Final Moments in Mexico

Good morning friends and family

I write you from San Cristobal de las Casas, the final gem city in the highlands of Chiapas. The days here have been sunny and comfortable, but the nights incredibly cold. The city is roughly 2100 meters above sea level, so not only has each hill (stair) winded me, but the nights have given real meaning to the thought of winter in Mexcio.

I stepped off the bus here with my pants rolled up, tank top loosly hanging from my shoulders, skin the color of a tomato, and flip flops. Within ten minutes I had bought a hat, scarf, and put on every bit of clothing in my possession (including pjs under my pants, two pairs of socks, and three shirts, I wasn´t playing around!).

Time on the beach was nice and relaxing, but nothing special. I am more interested in the rich Mexican culture than the surfer dude sleep all day drink all night be a bum lifestyle, which is very present in Puerto Escondido. I´m glad I was there, the scenery is beautiful and fish delicious, but I was happy to leave after a few days.

I arrived in San Cristobal early morning on February 5, after taking an overnight bus from the coast. While Oaxaca has become the favorite city of many tourists, San Cristobal earns just as many points in my book. The city is small and personal, warm faces of beautiful young children smile at you from their classroom windows, the early morning chill is refreshing, and the auroma of authentic coffee is irrisistable (even for me; my coffee career for the past 19 years has consisted of coffee ice cream and going to a Starbucks for tea!).

There are four language schools and an assortment of other universities, highschools, and primary schools here in Cristobal. I found that the vibe here is similar to Boston, a sort of young, hip, lets be alive and have fun sort of feeling. There is also a huge political fervor here seeing as the city used to be a hot bed for Zapatistas. All over town one can read political graffiti on the walls. Phrases like 'Bush Genocide,' 'Free the Political Prisoners,' and 'Iraq is for Petrol, not Terrorists,' can be seen in almost every side street and back ally. Occasionally one catches a glimpse of a young child wearing a red bandana over his or her face, a classic image of the Zapatista Revolution.

After three days here I left for the jungle and Mayan ruins in Palanque with a Finnish lady friend. We hunkered down in a Cabana for two nights in some heavy duty jungle. Don't let anybody tell you different; if you run out of Marvin, candles, and don't have a deep, baratone voice, there are no substitutions like a mosquito net, savage monkies, and the jungle to create that desired romantic setting. Nevertheless, being with someone for four days is more than enough time to have fun and get sick of each other. When she decided to head East to the Yucatan rather than come back to San Cristobal, I protested, a little, quietly, with as much energy as a cat meowing, and left her no time to change her mind when she made her decision!

The ruins and waterfalls near Palanque are magnificant. Such a wonderful demonstration of what we are capable of. I wonder, in 1500 years will some humble fellow unearth the tip of the Emire State Building? Or the Eiffel Tower? Or a MacDonald's M? What will they say about us? How we did not sacrifice the loser in every tennis match or football game. Interesting thought to ponder.

I was expecting a package today with a few more articles of clothing. Of course, customs this, lazy mexicans that(No offense, I love the people here, though when anything goes wrong, its always at the fault of those damn llaaazzzyyy Mexicans! The phrase has given me and a few friends some good laughs in miserable times), the package won't arrive for at least one week, IF I send a copy of my passport, itinerary, list of vaccinations, why and what I am doing here, a few candies, some more money, and an autobiography. No Sir E Bob! Maybe the Guatemalans won´t care about my two T-Shirts and guide book! Really dissappointed because even after I wash my clothing (very rare occurance) there is still this slight funk. Ah well, it is what it is. A friend compared that smell to our stomachs, because I haven't felt totally normal in about three weeks. It's just something to get used to. No worries, it could be worse.

I am about to pick up a bus ticket to Guatemala. I'm dropping big pesos to make the journey from San Cristobal to Antigua relatively easy. I am going to miss Mexico very much. The people here have been helpful and fun, the food delicious and forgiving, the travel easy, and overall experience unbelievable. Part of me hopes something will go wrong that sends me back to Mexico for two more months. One just isn't nearly enough time.

The past few days have really been pivotal for me. I reflect on the first two weeks and realize how hectic and difficult they were. I was on a bus nearly every other day because in transit I never felt homesick or lonely. I wrote about many of these emotions in my journal, and a simple image came to mind; me in the backseat of a car. That has been my life, someone driving and me following, being told what to do, occasionally getting out for a pee, but really just chillin in the backseat enjoying the ride. As soon as I got on the plane to Mexico, that was me getting behind the wheel. Being responsible for every single action, decision, move, was a lot to handle at first, and still is. Jesse always called it 'Seat Time.' ' Dad lemme drive, I need seat time!' is what Jesse would say when he was still a new driver (ahh the day!). I have now had a bit of seat time and am beginning to get comfortable, not quite there, but I can see the light. The bus rides for the first two weeks symbolized the re-entry into my comfort zone, letting someone else be responsible, make the decisions, all I had to do was sit and observe.

There is so much more to say, so many little anecdotes, emotions I would love to pour out, people I should tell you about, but this has already been a long enough blog. So much for terse!

I leave you with what I wrote my first night in Hermosillo. Afer realizing how unsetteling the first two weeks had been, I could feel the nerves within these few lines.

January 15, Night 1

It is just after nine pm as I lay down and begin to write this. The room is comfortable, with red tiles and a colorful bed sheet. The bathoom is moldy but has all the proper faculties, including an almost warm shower. There aren't too many bugs, though I try hard not to look into the dark corners because when I do, something moves.

My love to everyone and many thanks for all of the wonderful messages!

SF