practicing nudism . From Zipolite I headed to San Cristóbal de las Casas , Chiapas , in the rain , where I arrived at eleven o ' clock at night to stay at the hostel Casa Margarita , on Real del Pedregal street , in the historic centre of the city .
“ And tell me , why is it that there are so many European Rastas , half hippies and such peculiar characters here in San Cristóbal ?”, I asked the vendor of algodones ( a pink foam made with sugar that children love ).
“ Because of Sub comandante
Marcos ,” he replied . “ To whom ?” “ Yes , we owe it to Sub comandante Marcos that this city is now famous ,” he explained . “ Before 1994 , Chiapas did not exist . The Sub put it on the map . All these beings from " another planet " who roam the streets of San Cristóbal are the ones who come looking for the " aroma of the lost revolution ".
A mocking smile while he added , “ In my time , the " progressives " were people who dressed humbly and " permeated " with the people . These ones ... well , what can I tell you , look at the way they dress , they want to be " different ", " original ", with their trousers with Sub patches and the odd red star stuck on and smoking cannabis all the time . They come from many countries , and they have already invaded us . Especially those ... what did you say they call them ?” “ Rastas , like Bob Marley ,” I offered . “ Who ' s that ?” “ A Jamaican who used to smoke marijuana and created a ‘ religion ’ based on the worship of the drug .”
“ Ay , cabrón !” he replied in surprise .
After walking the streets of the historic centre , a chance to eat in the restaurant El Xochitl Chipilin brought a conversation with the waiter .
“ Did you see how all the churches in San Cristóbal are ‘ taken ’?”
“ What do you mean , ‘ taken ’?”, I asked , curious .
“ Yes , they are taken over , kidnapped . You can ' t see the facades because of the number of stalls of the Indigenous people who come down from the mountains to sell their regional products , even to get inside you must go through a labyrinth of stalls , it ' s the " re-conquest ". The priests must be furious ,” he laughed while explaining .
In that restaurant , savoring a pot of coffee with cinnamon , I completely changed my planned itinerary and instead of heading towards the border with Guatemala , I decided to take the road to Ocosingo and head towards Palenque . The 231-kilometre journey was fatal , with endless speed bumps that prevented me from ever shifting into fourth gear , especially when crossing into territory " liberated " by the EZLN ( Zapatista Army of National Liberation ) in the Sierra Lacandona .
With an altitude of 2,000 metres , it had brought a chill , I was very cold amongst the coniferous forests ; the humidity of the environment made the inside of the helmet visor fog up and visibility was reduced . A fog tried to hide suspicious trucks , driving slowly , people with guns sitting on the back . In this small town I stayed at the boutique hotel Quinta Chanabnal , where the service was first class . Sleeping in one of the individual thatched-roof cabins , very Mexican style . Welcomed after arriving at night in the rain , quite tired .
The morning brought a visit to the archeological site nestled in the middle of the jungle near the Usumacinta River . These ruins are as important as those of Chichen Itza or Tikal . A meal of rice , beans , and chicken in sauce at the Los 3 Pepes . The owner , very friendly , showed me the altar he has in honour of the Virgin of Guadalupe and his mascot , a duck that wandered among the tables as if it were the most normal
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