Mexico: Farewell Chiapa

     Fill a space with love and it becomes a home. Meeting people, learning skills, broadening my worldview, fostering friendships, establishing my place in a community, I feel like I've spent the last 10 weeks filling Chiapa de Corzo with love. And writing to you now, some 500 km from Chiapa, I can tell you that city was, and will remain, my home in Mexico.
              The past few weeks haven't differed much from the previous ones. I continued taking salsa dance lessons from the traditional school in town three times a week with the teachers from Dunham and some locals, including my aunt. Outside of class I found myself practicing daily without even trying. The beat of the songs from class would get stuck in my head and the next thing I knew I would be salsaing in the shower or around the kitchen while I was cooking dinner. Some of those songs are simply infectious. One of the things I've come to realize is that I don't just enjoy dancing, I feel like I'm pretty darn good at it too. As our teacher introduced new moves and styles I found I was picking up the movements and the sequences with ease. I went out dancing in San Cristobal and I held my own on the dance floor of a salsa club for two straight hours surrounded by Mexicans. No strange looks, no staring, I was fitting in, so I must of been doing something right. Maybe it was some of the whiskey I had drunk or maybe it was the Mezcal everyone else had had. One thing for certain, I had an excellent time, and that experience only confirmed that I want to learn more so that I can get out and dance more.

Preston, Rocurra, Karen (Our Awesome Salsa Instructor), Myself, and Paul

      Basketball also continued to be a large part of my life. Every Tuesday and Thursday I kept playing with the guys at the deportiva. With as much as I was enjoying playing I began to think about why I didn't play basketball more before this. I could tell I was getting better stamina and my game was improving as well. Then I remembered the worst part of basketball for me - sprained fingers. In the middle of a game, I was playing center at defense and given my wingspan I often intercept passes or block shots so when my opponent rifled a pass through my zone I shot out my right hand to deflect it. I stopped the ball but with my fingers going directly into the ball, taking the brunt of the force, instead of my hand. My right ring finger swelled up like a balloon and I still have pain there some five weeks later but I didn't let that keep me from playing (probably why there's still pain there). In my final week I really began to exploit my height advantage though. Our pick up games tended to be played to five points and there were several games where I had four of those five points and one where I scored all the points for my team even. The alley-oop was in full effect (no not dunking it but I was getting close). It became comedic by the end as I was literally unstoppable on offense. It wasn't just the ego boost of playing the game that I enjoyed so much but the company of the guys I played with. They truly welcomed me into their group; talking to me about life between games, driving me home, and sometimes even staying after with me to give me pointers on how to improve my game and use my height to wreak havoc on offense (they created a monster). I got nothing but positive things to say about my basketball crew.

       

On one of my Sunday mornings I went to the pyramids with the Dunham crew and Preston. These are the same ruins I mentioned in a previous post; with some of the pyramids dating back to 700BC. We climbed up the ruins and then proceeded to do a guided meditation. Normally I'm not a big fan of the "hippie" stuff (clearing your mind, finding your breath, praying to end world hunger, sending positive energy, ya know that old chestnut) I'm much more a man of action, a man that operates on this plane in the here and now. Having said that I do believe in the importance of introspection and I think it's something we could all do a lot more of (journaling, thinking, talking out ideas with friends and family - six months of working in wilderness therapy in the desert convinced me that there is real power in intentional self-reflection). There is also a certain kind of energy that exists in a place like those pyramids, places that have so much history, kind of like walking into a Cathedral, or into a virgin forest; the very environment fosters spirituality. We sit in silence and feel the wind upon our faces, hear the squawking of the birds, and we talk about what it is we need help with in improving ourselves right now (I mention how I need to work on spending less time in my comfort zone, like sitting on this computer, and more time immersing myself in the community, making the most of this experience while I'm here). This is my second to last day with Preston and I knew then how much I'd miss having him in Chiapa with me but the road was calling him. It's not often we find people we connect with so quickly and who constantly engage us in deep conversation and ask us the tough questions while firmly supporting us with love no matter our response. The kind of people who text you early Sunday morning and ask you if you want to meditate on a pyramid; those kind of friends don't come around often.   

The one and only Preston

            On our way home from the pyramids we walk past Casa Polita, my parent's corner store, when my Mom flags me down to tell me someone had stopped by and asked me to play in a basketball game for their team that afternoon. I called the number back and had no idea who the guy on the other end was but he seemed to know me and he was telling me he had a uniform for me and that there was a scheduled game in another city that he wanted me to play in. I had no idea what I was really getting into but I agreed to meet him at 3pm and see what would happen, if nothing else this seemed like it would make a good story. The guy ended up being Gualberto, one of the locals I had played with in the Tuesday/Thursday basketball league a few times but had never really talked to much. In the car were his two little daughters and his wife, I hopped in the passenger seat and we began to drive. He quickly realized that my Spanish wasn't nearly as good as he had thought and I quickly realized he didn't speak a word of English but through the ensuing conversation I more or less understood what was about to happen. We were going to Suchiapa a rural town about 45 minutes south of Tuxtla to take part in their Sunday basketball league. Gualberto was born and raised in SuChiapa and his whole family more or less still resides there so that's why he's a part of their league and not a more local one. Upon entering Suchiapa we pass by multiple basketball courts and also stop by their deportiva, sports complex. Gualberto explains to me that basketball in this town is more popular than soccer and entering the deportiva makes that clear. A brand new gymnasium with a real wood court filled with dozens of people watching a 5th grade girls basketball game. Suchiapa is a city with a 1/8 of the population as Chiapa but eight times as nice of a facility for basketball. Also I'm surprised to see there's enough interest for their to be multiple young girls' basketball teams while Chiapa de Corzo seems to struggle to even put a highschool boy's team together. I ask him if this is where we're playing and he tells me we're playing at one of the outdoor courts this week since the school teams take precedence. 
        We get to the outdoor court and two other teams are finishing up their game. Gualberto waves and talks to everyone present. It's a very small town. It seems like everyone is a relative or a former neighbor of his. Gualberto tells me there are sixteen teams in this league each with roughly ten players, all of whom are locals except him (since he now resides in Chiapa de Corzo) and myself. Suchiapa isn't the kind of place that foreigners frequent, you don't have to pass through it to get anywhere, the economy is only agriculture, and there's really nothing to see or do (other than play basketball apparently). So here I am a giant white dude wearing my basketball jersey at the court and people are openly staring. I can see their anticipation; I'm probably the first foreigner to visit here in a while and I assume I'll be the first gringo to ever play basketball on their home court. The two teams that are just finishing are wearing jerseys of red and black, making the game slightly confusing to watch since they look more or less identical. Gualberto takes off his jacket and lo and behold his jersey is exactly the same as the other two teams that are playing - red and black. The opposing team's players start showing up; you guessed it, their jerseys have a slightly different design but once again they are red and black. The game ends, the red and black team won (ha). Gualberto tells me to hold on a second and runs over to the refs table. I see him pointing at me and speaking rapidly. I see the ref shake his head. Gualberto throws up his arms. He returns to me and asks if I have my passport with me. Seems non-Suchiapans aren't allowed to play without a form of identification. Disappointment; I have no ID on me. Gualberto gives me a smile and says it's not important because he knows the ref from childhood and he'll figure something out. I join the rest of his team on the court for warm-ups. I was told on the phone that they would have a jersey for me but no one brought an extra so here I am, a white guy with a white jersey amid a sea of red and black. Those passing by on the street begin to gather around the edge of the court; we're doing the layup drill, "it's just like 5th grade basketball Steven, except now there's some forty Mexicans staring at you instead of just the parents of the players and you're not at St. Thomas More Middle School, you're in a rural town in the middle of Chiapas Mexico." As I wait in line to do my layup a girl comes up to me and asks for a picture; haven't even begun playing yet and I'm already a fan favorite. The whistle blows, we head to our benches for the game.
    Gualberto returns from the refs table again and tells me he worked out a deal; I can play but only in the second half. With 10 players on the team it seems like a fair way to split up the time anyway, I take my seat next to Gualberto and wait. As soon as the game begins it's obvious that the other team has one really good player on which their entire team depends on, just like middle school basketball ha. The guy is stealing the ball and intercepting passes on defense while effortlessly hitting threes and making fast breaks on offense. No one's stopping him. At the end of the first quarter we're down 20 - 8 with most of the opposing team's points coming solely from this guy. We make a switch from the bench, and it turns out the new substitute is just as good of a player as the guy from the opposing team. With his help the tide of the game turns and at halftime we're tied at 30. I don't know what his name is but when he comes back to the bench I pat him on the back and call him Stephen Curry, he smiles. After a brief halftime I accompany, Gualberto, Curry, and two other teammates onto the court for the start of the second half. People are pointing, and staring, and I can feel the energy. I haven't played a serious game of basketball with a scoreboard, referees, and an actual audience since 8th grade. 
      We get the ball to begin the half and I immediately post up in the paint against my defender. Gualberto feeds me the ball and I easily complete a right handed layup using my height advantage. I run back on defense to the applause of the locals. I take up my position on the lower right. We're playing a 3-2 zone. Their offense is stretched out along the 3 point line and they're making our defense rapidly shift with their passes around the arc. The balls on the left side of the court when their best player makes a cut for the basket from the top of the key. He catches a bullet of a pass and goes in for a right handed layup. He extends his arm and the ball floats gently upward like a dream or a prayer. I can see the hope in his eyes as his gaze is fixed on the ball. All of this is happening in slow motion, I think Chariots of Fire might have even been playing in the background (if you don't recognize that song title, give it a google search and believe me you know what I'm talking about). And amidst these hopes and dreams and this moment of bliss, that's when I cut over and spike the ball to the ground as if a child had just underhand tossed me a volleyball. There were audible "OHHHHHHs" from the crowd and people jumping up and down as I destroyed his shot in an epic fashion and sent the ball bouncing into the stands. That block only cost them two points but more importantly it humiliated their best player and sent him a message. The next two quarters would follow this pattern. Gualberto started hitting me up for alley-oops and when they started double covering me I exploited their defense by feeding an open "Curry" on the arc who made them pay with his threes. I blocked their best player two more times, shutting him down on the inside and making him take longer shots. By the end it was no longer a competition, we were just having fun. Five blocks, a dozen or so rebounds, and twelve points helped propel my team to a 78 - 44 victory. I couldn't help but notice the irony of this situation. Literally the white arm of american imperialism destroying the hopes and dreams of a local group of Mexicans. Here I was a foreigner, not wearing the proper team colors, not having the proper papers, playing for another team, and simultaneously gaining the favor of the crowd - I would have hated me if I was a member of the opposing team but afterwards the red and black team greets me with smiles and handshakes and they ask me where I'm from and if I'll be back to play more. One guy even asks me if I can offer him English classes. That's some sportsmanship right there, I respect all of those guys. I join the rest of my teammates as we look at the stats and bask in our victory. At the top of the stats page I see our team name is listed as San Esteban; I wonder if it has something to do with my presence but they tell me it's been their team name for years. Funny how these things happen. 
         A few days later Gualberto invites me to go out for a drink with him. It's 3:30pm on a Wednesday but I don't have any other plans for the evening so I figure I'll join him for a beer or two. He picks me up in his car and we drive to a nearby bar. He tells me a few of his friends are waiting for us. We enter the cantina and the only occupants are a group of ten very drunk men around a table filled with fifty beer cans, all of them empty. These are his friends. Gualberto introduces me but the music is blaring so loud that I just nod and smile as I shake each man's hand. I learn that all of these men are local elementary school teachers. Given their current state it's hard to imagine that only a few hours ago they were working with young children as they now raise their beers and drunkenly sing along to the music. I'd heard before from other travelers and Mexicans that teachers have enormous power and wealth here in Mexico through their unions and tenure. Not sure what the real truth is behind teachers but everything I've experienced makes it look that way to me. They have their own political party, drive really nice cars, live in some of the best homes, work five hours a day, and can afford to spend hundreds of pesos on beer and liquor to get plastered on a week day. As with all things there's a balance. No doubt there are teachers out there who are exploiting the bureaucracy of it all, professors who are lazy and can't be touched, horrible teachers that are protected, people more concerned with themselves than the education of the students that they are paid to provide (just like in the States), and at the same time I've got so much respect for the teachers that I know are underpaid and still give so much to their students day in and day out. As I wrote in my previous blog, teachers hold one of the most difficult jobs there is, just one more reason we need to make sure the people in those positions are qualified and capable of the title they hold. These are my thoughts as I sip on my single beer and observe these boisterous men drink two or three more. 
       

Gualberto and I

Gualberto and I end up going to two other bars. The second one is basically a speakeasy. We knock on a guys door and walk through his house before coming out to a courtyard where he and his daughter are serving beer and food. The entrepreneurial spirit is alive and well in Mexico folks. We sit at one of the tables, eat some cheese, listen to horrible norteno music, discuss some of the differences between Mexican and American culture, and have another beer before heading out. The third bar is another speakeasy, we walk through a house and come out to another courtyard. Seated around the table is another group of very drunk and loud men, I recognize a few of them from the first bar. The only real difference now is that instead of empty beer cans around the table there are empty bottles of scotch. I don't know how they do it. It's not even 7 pm and these guys have drank more in the last three hours than most college kids do over an entire weekend. The man I sit next to ends up being the Director of Education for Chiapa and when I share that I taught English last month he immediately makes me an offer. He tells me he can provide me with books, CDs, a fully stocked classroom, and a comfortable salary. He's disappointed when I decline but he tells me whenever I want to work whether it be next week, next month, or next year there will be a job waiting for me. It's reassuring to know that I can return to Chiapa at any time and have work; then again the man is pretty drunk so perhaps he's not even the director or a teacher for that matter.  
        I'm on my third beer and getting tired of the bar scene when Gualberto asks me if I'm ready to leave. I say yes, and one of his friends joins us in the car. I thought he was dropping me off at home but instead we head to the super market and Gualberto buys a 12 pack of beer. We head to his friends house which is nearby the park. The two men immediately start downing the beers and are confused when I tell them I'm good. It's 8 o'clock but it feels more like 2 in the morning to me and the drinking is getting boring. I like having a drink every now and then, whiskey coke, brandy old fashioned, etc. but I only like drinking when I'm doing something - playing a game of cards, watching a football game, seeing some live music, dancing. Drinking for the sake of drinking, for hours at a time, while literally doing nothing drives me insane. Part of the reason I can't stand most bar scenes is because there's nothing to do, no activities, no real engagement, other than to try to painfully make small talk by shouting over the music directly into someone's ears. This guy's wife and kids are on the sofa next to us and I make some polite conversation with them, all the while thinking, what the hell are all these guys doing? They have beautiful families at home, young children who need attention and care, and this is how they're spending their free time, getting drunk? I guess it's not my place to judge, Gualberto has been nothing but kind to me, and his friend as well, but hell I'm 24 and single and I feel like I'm too old and mature to party and drink like this sometimes and here these guys are in the early 40s, married, with kids and it's just what they do. When I'm married and have kids I think it'll be a much different story. It's around 8:30 and I tell the guys I'm going to walk home; at this point it's safer and I want to process these thoughts. I arrive home to find my father and sisters gathered around the table eating quesadillas and in conversation. It's a reassuring sight to see a man with his family instead of the bottle. People are always telling me that drinking is a Mexican problem, I correct them and say it's a problem everywhere, obviously they haven't been to Wisconsin before.
            I feel slightly guilty because I skipped my Wednesday basketball practice for the above experience but I commit to attending every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday practice from here on out. We continue to practice fundamentals with dribbling drills, working on our shooting form, and running three on two fast breaks. Mario, the coach, has us running and constantly doing push ups every time we make a mistake; drop a pass or miss a lay up and it's twenty five push ups. Working together through these drills we begin to become more of a team. I'm five years older than most of the other players but age or nationality isn't important when you're striving for perfection for fear of more god awful push ups. I don't want you to get the wrong impression of Mario, he's tough, he wants the best from us, but he's probably the best coach I've ever had in regards to sports and I can't even understand half of what he says. Just goes to show it's our character and how we carry ourselves, and not our words, that really matters most. While walking home with everyone on one of the nights I ask Mario about how he got into coaching basketball. He tells me he's a gym teacher during the day, is trained to be a soccer coach, and actually doesn't even really play basketball much. Chiapa was in need of a basketball coach and there weren't any openings for soccer so he took the job. Mario is one of those guys though that could be put in charge of anything, underwater basket weaving even, and you'd listen to him and respect him simply because of the way he treats people and his outlook on life. 
             

Mario and I

It's my last day of practice on the Friday before I leave and I'm the only player who shows up. It's a Friday night and everyone else is between sixteen and twenty so they're probably out having a good time with friends. Mario asks me if I still want to practice and I say I'm up for practicing but if he wants to go out for a beer that works too. He responds by telling me to start running laps and proceeds to run me ragged for the next hour without any breaks. I run and then he has me take a series of shots around the arc with a ten push up penalty for each one I miss. My form is starting to take place and I'm making more than I'm missing. Only forty push ups! I run some more and he moves me out to the three point line. I miss four in a row, 80 push ups total, and he has me slow down and check my form. I begin making them consistently for the first time in my life as I move around the arc. More running. As I grow more and more tired I see my form start to break and I'm going back to old bad habits. Its a good metaphor for life. When we're tired, when we're feeling weak, do we do the right thing, the thing that takes more concentration and is more difficult, or do we fall back into what is easy, comfortable, and wrong. Just some food for thought. In regards to basketball, that's something I need to work on, taking my long range shooting form from casual practice to game time speed and still be able to execute effectively.  
         Continuing in the world of sports I played volleyball for first time since my Humboldt State days in California. Some of my favorite memories from all of my college years come from playing in the intramural league at Humboldt State. I joined the free agent team and we were all strangers but we ended the season as friends and as a decent team who still had a lot of fun and remained competitive compared to many of our opponents who were much more serious, stressed, and angry when it came time to play. Volleyball was a big part of my life for around three months, heck I even spent my 21st birthday playing volleyball at the community center with my friends Aaron and Haley instead of going out drinking. I remember we were playing with a guy who resembled Mr. Miyagi and he told me he could coach me and have me playing on a collegiate team by next season if I wanted. So fast forward three and a half years and I haven't touched a volleyball since but when a volleyball coach approaches me at the deportiva in Chiapa and asks me if I want to join them for a game I don't hesitate to say yes. Let me tell you, it was a humbling experience. I guess I'll cut myself some slack because I hadn't played in so long, I had a sprained finger, and at the end of the day I never learned proper fundamentals but I quickly found myself in over my head. Sure I had the height advantage and I could easily jump and reach above the net but my natural height didn't have the same value as it did in basketball. These folks were good. From the little teenage girls to the older guys, everyone was delivering overhand serves, and bump, setting, and spiking, and making awesome saves diving on the floor. They would've destroyed any intramural team from Humboldt, hell these folks could probably compete with some of the collegiate teams. When I reinjured my finger delivering a spike I saw it as more of a blessing than a curse as it gave me an excuse to sit on the bench and stop hindering the folks I was playing with. I guess it goes to show some things are best left to memory, and we should stick to the things we're naturally good at. Safe to say basketball is my sport of choice, at least for the time being in Mexico. 
           Moving away from sports and on to table games let's talk about dominoes. After sheepshead (aka Schafkopf) dominoes are probably the game I most like to play. The strategy, the teamwork, the slamming of the pieces on the table, I fell in love with it back in the Dominican Republic where whole communities gathered around the domino table at night rather than the television. I spent hours upon hours playing dominoes. At every social occasion in the Dominican there was a group of guys playing. I still remember there would be guys on rural highways who would set up their domino table on the road under the streetlights just to play at night, literally risking their lives for the game. So when my three friends from the construction shop said they wanted to hang out one last time with me I knew exactly what the four of us were going to do. Victor is the guy I know best out of the crew, he's the man who was wearing a pink shirt and dancing with his wife in a matching pink dress in the street the final night of the Fiesta de Enero. He taught me a bunch of dance moves and he even got the band to give me a special shout out for being a foreigner. I assumed I'd never see the guy again, nor he me, and then one day I was walking back home when lo and behold Victor is sawing some metal in a workshop just around the corner form my house. From that point on whenever he was working I would stop by and say hello and keep him updated on how my dance lessons were going. Through association I meet his co-worker Alexander and their boss Manuel who owns the shop. One day while returning from the park the three of them are in front of the shop drinking whiskey and listening to music while they work and they invite me to join them. Two of them drink while one guy shovels gravel into a wheelbarrow. After each load they rotate positions. After watching three wheelbarrows go I figure it's my turn to contribute. As I begin to shovel gravel under the sun I realize the irony of the situation. A sweaty gringo working hard, as three Mexicans look on while drinking whiskey - how often does this happen? I tell them they need to shout racial slurs at me and tell me to work harder and then I'd have a better idea of how it feels to be a Mexican laborer in the States. 
           It's a few days later and I meet the guys at the shop for Domino night. I brought us some beers and they assured me they were going to have some whiskey and it was going to be a guys' night. Imagine my surprise when Manuel tells us that he can't play Dominos or drink with us tonight. As I exit the shop with Alexander and Victor and ask them why Manuel can't join us they tell me his wife didn't give him permission. Alexander then confesses that he didn't get permission from his wife either and might not be able to play. This is all coming as a surprise to me as it was only a few days earlier that I had gone out with the teachers and observed them getting plastered, assuming that their spouses knew full well what they were doing since this was a weekly ritual for them, and meanwhile we just want to have a few beers and play some Dominoes and these guys are being told they're not allowed to. Definitely some different family dynamics and rules at play here when some men can seemingly do whatever the hell they want whenever they want while others have to get permission whenever they want to meet up with friends. I guess given the untrustworthy actions of some of these men, spending hundreds of pesos to get drunk and avoid their families, it explains why some wives strive to have so much control over their husbands. We head to Victor's house and his wife immediately recognizes me. I meet the whole extended family and we begin to play Dominoes while listening to Los Angeles Azules. Alexander joins us thirty minutes later with his wife and daughter (a fitting compromise I'd say). We all have a beer, eat fresh made guacamole, and spend the night playing dominoes and listening to music. Now that's my kind of night. 

Alexander, Myself, and Victor

             One new identity I took up for a week back in February was that of an optometrist. Volunteer Optometric Services to Humanity (VOSH) is a non profit organization whose mission is to bring vision to every person on the planet. Chiapa de Corzo, has been a stop for VOSH for the last eight years or so. As I've said many times, Chiapas is the poorest state in Mexico and glasses ain't cheap. My parents are members of the local Club de Leones (Lion's Club, a secular organization founded on community service) that helps organize the VOSH trip every year and they invited me to help out. The volunteers from VOSH came from around the country but a majority of them, including all three eye doctors, were from Wisconsin and Minnesota. What are the chances? The clinic was set up in the clubhouse of the Lion's Club and would be open for five days. In previous years they would serve a couple hundred people a day, and this year it was no different. For fifty pesos, a person received an eye exam, a reference to a local doctor if there were any serious problems, and prescription glasses. All the volunteers including the doctors collected hundreds of pairs of glasses from their communities in the States in order to repurpose them for folks who didn't have access to or couldn't afford them. About half of the volunteers spoke Spanish. Those volunteers that couldn't speak Spanish were assigned a local University student who knew English in order to translate for them, both of my host sisters fulfilled these roles. Since translators were in demand and I was able to speak some Spanish I was one of the volunteers without a translator. Luckily, much of my work didn't require an elaborate set of vocabulary, and I eventually learned the key words that I needed to know. 
               I found myself mostly on the front and back end of the procedure. I spent two days at the front line, explaining the process to the people waiting and also administering eye drops to dilate their pupils before they got their vision checked. After an hour or so I had my whole speech memorized and I found myself giving directions to some two dozen patients at a time - public speaking in a foreign language, not something I thought I was going to be getting into on my trip. Probably the best part of this process was giving directions for the eye drops using lyrics from my favorite cumbia song "Oye" - Oye, abre tus ojos, mira hacia arriba, disfruta las cosas buenas, estas listo para las gotas? - Hey, open your eyes, look up, enjoy the good things, are you ready for some eye drops? (I added the last line in there). When I had kids or even adults that were nervous about the eye drops I often sang the directions to them to the tune of the song and they would laugh and feel more comfortable. My other job was handing out glasses once the patients had completed all their exams and they had their prescription. It was awesome to see the faces of people light up as they put their glasses on for the first time and they looked around the room or at the newspaper and could see clearly. Talk about a life changing service. My past service trips involved working on infrastructure more or less symbolically. We weren't necessarily skilled craftsmen, we were just folks who wanted to help and show another community that we cared. There's nothing wrong with those sorts of trips and I'd definitely go on another one but seeing the results of VOSH's services gave me a whole new idea on how much of an impact a service trip can have. I had built buildings that helped a few dozen people, they gave the gift of vision to hundreds at almost no cost. Sure some of the people VOSH served probably could have afforded to buy glasses at the regular price of 1500 pesos but they accepted everyone and I'm sure a large portion of those people wouldn't be wearing glasses today without their service. I feel blessed to have been able to join these folks on their trip. At the final banquet to celebrate the success of the mission they even took a moment to recognize me, I felt so humbled, because it was them who I should have been thanking and not the other way around. Regardless, I hope to work with this organization again and I know where I'll be sending my old glasses should I ever replace my current pair. 

        I also continued to explore some of the sights around Chiapa. Sumidero Canyon is the main reason why tourists come to Chiapa de Corzo. On any given day there are hundreds of tourists, most of them Mexican, who take one of the speed boat tours on the Rio Grijalva to see Sumidero Canyon National Park. I've walked past these ports where the tours take off multiple times a day but I never made the time to actually take a tour. I figured having spent two and a half months in Chiapa I owed it to myself to see the thing that brings in so many outsiders. While the state of Chiapas is pretty darn poor their greatest asset is the environment in which their state resides. Eco-tourism is growing more and more every year and currently makes up 20% of the state economy. At 190 pesos, roughly 10 bucks, the three hour tour is a great deal; however, my friend Paola and I arguably picked the worst time to go - it was a Saturday, so it was very busy, and we left off at 11:30 meaning our tour was during the hottest part of the day. Hindsight is 20/20 right (I now have some optometrist experience after all)! Luckily we were last in line to get into the boat, so when the first one was full, and the people were packed like sardines, we got to go into a second boat that was only half full. Also, some clouds swept in so I was more or less saved from the sun. 
           

   The canyon was beautiful, and it was full of colorful birds, monkeys, and crocodiles (yes that guy that was screaming at Preston and I that one day for swimming in the river was right). Arguably the most interesting aspect of the tour for me though was to see another tour guide in action on the water. The first thing that struck me was that the life jackets he handed us were a complete joke. One size fits all does not apply to life jackets. Also there has to actually be a buoyant material inside the vest for it to keep you afloat. It's Mexico; I understand. But what they handed out were little more than over sized orange cloth vests. I tell Paola that if something goes wrong with the boat it's going to be like the Titanic, but with crocodiles. Our guide also didn't utter a single word to us until about twenty minutes into the tour which I thought was interesting since normally the first thing you want to do is build trust and report with your clients. I was the only foreigner on the boat so everything he said was in Spanish but I more or less understood everything. After telling us his name, he gave us a heads up that he was expecting at least a 10 peso tip from everyone on the boat; bold move sir. When guiding for Wilderness Inquiry we were explicitly told that we couldn't take tips and even if we could I doubt any of us guides would tell our participants, upon meeting them, that we expected more of their money at the end of the day. The dude had obviously been doing this job for a while as he seemed bored in his delivery of talking points, almost robotic in his memorization of the script. And there was little to no engagement with the people on the boat, no question and answering, no enthusiasm. Am I happy I took the tour, yes, did the dude get a couple hundred pesos in tips, yep, do I think I'm a better tour guide... well I guess that's for my participants to decide.

     I also hit up another local spot called El Chorreadero, a subterranean river that emerges from the side of a cliff in a series of cascading pools and waterfalls. After two unsuccessful attempts with some of the other teachers at finding a collectivo to get us there Paola finally offered to take Preston and I there with her car. On the thirty minute drive there we only see two signs mentioning the park and when we arrive there's only three other cars in the lot, we basically have the whole place to ourselves. A twenty peso entry fee and we have our own little slice of heaven. The first thing we do is explore the cave system. We have zero equipment and no light but we use the flash from Paola's camera to go deeper into the cave. Less than a km in and we hit a waterfall with a small lagoon. We need ropes and gear if we want to continue... so I watch Preston bathe in the waterfall before we descend out of the cave and soak in one of the many lagoons. These are the places I love to visit. The spots that are absolutely beautiful, just like the tourist attractions, but are still only known to the locals and thus the tourists and the crowds are absent. I've had similar experiences in many parts of the States. Take Zion National Park for instance. Angel's landing is a wonderful hike with a breathtaking view. Objectively it's the best place to visit in the entire park. Add the crowds and the annoying yuppies trying to take selfies and suddenly this place loses its magic. Immediately after that hike I hiked a more or less unknown trail that I found online that led to a waterfall and a spectacular lagoon. My friend and I had the entire trail and lagoon to ourselves. Although, it technically wasn't as beautiful of a spot as Angel's Landing, the fact that it was all our own made it that much more impressive and memorable. And at the end of the day, it's all about the memories. 

            
         It's a small world out there. There's what, 7 billion people now on the planet. So when you have the opportunity to run into friends thousands of miles away from home, it makes you wonder about what the gods have planned. I spent two days with two of my friends from Wilderness Inquiry who happened to be passing through Chiapas on their tour of Mexico. Similar to the phenomenon of the Pope, there were no plans involved, no communications months in advance, just the realization that we were all going to be in the same place at the same time a week or two before. It's always fun to see folks in a different environment and spend time together off the clock. Ashley was one of the first people I met from Wilderness Inquiry, at the time she was just a former intern starting the summer season with high hopes and I was more or less in the same boat. Only a week or two after staff training, she was in the office helping run the canoemobile program while I found myself in the field leading trips. From humble beginnings, our lives taking two different trajectories, and yet here we were drinking Tecate and eating guacamole in San Cristobal de las Casas Mexico. Julia has been a part of the social media team for Wilderness Inquiry on and off for the last three years and I just got to know her for the first time this past fall when our two different Canoemobiles converged for our trip back to Minneapolis from the east coast. I'm not a big fan of taking pictures or capturing moments as you can probably tell from this blog so when she breaks out her camera and begins taking dozens of pictures it reminds me of how happy I am to have friends who take responsibility for taking glamorous photos of me and my adventures ha! We spent roughly 36 hours together and the thing I enjoyed the most was hiking to the top of a local mountain near San Cristobal. Of course being guides and working in the outdoor industry when we have free time the thing we decide to do is hike even if we're in a different country! Normally when I go on day hikes with friends I find myself being the one who has to prepare and organize everything - heck I even have to remind people to wear close toed shoes and bring water along. But with Ashley and Julia we have all our bases covered - flashlights, knives, directions, water, first aid kit, layers, and of course lunch. We go off road and reach our summit and enjoy some peanut butter tortillas with a view of a nearby town. When we start back down the mountain and lose the trail I'm not too worried. Between us three guides I know we'll be okay even if it means building a shelter and spending the night in the forest. Fortunately (or unfortunately; I was kind of looking forward to using some survival skills) we ran back into the trail only a few minutes later. 

Myself, Julia, Our German Friend from the Hostel, and Ashley

         Other than our hiking adventure we spent the majority of our time at the hostel playing cards and socializing with the other guests. Sometimes I like to think of myself as this wild spirit, an independent adventurer, a fearless traveler and while I'm happy with what I've accomplished and the places I've seen, talking to other travelers at the hostels quickly humbles me. An Italian guy solo biking thousands of miles from Juneau Alaska to the tip of Argentina, a young Australian who doesn't even speak a word of Spanish solo traveling from Mexico down to Panama, a 19 year old German girl just out of high school traveling Mexico alone, the list goes on. That's the thing, these people aren't exceptional, down here they're normal and they're everywhere in the hostel community. Mexico is only the third country outside of the States that I've been to after Canada and the Dominican Republic. These people have been to nearly every country in Europe, parts of Africa, southeast Asia, and most of Latin America and they're normally only a few years older than me and sometimes even a few years younger. Puts it all into perspective. Adventure is relative I suppose. So maybe to some of you I'm still crazy, but in the traveler community I'm a pretty boring guy ha! It's all about pushing ourselves outside of our comfort zones and growing from the experience though, and I can happily say I'm doing that. I'm not quite at the point where I feel I can bike through Latin America and given what I packed for what I thought was a 6 month stay teaching in Chiapa de Corzo, solo traveling the length of Central America ain't really an option either. So after chilling in Chiapa de Corzo for these last 10 weeks I packed the backpack, grabbed my guitar, donned my cowboy hat and hopped on a bus to find the beach. 
          I know this isn't goodbye. I'll be coming back to give Chiapa a proper adios and to pick up a few of my belongings that I left with my host family. And as I ride out of the city towards the Tuxtla bus stop, it's bittersweet. I know I'm beginning a new adventure in a beautiful part of the country but I've had so many wonderful moments here and I feel so comfortable around my friends and family, it's hard to leave. Guess that's what travelers do, lay down roots, nurture them, and then at a decided moment rip them out in search of other fertile soil. Ten weeks in this place and I probably had about ten different identities - Esteban, the English teacher, the tourist, the Chunta, the Parachico, the salsa dancer, the basketball player, the volleyball player, the optometrist, the guitar player, the laborer, the giant gringo with a man bun... I'm looking forward to expanding upon that list as I continue onward... Esteban the farmer, the surfer, the beach bum...