Sunday, October 9, 2010 Cañon del Sumidero

I woke up in the middle of the night on the bus and realized we were at a federal military checkpoint, surrounded by troops. Not that that was weird or anything. But what was weird is that there was a big sign in English only, explaining that the Federal Government is on an anti-drug campaign, which is the reason for the stop. But why only in English? a) Because Gringos are the only ones who freak out and need an explanation for a military checkpoint, or b) because Gringos are the only ones smuggling drugs. The bus arrived in Chiapas's big city, Tuxtla Gutierrez (try saying that five times fast), so I dropped off my bag and took a shared VW bus combi to some place called Cinco de Mayo, then took another combi to the little colonial town of Chiapa del Corzo, on some major river. It was pretty hot out and the sun was super strong. Tuxtla was a ho-hum town, whereas Chiapa del Corzo was nice, quaint, and colonial. Correspondingly, there were tons of restaurants and souvenir shops selling the same exact junky handicrafts. One thing that I couldn't pass up, however, was a coconut in which they add sugar, lime, and vodka to the juice, which was pretty pimp. I filed onto the lancha boat, with 15 other Mexican tourists, and the boat sped off down the river. The canyon was really high and spectacular. We had to plow through some islands of trash, which somewhat took away from the magic of the picturesque Cañon del Sumidero and waterfalls. We saw some pelicans, vultures, and big crocodiles. I caught the bus back to whatever Cinco de Mayo and had some bomb carne asada, beef fat, and tripe tacos. To be honest, the beef fat wa pretty good. Tripe, however... I slept on the bus to San Cristobal de las Casas; you guessed it: another colonial town, basically the same as Oaxaca but in Chiapas state, which is poorer and very indigeneous Mayan. I took a cab from the bus station to the Hosteling International Hostel, whose entrance was on a street on which there has been a continuous protest for the last several YEARS, where basically the Zapatistas have erected tents and tarps to demonstrate for self-determination for indigenous groups who have been oppressed since the Spanish conquest. But when I checked in, I was literally the sole guest. Ironically, the reason I chose this hostel was because I thought it would be the most social. Instead, it was deserted and just plain depressing. I threatened to check out after I realized there was only mildly heated water, and four employees all got up, checked my room, checked the boiler, checked another room, and they gave me my own room for the dorm price. But I was so bored that I went to another hostel to make friends, and ended up sitting with some Quebecois guys for a while, who were kind of different. One was a stoner who worked for 2 years in the Montreal youth hostel, and the other was someone who didn't mind that the boy on the bus next to him tried to steal his luggage while he was sleeping, and he understood my English but would respond only in Spanish, but the accent was so French that I could barely understand him. That was basically my Saturday night out. I went to a club and ordered a michelada (Corona mixed with spicy sauce), but all the people were locals, all with their groups of friends, so I felt awkward and just went back to my empty hostel via the refugee camp outside.