Mexico Easter 2003 - Part 7: Horse riding and the Indian attack

What’s money? A man is a success if he gets up in the morning and goes to bed at night and in between does what he wants to do.
Bob Dylan

10 April - Horse-riding, the Indian attack and San Cristobal de las Casas

I had a fine night’s sleep. In the morning Glenn’s workers cooked us a good breakfast, I think they own the place. Glenn lost his ranch because he was a foreigner - this to some is very bad, as we witnessed for real later today!

We set off for horse riding, most of us except a few who wanted to see the ruins nearby. Our yellow Idaho schoolbus jalopy came complete with the Mexican cowboys grinning in sombreros until their moustaches looked like they might just fall off. We had a jolty, unique ride to their nearby ranch at Ocosingo’s borders. There I mounted a little horse, which jumped a lot for the first hour, making my bum hurt like crazy. But we dismounted at their ranchhouse for a break, where for 10 pesos our cowboy friend showed off all his pride - his animals, his tiny lagoon and his joys and gave us fresh lemonade. The the next hours’ riding was awesome - my horse seemed to understand me very well and I had a high speed run which got the horse too sweaty to continue. It was an excellent ride around the ranch, although not too scenic. We got back into the van after being dropped back, for a journey ending at San Cristobal de la Casas, up immense hills and cliffhanging turns, still in Chiapas state.

Then a moment of truth came with regards to an Indian community that blocked off the road to San Cristobal asking money of each vehicle. Failure to pay would mean certain hammering of your person and your vehicle with stones and machetes. Having seen the Californian numberplate of our van, the scrounging gits asked for 300. Why all this animosity? They were opposed to Puebla Panama - a treaty or free trade agreement, that may make foreign investment easy in Mexico. They probably hate foreigners and want no foreign investment in their sacred lands. The boys spray painted the Puebla message on the vans, AS WE WATCHED, fearing the worst from the guys holding rocks, etc. in their hands and staring our way. After we finally passed, Sybren had to stop to kick a few trees and smoke, this is how much he got pissed off about this event - which cost him dearly from his own pocket. But you can’t revenge Indians, because they would probably hunt your ass down and whoop the ass of everyone you know also. Sybren bought some paint remover later and scrubbed it out in half an hour.

At San Cristobal de la Casas, we checked into our lovely hotel Los Robles where we were to spend 3 night. Flashes of the conversation with the American at the immigration office in Merida, about San Cristobal, came to my mind. It was all true.

Plans for the rest of the trek

3 nights here, San Cristobal de la Casas.
2 nights, Palenque - sleeping on hammocks, much hotter, El Sumidero Canyon.
4 nights on the coast - near Tulum and close to Playa del Carmen. Camping on the beach, sunsets, great end.

Me and Tosh had to fill up the big water bottles - which was so eventful it deserves a mention here. After discovering some supers which had no water, we stumbled on a place with a different brand of water, so in additional to filling these up into our emptys, we had to lug these (open) mammoth bottles to our hotel’s rooftop godknows how many blocks - my shoulders were in pain. There was a lady cajoling at the store where we refilled our water that I totally fell in love with, not by telling her, but just by watching her. Below is my piecemeal tribute to Carmelita.

I can state with no reservation that this is the most elegant town I’ve seen so far in Mexico. It’s got cobbled streets, colonial buildings, low rise terraces, and a huge number of churches. It’s my favourite so far, I’m happy we’re staying here for a while.

Marion cooked a wonderful meal that night on the rooftop where San Cristobal by night glistened like stars and asteroids - we consumed wine and a tequila I bought and I settled to bed, my spirit enriched and colourful like the wierd Indian handicrafts at the market.

This was the coldest night so far, and my highest point above sea level in Mexico.

To Carmelita at the store in San Cristobal de la Casas

In dedication to Carmelita, who may never read this.

Carmelita's mestizo body was like underwater sand and her hair
rich and falling - gracefully into her relaxed soul.
And her demeanour and love and smile could shame the moon, she
was as loving in the Chiapas sunshine as any God would have liked.
Her sweet talk and gallavating elegant walk almost killed me
standing. That was Carmelita, in whose eyes one could see the hills
of Tabasco, her fingers moved vividly, blessing all the wines that
she held, her brine face of a Princess, the next Mayan Messiah.

Amit Kothari. Written back in the UK.