Bloqueos!

(something from the archives, sorry for the lack of order, but it's an interesting experience) 

Was it Tuesday? It feels so long ago, and in those days I was too wearied at night, or without a staunch wifi connection, to be able to write properly.  

Tuesday we had hoped to ride to Ocosinco from San Cristobal, but were foiled by a blockade outside the town of Huixtan. I rode down a hill into the town, wondering why there were so many taxis and collectivos parked there. Then I saw three or four people lying in the road, and men sitting on the sidelines telling me I could not pass, and there was a clothe flapping over the road with requests written on it. I got out my phone to translate some words, and the men hissed at me not to take photos. 

Kathy and I learned later that the people of the town, mostly poor indigenous farmers, thought the government was charging them too much for electricity and gasoline, and they were protesting. For the blockade, they were holding up all traffic (and it was the main road from San Cristobal to Ocosinco) until 3pm. The idea was that this would disrupt transportation enough so that the officials would notice. Many local people, especially drivers, disagree with this type of protest, because it is inconvenient. 

It was indeed inconvenient for us. Because we had come quite far and couldn't just moulder around until 3pm--and a blockade was new to me, and I was a little nervous about being around potential unrest of this nature. 

When the plans fall apart is when the adventure begins. We decided to catch a collectivo towards another road that went towards our destination. We soon flagged down a van, and positioned ourselves with our bikes inside. Something fuzzy and incomprehensible was playing on the radio, in a language that wasn't even Spanish, something indigenous, but it sounded like a hymn in a way, barely recognizable from the grottos of my other life. 

"Our God Our Help In Ages Past." Verse after verse in a gravelly, soupy way. What a completely bizarre thing to hear, this hymn from my organ playing life, but in this van in Mexico with my bike in my lap. I imagine it was a rendition, in an indigenous makeover, playing on their equivalent of the Christian radio station. 

The next day, leaving Ocosinco, we encountered another blockade. We asked around before approaching it, and the locals said we'd be able to pass through with our bikes. Here's hoping. It was like a tremendous traffic jam, all these cars and trucks on the leaving side facing all the vehicles on the coming side. We wove through the mess--oh to be a small vehicle!--and finally came to the blockade itself. Some planks laid in the middle of the road, huge nails poking up from them. We made a moment of eye contact with a man in the middle, and he waved us through. I finally breathed a sigh of relief when we emerged from the throng of parked cars on the other side onto empty road. 

It's hard not to think how the acts of the USA have repurcussions here; the opening or closing of a trade agreement with Mexico, for instance, would influence the prices of everything here, including energy, and what poorer farmers are able to pay to have lights in their homes. Traveling in Mexico has opened my eyes so much to the glory of this country, and the pride and the beauty and the hopes of the people here, and it breaks my heart to hear Trump talk about Mexico in his dismissive and offending ways. 

Riding up out of town, up up up into the rainforest mountains. A huge climb to start the day. A man in a pickup truck smiled and waved at us from the side of the road. Would we like a ride? Indeed, yes! Just up the steepest part, save the knees a little bit, and riding in the open air of a pickup with the road rolling out behind me is indeed a joy.  I was sitting in the back of the truck on some scattered coffee beans! Mr Nice Truck Pablo was all smiles and impressed with our bicycles and our riding. We offered him money, and he protested no, no, esta bien! We basically had to push our pesos in through his window as he kept protesting. What a sweetheart he was, what a kind act to offer a ride for us, and I was so happy for the ride and the interaction. 

Bicycle ride, with coffee