everything fine.

The beach in Mazunte, on a busy day!

Nos vemos

Simon
“The mind must be in a state of wisdom to understand wisdom”
- Vimalakirti

Mon, 9 Feb 2004 15:08:39 -0500 (EST)
From:   "Simon Foucher" <simon.foucher@traveling.mx>  

Subject:            Had to happen one day...

To:       Friends@canada.ca

Hey!

This is the scoop. Back in Mazunte, got right back in the life style quite easily. Of course I hadn’t shaved in a week, because really, why waste water? and I was wearing the last pair of clannish cloth I own cuz laundry is due. There is no doubt about it; I looked like a bum. I decided to go to Puerto Escondido for the day. What else was I gonna do? Took the bus. Then it happened. Five police car on a road block. One of the greasy officers gets in the bus.
Says hi to the driver and then comes straight to me. "Ven conmigo", he says, huge gun pointing in my face. He doesn’t even look at anyone else. I was the only white guy, he had to pick on me. Takes me outside and searches my bag and pockets, looking for cocaine, he said. Honestly, I think he was actually looking for an excuse to ask for a bribe. Then he wanted to see my passport. Why now! Why didn’t I bring it with me, I’m thinking!! I carry that stupid piece of paper with me every single day, except today, and he wants to see it. I gave him my driver’s license and tried to explain in very pore Spanish how my picture was on the card therefore I felt like it was an acceptable piece of ID. He disagreed and argued. After threatening to bring me into Migration office, or fining me, or god knows what else he was talking about, he peeped in my wallet while I was looking for more suitable ID and noticed that I was only carrying 12$. Finally lets me go, figuring even if he looked me up I couldn’t pay him off too much. Scary moment, great relief. I’m glad the bus waited for me.
Spent the entire day in Puerto. Waited till sunset before returning, hopping that the road block would be gone. Came back home, shaved and did my laundry. Then went for a swim.

Zicatela beach in Puerto Escondido. 12Km of sand and world class surf waves. Now it this worth getting arrested or what?

Went to an amazing party in Zipolite. These Mexicans seem to make up excuses to throw big parties every week. All these historic dates, catholic holidays, endless festivals, whatever. On that particular occasion, they were celebrating the new moon. Good times. There were candles in the sand, surrounding an imaginary dance floor. Art, paintings, colored lights, 200 people dancing bare feet, drawing moving shadows in the cool sand to the light of a huge palm tree fire. The sunrise on the ocean was fabulous.

            I didn’t have enough stamina to attend the second day of the fiesta.

Out here, everyday is Margarita Monday! Watching the sunset on the infinite Pacific ocean. Live is good.

I began to read in Spanish. It’s great for learning. I read the Little prince, and many Garfields. This gentlemen at the library asked me about my kids. He was quite shocked when I told him that all those children books were for my reading.

Planning to leave for San Cristobal de las Casas, in Chiapas next Saturday.

Ciao

Simon

“Dance like you’re not being watched, love like you’ve never been hurt and live like there is no tomorrow”

Sun, 15 Feb 2004 13:50:59 -0500 (EST)
From:   "Simon Foucher" <simon.foucher@traveling.mx>  

Subject:            Finally, a little sleep...

To:       Friends@canada.ca

Hola!

Done with the beach! (for now, anyways) I began to notice that I was really tired most of the time in Mazunte. At first, I thought maybe it was the food, but I ate fresh fruits and fish every day. Then thought maybe it was the heat, or the drinking, or the absence of responsibilities. Then realize, no, its because you can’t ever sleep more than an hour or two in a row without being disturbed.

During day time, our neighbors constantly grace our ears with delightful (and excessively loud) Mexican fanfare music. Not to mention people coming and going from the posada where we live, talking, cooking, cleaning. The beach has loud waves and is filled with kids, dogs and drunks all day, so there is no sleep there either. The music finally stops at around 10pm. But not the heat. Its always so hot everywhere all the time. Then you can appreciate the sounds of crickets and of the 10 daily mosquitoes that somehow enter and get trapped into your bug net. By 3am, they all bit you and don’t fly around no more. Finally a little rest.
Then you have all these wild dogs, all over town. Every so often, a couple of them will start to fight, so all the other dogs in the area start barking. By that time, unless you got really drunk the night before, you’re awake. It doesn’t stop here. Stupid dogs wake up the stupid dinkies (which make an awful sound when they sing -kinda like someone trying to learn the trumpet). If you were still sleeping, now you’re up. And it doesn’t stop there either. The dinkies wake up at least one rooster. Most often the one living in our yard (He’s really dumb). Stupid rooster is probably thinking in his little brain: "oh no! I hear noise, so it has to be the morning already! I slept in" COCORICOOOO!!! Wakes up all the other roosters in town (and there are lots, trust me). Since they all think alike, they all start signing. They should get watches. Or the smartness to realize that at sunrise, the sun is actually rising. That it is not morning yet and that they should be sleeping, or at least not signing. You deeply wish they’d just shut up. And they eventually do.
Great. Fall asleep. Again. Then the babe next door, who also got waken up starts to cry. Lasts maybe 5-10 min. Then silence. Finally, fall asleep and rest for a brief moment. Until a few other dogs pick a fight, and it starts all over again.

The chickens are all over the streets. It’s the same with wild dogs and donkeys. What is the SPCA doing???

At around 5 or 6 am the birds start signing and you get to enjoy maybe 2 hours of mild freshness before the scorching sun gets up. Then the music, the cars, the gas trucks, water trucks, fruit trucks, the yelling, the drunks… its day time again. You can never rest.

 Jessica and Marciel made us sandwich before we left. Latina women are so god for men. Even Carla helped out a little
So we made it to San Cristobal de Las Casas, in Chiapas. Yet another lesson acquired: don’t trust public transportation. Especially Mexican public transportation. Especially Mexican public transportation in a small village. Mexicans are always late, which in some cases, can be helpful. Our bus tickets were for 7:45pm. Got to the station at 7:55pm, with a late colectivo. The bus had just gotten there (thank god, did I mention everything is late, here).

Really nice town in Chiapas. Very pore, lots of traditional Indian influence here. You can feel the tension between the traditional, usually poor, marchands in the market Indians, and the richer, American haters, yet admirers Mexicans (and us, white people, obviously tourists) Same kind of architecture as Oaxaca, bunch of churches, colorful brick houses. Little cold, up in a valley in the middle of the mountains. As we were contemplating the town in the park, we were greeted by a Zapatista fanatic (Zapatistas are a group of militia who live in the jungle and fight for the independence of Chiapas and aboriginal rights). He elaborated on how we were plastic people with a rotten materialistic culture, that we were ugly and stupid, then explained how the Mayas use to live in harmony with nature, and how the white man messed it up, then proceeded to explain to us how he could talk to birds and dogs. He got bitten by one during the demonstration, and warned us that this big breasted jaguar was coming in town to kill us. We hadn’t really slept over the 12 hour twisty road bus ride, and this was no good time for philosophy. He told us he lived in a possada and offered to guide us there. We thanked him, and made a mental note of never ever going there. 

Typical street in San Christobal. Colors everywhere, cathedral in the back ground and uncertain street signalization.

Next day, went to the market, got lost. Figured if I walked straight I’d eventually get out. Took 1/2 hour. The market is HUGE!!! Made it back home in 1 piece. Had the best sleep in 2 weeks.

Ciao

Simon

“Only after the last tree has been cut down,
 Only after the last river has been poisoned,
 Only after the last fish has been caught,
 Only then will you find that money cannot be eaten.”

-Cree Indian Prophecy

Sun, 22 Feb 2004 13:53:02 -0500 (EST)
From:   "Simon Foucher"

Subject:            To the coast, and back again

To:       Friends@canada.ca

Hey!

I was walking downtown San Cristobal, searching for a poncho, cuz its a little cooler here in the mountains (Just about 10 000feet elevation), when I saw 2 friends I met earlier in Pochutla in the back of a Pickup. They had been hitchhiking since the US boarder, and are on their way to Costa Rica. Hopped in and cruised around town for a while. Ends up they are living with Orlando, a very nice guy who runs 2 restaurants and sells sea food. Invited me over to his place, and I’ve been living with his family since.

We visited a huge cave in Rancho Nuevo. Bigger than any other caves I have ever seen in Canada.
Since our host family was kind enough to introduce us to Mexican cuisine, we tried to cook them poutine. Doesn’t sound like much of a challenge, but in Chiapas, its no easy task. Fries, no problem. Potatoes are always accessible. But try finding fresh “squeaky” cheese... We used Quesillo de Oaxaca, a local cheese that have the perfect texture, but doesn’t taste quite right. And the sauce... Try to find St-Hubert sauce, beef stock, gravy or something remotely similar here, or even explain to a Mexican what it is in my pore broken up Spanish! Harsh stuff. We ended up making a tomato spaghetti sauce, but what a sauce that was. Even though it wasn’t traditional stuffed with curds, it was a great poutine. The family complained that it wasn’t spicy enough (Oh but it was! It was full of jalapeños!!), nor nutritional, and couldn’t be eaten with tortillas, but I think they liked it. Regardless, us 3 Canadians eat like pigs. It was great.
They have been calling us poutine ever since.

I went to Tonala, on the coast for a couple of days. Was lots of fun. Not touristy at all. The Lonely Planet guide advises not to go there, so backpackers, blindly following the guide like a herd of sheep just don’t go there. I was the only white person in the town. People’s heads were turning when I walked around downtown and I felt awkwardly out of place. A stranger in a strange world.

Orlando on the dirty beach of Tonala

Pitched my tent after dark the first night, after a long evening of cervesas with Orlando’s family. As I tried to lay down, I kept hearing these very annoying whispers coming from the ground. Tried to ignore them at first, thinking they were ants (cuz there are LOTS of ants here). Very irritating sounds. Just grinding through me like nails on a black board. Then I felt something poke my cheek from under the tarp. Jumped up and instinctively punched the ground. Then heard the most horrid screaming sounds ever. There was screeching, scratching and screaming. I didn’t know what the hell was going on. I knew it wasn’t normal, but with all that beer in my belly, my main focus was to sleep, not to illuminate all of Mexico’s mysteries. There is no way I was going to sleep like that, over whatever that scratching and whistling thing was, so moved my tent. Then passed out. The next day, spotted the hole that looked like a tarantula nest. I had a cold sweat. I kicked it, but nothing came out. Pore little thing must have freaked out and moved out of town. I was glad I moved the tent.

Sleeping here is a little quieter than Mazunte. No wild dogs (GREAT!). Still roasters, and a parrot, who of course repeats after the roasters. No wonder there is such a thing as the afternoon siesta: you can never sleep at night! I carried the parrot around on my shoulder, shouting ARGGGG and pretending I was a pirate on a deserted island.

 Pirate Simon walking around Tonala

Orlando’s is a little outside of town, in a 250 people colony which’s name I can’t remember (or even correctly pronounce as a matter of fact). It’s a very very pore place.  I guess a lot of people couldn’t afford the 3.50/month municipal water fees, so the town just decided to cut out the water. Great.
What a shock. You don’t really realize how lucky we are to be able to turn a tap and get water until you have to drain the damn thing bucket by bucket out of a well.  Every time you want to showers, brush your teeth, cook, clean, do laundry, wash your hands, do dishes, flush the toilet, and what not. Talk about  pain in the ass!!
In the end, we figured it would be easier to go bath in the river that passed by. I left with Arthuro, a 17 year old little brat who ran away from home 5 years ago and also lives with Orlando (thought me every swear word in the Spanish language). The walk there was great; warm afternoon running across farm land, hopping barb wire fences, dodging cows and crossing huge fields under the blazing sun. All you can hear is the sound of cracking dried branches under our feet and of course crickets. Got to the creek, beautiful little water fall, surrounded by jungle like trees. Looked like a little oasis in the middle of these dry lands that haven’t seen rain for 4 months. We went in for a swim.
The water is absolutely filthy! It’s not so much the fact that it’s not fully transparent. The biggest problem for me was our feet sunk heals deep under the black mushy bottom, poked and scratched by rocks and branches. Then there was a bunch of little fishes trying to take a bite out of your legs, just tickling, you know, but the combination of the obscure water, the muddy and poky bottom and moving things all over was unpleasant…  non comforting.
We had fun catching the little fish that swam around with a shirt. They were just hovering around, biting our legs and belly. Then we found a little cave, just big enough too peek your head through. Arthuro looked inside and started to laugh, telling me I had to shove my head in there. I was expecting to see something like a bra, or whatever can make a 17 year old laugh. What a punk! All I saw inside were 3 disgusting spiders with black hairy legs stretching out the size of the palm of a hand. They had captured a frog and were slowly feasting on it. I freaked out a little. Sinking in black mud, not being able to see my feet in the murky water and the constant fish bites didn’t help either. I got out of the water, I had enough. See, the lizards you cross running away every 3 steps, the once in a while sleeping snakes you encounter, the dead cows being eaten by crows and flies on the highway, the so many ants all over that you eat at least 10 a day, the cockroaches the size of your thumb, I can handle, but black muddy water filed with moving and pointy stuff and giant spiders is just about as far as it gets to my idea of a good time.

After 3 days passed in that strange place, I returned to Can Cristobal in the back of Orlando’s pickup truck, filled with fish and octopus he bought on the coast. We crossed 2 military road blocks. Had my passport and visa this time (sweet!)

Ciao

Simon

Tue, 24 Feb 2004 19:13:36 -0500 (EST)
From:   "Simon Foucher"

Subject:            First day in the jungle (ouuu.. spooky!!)

To:       Friends@canada.ca

Boueno,

Living with Orlando and his family, I’ve been assimilating a lot of the Mexican culture. Food wise, I’m developing an appreciation for jalapeños. I had plain eggs this morning, and found them greatly lacking spiciness. Thankfully, I’ve discovered Chile Habanera sauce, which is said to be Mexico’s spiciest sauce… I believe it. I’ll give 100$ to the first person I see taking a swig and keep a straight face.  I’ve had a chance to taste real chicharones, which consists of deep fried pig skin covered with mayo, chili powder and salt. Tastes a lot better than it sounds like, especially after many coronas. They also tried to make me eat slimy pig paws, but it looked like nothing more than little round bones and fat, so I politely refused. "Don’t be so opened minded that you’re brain falls off"; you have to set a limit somewhere.

Orlando, Fabiola, Serge Arthuro and Sebastien. Notice the friendly broken glass cemented on top of the wall.

I’ve traded my Reebok sandals for cow skin sandals, my Burton jacket for a hand sowed Guatemalan poncho. Cuz really, I realized that I didn’t need all that brand name junk. Especially not here. And to see these people so pore around me; some families washing their clothes in the river, barely eating, family of 6 living in little 1 room house, workers earning 10$ a day, rely made me feel awkward wearing 40$ shirts and fancy shoos. All my decked out shirts were swapped for 2nd hand dark button shirts. Optimal for traveling: you can adjust the temperature by adjusting the open buttons, and when they get dirty (and they will), it doesn’t show.

San Chris was getting a little too cold for my licking. After all, I left Canada to escape winter, so I decided to venture in the jungle, seeking warmer lands. My first stop was Ocosingo, 2 hours north. Elevation: 900m. Weather: great! I had a little walk around town, still dizzy from the crazy buss ride, flying down a narrow mountain road. Up, down, left, right, speed bumps, cracked pavement, not yet paved sections, military road blocks, cows crossing, and everything else that is wonderful about Mexican roads and I forget to mention. Ocosingo is a very quiet town. I guess this was the last town to fall back into Mexican control after the Zapatist uprising. The peasant rebels held the town hostage for a few weeks before getting butchered by the military. Only a few of them managed to flee back in the jungle. Either because the municipality didn’t cared or couldn’t afford to fix it, but you can still see some bullet holes in some of the walls downtown. It’s pretty freaky. At least the rain washed off the blood stains.
The market was a pretty sad sight. There sat, directly on the concrete ground, the poorest people of one of the poorest town in the poorest province of a pore country. All these indigenous people liven in the mountains of the jungle and came to town every once in a while. They still speak the native Maya and Zapotec languages, from back before the Spanish conquer and know just about as much Spanish as I do, which makes it fairly hard to communicate. They sold a bit of their harvests and crafts and bought the essentials of life. And by essentials, I don’t mean plasma TVs or camera cell phones. They just all sat there, wearing colorful yet old and dirty traditional clothing, and each of them had a little pile of dry corn they were trying to pawn. I just stood there and felt compassionate, sad and useless. Even though it didn’t justify it, it kind of underlines the motivations for the desperate Zapatists movement to take such drastic measures as starting a civil war to get their message across. This had nothing in common with the French Canadians who want to separate because they are tired of paying federal tax. These were sick, dirty and starving human beings who had been kicked out of their land and forces to escape in the jungle to preserve their culture and heritage, while the remaining men and children were killed and women raped. I felt ashamed of my European ancestors and all the grief they caused to enrich the kings of Europe during the colonization.

The people of the mountains in their traditional outfit. They are called Chamules, which is also used as an insult that means: stupid and useless. Sad world we live in…

The “rich” indigenous settlement on one of the mountains surrounding San Christobal. These cement houses don’t have power or water.

“All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others”
                                                                                                -George Orwell
I found my way to the colectivo terminal that gets you to the ruin site of Ocosingo. After spending some time with Orlando in San Cris, I found out that if you want to ask for direction, forget the polite Canadian way, it’ll get you nowhere but lost. You got to be blunt: "Collectivos por las ruinas, ¿a donde?" No excuse me, no politeness  no nothing. You ask a plain question and you get a plain answer. Got there in no time. It works.

So hoped on the old Volkswagen hippy van, paid the 10 pesos and was on my way, speeding down this dirt road in the middle of fields. The site is called Tonina. I guess its still being excavated and it’s a pretty low profile site. You have to buy your ticket at the museum then walk the rest of the dirt road (15 minutes) to get to the ruins, which led me to believe that there were not too many ‘all inclusive resort tourists” that ever came here. Great!

Early afternoon, warm blue skies with a fresh breeze. Maybe a few clouds in the sky, but far away, low on the horizon; it’s going to be a nice day. Everything is so quite here compared to the busy streets of San Cristobal. Nothing but the sound of cows eating grass in the endless fields, surrounded my jungle filled mountains, and grasshoppers signing far away, and my footstep on this dirt road filled with dry grass.