We left Tuxtla Gutierrez, Chiapas at noon via bus and arrived in San Cristobal de las Casas around 1:30PM. We ran into the first Americans we have seen since we left L.A. on Saturday. We spoke with them briefly just for the sake of speaking the same language. Then, it was off to our hotel on a short 8-block trek. Our packs are starting to hurt and we do not move with the speed or grace we did Saturday, but it is manageable. We checked into this cute little hotel called Posada San Cristobal for $28 USD per night. They graciously gave us the double room for the price of a single which has a small balcony overlooking a busy street (Avenue Insurgentes). San Cristobal appears to be more of a tourist jaunt than Tuxtla as we have seen people from all over the world here; whereas, in Tuxtla there were primarily native Chiapanecos. We threw our bags in our room and took off to explore the small streets of San Cristobal.
The plaza was full of people, vendors and all of the little shops were open for business. We stopped at the Revolucion Cafe & Bar for a beer and some snacks. We talked to the waiter and waitress a bit and might return for their live music later this week. We got a table outside to take in the scenery. As we sat there, Linda was approached by a guy asking for donations for an orphanage. She spoke to him about Chiapas and the revolutionary group EZLN. He originally told her the children in the orphanage were there as a result of their parents fighting in the battle in San Cristobal in 1994. She asked if we could visit and he said that we could come and if we didn’t have money to donate, we could bring clothes and school supplies.
As she was chatting with him, I had the “pleasure” of speaking with an American inventor who graciously taught me that homosexual men were the cause of American Globalization. He also denounced blacks, but advised “lesbians are ok.” After which, he asked my age and told me I wasn’t too bad to look at. I thought to myself “thank you, you ignorant American who has no clue and is ‘representing our culture’ in such a beautiful, quaint little town.” “Go home,” I say to him in my head. “You fit in better there with your arrogant discriminatory views.”
So, now we are back at our hotel enjoying a late siesta, drinking a few more beers and writing. What better place to be? None, I propose.