She's well acquainted with the touch of a velvet hand..

This is a test. Does anyone read or care about the blog anymore?

Campamento, Villa Comatitlan, Chiapas, Mexico

1. Coffee out to dry
2. "One of these things is not like the other,/One of these things is not the same..."
3. Self-indulgent picture
4. Welcome to the Jungleª

On the Road

I'm not actually "on the road" anymore. I use this title to perhaps spark a residual ember in brother Lex's interest in the family so that with gentle winds we can coax his prodigal fire to once again warm the Buendía hearth.

I'm not "on the road" anymore. I'm in hot and humid Tapachula after a week of travel with no serious fusterclucks, at least not any that I want to tell mom about. The pace of life is way different here. I arrived yesterday in the morning and made it to the CASFA (Centro de Agroecología San Francisco de Asis) office but no one was there. I found a shady curb and sat down. Pronto someone came and opened up. Juan José, the watchman, told me that José Caballero Cervantes, my contact from CASFA, would probably show up that day so I sat to wait while Juan José strung up his hammock. And so it went until dark when it became apparent that José Cabellero Cervantes wouldn't show up until today. The only change I made was to lie down, while Juan José in his hammock just had to shut his eyes.

Don José did show up today and everything is good to go for my time here, but today there is nothing for me to do. No offense, but boredom rather than any exciting event engendered this blogpost. The lack of activity is what makes me think that I may be able to survive on a diet of bananas and orange juice. Don't try this at home, my dear anaemic kin.

Not to make you jealous or anything...

...but here is a picture of me eating a pod of cacao.

In which the ingenious hidalgo escapes again and, in a battle without the hope of victory, triumphs.

The fuming volcano Popocatépetl and his sadly deceased dulcinea Iztaccihuatl both wore sombreros today on this glorious day that marks the closing of the cycle 2010; as did I. My forgetful squire Sancho Panza, on the other hand, left his in town, leaving his great bulbous head scorched by the searing Winter sun.

I, the ingenious hidalgo don Quixote de la Mancha, set out secretly on foot before dawn, unseen and unheard by the sleeping don Tomás who would rather have me burning books than defending los campos of Tepetlixpa. Suprisingly, Sancho was already awake when I arrived at his door, and had already in fact saddled his burro and groomed my beautiful steed Rocinante. "¿And what of our companion noble Fidencio who pledged upon his honor to join us in our daring march to el Cedro, where we shall surely encounter adventure, danger, and amorous maidens while we topple these giant cornstalks and castrate their seed?"

"Sleeping, sire. ¿Shall I go to wake him?"

"¡No! Though it only increases the risk of our day, we shall continue without him. If he follows, we will delight in his company but his laziness, stolen from you I suppose (making him not only a sloth but a theif), has already diminished his reward and the esteem with which I hold him." And with that I set Rocinante off on a brisk trot that suprised me so that I nearly fell. "¡Sancho!" I cried, "¿What Devil has thus posessed this nag such that it no longer responds to my command? ¡Whoa! ¡Whoa!"

With Rocinante only increasing in speed I glanced back in fright to see Sancho's bowed legs flopping wildly on either side of his burro's flank while his hands urged the ignoble beast onward. With both animals huffing and puffing, he finally caught up and calmed my frightened mare. "Pull the reins, sire. ¿Have you forgotten how to ride a horse?"

A half an hour later we crested the hill to see below the amber waves of el Cedro. From our point of vantage we could also see Fidencio trailing behind and behind him the star-crossed and sombrero-bearing lovers Popo and Izta watching over the valley. We dismounted.

All day long we slew the stalks and shucked their treasure, filling burlap sack after sack with the beautiful blue, gold, and white grain. Several hours into the pixca I heard Sancho's stomach let out a lion's roar and I, too, felt a pang of hunger. But on this day I learned yet another lesson of el campo: never hang your satchel within reach of the burro.

"¡Pinche burro!" shouted Sancho in vain. "May your mangy hide, filled with our tamales, itch and itch so that you repent what you have done." Though angry as I was at the burro, it delighted me to see Sancho cringe at the taste of his own medicine.

This being the third subsequent day of labor, the end was in sight. The last ear of maize was in my hand when we heard a rumble. From the path whence we came there burst a machine more fearful than any knight I have ever defeated in battle. My lance missing, I ripped a cornstalk from the earth and mounted Rocinante, ready to counter whatever force the metal menace had. Rocinante and I charged in one direction, Sancho and the burro retreated in the other; the rumble ceased. From the bowels of the beast stepped forth the man from whom I had ecaped that very morning.

"Don Quixote de la Mancha, you gave me a fright. I have been looking for you all day," said don Tomás as he extended his hand in greeting. "It is well past mid-day and you must be starving. Come, eat with me and then we shall return." And with this he spread a cloth on the earth and began to remove delicious food from the bag he carried: beans with nopal, a can of chiles, a stack of tortillas, and... ¡pulque!

I forgot whatever grudge I had, tore a husk from the corn for my cup and a leaf from the stalk for my spoon, and tried to calm my ravenous appetite.

I am now returned as a captive in this castle, but now with a full belly.

El Cacomixtle

"I may not be a civet, but my stomach still ferments the coffee beans I eat and my poop is worth a pretty peso."

-El Cacomixtle

No Sleep

At first it was great. Despite my inability to sleep, I would rise feeling perfectly rested. I could lie supine in imitation of this holy rite & after only several minutes start up refreshed and ready to take up the pursuit of my choice. Unaccustomed to this new liberty from Slumber's shackles, I passed the first night itinerant in aimless and haphazard wanderings. Soon, however, I began to use these extra hours productively: I independently invented calculus and devised a feasible model for a helicopter-prototype.

But gift horses seldom come with pearly-whites and often they have fangs concealed behind their freakish chops. For although after several days the entire household had adopted my happily insomniacal behaviour and in these endless hours of productivity devised some of the most wonderous inventions that a person could imagine (since digested by the bowels of the peste de insomnio), it did not take long before we had trouble to remember. I couldn't tell the days but soon it was this:

One of the few to resist el peste de insomnio

Grandma, the last to resist the plague's effects, with characteristic lucidity, devised this ingenious means to circumvent the inconveniences of memory-loss. But this is palliative. We all know the only cure is raw-garlacke but have been thus far simply unwilling to accept the consequences of this panacea's application.