Snails and Mexico City

The bus to visit Oventik, a Zapatista community about an hour from San Cristobal, went very fast. Very fast on a narrow winding road, that went higher and higher and got mistier, through steep hillsides and snapshots of village life. A girl next to me wore a Strawberry Shortcake T-shirt. I was surprised at the deforestation on the way, but I don't know why. There wasn't a huge amount, and people have to eat. Maybe it just looked very new to me, very fresh, for communities that have lived there so long.

As we got closer a realisation bubbled to the surface, that I didn't know what I was planning to actually do when we got there. Walk around? Have lunch? This wasn't an amusement park. When we pulled up on the main road beside the sign asserting that this was a Zapatista Autonomous Zone, and I was faced with a white gate leading on to one steep street going down the hill, this realisation had turned into a feeling of slight stupidity. I gave my passport to a girl with a scarf pulled half-heartedly, almost coquetishly, over her lower face. I followed her into one of the painted buildings lining the street, one room with three men wearing dark masks. I had the distinct feeling that I might have got myself more than I bargained for.

Luckily, the natural human instinct that says that anyone with a mask is an unknown quantity up to no good proved to be false. They seemed quite content that I just wanted to take some photos of the murals on the buildings. I was ushered into another building with more masked faces to get a permit for that, and the rules (the only one of which I grasped was 'no people'). I deplored my terrible Spanish that didn't allow me to be anything more than brisk, and actually initiate a conversation with any of the people I met.

The whole of the visitable village was that street, and a basketball court at the bottom. It was all very misty and didn't make for great photos. The buildings were all painted brightly, with revolutionary images (like Che on the hospital) and others that seemed more tranquil (like a tree with people, masked and unmasked, sitting in it looking quite happy). A lot seemed to be women. One I liked was of a woman's face masked by cobs of corn, showing just the eyes. There were several weaving co-operatives, a couple of shops selling food. The hospital, with the Zapatista Ambulance parked outside. And a comedor slash souvenir shop, selling everything you could want. Zapatista keyrings included, which weirded me out and sent me into thoughts about counter-culture-capitalism that I haven't yet resolved. It got mistier and colder, and I returned to San Cristobal quiet and thoughtful.

I spent fourteen hours on a bus to get here, to Mexico City, also known as DF. I fell straight into the arms of my friend Patricia from Santa Barbara. She has been looking after me incredibly, ushering me around the huge city on the vast public transport system, allowing me to see more than I ever would on my own. It's lovely to be in a real home for once. I am definitely getting slight tiredness messages from some part of my brain, saying it's time to settle down and sleep in the same bed for more than one week.

Mexico City, as well as being very big, is much more than I was expecting. Witness the downtown historical area, full of old European style buildings, beautiful with an old-time atmosphere. The Palacio de Bella Arte, with murals and an Art Deco interior, slowly sinking into the ground. Many of the old buildings here are. It's what you get if you build on a lake. The Basilica de Guadalupe that we saw today is on quite a nasty lean. They seem to be doing things to it inside to help. The real Virgin de Guadalupe, an oft-copied painting and 'proof' of the appearence of Mary in Mexico, resides in a much newer building (it's meant to be shaped like a hill. Very modern). She's very popular. You go under the altar to see her, and they've installed conveyor belts to keep people moving.

Also today we saw the Museum of Anthropology. Huge. Like the city, and full of pieces of pottery and stone and bones from the Aztecs and Maya and the civilisations that preceded them. Last night it was the trendy bohemian area Coyoacan, with a market all around the park, and full of churro stands, dulcerias, hip bars and coffee shops. The day before, the main cathedral. Very crowded (as is a lot of the city, and this is Semana Santa, so it's emptier than usual) and you can buy holy water for ten pesos. Unfortunately however we were not allowed to take the tour up to see the bells and the tower. The cardinal was hanging out upstairs.

Although I'm glad I missed the Semana Santa accomodation headaches I would have had in the ritualised Guatemala, I do feel sorry for the lack of chocolate eggs at this time of year. It seems that eggs really are not part of it here at all. Don't even talk about hot cross buns, warm from the oven, with melting butter... There doesn't seem to be a lot of ceremony here in Mexico for Easter, apart from very religious church going and self-flaggeration (!). There is one where they take painted paper dolls of Judas, fill them with gunpowder and throw him on the fire. Another tradition is throwing water over each other on Holy Saturday. But Patricia says the people in charge decided that too much water was being wasted, so now they turn off the running water in many suburbs on that day (not ours, thankfully). So yes, an interesting place to spend Easter; but I'd really like someone to save me a Cadbury Creme Egg.

Another unreasonably long bus trip coming up, to Cancun, which I'm hoping to split into pieces. If thee's time, maybe tomorrow we go to visit the pyramids. Then Cuba. I better not say that too loud, the United States might hear me, and cancel my recently-received electronic Approval to Travel (a new facet of the Visa Waiver Program). I officially have my plane ticket back to NZ, leaving California July 6th, arriving Wellington July 8th. I expect a parade. And presents.