Volcan Pacaya

Yesterday afternoon I went on a grand adventure, hiking up one of the three active volcanoes in Guatemala. At the bottom of the hill little boys were selling bags of marshmallows to be roasted over glowing red lava. The top of the volcano was a terrain of lava frozen into lumps, mounds and ripples. It was the most amazing thig to see lava glowing up through cracks in the rock, the most intense orange color. It is one of the only volacanoes in the world where you can actually get that close to the lava. I couldn´t help harboring the horrific fantasy of the rock falling away under my foot, and my plunging into the glowing inferno beneath. The wind blew hot, and I could definitely tell I was standing on the back of a sleeping, fire breathing monster. The last time a real eruption happened was 2000, but new lava is added to the landscape all the time. Our guide showed us the differences in color, the most red being the most recent deposits. It was a fascinating trip, but I will say I was happy to get my feet back onto solid ground!

Rabin Ajau...

Greetings from Antigua, Guatemala. I just arrived this afternoon from Coban, where I spent 4 days, even though I had not initially intended to stay there at all. The town of Coban itself is not particularly exciting, but it is located in a region called the Alta verapaz, which is full of natural beauty. Most people pass through Coban only to reach Semuc Champay, and I would have done the same, except that I stumbled upon a little blurb in my guidebook that mentioned that the last weekend of July, Coban hosts a national indigenous folklore festival that includes the election of the Rabin Ajau, the Maya beauty queen. The contest was held on Saturday night, and I went to it with a Guatemalan guy who was also staying at the hotel. It was useful to go with him because he was able to give me some information about the different traditional outfits, the symbols that are sewn onto them, and what they mean. He himself was a Ladino, a group that he said makes up about 15% of the population of Guatemala, and he teaches at the University in Guatemala City. He is interested in indigenous rights, and talked a lot about culture clashes between the different cultural groups in Guatemala. He says he is often asked by Guatemalans where he is from, because he doesn´t look like he is from Guatemala.

We arrived at the Gimnasio where the event was held a little before 7. The event was to begin at 7. Of course, running on Latin American time music began at 8 and the contest began at almost 9pm. There were 74 contestants who had come from all over Guatemala. Each wore the traditional clothing from her village and carried the power objects from her village as well. Some wore brightly embroidered huipiles. Some wore very simple white tops over woven skirts. Some wore outfits that looked like a nun´s habit. Many had their hair braided and woven with colorful threads, hats, scarves, or carried pottery filled with smoking incense on their heads. Many carried large candles, shields or even crosses. Each girl was introduced separately, by her name, profession, family and then a description of the village she was from. This process alone took almost 4 hours. Intermitently they would have breaks with music and dance performances from around the country. My favorite was the performance of the Garifunas, the people from the Carribbean coast. After the introductions, the 13 semifinalists were chosen. Each girl was asked to answer a question addressing social, political and cultural issues faced by the modern Maya. Each had to answer the question in her own native language and then in Spanish. Then the group was narrowed to 5 and these five had to answer a 2nd question. They were really powerful young women, who obviously felt very strongly about the preservation of their cultural identity, language and traditions. The young woman who one was from a place near Guatemala City called Santiago. By the time it was all over I was struggling to stay awake because I had been sitting there for 9 hours! Despite the claim in the book that this is an event that draws a lot of tourists, I didn´t see very many. Many of there´s who came at the beginning didn´t make it to the end.

Yesterday I had a very serendipitous meeting. I was in the hotel and started talking to two people who were from the States. The girl was from Boulder, the first one I have met. The guy was from Seattle, has my same birthday, is exactly the same age as me and is named Eddie! It was one of those things that seemed very exciting. It was like meeting a long lost twin.

Tomorrow I am hiking a live volcano. Rumor has it that you can actually see a river of lava, so I´ll let you know.

Ciao for now

Tikal, Semuc Champay, and the Maya beauty pageant

Wow. It has only been a week since my last entry, but the week has been so eventful it feels like it has been much longer. When I left off last I was headed to Tikal, for the culmination of my tour of the Ancient Maya ruins. Tikal is truly spectacular in terms of size and the excavation is still in its initial stages. The morning I went to Tikal I got up at 3am. Well actually, I was staying in a dorm with some loud boys and never really slept. When my alarm went off I got up, got dressed and ready to go, and then realized that it was actually only 2am, and I had forgotten to change the time on my alarm clock when I crossed the border. For some reason I was wide awake, and so I stayed up reading until the bus came to pick me up at 3:30. We arrived at the ruins at a quarter to five and hiked through the jungle to one of the temples to watch the sunrise. It was a cloudy morning, so the sunrise was not spectacular, but that made for a cool morning of exploration, a true godsend. Here's a little excerpt from my journal that I wrote while there.

Tikal is incredible for its expansiveness. One can walk for hours through the jungle paths and never stop coming across pyramids- used for astrology, and temples- used for ritual, worship and monuments built over the tombs of kings. So little excavation has been done on many of the temples, due to lack of monet, the number of temples to excavate, and difficulties related to season and climate. Many of the structures appear as though they had an organic birth, rather than being the creation of human toil and slave labor. The tops of many temples have been uncovered and renovated, while the bottoms remain covered with moss, small plants, and five generations of huge trees. In some places you can see what the first modern discoverers of this place saw: steep wild hills, green furry backs of ruin hunching on the shoulders of the earth. One could unknowingly pass by, oblivious to the ancient human made wonder disguised in a cloak of nature. A reminder that everything is eventually taken back into the warth. The ruins of a great civilization become part of the skeleton of the bountiful and abundant body of nature...

From Tikal and Flores I moved onto a small village in the mountains called Lanquin. This is a place surrounded by natural wonders. Miles of limestone caves, rivers, and natural pools of turqouise water. I arrived on Sunday evening to find the hostel full, the river flooded and everyone around a bit frantic. I was with a small group, a German couple and a couple from the US. We all teamed up, found another place to stay, and ate dinner together. The nice thing about traveling is that small disasters usually result in friendships. And over the next few days I had these people as my companions. Lanquin is usually a place people come and stay for a night or two, just long enough to see the pools and caves, and then leave. People who could were waiting a few days longer to see if the river would come down and the pools clear, so they could see it. The second day the germans, Andre and Svenja, and I moved to the hostel along the river. It is a sanctuary of hammocks and bungalows on the banks of the river, where I happily spent 2 days lazing around reading. In the evening we took a tour of the caves just outside of town. We walked about two kms. into the caves, which were cavernous room with staircases and rocks in the form of melted caldle wax hanging overhead and dripping down the walls. The Maya also used these caves for rituals. At dusk we stood in the mouth of the cave and watched as thousands of bats flew over our heads and out into the night.

Wednesday it was finally clear enough to go to Semuc Champay. I went with the guided tour from the hostel. Our guide was named Elvis, a cute, strong young guy who stays in shape by pushing and pulling tourists up and down waterfalls and steep rock faces. It was the kind of glorious tour that could never take place in the United States, because we actually did quite a few risky things without very many safety precautions. No helmets, no harnesses, just some rope ladders, candles, and Elvis.

Pur first stop was Las Grutas Las Marias, a chain of caves with a river running through. At the entrance we were all given candles to light our way in the cave. I don't know how many of you have ever tried to swim while holding a candle out of the water, but it is a tricky business. We climbed up rock walls, and were taken one by one behind a waterfall, so that we could float back down the river in the current. We jumped off boulders into pools, and tried to keep at least one candle lit at all times so that we could re-light the others. After the cave tour we went tubing down the river. Now if you can imagine, this river was about 2x as large as Boulder Creek ever is, and we were tubing in it. Elvis told us all to stay to the left side so that we could pull out at the right spot. About 5 people missed the pull out, and a group of guys went running downstream to fish them out. It is an interesting phenomenon here, because about half of the travelers that come here, or maybe more, are from Israel. In this particular place there were some tense relations with Israeli travelers. The group of tubers who missed the pull out spot were all Israeli. One of the guys on the shore started cursing loudly in Spanish saying "Stupid Israelis, they are all ex-militaries so you expect them to be strong but they can't do anything." It was pretty shocking actually. And put everyone in a strange mood. After that we were crossing a bridge that was partially submerged under water. I stepped in the one place where a rock was missing and my leg fell through. When I pulled myself out, I was cut on my knee and bleeding. Some Koreans and an Israeli woman helped patch me up so we could continue walking.

At Semuc Champay, most of the group took the path to the Mirador, the spot where you can lookout over the Turquoise pools. Semuc Champay is a huge natural limestone bridge. The river flows underneath it, and on top beautiful blue water forms pools that are perfect for swimming and relaxing. The Mirador is a hike 30 minutes straight uphill. My knee was hurting me on steps, so I decided it might be too much to hike all the way up there. I went straight to the pools and hung out by the water. I jumped in a few times, from about 5 meters above the water. When the whole group was back together we went over the the waterfall, where the blue water from the pools falls into the murkier water of the river. We climbed down the waterfall on a ropeladder secured to a large rock at the top. Elvis stood at the bottom, in the direct stream of water, catching and directing people where to go at the bottom. We were on a little island in the river, with the water rushing by on both sides. The force of it was astounding. A person would probably not survive falling in. But it was exhilerating to be right there. To hear the thundering of the water and feel the spray from the contact of water with rocks. It is a place that I would love to return. Now I am in Coban, a fairly ugly town, where there isn't a lot to do, but this weekend is Rabin Ajau, which is essentially a beauty contest for Maya women from around the country. I am curious so I am going to check it out.

Flores, Guatemala

Not too much to report today, just that I have sucessfully crossed the border into Mexico. It was a long, but relatively painless experience. I went with a group, and it is amazing, I often feel like I am the only person who is traveling alone. For this reason, I am also always the person who gets shuffled into other buses to fill one extra space, or to make room for an entire party to travel together. Yesterday I was changed onto 4 different minibuses, until I was finally put back onto the one I was on originally. I don't know why, but it made sense to someone. The scariest thing was that I was separated from my bag, and assured that it would meet me at the border. At least I had all of my important documents with me. I suppose in a way it would have been liberating to lose all of my stuff. At least that was the way I was trying to look at it.

It is when I am traveling in a mixed group like that that i am reminded of how much English in the most universal language of travelers. In a group of twenty people, I was the sole person from the US, there were 2 Brits, 2 germans, 2 Dutch, about 10 French people, and everyone moved back and forth between speaking their mother tongue to their friends and English to everyone else. Even the guide gave all of the information in English. At the hostel where I am staying, there are also tons of Europeans and Israelis, and everyone is speaking English. I guess this is why I have avoided spending much time with other travelers so far. I haven't spoken much Spanish for a couple of days now.

Tomorrow I am going VERY early to Tikal, the biggest city of the ancient Maya world. That is the main reason that people come to Flores, where I am. After that I am heading south.

Ciao!

Palenque is HOT!!!

Hola Amig@s,

I am here SWEATING through my last afternoon in Palenque. Tomorrow I will leave early in the morning and head for the border. I am crossing my fingers that all will go smoothly. In the meantime, I am trying to find ways to take refuge from the heat. Despite how close they are. Palenque and San Cristobal couldn't be more different from each other in terms of climate.

Yesterday I got up early to head to the ruins. I made it there by 8:00, and it was already hotter than it ever got in San Cris. The ruins are truly amazing. The first view is incredible, huge pyramids, towers and domes rising out of the jungle. I went with a tour, this time with a group of Spaniards, and I think it is definitely good practive for me. The first several structures that you see coming in are old temples and buriel sites for important people. The largest pyramid was built on top of the tomb of Pakal, the most important king to rule Palenque. He lived to be 80 years old, about 2x the age expectancy of that time. They think that his tomb was built with his assistance before he died, and then after his death the 9-tiered pyramid was built on top of him. The 9 tiers are supposed to represent the 9 levels of the underworld. He was entombed in a magnificent and huge stone box, and the 6 servants who were sacrificed to accompany him into the underworld were simply placed in the room, no box, no offerings. The pyramid beside his, though much less elaborate, was also built around the tomb of a woman that they suspect is either his mother or his wife. She is called the res queen, because her box had cinnabar on the inside, and when they opened it, she was all red. You can go in and see the red queen's tomb, but Pakal's tomb is now closed off to the public. The humidity was causing too much damage.

The tour through the palace revealed things that I certainly wouldn't have seen on my own such as the hollows in the wall that served as door hinges and the toilets with their drainage systems. What is interesting to me is how advanced and developed the cities were all over this region, and that they were all essentially abandoned at the end of the 900s. I keep asking why, but nobody has a very satifying answer. Maybe it was drought, too many people, war. Amazing how much we can know about the past, and yet how much remains so mysterious.

Today I went on the tour of water, beginning with Misol-Ha, an immense waterfall. From there we went to agua clara, which looked more like agua sucia to me, but it was still beautiful. The big event there is to cross over the bridge of nearly certain death. This was a hanging bridge, of widely spaced boards, caged in with chainlink. The bridge sways, no more acurately swings, from side to side as you walk across. Several of the boards are brken in half, so you have the entire length if the cross to ponder what you would do if one gaveway under your foot. Thankfully that didn't happen. The disrepair of the bridge has provided an opening for local business however, because on the other side young boys will bring you back across on a raft for 10 pesos.

The highlight of the day was Agua Azul. Despite the crowds, this was a stunning place. Torquoise water falls over tiers of boulders and shelves into inviting pools at the bottom. It is the kind of place where everyone is joyful. Kids and parents swimming, splashing and LAUGHING their heads off. It was such a relief to get into the water and out of the heat. Pretty soon I am going to go back to my room, take advantage of my fan and my television, and veg out. I don't know how people live like this all the time. The last few days, after being out in the sun, I have been exhausted by 8:00!

Tonina and THE BUS

It is amazing how easy it is to become dependent on technology. I have been living fine without my cell phone, but I realize now it is mostly because I have such easy access to the internet and my email! Ay, what a world we live in. So for the last 3 days I have been without a computer, and now I feel so out of touch. I also feel so much has happened it is difficult to know where to begin.

I left San Cristobal on Saturday, with mixed feelings. I decided it was better that I leave, since I had just hit my third night in a row of staying up until 4am. Let's just say that San Cristobal is a city for young people, and that July is the height of the year. I don't even LIKE going out that late usually, but I kept meeting people who would invite me, and the next thing I knew it would be 4am. The last night I spent with a slightly zany 40 year old woman from New Zealand. We met in the courtyard of our hotel, and she really made me laugh. We went out for one drink supposedly, and well... you know what happened.

On Saturday afternoon I arrived in very tranquilo Ocosingo. I had made a reservation at the Hospedaje Esmeralda, a hotel owned by US citizens. They made the news several years ago because they used to have a ranch in the countryside that was taken over by Zapatistas who were against tourism in the area. I have mixed feelings about the situation. Of course the news portrayed the Zapatistas as terrible, and I don't think it's right for people to have their land invaded and seized, but it all goes back to the history of land rights here. The indigenous people have had so much land seized, and have very few rights on that account. Although I am from the US and I sometimes fantasize about owning land in another country, I can see why some people find that objectionable. As soon as people from other countries come in and start buying land, it drives up all of the prices, putting land ownership out of the range of many people who are from the area.

But the hotel was cheap and nice. It truely was 'esmeralda', the building covered on all sides with greenery. Yesterday I woke up early in the morning to go to Tonina, the ancient Maya ruin that drew me to Ocosingo in the first place. It is a single huge pyramid, with 260 steps (the number of days in a Mayan calendar year) leading to the top. At the foot of the pyramid is the palacio for the underworld. You enter, go into complete darkness, and re-emerge into the light. A rebirth of sorts. Up the pyramid there are several remnants of thrones, sculptures and palacios that housed the important kings, priests, astrologers and architects of Tonina. Like any good hierarchical society, the affluent and influential lived in the center, the poor on the outskirts. In tonina they were really into human sacrifice, and it was the winner of the ball games who died with honor on the sacrificial altar.

To get to Tonina I took a combi (van) for .50. In the van I met an official guide and I paid him $10 to take me around and tell me about the site. In the end I don't know how much more I really got out of it to have him, but I think it is good to give people work when I can. This time I could afford it. This ruin had a completely different feel to it, because hardly anyone goes. I was practically there alone. After Manuel finished the tour, and his questions about life in the US, I stayed on, just sitting in the midst of the ruins. I also talked to the police officer/guard for awhile. We had a conversation about politics, religion, and why so many people get diverced in the United States. He was very curious to know if Puerto Rico is a state. I told him that it does not have the full rights of a state, and that my friend from Puerto Rico would say it is a colony that needs its independence.

After spending half the day there, I went back to Ocosingo. I ate ice cream in the square, spoke with a guy who was falling down drunk until I couldn't stand it anymore. He also wanted to tell me about the time he had spent in the US, how he wanted to go back, and how expensive it is to get there. Can you help me? He kept asking me. I said no as many times as I could bear, and finally excused myself as politely as I could.

Ocosingo is a small toen, and there isn't a lot going on there, but every Thursday and Sunday night the municipal marimba band sets up in the square, and the red cross brings a blow-up jumping pad for kids, as well as little cars they can rent and maneuver around the square and between chairs. I went to listen to the music, and people watch, and I thought how much fun it would be to have such a gathering every week where I live. Everyone came out, and everyone had fun. The only downside was that no one danced!

I left this morning, went out to the corner to catch a cab. Down the block and around the corner was a line of men waiting for their turn to get into the Western Union office.

The bus to Palenque where I am now was a nightmare on wheels. I now know that before I travel by bus again, i need to buy dramamine. The driver drove as fast as he could, whipping around every curve, and there were hundreds of them. Besides the sheer danger factor, it also made me sick. Luckily I learned from the last experience to travel with plastic bags, but when I tried to get up to go to the bathroom in the back, I was thrown into seats all the way down the aisle. In the bathroom I could barely stand, the bus was jerking so much. I also couldn't get the trash can open. At one sharp jerk I fell into the door, which burst open, and I almost ended up on some poor guys lap. I will also make sure never to take the seat by the bathroom door, as it swings open with an intense amount of force. It was embarassing, and messy, and by the time I got here I felt terrible and exhausted. All I wanted to do was lie down somewhere. A tourist rep told me of a 'nice' and 'cheap' place to stay, so I went and checked it out. It looked okay in the lobby, so I paid the 80 pesos, and was shown to a room. It was dark, dingy and humid. It looked like things were growing on the walls, the springs in the bed poked my back, and the mattress was torn on the side. Now I am not usually a picky, needy traveler, but in that moment, when all I wanted was to take a shower and lie down, I couldn't magine staying in that place. I walked out with my bag and told the woman I was going to find another place. She offered to show me another room, which was pretty much the same. I said I didn't want that one either. She looked at me and asked me why, what was it exactly that I didn't like about the rooms? I didn't know what to say, I almost started crying. I didn't want to say that I just wanted something nicer, that I couldn't deal with roughing it right then. I told her that I had gotten sick on the bus and needed a place that was quiet. Someone was pounding with a hammer downstairs. I finally left and just ate the money that I had paid. I found a place that was more expensive, but cheerful. So I am happier with it, and still not feeling great. Now I am going to investigate how to get from here to Guatemala.

Ciao til next time.

San Juan Chamula y Zinacantan

Hello all,

I am writing to you from rainy, and chilly San Cristobal. I am at the moment waiting for my laundry to be finished and wearing shorts and a t-shirt. I never thought I would be this cold in Mexico! And if I were better at converting meters to feet in my head I would let you know how high it is here, but I can't even remember the meters at the moment. Ay, que lastima!

I have decided to stay here until the end of the week to continue the Spanish classes I have been taking. I keep hoping that one of these days I am going to open my mouth and perfect, beautiful Spanish will come pouring out without effort. Sometimes by the end of the day I am so tired. I know also that I am too hard on nyself, that I am improving and most importantly, I am able to communicate with people about whatever I need to.

I have explored some of the local nightlife here. There is live music every night, and a salsa club. Miraculously the other night I was in a bar dancing along to the live reggae music when who should appear at my side but Nayla, an old friend that I traveled in Europe with who I haven't seen for 6 years. It is always strange to run into someone you know in a place so far out of context, but it was fun too. We got a chance to catch up on what's been happening in the meantime.

Yesterday I went on an interesting adventure to two Mayan pueblos that are close to San Cristobal. The first stop was San Juan Chamula, the second Zinacantan. One of the fascinating things about these pueblos is that they are located within 2 kilometers of one another, and yet two different languages are spoken, religion is practiced completely differently, and they each have distinct traditional clothes that the majority of people wear. In Chamula the women wear black furry skirts and white tops. The men wear white furry tunics over white pants. I put myself in the Spanish speaking arm of the tour, because it was a much smaller group and less obvious because everyone else in it was from Latin America. We looked at the traditional houses, made of sticks and adobe, the fields planted with corn, beans and squash. Our guide told us about the Mayan cross, and that, especially in this village the cross is not related to christianity, but represents the time when the earth and the sky separated to create the space where humans and animals live. He spoke of the traditional healers, and how many of them attend to the supernatural causes of illnesses. For example, it is thought that every person has a totem animal, and that some sicknesses are caused by loss of contact with that animal. In this case a ritual must be done to reunite the person with nature.

Of course the story of the conquering of the indigenous people is always a sad one. The Maya were such an advanced society in the pre-colombian era with an alphabet, the Mayan calendar and complicated mathematics. Many Mayan texts existed that were burned by the Spanish, and in the present day Chiapas is the state in Mexico with the largest population of indigenous people, as well as the lowest literacy rate. Many children work rather than going to school, and many schools are inadequate because they do not teach the children anything about their own culture. In this way, the language, and certainly the writing of the language is being lost.

One of the most fascinating parts of Camula is the church. Our guide, who could speak tzotzil, the language of this pueblo, told us that contrary to the conclusion of many anthropologists that the Mayan religion and Catholicism have united in this pueble, he believes that they really practice their ancient religion with a mask of Catholicism. Although the church is "Catholic", mass is never held there. The walls are lined with saints, but he says that they represent the old gods and goddesses. The floor of the church is covered with pine needles. People come to the church with hundreds of candles, clear a space on the floor, line up all of the candles and light them. They also bring other offerings, soda being one of the most obvious. I am not sure how coke became part of the ritual, but it is now. Inside the church I watched a limpia, a ritual cleansing of a sick person. The woman performing the ritual brushed the sick woman all over with a live chicken. Afterwards she broke the chicken's neck.

The last stop in Chamula was the graveyard. All of the headstones face east. White crosses are for children and pregnant women, blue and green crosses for middle aged people, and black crosses for the elderly. Each cross bears the name of the person and the date of their death, it does not show their date of birth. For the Maya death is a part of life, and the most important date of someone's life.

In Zinacatan we didn't see as much of the city. We went to a house where three women were working with their backstrap looms. This village is known for its textiles, and the traditional dress here is beautiful, purple, blue, teal and silver embroided flowers on black shirts, shawls and skirts. The men also wear colorfully embroidered tunics. This pueblo is wealthier than the other, and the economy is based on selling flowers grown in huge greenhouses. In the house I got to sample some food, and posh, the local liqour used for celebrating and praying. I also had the chance to watch the women at work on their weaving. It is amazing the difference between their looms and the huge floor looms I learned to weave on in the states. Their looms are a few sticks tied together with strings, all of which they tie to themselves and use their weight to create tension in the weave. They made beautiful things.

It is an amazing gift to be able to see living indigenous cultures. There is a lot of sadness in it as well, because so much has been robbed, descrated and destroyed. Once I move on from here, I will go to see a few of the ancient Mayan ruins, remnants of the time they were the powerful entity in this region.

The wisdom of Subcomandante Marcos...

In the guidebook I read about the neighborhoods that surround San Cristobal that have been nicknamed 'Cinturon de Miseria' (Belt of Misery). The people who live in the Cinturon de Miseria are mostly indigenous people who have been displaced from their homes and villages. It is also mostly these people who sell things in the street here. So I struggle over it, especially when approached by children, because I don´t need, nor can I even fit the thins that they want to sell me into my bag. But it makes me feel sad and sick to say no. I sometimes wonder if I should just offer them money, but I am conflicted over that too. They are trying to make a living by selling something, they are not begging. I therefore do not want to presume that they would want me to offer them money, it could be very insulting.

Yesterday I ate dinner in a nice restaurant. It had been recommended to me. Even though it was not expensive according to US standards, here it is a restaurant for people with means. It is organic and vegetarian and therefore very much caters to the needs of travelers.

Two little boys approached my table. They carried a basket of wooden animals. Their clothes were worn. One began taking the animals out of the basket one by one, naming each as he set it on the table.

"No gracias," I said, shaking my head.
"Llevate uno," the little boy said to me, but his heart wasn´t in it. He didn´t want to be selling me those animals, or weighted down with the task of earning money. His brother took the basket and went to another table.
"¿Como te llamas?" I asked him. He looked at me for a moment before he spoke. I didn´t know if he was going to answer.
"Rudolfo," he finally said.
"¿Cuantos años tienes?" I asked him. I couldn´t buy his anmals, but I wanted him to know that I saw him. That I recognized that he was a little boy with a name, and a family, and the right to be a child playing or going to school.
"Nueve," he answered. His body was small but his face looked much older.
"¿Ustedes son hermanos?" I asked.
"Si," he answered. And then his brother returned, also unsucessful with the other gueros, and they turned to leave. That is all I know of Rudolfo, age 9, brother.

Last night I saw a documentary of the Zapatista movement. I saw people standing together trying to get someone to recognize that they had real needs that needed to be met. They kept asking to be listened to. What they wanted was peace and dignity. They had tied white flags onto their guns as a sign that they hoped the guns remained useless, but that they would not put them down. This was all met with intimidation by the army, broken promises by politicians, bloodshed. In one massacre in a village 45 people were killed - 15 children and over 20 women, 4 of them were pregnant. They were killed in their church. It is people from villages like these, still impoverished despite the ongoing struggle, still dimished by politicians who want to take the land they live on, who come to live in the belt of misery and sell animals and chicles in the street.

So now I can´t stop thinking of Rudolfo and wishing I had done something else, something helpful or meaningful. Instead I watched them walk away and I finished my lunch.

"What are words when you are hungry?" Subcomandante Marcos asked. "They have given us lots of papers filled with promises, but you can´t eat paper."