Hippies, Ruins, and Coconuts (In that order)

After surviving my bout of the Montezuma's Revenge, we had a fabulous New Years complete with homemade Sangria, spiked hot fruit punch in the park, fireworks, and a little dancing at the local Salsa Club.

Chiapas and the Zapastista Army

A few days later, I went to Mexico to renew my Visa. Most people from Western countries are granted a three month tourist visa. (When I say Visa, I just mean an entrance stamp). After 90 days, one must cross the border for 72 hours, and you are admitted an entrance stamp for another 90 days.

I went with a couple of girls from Xela who were also going to renew their Visa and attend a conference in San Cristobal Mexico on the Zapatista movement. We crossed into the border town called Mesilla, and with no cash machines or banks to exchange money you're forced to make shitty exchange rates with guys holding Pesos and Quetzales, and they keep telling you it's a "really good deal." Luckily, we met an 18 year old kid from the Yucatan, who had been studying in Guatemala, and helped us with the logistics of crossing. Thanks Abel, our little Mexican brother!

12 hours after I had left my bed that morning, we arrived in the city of San Cristobal. It was much like the city of Antigua; colonial, full of posh Europeans, but just more Tacos, and more radicals. San Cristobal is in the state of Chiapas characterized as the poorest state in Mexico, and although conditions are improving, the state suffers from malnutrition and violence from local gangs and others with from Central American countries trying to cross into the U.S. Poor land reform policies led to the rise and surge of the Zapatista Army of National Liberation, which began as a non-violent approach, but quickly escalated into violence throughout the 90's. It depressed slightly in about 2003 when the Mexican government granted all Zapatista land independent of the Mexican state.

Fighting still continues, but the Zapatistas haven't used weapons since the 1994 uprising, but instead, garner support from other NGO's and solidarity groups to fight for control of their land and resources. This is done primarily through the use of the internet, which they see as the most effective way to communicate their cause. Many of you are familiar with the band Rage Against the Machine, whom have been a large supportive force for the Zaptasitas and have been helpful in publicizing their cause to U.S. radical minded folk.

We decided to attend one of the three day Zapatista conferences, which was held in a wooded area just outside the city. There were several panel speakers, such as journalists, professors, and media workers. Although, it was really hard to understand a lot of the Spanish (imagine sitting in a college lecture hall and listening in a foreign language), the political sentiment was moving. A group of Zapatistas, including their famous leader, Marcos stood at the panel covered with their signature black masks.

I think all the hippies came out of their bong holes that weekend. Sorry if that was offensive, but I wondered who was really there to support the cause, and not just help each other make new dreads. We followed the hippies with burning torches into the square, and watched them graffiti all over the municipal building. I understand the plight of the loss of indigenous land, and the right to free speech and protest, but there were some unnecessary statements. Yes, we should free Palestine, but does the Jewish star really equal the Nazi symbol? We stayed in a hostel owned by some dready Mexican hippies, (who led us astray the first day by the way, when we asked them where the conference was). Later on, we saw them trying to pick up girls at the conference, when just earlier they were asking us which one of them we preferred. Sick. One of the hippies told me that I should give money to an indigenous person every time they ask for it. Dependency. He later said that he preferred not to buy any name brand clothing, but was walking around in his cool Indie New Balance sneakers, and his trendy Bob Marley Shirt. Commercial.

I spent the rest of my trip with my friend Lisa and an Argentine girl that we had met, and we traveled to Pelenque; a series of Mayan ruins and temples, about six hours East of San Cristobal. Although in Mexico, the roads are always paved, and transportation often means first class comfortable buses, (Quite a change from Guatemala), this didn't prevent nausea on the 6 hour curvy ride. Pelenque was my first ruin visit. Yes,very touristy, but we found a cheap guide (the Spanish speakers were cheaper), who gave us a clear history about the significance of each temple. He later took us through the jungle where we took a dip in some waterfalls.

Life back in Xela has been a little slow. Soon I'll be going with my editor to visit some of the Universities to gather volunteers for the plastic bag campaign, and I've started a posting on the Xela discussion board. Christmas break around here typically means a few weeks, and then people still need a few more weeks to recover. Ahh, the slow pace of life. I've just finished the article for the March issue. I went to visit the community of Zunil, which will be the center of my article to try to get more information on Saint Simon (a historic folk saint that is worshiped using both Mayan and Catholic practices).

Pacific Coast

Myself, and friends Bill and Camille decided to take a weekend trip to the beach. My director recommended a beach on the Pacific coast called Chicistepeque, anywhere from 4-6 hours by bus depending on how many stops the bus makes that day. The beach sees no tourists, and most locals would like to keep it that way. The only foreign influence there is through a project that was started about 5 years ago called Project fish and hammock run by Elfego and his French wife Ker Rose Ana. (See my link on the side) They have a beautiful simple thatched roof house with large open windows that looks like it came right out of a vacation home catalogue, but probably for more than half the price. Roosters, chickens, flocks of baby chicks, ducks, cats, and rabbits all peacefully cohabitate together within their sandy garden. Next door is a "library," which is basically another thatched roof pavilion with a cabinet full of books and tables where volunteers read with kids and create literacy projects.

Chicistepeque is a town of about 200 inhabitants, and 70 houses. They have recently fought against hotel development, and the bumby road that takes more than an hour from the closest commercial center, prevents more tourism from developing. "They look at us like we're angels." said Camille jokingly. Not a comfortable feeling, but, as we got closer to the beach, each bus passenger politely said goodbye to us, and a little girl in a yellow dress kissed me on the cheek. "You really are an angel," Camille said.

Elfego grew up on the coast, and without books to read, he used to borrow them from his wealthier friends and put himself through college. A self made man who had always dreamed of starting his own social project to encourage kids to read. He met his wife who was a tourist in Antigua, and with her help they constructed the project. Ana sells banana and pineapple marmalade, and volunteers stay in their modest cabins, with the option of eating fresh fish with local families for their meals.

As beach villages go, it's difficult to get provisions, like alcohol. The first night, Elfego suggested we ask at some of the little stores down the street, and he sent the 7 year old neighbor Melissa to accompany us. We walked about half a mile, stopping along the way at each little tienda, sheltered by groupings of palm trees and guys parked outside with their motorcycles watching an outdoor television set. Children waved at us from their hammocks, and their pet pigs slept beneath them in the dirt. "Do you sell alcohol?" Each store owner shook their head, and pointed, "just a little further." We walked until we reached the town of Churrin at the edge of the river that meets the ocean. At the very last restaurant, a little old lady stood amongst the beer signs; Gallo, Dorado, and Cabro. She welcomed us and gave us a hug. We new we had found providence. She sold us a bottle of tequila, and we treated Melissa to an ice cream cone for helping us.

The next night we decided to get away from the laborious undertow of ocean waves and walk to Churrin for a river swim and some dinner. Elfego recommended we eat at Roberto's bar. We would recognize the bar not by the name, as none of the restaurants in Churrin really have a name, but that Roberto would be the owner with one eye. Sure enough we found him, and as he's friends with Elfego, he gave us a discount on garlic shrimp, two servings of Ceviche (raw fish in a sour marinated mix), a mixed seafood soup, and lots of beer for about $25 total.

The next morning I bought some marmalade, and Elfego had coconuts with straws waiting for us. Our bus broke down on our climb into the highlands from Mazotenango to Xela, and I thought we might have to hitchhike the rest of the way. Lucky for us, a bus was on its way to Xela right behind us, and about 20 of us boarded. Now this wouldn't have been too much of a squeeze if the bus wasn't already full of three large boxes of pork rind potato chips. I stood the whole way close to the back of the bus. The money collector was also a little angry, and charged us all 8 Quetzales more (only $1, but still.) We arrived in Xela around 4 o'clock. I could feel the altitude again, and the cold was just starting to set in. I missed the beach already.