A BUMP ALONG THE ROAD

PALENQUE,CHIAPAS-

The bus announcers' early morning shouts of "Zapata, Ocoto," rustle me awake at the ungodly hour of 6 a.m. I try to go back to sleep but the bus caller has a job to do. I have been in miserable, humid Palenque since Friday and my sweet spell of traveler's luck has been interrupted.

I'm high on the heels of a wonderful visit to San Cristobal de las Casas when I arrive in Palenque on a Thursday afternoon, but by the early hours of Friday morning my bliss would turn to complete shock.

I check into the Jungle Palace at El Panchan, a collection of roadside cabanas which sit on the road to the Palenque ruins. Mosquitos, toads and howler monkeys also share this lush, green space with weary human travelers. My cabana is very rustic but I appreciate the alone time. I organize my bags and make plans for an early morning tour of the famous waterfalls of Agua Azul and Misol-Ha. But by early Friday morning it becomes clear that I am the victim of a theft. My cell phone, which lay next to my head, has been stolen! My wallet which contained my atm card and no more than 50 pesos,and digital camera (with pictures of the Palanque ruins) are also gone. I am amazed that I can get past the material loss and I am left wondering how and where I will sleep that night. It is not suggested that I involve the police.

http://www.raingod.com/angus/Gallery/Photos/NorthAmerica/Mexico/Chiapas/images/PalenquePalacio01.jpg

I am upset and feel quite vulnerable. I have no money on hand and the only lodging option available to me that night is the same unsecured cabana where the theft occurred. Steve, an older, and talkative American appears on the scene and takes me under his wing. We have to go into town because there are no land lines at El Panchan, in fact land lines are a luxury available to very few Mexicanos. Meanwhile, workers at the Jungle Palace "find" my wallet sans cash but complete with my now cancelled atm/credit cards.
Initially, I am happy to meet Steve and accept his invitation to stay at his makeshift jungle lodge. It feels okay to accept the "kindness" of this expat gringo, the quintessential 60's era pothead who has simply dropped out of American society for good. Much later it becomes clear that there is a very good reason for his living alone in the jungle and I realize that I have not made a good choice. The price of free lodging is much too high. It occurs to me that I must find a way to borrow money instead of staying one more night with a quirky old man with poor social skills who is so achingly lonely that he exhibits lagorrea, or diarrea of the mouth!!

In the end it is technology that will save me. I petition Federico,a dear friend, who sends an influx of money via an online transfer through Western Union. I also send a text message to my American friends Kelly and Hannah via Yahoo messenger. They just so happen to be in Palenque that day. They come to the roadside cabana and take me away from this awful, twisted situation. I am grateful and set free.

Is the welfare state a better solution?

 

I am without a doubt a spoiled american brat as compared to Mexico's poor. It's interesting but many times Americans think in terms of what they lack and this is especially true in California's current economic downturn.

At present I am traveling in Mexico and I simply don't want to be bothered with the presence of street vendors in Oaxaca, many of whom are children, who hawk everything from friendship bracelets to mint-flavored "chicle". You are approached at least 20 times by roving street vendors during the course of your meal or afternoon cafe. You cannot have your cake and eat it too, it seems.
I want to continue to be the tourist who observes the local people and their customs from a distance while sipping a cappucino at an outdoor cafe. There I said it, I don't want to be bothered. Simply put,I am used to hearing about the haves and have nots in this world; I AM NOT accustomed to having to think about what it means for those involved. I truly feel bad for the children who become street vendors at such a tender age. They invariably resort to pestering, sympathy seeking, and less often a direct request for a gift of pesos. On a recent visit to the Indian village of San Juan Chamula, a very enterprising young lady named Alicia offered us a gift with purchase. She offerd up a friendship bracelet and waited for my traveling troupe to walk by so that we could complete the transaction. It was a very effective sales ploy.

While this dynamic is annoying for me it makes me think about living in the US and how very easy it is to extricate oneself from witnessing the problems of the less forunate.

Americans who don't have enough money for basic necessities rely on California's welfare system. The welfare state is a more comfortable option for most Americans because it certainly is an inconvenience to be bothered while you are sipping your morning latte, isn't it?
Street vendors are a common fact of life in any third world country and as I understand it are eligible to receive government aid. It is most likely very difficult for people to live off their sales. What is amazing to me is not that you are sold to but the fact that you receive a sales pitch everywhere you go. It is amazing that you should have to listen to unwanted sales pitches as you dine, while walking in the street, while sitting on the local bus line, and while waiting for direct bus service to your next tourist destination. So, while I am annoyed at being sold to I do understand that people must make a living and this is what they must do.

Laundry -it´s better than what i do at home

A full-service laundry is undoubtedly one of the things I will miss most about Mexico. When I first arrived in Cuernavaca, Morelos I remember being told by my language teacher that there was a lovely senora who did your wash for only 12 pesos a kilo!! My response was one of self-righteous indignation at those Americanos who could subscrie to a laundry service that exploited poor little senoras. I imagined these angel servants to be slaved over igneous rock and diligently hand-washing each piece down by the river.
Much to my surprise I learned that doing your own laundry in most parts of Mexico means paying someone else to do it for you. Laundry service, by the way, includes washing, drying, and folding! There are no many do it yourself laundromats in Mexico. If you are one of the lucky (or in my opinion, unlucky)you can afford to have your own washing and drying machine at home. With that logic, I couldn´t argue and I stopped being self-righteous long enough to have the cute, little senora do my laundry for me. She even matched up my socks for me!

Las Rutas

Mexico is a place where often, there are no rules or structure and everything works despite this fact. Case in point is Cuernavaca´s bus system - Las Rutas.
In Cuernavaca there is no published brochure or onlinle information with detailed route maps or pickup times. You simply learn how to get where you need to go by good old-fashioned communication. You might ask the neighborhood laundry washerwoman, fellow bus riders, or even the Ruta driver! Most people here in this large city of 350,000 (as cited in http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cuernavaca)are very ¨amable¨ (polite). Several properly designated bus stops dot the landscape along the city´s most travelled arteries. Buses are frequent here so no one looks pressed for time. Curiously, you must use non-verbal cues to signal a ruta driver to pull over. If your agile enough you may even hop on a bus in the middle of the street if traffic is at a standstill. As you approach your destination be sure to signal the bus driver that you are ready to get off the bus by the use of non-verbal cues such as standing or by simply shouting, ¨la parada por favor¨. Rutas don't typically have a buzzer like most US buses.
Rutas are very economical and get you where you want to cost at a cost of 5.50 pesos, about $0.50 USD. But, be forewarned that Rutas are not for the faint of heart. Mexican drivers are notoriously aggressive and make amazing use of side mirror to help them maneuver in and out of lanes. Anything goes here, and aggressive driving is a must if you are to survive on the road.

Ruta drivers communicate with others with frequent beeps of their horns or sometimes they ´holler´at their buddy as they pass a nearby ruta driver.

US-style safety does not appear to be a concern here as there are no seatbelts on the rutas, most are converted VW buses with a few seats bolted down.
If rutas are not for you then you can hail a cab for about 2 USD. But, somehow ruta´s are more of an adventure. Just hold on!!

What´s the deal with race?

I have been in Mexico for just under two weeks and I am still greeted with the question everybody back home always wants to know, ¨so, what race are you?¨ I used to think that the question of race was one that white Americans were overconcerned with but it seems that Mexicans are too. Even mexicanos it seems have stereotypes about mexicanos.


I was at a party in Cuernavaca last night and it wasn´t enough to speak Spanish and have a Spanish name but the question was asked by a mexican national: so, what are you other than mexican, really? I stated simply that Mexico was a nation of mixed racial heritage and that any Mexicano or child of Mexicanos could potentially have African, Indigenous, European or Asian heritage. What ensued was a discussion about what most likely be my racial asignation for the evening. People it seems really trip on this issue. Why is it so important to look ¨Mexican¨ or to act your heritage?

Later that evening, the party had moved to another address and again the question of racial identity came up. This time I was compared to Angelina Jolie or rather a half french Angelina Jolie look-alike. I think I was supposed to be flattering. Anyway, after I stated this time that I was every woman (meaning all races) another discussion ensued about my racial asignation for the evening. I have always been annoyed with people´s curiosity about my racial identity. It gets tiring to hear the same questions and it makes me wonder what the big deal about race and identity really is.

Beautiful Building

 

in Mexico City

Hola a todos. I began my journey at the SFO International Airport. Being the rule follower that I am I arrived the required 2 hours ahead of time at SFO only to be delayed by SF´s famous fog. I am the first to arrive at terminal 1 and I am engrossed in reading one of my Spanish language books so I can prepare to think, read, and eat in Spanish. Offin the distance, I keep hearing the annoying laugher of three aging frat boys who seems to be the only ones who think they are funny. Garfieldesque, I recall thinking that as long as i don´t sit next to them it will all be fine. Guess, who got to sit across from them on the plane? Yours truly of course. Good thing I invested in ear plugs - great tip Julie.

Arrived in hot as hell Cabo San Lucas and had to run about 10 minutes to another terminal across the way. Picture me in red backpack, REI shorts, and puffy red face cursing at why Mexican airports did not have arrows to point the way. I am so Americana that way. Good thing I spoke the language. What a mess!! The strained look on my face said it all. I board the flight and all appears well.



Finally, I arrive in Mexico City to find that my luggage has not arrived. My luggage is coming tomorrow. **Update, it has not as of this post. Luckily, I followed one of the numerous tips of travel advice and packed a day pack in a seperate bag. Anyway. I am tired as hell but glad to be here. >The cab driver was here and offered me many helpful tips. DF is beautiful. It is SO not what I expected. Mexico has an amazing history.