Incipient Vagabond--Verily

Hey,
So I'm in Asheville NC, I've been bouncing around still.  Living like that has allowed me to break wide open my scope of what can be considered home.  With a hammock, a water bottle, and a minicomputer (ipod) to stay connected with those I know and love, as well as a few smaller things, I can be at home almost anywhere.  It is taxing, certainly--I miss so many people and the interactions are less fulfilling.  But I'm working (off and on) and discovering and making connections.  Hopefully I'll have a breakthrough soon, however, and find a great place to base out of and a positive reputation and a daily life.  I have no responsibilities and thus have weak motivation.  I find myself feeling guilty for lethargy or lack of production.  I find myself not wanting to do things because they aren't investments in a greater story--just pissing in the wind where I may or may not reap benefits in the future.But this place is cool, I'm not completely under the thumb of human tyranny.  I think I'm heading back to California soon.

Tuxtla Gutierrez, another big rolling city, but nothing like DF, with a massive mexican flag--a mainstay of patriotism for the nationals.  A fine home, of a dentist's wife and son, though I never saw the man, they had two stories, running water; Luis and Marco and I, we went down to the plazas and climbed a great pyramid, lit up and maintained, played drums and sought a stick to spin as a staff; I explored as usual, and found a pineapple, a couple candidates (a broomstick, a slightly imperfect stick and an imbalanced stick), and a big dog, as well as an abandoned building on the shadowy residential side of the pyramid--in mexico they have taken stones and built cells, casing up the hill but with wells of dirt and plants regularly in the form of yards; this one was bulging with the roots of the tree by the sidewalk, and the door was open and it was dusty but with evidence of scoundrels, tenative tenants, guests morelike, in this bit of untended territory, a ghostly window into what was, and what will be, the first of its kind but definitely not the last.

We went down and rejoined the crowds, danced mildly but with little real interest.  The next day we hung about, and the following, slow to go, we finally took off a bit before sunset with little enthusiasm--lethargy sets in quickly, because every adventure starts off with an investment, a risk, a loss of a great deal of comfort--a sacrifice with the hope that it germinates into fruit, always new birth is the result of a loss, a giving up of energies.  But we did it, and didn't find a good place to thumb before walking all the way to Chiapas de Corzo, fortunately only a few miles beyond; we walked and arrived at the edge where we saw a small hillside with a stand of trees and darkness, inviting in its openness and cover simultaneous.  But as we were scoping it out, a man walked by down on the sidewalk, when my friends had gone out too far into the vulnerable space under the street light, and asked what they were doing.  Obedient as any other i've met here, my friends answered honestly, that we were looking for a place to camp, and the man said it belonged to another, and that in the daytime it was a parking lot.  I tried to persuade my friends that it was a good place to stay, and that we would be out early and it would not bring us any trouble, but they resisted so we went into town.  We went to the centro, as always, where a show had ended and there were people strolling about and a stage being dismembered.
Camped in the palacio
walked up through the humid jungle to the highway
caught a ride quickly, up to san cristobal de las casas, the weather dropping dramatically and awesomely
we wandered town a bit, but as my friends were where they wanted to stay, and i was tired of towns and wanted to be in the jungle where I could express myself and find food without societal impositions (cash), and so i parted for the final time from my friends.  i walked to the edge of town (though not before having intense urges to clear my bowels (a running theme throughout my time there), and upon seeing a wide open gate, with untended growth at the back, ran with relief to drop some fertilizer in the corner.  But the gate having closed behind me (no doubt by the guy who had seen me cross the road and into the place, being unsure whether i was supposed to be there, at least contented himself with my being trapped, and thus in a position where i would have to make contact with somebody in the building and thus likely to meet justice for trespassing if that were the case).  But all was fine, when i cleaned myself up and went to the back of the nearest business, and upon informing them that i had come in looking for a bathroom, and yes i was aware that there was no bathroom there, but now i was stuck, the ladies chuckled and went around to open it back up.
Off i went, into the land of collectivos, camionetas, trucks that go 10-30 miles at a go, for 20 pesos each, but i wouldn't have it and held fast, getting rides slowly but surely.  I got a ride from a couple coming from tuxtla, with treats from a weekend getaway, home to ocotzingo; they fed me a good starchy vegetable, steamed and soft with a spiky but loose and flimsy skin and a flavor between potatoe and sweet potato (jicama, i believe) and then soon after, just before sunset, another couple who had hosted a swedish girl once but spoke no english, though were apparently upper middle class, took me into the humid jungle and city of palenque.  I was here, finally, but there were no gypsies, only tourists again.  Where were the wild, wonderful, goofy gypsies?  I had expected several hundred people were coming to this, but no one was to be seen.
I found an internet cafe, and with my last five dollars, was able to buy 45 minutes of internet, to get directions on what to do once in town; then to buy some grande y dulce bread, and take a cab to el panchan, where the rainbow voice had assured me i would be sure to encounter fellow rainbowers.  I arrived, and there was no one, and i was a little disappointed, for i felt i would be awkward sitting at the entrance to this hotel and restaurant (jungle style, but tourist nonetheless).  But fortunately there was a tour guide, drunk and bored as well, with whom i spoke at length and we decided to go back for one more beer, if i had any change.  i did, so we walked and he informed me of some of his travels, how he had a son by a spanish woman, neither of whom would now talk to him, and lived in spain and america, respectively.  he told me he had heard drums the night before in the forest across the road, but would not have me walk into the forest now because of poisonous snakes.  he said men from the ruins, or the businesses, it was not known, were starting to be vigilant and shoo out us visitors, because we were arriving in greater numbers and too close to the ruins.  So he convinces me to go hide under a palapa, we'll stay the night and they won't notice and we'll leave very early.  but a woman and her daughter arrive and tell us we need to pay 2 dollars each--he says we'll pay in the morning.  No, now, and of course we can't and I say so and that I'll leave, but he persists, and somehow we end up simply moving to one farther away, after the women leave (submissive to the end).  We stay and they arrive again, and the same thing occurs again.  Well, we get up and out right at daybreak, but when he has shown me the path, he says he'll be paying off his half of the night's cost, and if i want to go back, and i should anyway, but only if and when i can, to pay off my two dollars.  he then wishes me luck.  I go off, into the forest on the path, high in spirits and begin to ascend.  but the area is unfortunately small, and i reach the back quite soon, a field some asshole has cleared and which has tall grass and nothing else, and a high barbed wire fence, but which i enter anyway to get some perspective and possibly scope out a good gathering location, because i'm aware rainbow is largely ad hoc.  But I descend finally, a bit forlorn, but take a different path around, and come upon a man with a shaved head and robes, and i am glad.
We talk, I share a bit of bread, and we talk and walk back to el panchan.  He is from Colombia, but has spent time in the US, but has been in Mexico for about a year.  He is barefoot, but as the day progresses we come to follow a couple of leads and try desperately to piece it all together, but end up walking some dozen miles and arriving at much the wrong location and end up coming back to where we started, where we should have stayed from the start, to wait patiently as the instructions dictated, at the entrance to panchan.
But all is well, finally, when we meet friendly travelers, a group from Kansas in fact, Brady and Clay, then Troy, and Andrea, a fantastic serendipitous event, which, as I've encountered before, because I put myself out there, asking the universe for something I want, time and again, looking for those who share my interests and passions, i encounter people who are willing and able to help me try.  Little did I know, in this first encounter, that these would become great friends, and I would, three months from then, join them on their permaculture village experiment in Lawrence, KS.  But for now, they simply gave me hope, saying surely "we" could pay the collective fee to bus us there.

So off to Babylon we went, merrily.

So Jonathan and I spent a good deal of time together over the course of about four days; I would come to the centro, first to make jewelry, for the company, to meet and get to know other vagabond gypsies who hopefully could give me some good ideas, some philosophy, company on adventures, or just to have fun with.  The thing is, there in Oaxaca there's a bit of a bubble of gypsy-types, who are radically different in appearance--though still very friendly, hospitable, and generally human *gasp!*.  But the rest of the people are quite typically mexican--either having some kind of gig that they put their every week into, using every resource they have to sell things--a cart, a pole with merchandise attached, their voice, their children, images of pretty girls or pretty girls themselves; then the rest are on vacation, largely ordinary tourists doing touristy things, which consists primarily of gawking, walking, buying, eating, and talking.  Thus, I found other sources of diversion, such as learning to make jewelry (I learned I'm not so much into such intricate and time-consuming things--I'll take a job talking to people or moving heavy things any day over that), practicing poi, and planning to buy a tattoo of a quetzalcoatl.  I's badass, but I ended up not getting it, for two reasons--we didnt have proper space and the henna we did didnt look so good.  Okay, so I guess there's three reasons: I went out the night before we did the henna and ended up getting smashed and losing all my money, and my watch.  I met some chulos (in the hard sense of the word--interesting and cool enough, but trying to prey on this gringo nonetheless).

The cool thing in Oaxaca was all the lovely young ladies from the catholic school who happened to be really interested in our joyeria, hair wraps, and handsome faces.  My pal was as expert at talking to strangers as I am in English--that is, pretty damn good.  So we always had good company, and I was sad to leave.  That said, I started to see something I would realize later--that these gypsy jewelry vendors were as much stuck in their jobs as anybody in an office--they chase tourists and good weather and eek out a living but not much more... I definitely didnt want to get sucked into this, as I had to get to the jungle and start collecting monkeys and seeing mangoes... or something like that.  So after one final night hanging out together, which was actually the first night I met his girlfriend and got to stay at his house after leaving my other host, and a good luck smoke of the yerba buena, I was off.

I walked out of Oaxaca in about an hour and was just on the highway when I met Noblezza.  This is a trucker, and despite the feminine gender of his apodo, he was just a noble soul, full of compassion with nothing deviant about him (nothing he expressed, at least... he simply enjoyed passing the time with Oaxacan wanderers).  He just has a noble heart and knows many people, lives well and has love for all, driving a double stacked trailer which he pulled over right in front of me as I was walking even without my thumb out.  We had a blast, as we talked, I happy to have an opportunity to practice my spanish (the only thing about Jonathan--and I've encountered this in other people as well--is that since I didnt speak fluently, he coped by resorting to gestures and clammed up his lips when talking to me, using the few english words he knew instead).  The other thing was, he was eager to give me every opportunity to stop and see the great landscape after Oaxaca on the way to Tuxtla Gutierrez--hills of agave (whereas before Oaxaca it had been hills of cacti, many and great) and a gorgeous river which really made me wish I could just stop and go ask the nearest person if they knew where I could find a kayak, and they would be just as noble as Noblez and say "why certainly, I have one here!" and I could tell them I want to take the river to the city or the ocean, and explain my journey, and they would say, "That sounds wonderful!  Take the kayak, and when you get there, sell it and send the money back to me."   Life is rarely so full that our dreams cease to visit.

We enjoyed each other's company greatly, and instead of stopping in Tenochtitlan (something I very marginally regret, looking back on the geography of my tour), where people told me to stay a couple nights and party, for I was focused on Palenque, so I went with Nobleza to Juchitan, and stayed the night in the bus station gratis.  I had a small lesson there, in the form of a caballero from Guatemala who comes to Oaxaca three times a month to sell things, as all men of his culture clean as a whistle and living by his mano, ultra-conservative in manner, a different kind of nomad, he only had a cardboard box and there was a bit of a breeze... and I felt bad because these people are accustomed to hot hot sticky weather, whereas I am to the chilly wind of Kansas winters and San Francisco summers.  So, as he was very friendly (though a bit too talkative as I was ready to get some shuteye), I offered him the largest part of my space blanket, which had torn but was still plenty to cover him.  Those things are great, by the way.  My hammock-sleeping bag is already really warm, but not quite excellent enough for anything below 45, or warmth-sucking ground or wind, so having one of those under your butt makes all the difference.  The only problem is they are noisy, and people who havent seen a lot of technology think you{re pretty ridiculous to try to stay warm with a sheet of aluminum.  Still, he graciously accepted it as anything would help, and put it under him.  And he must have liked it, because it was gone with him when I woke up.

I got to hitching the next day, an adventure in the truest sense.  I set off with a test of intent, declaring that I would reach for Chiapas that day.  I got one small ride a little ways outside the pueblo limits, 15 minutes to the center of a wind farm.  I walked a ways, but as the landscape was just plains and ugly road development and up around the bend a bit, a concrete factory, and the only vehicles passing were work vehicles, it wasn't very pleasant or productive.  I was only about a half an hour going when I saw a bright green vest in a small clearing across the road.  I went to inspect it because I definitely wanted some diversion, and lo and behold, it was a motorcycle.  I got to looking at it, and noticed it had the keys in it.  Considering the lack of people living in the area, it made sense that it belonged to one of the workers and they felt pretty secure leaving it.  Now, I was facing a huge moral dilemma that had me rooted for an hour.

I tend to be a really good guy, but I've got a bit of a devilish streak in me.  Namely, if I want something and theres nobody around to stop me, I'm usually tempted to take it.  [I have some insight on this. It seems to me that theft is bred of an environment of scarcity, (or malice, but that is always an option, in my opinion, and fortunately scarce in my life) Coming from a home where interesting and valuable things are scarce, In fact, if it werent for my damned powers of empathy and the time I've spent growing an ethical bone through philosophy, I would've been out of there in a heartbeat as soon as I made sure I could pilot the thing.  But I think of others and knew it belonged to somebody relatively poor, as it didnt even have a battery--they were definitely salvaging all the life out of it they could.  I could be kilometers down the road before it ran out of gas though!  I would get to drive a motorcycle!  Yeah, but I would end up ditching the thing because I had no money to buy more gas, and I could get in trouble with the authorities.  It did have a plate.

What I ended up doing was driving it around the little field a bit, and found a dirt "road" that led away from the highway some more, and followed it until I saw some movement in a meadow.  It had to be the owner.  I quickly killed the engine and paused a moment.  He was harvesting something.  I bet its drugs.  Or illegal farming.  Or maybe the guys at one of the companies around here grow this to supplement their income, and he's using his lunch break to collect the fruits?  I imagined all these options as I was walking the motorcycle back far enough that I could turn it around and restart it without him hearing.  I parked it the way I found it, but damn, I couldnt just leave it.  But I couldnt take it, eithe.  So I was just sitting on it when the guy came back.  My heart was pumping as I felt certain he'd run at me shouting when he saw me.  He just kept walking calmly.  He was older than I expected, and after my embarassing introduction, I lied that I had seen it from the road but didnt know how to drive it.  He laughed, and got to talking to me about his crop, his pueblo where they were largely mormon because some guys had come and preached the word to them and built a church, and then got to telling me how Ustedes son and what ustedes do (ustedes referring to me and the rest of america, because we are one and the same, of course).  Well, he finally took off on his motorcycle, but not before telling me that we hitch wrong, with our thumbs out--thats not how they do it down here, so what I should do instead is raise my arm and wave like an old friend.   So off I went back to the road.

And was punished by fate or karma or god for even thinking of stealing his motorcycle.  I walked for at least three hours, and was losing heart.  There's always a way it goes, the hitching.  First, you convince yourself to be optimistic.  You're in a good mood, if its early in the day, or youve been with good people, have some resources, etc.  But getting on toward the hour mark, you start to get grumpy.  I have a habit of walking a bit forward every 10-30 minutes or so, just because I hate not making progress and besides, I like the excercise.  Being out in the middle of nowhere, someplace where nobody else is, is often part of the goal.  But then you really start to get pissed, frustrated, depressed, anxious.  Finally you become resigned, and just go, then you start to enjoy being where you're at, and find yourself some diversion.  For me, this all came in the form of waving and saying "por favor, amigo", and half smiling; then translating and inventing insults to shout after they passed, then walking silently for an hour, pausing, then finding what had been a make-shift road flag but, actually looked like a surrender flag, just a white gunny sack atached to a stick, so I picked it up and got playful, getting a few friendly honks and waves yet still no stops; and finally I found a fence of cacti that were not of the nopáles variety, and tried cutting into them for water.  It didn't work.  They were too bitter, and didnt produce enough liquid.  I was out in my nalgene, but kept walking.  It was getting on about three oclock, and I started thinking, alright, I stay where I stay today and that's where I was meant to end up.  I round a bend and come upon a small settlement, or at least the public face of the settlement, because they often stretch back away from the road and only have a few people trying to make a buck off the passing cars.

I approached, and there was a nice tree to sit and rest a moment; I left my things there and walked across to chat with the people there, using the question "how far is the next town" as a pretext.  They were nice, and after talking a bit, offered me a bottle of water and a torta (sandwich).  I graciously accepted, and took off walkin some more in replenished spirits.

Now my luck flipped!  I guess I had done my penance, because I got ride after ride.  I met a guy who had worked in Los Angeles, and made the skin on the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park.  Hell yeah!  Now he worked in Ixhuantepec, had a mechanic shop there.  I met some other interesting people, and finally was getting close to the more humedo area--more greenery, more trees, less brown.  My spirits were up.  A ride in the back of a truck, a guy who had a son in carcel in San Jose gave me a hundred pesos (10 bucks), and then finally--when I had the urge to stop and eat a great meal and find a camp--I decided to keep at it, because that morning I had told myself, "I bet I can at least get to the border of Chiapas today".  And while it wasnt absolutely necessary, I figured while I still had daylight I'd keep trying.

This is where I have learned something about hitchhikers that I'd like to share.  I used to think at one point, that hitchhikers might be kind of lazy, because they just sit on the side of the road until somebody comes by and drives them to where they want to be.  Very passive.  I am very not okay with begging--I'm more of the make-it-.happen variety.  I cant stand begging for change, instead I ask for work.  I hitchhikefor several reasons--one, the environmental impact of driving, and I figure if you've got an extra seat, especially as a man, you should give your fellow man a lift.  Also, because buying bus tickets are boring, and I'm funding the unneccessary purchase of more gasoline.  I would be happy to walk or buy train tickets if there were no automobiles on the road.  I actually like the idea of walking the world, but its just so damn disheartening when everybody else is zooming by and the modern road makes the landscape so often so ugly.  The third reason is because it provides both the driver and myself great company, an opportunity for cultural or life exchange.  Still, I try to demonstrate as best I can when I hitch that I'm walking when I can/have to, and friendly and eager to share part of the day with them.  Sometimes I even think, if I had the opportunity to talk to them, I'd be willing to offer some gas money or work in exchange for a good ride and a meal.

Oh, and what I meant to point out was that yes, hitchhikers work through their patience, maintaining face, and drive to stay to the road through the boredom.

Now it was sunset and I was at the end of my day.  I had a truck pull over, to my delightful surprise, not too long after sticking out my thumb with little hope but with contentment that it was near the end of the day.  They had me hop in the back.  I shouted in through the wind a bit of my story, and we started climbing the hills.  I was stoked, and it showed! The guys inside were eating up my enthusiasm, and they were in a good mood too, as it was the end of a day for them selling "electronics"--all I saw was a few telivision remotes in the cab of the car.  I chuckled a bit to myself about the culture and the state of technology down here (not making fun of it, just at how different it was).  They ended up offering to bring me back to his house that night, and the next day we would go to Tuxtla Gutierrez.  I ended up staying for three and a half days and making some great friends, including a couple guys with whom I hitched to San Cristobal.

I stayed in Oaxaca for a week and a day.  My first priority was to spend the little money my pal Juan had given me on getting in contact with a host.  I sent out a few messages: first, to a few hosts, second, to ask if anybody in Oaxaca was up for hanging out.  This is my tactic for every new city I'm in, for two reasons: because I would like a host with whom I can exchange conversation, work, meals, and information and have some static/familiarity with during my time, and second because even if I can't get a host I want to have some good company, and couchsurfing is damn good at providing good company.  So for the first night, I was hanging out in the centro, where I saw a guy in a black robe leading a group of about 6 people.  I smiled at him because of his garb, and he smiled back and approached me.  We exchanged pleasantries and he informed me that they were doing a night tour of churches, and he invited me to join, even though it was going to be in Spanish.  I was just looking for some diversion, so I said no problem, because I could at least spend some time listening to an orator speaking in spanish.  We walked and talked, and he complimented my eyes, which I've never had before.  I see.  Oh well, he's still nice, and I dont write guys off just because they're attracted to me... they are good company and they are often nice enough to me and I just stick to my boundaries and communicate thoroughly any issues.  Well, I didnt end up getting to stay at his place, and he directed me to a quiet corner in a church plaza where I could sleep and probably not be bothered by the police.  Ive since learned that in Mexico it is common that churches are safe havens for the weary traveler; it is essentially public space and they have remarkably few homeless here so people often have a pitying ear for you, and there is absolutely no reason to panhandle.

In Mazatlan, I got to go snorkeling with the oyster divers and learn how to pick them and open them.  I then learned how to make a fishing rod out of a soda bottle, and sat on the beach making some jewelry from seashells.  I went walking around the Bora bora hotel and found a treasure trove of rich sand composed of sea glass and small shells and shell bits.  I went walking around in the evening and bought a bit of grub, and found that the cart chef was a real amicable fellow, so instead of building up the energy to go hang out at the bars, I decided to go buy some beer and hang out with them.  I learned that his apprentice was learning english, so we hit it off, exchanging conversation as I've found so often very useful since then, with him in English and me in spanish, switching back to our home languages only to finish thoughts that we wanted to quickly.  He invited me to stay at his house and we shared some of his skanky weed, not too great but hey it got us high.  He was supposed to be finding a new apartment of his own with his wife, but admitted to me in private that he ahad spent too much on his end on drinking, drugs, and prostitutes--though she had spent her fair share too.  I joined them on their house hunting expedition, and got to see some quinta apartments and be there for a moment looking in on their hopes for the next chapter of their life, but had to simply wish them luck and leave soon enough on the next part of my expedition.
I helped a woman and her daughter to move a solid 12 cubic meters of concrete blocks into their yard, and it was endearing, watching the daughter play her part as they probably assumed I was doing it to court her--and while she was cute, she was too young and I only did it as a quixotic gesture.  I walked on down the road a couple kilometers and, after pasing a frightening military road block (I'd had a bag of weed and no passport, and this was one of my first encounters with the big gangs of men with semiautomatic rifles on hand) and then jumped over to the train tracks; they seemed decrepit and the nature on the other side was much more appealing than the littered road offered.  I only made it about one kilometer before a couple fellas invited me over to their casa to figure me out and offer me some weed; by the time this was all over the sun was setting and they said the rail patrol would pick me up if I crashed anywhere else, so offered me to sleep in the "house" next door, basically just a leanto made of sticks and planks.  The next day I came back to town and bought a bus ticket as far as I could because I let everybody convince me there was no way anybody was going to give me a ride hitching.
But by the next morning I was in Puebla with 20 pesos to my name.  I had to hitch.  I told myself that hell, I'll ask for help if I need to, if I cant get a ride, and Ill walk a ways, and Ill look for a horse or a burro or a bike to steal, or work for somebody for one if I need to.  I was walking out of town when the police picked me up, they saw me walking and said to themselves I was a dangerous fool, so offered to bring me to the migration office, where they said I could get a bath and make a phone call for money and other stuff; we went but when the office guy found out I didnt have a passport, shit went awry.  They couldnt help, and I felt soooo bad because this was the first time Id encountered police straight up helping somebody, going out of their way when nothing was otherwise wrong, and they pretty much got scolded for it.  While my stomach hit the floor thinking my adventure was over when itd hardly begun, I profusely said its okay, I understand, I will face the consequences.  To my surprise and relief, they said I could leave, no problem, since I hadnt directly asked for help, but they couldnt do anything for me but deport me.  The police took me to a gas station and said ask the camionetas (trucks), stick out my thumb, whatever, but be careful.  so I was on my way, and damn it was good going.  A young contractor picked me up and squeezed me in between he and his buddy and the stick shaft.  We went a ways, they dropped me off cuz they had to go another direction, and I walked a ways because so far in the country and I still hadnt been able to walk in the countryside.  So I walked a bit, they picked me up again after 45 minutes, and we drove another 45 minutes to the caseta where they turned off for tehuantepec, and I went on just up the hill a ways before another guy picked me up and we had some good bilingual exchange before we arrived together in Oaxaca.  Aside from forgeting my watch in the bushes beating off between when the first guys dropped me off and picked me up again, this first hitching experience in Mexico was a complete success.  Bravo! I should have done it sooner, damn.