San Cristobal de las Casas

Knocking at the door was our friendly, Chapin driver for the first part of our eight hour journey to San Cristobal de las Casas... It is amazing how eight hours can fly by though, when you are traveling through some of the most beautiful country in the world and you dont have to worry about being the driver and avoiding a) runaway horses and cows, b) chicken buses, and c) steamrollers being loaded into dump trucks. This is of course, among many other roadside hazards that are standard fare on the journey... The hardest part about the trip was the gnawing emptiness inside our taut bellies. It was like forced starvation, we had used all our Quetzales the night before and were hoofing it to Mexico for our next meal.

The border crossing was an experience that was standard, easy, and seemed legitimate. The customs agents at both sides stamped visas for us without blinking, and we were happy to be on our way, guided by bus operators who were efficient and thorough. The landscape changed rapidly when we crossed the border, from steep jagged cliffs covered in lush greenery and a patchwork of small family farms, to massive fields of maize and lowland ranches, overgrazed by fat cattle. . . Just a little bit closer to the good old, US of A. Our minibus began to climb into evergreen forests that looked suspiciously like tree plantations, passing large military bases (like summer camp for soldados!) that were surrounded by bales of concertina wire. Militarization of Chiapas is ubiquitous as they have been fighting a dirty war between the Zapatistas and the government over what was initially a land grab by corrupt bureaucrats against indigenous people, but turned into a revolutionary movement among the indigenous that continues to this day. The landscape became more lush and the air (we guessed, in our AC'ed van) cooler.

About three in the afternoon we pulled into the crossroads for San Cristobal de las Casas, turning onto a narrow cobblestoned roadway that led straight as an arrow towards the park in the center of town, known here as a Zocalo. San Cris presents as a better kept, more lively version of Antigua Guatemala, with people visiting town for the weekend from all over the country, many Europeans, and lots of food to choose from. We walked to a hostal called Posada Mexico, where we were shown to our private room on top of a hill. Spotless rooms and a springy (as in, all springs and no padding) mattress were a welcome sight after eight hours in the bus, and we soon were off to dinner at a place recommended by Sally, Madre Tierra, where Cat got the most interesting crepes ever, filled with an incredibly rich fungus that grows on corn and tastes like heaven... Not to mention the fantastic loaf of whole wheat bread that came with dinner, which we devoured. After dinner we wandered the crowded festive streets, Cat bought some slippers that brought up memories of knit goods from her great-grandmother, and then to Revolucion! for some banging, live reggae music, and two micheladas, aka beers with chili and lime. Mexico really knows how to throw down; In comparison, Guatemala seems like its people are still being oppressed, and there is not the same festive pride that we found in Mexico. . . People here know how to boogy.

We walked around a while, looking at food we were not hungry for (shockingly) and making it back late to the cabaña, where I (-1 for Brian) managed to lock us out of our room, although we had the key... Long story but it ended when the new guy who kept saying, "This is my first day" and the experienced manager made an executive decision NOT to call the boss at 130 am, and instead helped to completely remove the window from our wall. So late though it was, we went to bed happy to be in Mexico, ready for another day of exploring the beautiful city of San Cristobal.