July 17, 1997
R80G/S 25646
R100GS 17412
San Cristobol

     Today has been in the back of our mind for the past two weeks.
When planning this stretch from Oaxaca to San Cristobol, we decided to
stay in Juchitan de Zaragoza only to break up what our guide books said
was a 12.5 hour drive.  Huatulco was a nice diversion but out of the way.
Juchitan was only intended as a stop over.  Also, several sources had warned
us about this area.  Isthmus of Tuhuantepic is a great low land plane that
is the narrowest point in Mexico separating the Atlantic from the Pacific.
The plane is windy, swampy, and contains no cities, and only a few small
villages. There are two highways that cross this plane.  One along the North
gulf side which drives through most of the modern oil boom towns, and one
along the Southern Pacific side which we were on.  The warning in both
of our guide books were regarding the high winds in this area in particular
at the villages of Ventosa ("windy"), and La Venta  where they stressed high
winds that have been known to sweep vehicles off the roads at the
Ventosa intersection.  Juchitan which is 15km away was windy the entire two
days we were there.  The cracks in our hotel room howled as the wind blew
through the night.  All of the public street signs have holes or squares
cut into them so as to allow wind to pass through the sign without blowing
it over.  None of the trees around here are very tall as I'm sure the
wind doesn't aid in their longevity.  Some grow at 45 degree angles
with their small leaves and branches grown out like a comet tail pointing
South suggesting the wind always blows from the North.
     Ted Simon's B-grade movie syndrome had kicked in. On the extreme, given
the information I had, I imagined fighting 50+ mph wind gusts while the bikes
leaned at a 45 degree angle compensating against the wind as we struggled
from being blown over the 100 foot cliff just to our right.
We left as close to dawn as possible hoping to catch a lull in wind should
solar thermal energy contribute to wind strength around here.
As usual, the fears were overblown.  The Ventosa intersection is just
South of some mountains which probably serve to amplify the wind.  However
the intersection is on a plane such that being blown off the road would
amount to riding over into some clumpy grass.  We encountered winds that were
probably between 25-30mph with an occasional 35mph blast.  The winds were
only a little worse than those across Eastern Illinois planes on a bad day.
About 30km from La Venta, the winds seemed to be gone.
     The road was flat and straight for the most part up until about
the last 20km before the Oaxaca/Chiapas border.  Road conditions
deteriorated as we started to climb in altitude.  The road was
pot holed dropping our speed to about 25mph.  Occasionally our paved
lane dropped out of existence as the ground underneath the road had been
eroded away and the pavement just dropped down the cliff.  Fortunately, these
overnight made drop offs were marked by small rocks along their edges warning
commuters from their potential fall into the abyss.  ...Another good
reason not to travel at night.
     We crossed under a sign welcoming us to the state of Chiapas which
unlike Oaxaca state is one of the poorest of all Mexico.  The road conditions
instantly improved  to a nicely paved well marked road.  The two or three
tiny potholes we saw were well marked with white spray paint alerting both
driver and repair man of it's existence.
     207km (126 miles) or four hours into our trip for the day, we drove
up a mountain surrounded by vegetation up to a long line of cars, trucks
and busses.  People had gotten out of their vehicles and were standing along
the side of the road as if they had been there for a long time.  I drove
a 1/4 of a mile up to the front of the line to see what the problem was.
There was a man holding a fluorescent flag holding back traffic.  Further on
the road was what looked like an avalanche in the process of being cleared.
I asked the guy what's up?  I think he told me, but I caught almost none
of what he said.  He told me that we would be able to pass in forty minutes.

     I drove back down to where Sharon was, told her the news.
Rather than wait for who knows how long it would really take, we decided to
backtrack the 9 miles to the nearest town and get some lunch.  We stopped at a
road side restaurant with a huge bottle of corona advertisement painted along
it's side.  Even though there were no cars parked outside, we walked in
finding a mother and daughter (the proprietors) playing dominoes.
I asked if they were serving lunch to which they said yes and asked if we
were interested in chicken or enchiladas.  We ordered two squirt sodas and
I asked for the chicken.  Sharon, not knowing if her immodium had totally
kicked in, hadn't eaten all morning and now ordered a small bag of
Ruffles potato chips.  It quickly became apparent that this place had
a gnat problem.  The gnat population quickly grew as we sat waiting
for my Chicken.  We stood up and walked around with our bottles of Squirt
as the gnats chased.  When my chicken arrived,  Sharon fanned me with a menu
to keep the gnats at bay as I quickly ate.  By the time I was done, I counted
12 gnats that had drowned in my lunch.  We paid our bill and got out of there.
     An hour later, and the line of cars was still there.  However the
line was much shorter.  We turned off our bikes and waited in line
behind an orange truck that was piled to the top with oranges.  25 minutes
later, vehicles in front of us started up their engines, and the people around
us ran to their cars and buses.  The line started to move.  We drove
past a bulldozer that was above us pushing boulders off the
side of the mountain.  Traffic was stopped in both directions as it did
it's work. We probably passed at least a 1/4 of a mile of vehicles
stopped waiting to cross the opposite direction.  This is a major highway
through Southern Mexico connecting the state capital of Chiapas
(Tuxtla Guitierrez) with the state capital of Oaxaca (Oaxaca) with the only
detour taking one hundreds of miles out of their way.
     We passed through the city of Tuxtla Gutierrez population 300,000.
Like all major Mexican highways, the road passes right through the center of
town,  so there is no avoiding the traffic of the inner city.  With
all the stop and go traffic, and the intensity of the sun this far south,
I felt like the back of my black leather jacket had spontaneously ignited.
Feeling medium rare, I was looking forward to some cool altitude which
we were suppose to get.  San Cristobol is 5000 feet higher than Tuxtla
Gutierrez and 66km (40 miles) away.  On the Eastern outlying edge of Tuxtla
Gutierrez is the side of a mountain where the road narrowly and steeply
snakes up it with hair pin turns.  While it was bright and sunny above in T.G.,
There was a dark band of rain clouds holding on the side of the mountain
with bands of rain visible from below.  We were obviously going to need our
rain gear, however there was no place for us to pull over on this narrow
crowded road.  The rain started to come down and at first felt nice
extinguishing the fire on my back.  However, neither of us were wearing our
riding pants which keep our pants and inside our boots from getting wet.
In front of us was a line of about 20 cars stuck behind a double trailer
semi that was crawling up the hill at 10 mph.  It was impossible for
any of the vehicles to pass given the terrain and all of the on coming
traffic.  We were getting drenched as we were forced to crawl up the mountain
while searching for the smallest shoulder that we could turn off on to and put
on our rain gear which was within easy access.  Finally, we found a gravel
turn off.  I attempted to put down the kickstand on what appears to me to
be a level section.  The 600lbs bike falls over into my lap over the kickstand.
I struggle to keep it up.  I move the bike a little bit and try, again
it falls over.  I try this four more times as the bike continues to
misbehave defying gravity wanting to fall over as I'm now struggling in
the mud and gravel in this downpour.  I'm furious.  I finally get the
bike to stay, even though the kickstand foot is now all bent sticking up
at a 45 degree angle.  I help Sharon off her bike. I put on my rain pants
which almost seems pointless since my pants are so wet.  I put on my
PVC rain jacket which helps keep the leather jacket from being completely
soaked through.  However, I can't find my gators at the moment which keep
the water off of my boots.  We hop back on the bikes and continue.
I discover that somehow I knocked the microphone out of my helmet, and
can no longer talk using the communicator.  Given the terrain and that I'm
wearing the rain jacket, I'm not able to fix this while in motion.  Two
minutes after our stop and we're at the top of the mountain,  which has a
beautiful paved level pull off large enough for a couple semis to pull over
and be passed. It has now stopped raining, and in the direction we are
headed there are blue skies.
     For the next half hour, the beautiful scenery of green mountains
helps to cool my head off.  We pass some Indian villages that are like none
we have seen anywhere in Mexico.  The people are wearing brightly colored
ponchos that have been carefully embroidered.  We pass a mother and
her two adolescent kids walking along the road all wearing bright purple
ponchos with an almost fluorescent lime green circular patch on the
shoulder....   Very cool....
     Instantly I'm reminded of motor cycling through Northern Thailand
in hill tribe country where each of the different hill tribes maintain their
own traditional dress not conforming to the homogeneous western dress
that most of the world now wear in this century.  The isolation of the
mountains, and their pride in their culture aid in their ability to
preserve their traditions certainly making their local world a little more
colorful from the diversity.  Their economic situation does not afford
them the freedoms that would further expose them to other cultures
furthering isolation and preservation of their own culture.
More money brings schools, trade, travel, communications.
Communication include television, movies, music, telephone,
commercials, etc.....  all of which aid in the erosion of a unique culture
as it borrows ideas and melds into the homogeneity of the evolving world.
     A given society will adopt what they deem benefits themselves.  Changes
in tradition matter only if the people affected think it does.  Change may be
good or bad.  The people involved make that determination. They may be misled
by media hype, commercial marketing or missionaries who may be selling a better
way of life. However, caveot emptor... in the end, they are the ones who have
determined the direction of their lives.  Off the wall example:
combatting the creeping Englishization of the language Parisians are so proud
of which threatens change in their culture, in France, their department of
cultural preservation invent French words for Anglo-American terms such as
"station wagon" and "hot dog" since it has been illegal to have public
advertisements with English words.  Meanwhile, French speaking Canada adopts
the new English words into their repetoire.
     Around here imposed cultural erosion was primarily from colonial
times.  Spanish and Portuguese colonialism established subjugation of the
people by attempting to destroy traces of the pre-existing culture.
Destroying the local gods, religion, language, etc. all help to eliminate
their pre-existing self identity and transforms the people and new lands into
a little Spain with loyalty to the colonial power.
     It little matters whether an outsider evaluates this cultural erosion
as good or bad.  I happen to like the color a culture may add to the world from
it's diversity. If everything was the same, there certainly would be fewer
incentives to travel and explore. This is an argument that a tourism oriented
economy might capitalize on.  We hope we are travelling with some idea of how
our presence will impact the society and hope to keep negative aspects to a
minimum. Our presence, and how we spend our money naturally affects the economy
of an area. Two people may make little impact even on a tiny village, however a
stream of tourists who believe they make no impact may change a small village
into a tourist oriented society.  This was the case in a small Yao (hill tribe)
village we rode through on motorcycle in Northern Thailand.  It just happened
to be located at a convenient location for tour busses to stop and was
transformed into an endless line of souvenir booths for tourists to buy things
that the guide books suggested to buy.  The entire economy of this village had
been transformed into one dependent on tourist dollars since that was far more
lucrative than anything else.  It was amazing how much 'bargaining English'
people here had learned while neighboring villages didn't speak a word.  Other
things being equal, people go where the money is.

..end of digression...

     On the outskirts of San Cristobol,  we come upon what looks like
a recently built bunker with camouflage colored watch towers and guards
posted watching who comes in and who leaves.  The camouflage paint seems
silly since the surrounding building are painted yellow and white.
A couple years ago this area had an armed peasant uprising called the
Zapatista National Liberation Army who fought for a better distribution
of land between wealthy land owners and the peasants.  Apparently 80% of
the land is owned by 5% of the population.  Sort of a
modern day Mexican robin hood...  Dolls of the rebel leader "Marcos"
or zapatista fighters can be bought throughout San Cristobol in just about
any size.  They are pictured men carrying a rifle wearing a black ski mask.
Around the time of the currency crisis, the Mexican government sent in troops
to put down that zapatistas.   In town I came across some graffiti proclaiming
"Zapatista lives" in red spray paint.  Another wall also in red
spray paint demanded "More Schools".  Almost all of the graffiti I saw was
of a political nature.
     We found a hotel wealthy in character :-).  It's a set of bungalows
set on the side of a steep hill amongst a very mature crafted tropical
garden. Some of the bungalows come with their own kitchen with stove and
dining area and fireplace.  Most have a balcony with a view of the town
below.  Our bungalow has an excellent view, but comes with a shared bath.
Bungalows rent out for 120 pesos ($15).

7/19/97
San Cristobol, Mexico
As usual at 2:00 the rain clouds rolled in and it began to rain.
As usual a little hail came down, and then the hail nuggets grew and came
down harder and harder and harder.  At first it was cozy in our bungalow.
We could smell lemon and dill in the air as the tropical garden surrounding
the bungalows was pelted with hail.  Soon, however, the leaks in the roof
sprang and we scrambled to shield our clothes and other belongings from
continuously new forming leaks in our roof.  We closed the window and door
as now the hail was bouncing in.   That was fine until the power went out
and we had no light. No doubt the layman electrician wiring job with exposed
wires had gotten soaked and had shorted.  We opened our front door and
continued to scramble for plastic bags to layout on our mosquito net and bed so
that we would at least have a dry bed to sleep in tonight.  Our paper coffee
cups and solo plastic lids were carefully laid out to catch drips.  An hour and
a half later, and the hail and rain started to let up.  The view outside
our window had changed from a tropical village in the mountains to
one a winter scene.  All of the tera cotta roofs looked like they were
blanketed with snow from the piled up hail.  The garden outside our
bungalow was on a bed of ice, and the sidewalks had an inch of hail.
Before this started I was wearing a T-shirt.
An hour and a half later, I was wearing my fleece and leather jacket
heading down to the reception to buy some firewood for the fireplace
leaving foot prints in the piles of hail as I walked down the steps.
They tell me this isn't normal.

7/20/97
San Cristobol, Mexico
Every morning between 4:30 and 5:00am (1-1.5 hours before dawn) I awake to
multiple explosions over my head.  They usually occur about every 10 seconds
for a couple minutes followed by a lull of about 15 minutes which  is just
enough time for me to snooze off again before it happens again.  Around 5:30ish
every morning, a brass band starts playing happy Mexican festival music for
about an hour.  The sound wavers as the small brass band marches through the
empty streets in the town below.  From 17th to the 25th of July is the festival
of San Cristobol.  Where they blow off fireworks every morning
until 7:00am, at noon, and in the evening.  At noon, all of the trucks
and most of the cars blast there horns for about an hour as they go through
traffic.  We found out the hard way, that an outdoor cafe around noon
this time of the year is not the place to be.  Since it's been raining
fireworks, I got a chance to examine what's been waking us up.
They're large hand made bottle rockets.  The rocket
is a bamboo casing wrapped tightly in twine attached to a
straight 4 foot tree branch.  The main launch point for these rockets is
on top of the hill of San Cristobol which is about 100 feet up from us.
After trying to sleep in the morning for two hours. I gave in at 7:00am,
and got up to see the celebration.  That's when I discovered it stops
around 7:00am. By the time I went out searching, there was nothing.  The
town looked like any small city might at 7:00am on a Sunday, with
no one on the streets, and almost no cars.  I saw and heard no sign of
the band, and the fireworks had stopped, so it was a good time to go
back to bed.  However, I decided to go check out the market which the
guide books say is at it's peak on Sunday morning.  It was too early.
Less than a quarter of the stalls were full and people where still setting
up, with many of them not looking fully awake despite the town alarm clock.
The market had all kinds of fruit, flowers, beans, etc.  I was looking
for some bees that another traveller told me could be purchased there.
Since my favorable experience with grasshoppers in Oaxaca, I felt open
to another arthropod? dining experience.  No luck this morning though.
     Sharon and I had planned to visit some of the outlying villages
that we had heard were interesting.  We had a problem with cold showers.
Not having had a shower for two days we were getting a bit ripe and feeling
kind of itchy.  It was 55-60 degrees in the morning, and the hot water
wasn't working.  Stud woman braved it out in the cold, however spent the
next hour trying to warm up under the covers.  I talked to the owner who
suggested that I go to another bungalow where I had a nice short hot shower.

     We drove out 10km from San Cristobol to the village of Zinacatan
population 15,000.  Zinacatan is a Tzotzil indian village.  The
native language is Tzotzil however most also speak Spanish.  It looks
like any mexico village with cemented brick buildings, school, church, town
hall, etc, however everyone is wearing some sort of bright pink/purple top.
All of the men wear a bright pink/purple tunics that are elaborately
embroidered with flowers and animals.  The only exception being
the church elders who take  care of the church and wear a black wool tunic.
Woman and kids wear black lungee style skirts.  Many woman wear their hair
in a bun on their forehead.  Men wear decorated pink/purple tunics embroidered
with colorful flowers, and have multicolored tassels hanging from the edges.
We went inside the church which seems like any other church.  Behind the
church was the open market which looked like it was winding down.  On
the side was a basketball court where there were many pink/purple
spectators watching the match.  The backboards of the hoops were painted
with a large Sprite and Coca Cola advertisement.
     Picture taking is discouraged around here according to the guide books
and sign on the church.  One of the guide books suggests the belief of
capturing one's soul with the camera.  As we were getting ready to leave,
some girls were watching us.  When I pulled my GPS out of my fanny pack,
they hid behind some columns thinking it was a camera.
     We hopped on the bikes, and drove to a village in the next Valley
over called Chumula.  Here men wear white wool tunics with a leather belt,
pants or shorts.  Woman wear shinny blue shirts that are embroidered
along the sleeves, and black lungee style skirts.  Some woman wear a small blue
fabric folded on top of their head.  We drove into town towards the
market and church.  I stopped the bike and two boys ran up to us offering
to watch the bike for us.  The more aggressive one said he'd do it for
5 pesos.  The the other one chimed in he'd do it for 2 pesos.  I pointed
this out to the first bidder who then scolded the second one in Tzotzil.
His voice and mannerism read "You idiot, these gringos easily pay 5 pesos,
you don't bargain down to 2 before they've said no, especially if I start at
5".  The second bidder then said he'd do it for 5 pesos.  Thirty feet away
there were 7 other boys running towards us,  It seemed there would soon
be a mob scene of boys vying for who could watch the bike...
There was too much energy here, so we drove the couple blocks back to
a parking lot where there were a couple busses, with some Mexican military
in Bradley's hanging out in the shade.    I asked one of the soldiers in the
shade if it was ok to park my motorcycle here.  Other soldiers popped their
head up to see what the commotion was.  It was obvious by his demeanor and
the others that he wasn't guarding the parking lot, but likely there to
secure peace.  I remembered that I'm in Chiapas, home of the Zapatistas,
and definitely not a favorite place of the Mexican military that killed
1,500 Zapatistas to suppress them in 1995.
     The 6 expensively painted tour busses in the lot belong to this tour
group we keep encountering called Argentaria on their "Quest for the Quetzal"
tour. They are a well organized made for TV tour group of high school age kids.
They always wear the same T-shirts, zip off safari pants, and boots.  Their
green back packs and yellow rain ponchos show "Panama Jack" commercial
sponsorship.  A TV camera and digital audio recording equipment follows the
army where ever they go.  I can imagine this playing on a Argentinean
Nicalodeon TV channel.     We ran into this group in Oaxaca, Monte Alban,
El Tule, and San Cristobol.  Unfortunately, we seem to be on a similar path.
They descend on these areas and dominate the scene with their numbers.
     Sensitive to not wanting to appear as people visiting a zoo, we
approached the market and church of this village that we had heard had
some interestingly different cultural traditions.   The sign on the church
said it was illegal to take pictures.   We entered the church and it was
locust army feeding frenzy with the Argentarians crawling over everything.
Fifty of them had crossed past the sign that read, "Please do not go beyond
this point". One Argentarian was playing his toy souvenir violin he bought
for a crowd of ten other argentarians inside the church.
     Despite the distractions some of the locals still managed to
do what they came for.   I saw one woman sit down on the floor of this
church that had no pews, in an area that had few people around.  She pushed
the pine needles away, and then stuck 20 slender candles to the floor and then
lit them.  She began chanting in Tzotzil (the native language around here)
which to me who doesn't speak a word of Tzotzil sounded most similar to native
american languages I've heard in movies and in person around Arizona.
Behind her candles, she had a bottle of Sol beer, and a bottle of Pepsi.
She opened up the bottle of beer while chanting, took a swig of it, and
then spat it out spraying all of the candles in one windy burst.
In another place on the church floor a woman had 12 candles lit which
she would wave a half dozen eggs over and then rub them over her ?grandson?'s
face as he appeared to be sleeping, all the while chanting in Tzotzil.
She had two bottles of soda as well, but I didn't stick around to see what she
did with it. In another area,  a woman with two bottles of Penafiel Manzana
(a local brand apple soda) also had a chicken that was now dead.  Another
traveler had told me that he had seen the chicken live when it came in, and
then as the woman continued to chant, she had cut the chicken, and spread
chicken blood on her and her sons face.  When she was done, the chicken of
course was dead.  Bottles of coke were poured on the church floor in the mean
time.
     One thing I've noticed about this town more than any other is the
unusually large number of Coca Cola signs in and around.  I can only assume
that Coca Cola is vying to be the holy water of choice in this region.  While
Pepsi markets for the "Next Generation", Coca Cola appears to be marketing
towards the past generation of the spiritual world... likely  an untapped
market.
     I would have liked to have seen more, however the Argentarian hoard
made what seemed a unique serious religion into a circus.

[Some later notes that I discovered at No Bolom, San Cristobol regarding
Tzotzil religion]
     One's image is a reflection of one's soul.  Saint's (mannequins)
in the churches wear mirrors around their neck.  When one
prays to the saint, the soul of the person praying leaves their body.
The mirror helps the soul find it's way back by reflecting it
back onto the body.  Taking pictures in this area without permission
can get one in a lot of trouble, since following this logic one is stealing
a part of one's soul.  The church is considered part of god, and so taking a
picture of the church is stealing the soul of god.  I was told from
several sources that Chamula police will arrest you and through you in jail
for taking a picture of the church.  Chamula has their own police force
which we saw guarding the church.  They deal with all matters in the area
except murder.  They wear white wool poncho/tunics and carry black machetes
on their back.
     The Tzotzil religion is a fusion of Christianity and Mayan religions.
Previous to Christian missionaries, the mayan of this area already used the
cross as a religious symbol.  Because of this the first missionaries to
this area had thought they had found a lost tribe of Israel.  In reality,
the cross had completely different meaning.  The four points of the cross
symbolize the sun, earth, moon, and people.  Mayan crosses typically have
maze engraved on them, and the one's we have seen are usually painted blue.
They usually appear in sets of three symbolizing the three holy mountains
of this area.
     Regarding Coca Cola in the church....  A person may become filled
with evil spirits.  It's believed that expelling gas releases these evil
spirits from the body.  When Coca Cola first came to town, it was thought
to be a wonderful holy water for cleansing the body since drinking it
caused one to burp.  Recently however Pepsi and Penafiel have moved in
adding new flavors of holy water to the palette.
Refried beans with most dishes are a large part of the Mexican culture.
I wonder if this aspect of Mexican cuisine has any roots in this religious
belief....
     Regarding Pine.... Pine is considered a holy tree.  One ceremony
performed by the Lancandone (sp?) Indians involves burning a wooden paddle
full of piles of pine sap.  There is a pile for each person in the village.
When it is burned, the smoke from each pile feeds the gods.  Among the
Tzotzil, we only noticed pine needles in the floor of the church, and on
the floor at wedding receptions.
     Regarding blood... Although currently out of style, it was believed
among mayans that blood fed the gods.  A common stone carving and painting
shows a woman letting blood out of her neck onto some bark (pine?).  In the
picture, this bloody bark is burned giving off smoke which feeds the gods who
then give visions to the person who is a now a few pints short.

     Regarding fashionable mutilations that we saw evidence of from
the museum in Xalapa....  Mayan nobles would place a board on the forehead
of their child and attach it with a tight band such that it would flatten
the forehead of the kids skull.  A flat slopping forehead was considered a
thing of beauty, however it had the affect of squishing one's frontal
lobes to the side.  Holes were drilled in the front of the teeth so that
precious stones could be inset into them.  That'd be a drag to have
accidentally swallowed that stone again...
[end]

     We drove back to San Cristobol, and then 27km North West
to the town of Tenejapa.  The road winds through scenic mountains past tiny
villages.  A large sign advertises the building of a secondary school
half way there.  We had met a women from San Diego, CA who stayed in the
bungalow next door to us that had come out to work on building this
secondary school.  She had said that this came about by the well organized
zapatistas media campaign, and that it was partially funded by international
contributions.  While the Zapatistas where put down by the Mexican government
in '95, they won a lot of international and also Mexican support for their
cause.  The feeling in Chiapas is that the local government is corrupt,
funnelling away funds from local communities leaving much of the area without
public schools and other services.
     Further down the road,  the lane I was driving in had several
carefully placed rocks in the road that could cause serious problems if
someone didn't see them and ran over.  Having no idea what they were for, I
swerved around and drove on.  About a mile further, my entire lane completely
disappeared as it had fallen down the cliff likely due to massive erosion
under the pavement.  Undaunted, I swerved into the other lane, and then back
when my lane returned.  I came across another large section that had fallen
away.  Still further down the road, and there was a construction crew
rebuilding the road where it had just abruptly ended and all lanes were gone 
There was no way to cross, and so we turned back. Back where we first
encountered the rocks in the road, a man who's house this road block was in
front of was sitting in a chair and had seen me pass by.  He pointed up the
hill where there was a steep gravel road.  I said "Arribe?", to which he shook
his head yes.  We followed this nasty hard gravel road with large sharp rocks
over the mountain.  Fortunately, the bike was made to handle this kind of road,
and I had left the heavily loaded aluminum panniers back at the hotel.   Our
speed ranged from 5-15 mph as we crossed.
     Tenejapa is a very quiet village that appears to get few visitors.
There was a carnival type mobile cart with six foozball games that kids were
playing on in the central square.   We got a lot of curiosity stares as
we drove in.  I pulled up to what looked like a tiny corner store on
the square.  The lower portion of a bi-level door was closed with a man
leaning on it and staring out at us.  I greeted him, which he returned
the response friendly, but reserved.  Another man stood next to him smiling
at us who seemed to respond more openly.  I locked up the bike meanwhile
attempting to make conversation to get a feel for what the situation we
were in was.  I asked if he had any water for sale.  To my surprise this store
didn't.  I asked where a restaurant might be, and again was surprised as
I was told around the corner away from the square and down a block.
Water could be purchased in the other direction.  All of my questions were
answered in a friendly manner by one, while the others watched in interest.
The oddness I sensed seemed benign, so we left the bike and took off in
search of some lunch at THE restaurant.  Later it occurred to me that if
secondary schools are in such short supply, the education level may not be up
to par, and in this remote village where Tzotzil is the native language, not
everyone may feel comfortable speaking Spanish.
     We found the restaurant, and decided we were not that hungry.  Sharon
still not fully recovered from her last GI battle had no interest in tasting
food that looked like it had been sitting out all day after having been washed
by water from the local stream.  Walking down a deserted street, we saw three
men in the distance coming our way wearing black fuzzy wool tunics, with large
silver medallions hanging from a sort of low wide necklace.  Again attempting
to be sensitive as to not appearing like we were in a zoo, we ignored them only
occasionally glancing out of the corner of our eyes.
     We walked around back to the square and then to a little shop
that sold pop.  The old woman who ran the store sold me a bottle of Fresca for
3 pesos, and offered to pour it into a plastic bag and give me a straw so that
I wouldn't have to carry the bottle as I drank the pop.  While in the US,
people use paper Solo cups, in Mexico, it's very common for people to use clear
plastic bags with a straw.  I drank my fresca, and then we walked over to the
church.
     The church was empty except for one old woman chanting in front
of some candles. There were no signs of pine needles, however it
did have the saint mannequins in their glass boxes just like the other
churches of the area, and the foot sedans to parade them around town
for special occasions.  We sat down on a pew to look around and listen.
A few minutes later, a man dressed in local traditional garb walked in
carrying four bottles of Pepsi.  He greeted us with a "good afternoon" in
Spanish and then sat down in front of what looked like a miniature coffin
behind a glass box.  Over the next 15 minutes, what looked like his extended
family of about 15 people sauntered in.  They sat on the floor and pews
all merrily talking to each other, and handing out tiny 1 oz paper cups of
Pepsi.  It looked like a family picnic in the church in front of the miniature
coffin.

Outside, the man who gave us directions to the restaurant and water was still
hanging around.  He asked about the bikes, where we came from, how long it
took, etc.  After I would tell him in Spanish, he would translate in Tzotzil
for the others.  The Tzotzil crowd warmed up and quickly grew.  Curious faces
sprouted smiles as all of answers were translated.  He told us he
use to have a 300cc bike but had given it up since an accident on it
had put him in a coma for over a month.

-------

Tuesday through Friday we spent taking a crash course in Spanish.  While
we successfully conduct all transactions in Spanish and are now feeling
very comfortable, small talk is difficult due to our limited vocabulary.
Our class lasts from 4:00pm-7:00pm.  In the morning we study and do
mounds of homework we have.    Since we plan to spend the next 10 months
in Spanish speaking country, we figure the beginning of our trip is
a good place to learn.  We covered past, present and future verb conjugation
of over 100 verbs plus 26 irregular..... whew...


Random notes:

Memorable dinner at casa de Magarita:
Azador... steak fillets, chicken fillets, chorizo, pork sausage,
stuffed potato with ham and cheese, tomato, all with soft white Mexican
mozzarella style cheese sprinkled on top. on a portable lit grill brought
to the table.  Excellent tasting, and it draws everyone's eyes to you
in the restaurant.  Casa de Magarita has a live band playing every night
that plays Gypsy King's instrumental music.  This is one of our favorite
ethnic bands.

Emiliano's Moustache is one of the best managed restaurants we've been to
in Mexico.  They pack people in.  The food is good.  Almost all of it is
some sort of fried meat and vegetable combination served on fresh cooked
tortilla.  Staff and cooks are well organized and fast moving.  The
cooks are in the front of the store in the open where everyone can see
them work.  The two women cooking tortillas were amazing.
We clocked one of them at 360tph (tortilla per hour), while the other one
was capable of exceeding 500tph.  One person might eat 15 tortillas in
a meal.

One night we stopped at Madre Tierre (Mother Earth) who are known
for their baked breads.  We picked up some *salted* *pasteurized*
butter which tasted just like home.  Mexican butter posses neither of the
above two adjectives.... and I believe require a taste I haven't acquired
to enjoy.  We also picked up some Parmesan Reggiano.  I was really excited
to see this sell for $4 per pound which is a 1/3 of what I would expect...
that is until I saw the made in Uruguay.  It didn't taste much like
Reggiano.  We also picked up a loaf of their garlic bread which was a dense
brown bread with several heads of garlic baked in.  Oregano and basil
was baked into the top.  This along with a bottle of Mexican red
table wine called Califia made a nice meal in our bungalow with
fire in the fireplace.

E-mail access.
     Several times this week we dialed home using our computer to
get an e-mail fix and stay in touch with friends.  Andy Burnett is setting
up an e-mail mailing list off his machine roadkill.com that will allow me
to send mail to multiple people making up for bugs in the software I am
currently using for mail.  Tom Magliery is setting up a web page making
our journals accessible to those with web access.
     While internet cafes can be found throughout Mexico, we found
that given the speed of the connections, it's very expensive to surf
the net.  Primarily what we want to do is just e-mail anyway.
We have an HP200LX palmtop computer that fits easily in my fannypack
that runs nettamer 1.09 and offers network services over a  PPP connections.
Our acoustic coupler connector velcros onto any public pay phone, on one end
and plugs into our PCMCIA 14.4k bps modem on the other end.  We haven't had
any problems getting a 9600 bps connection back home when we are successfully
able to connect.  The trick is a timing issue between dialing the
37 numbers, starting the software talking which has a 15 second delay,
and attaching the acoustic coupler to the hand set before the carrier
begins.  A failed connect can be expensive.  We were paying $4.50
for the first minute, $2.25 each additional.  Since we switched over
to the AT&T military service saver plan we're paying a flat rate of
about $1.25 per minute plus $5 per month.  So far we're averaging about
one successful connection per two tries.  The software bugs and acoustic
coupling skills were for the most part ironed out early on.  Dealing with
slowness from my ISP, hanging, etc. are still very frustrating.  The AT&T
military saver plan has reduced the stress caused from failed connects.
I've discovered that 8:00am-6:00pm my ISP is so slow that I can potentially
incur expensive long hangings waiting for the mail server to send me or accept
a mail blast.  After 10 or 11:00pm, when normal phone rates drop, I figure
that more people call back home since rates are cheaper and the availability
of extremely clean phone line connections drop potentially leaving me with a
poor quality phone line that likely hangs the software/hardware.  I know that
I've lost e-mail both outgoing and incoming due to these problems....


     While preparing to leave San Cristobol, I went and got the motorcycles
from the guarded parking area which was about 100 meters away.  I drove them
up to the front of the hotel which is a busy are with many cars passing by.
I noticed that the left front shock started bleeding some oil.  I have
additional oil seals with me for this should it get really bad, however
I'll need to find some 10W oil.  This was likely caused from the rough
rocky road we took to Tenejapa last week.
     I went up to get some luggage, and returned 10 minutes later.
While I was gone someone cut the three straps holding the left front
pannier on the bike, and took off with it.  I was a bit surprised that
an opportunist thief would do this in broad daylight at such a busy
area.  I had purchased these used front tank panniers in Austin Texas
several weeks ago for $10.  The main reason was just to put some weight
up front on the bike and reduce some of the wobble.  I sinced discovered that
front tire pressure had more of an affect than shifting the weight.
We still used them even though we knew them to be vulnerable to thieves.
The opportunist took off with my spare toothpaste, two unused things of
deodorant,  and two guide books, one of which was a waste of space, and
the other just dead weight for the next couple months.  The thing I miss
most is the deodorant and toothpaste, both of which had it been a week
later would have saved us from having to hunt down replacements since
our everyday toiletry bag was just about depleted.  In this heat and
humidity, no deodorant is a serious matter especially when travelling
with your S.O.
     I hadn't given this a lot of thought other than to recognize
these are vulnerable.  I had hoped a thief might open the bag and
discover it's not worth it rather than run off with the whole bag.
With hindsight, I would reinforce the fabric and straps with stainless
steal wire, or thick leather.. just so there would be a stronger incentive
to open the bag which just had a zipper rather than cut the straps.  of course
this would not stop someone from slashing the front.  Most valuables such
as cash, passport and vehicle title are always kept on our person.
My fannypack which has a double latch safety buckle and a belt chain
which prevents the straps from being slashed carries my computer,
gps. mini camera and mini binnoculars.  This doesn't detach from my person
except when I'm in my hotel room.  All other semi valuable stuff
is kept locked in the aluminum boxes which are then obscured from sight
with a motorcycle cover.  Items are organized such that we need to open
a minimum number of panniers to check in to a hotel.  This minimizes the
chance that we might leave them unlocked.  The fabric Marsee tank bag and
seat bag only contain replaceable clothes, and are always brought into the
hotels.