When Atheists Pray

The jungle in Gucamayas, a little
slice of heaven before the combi ride from hell.

A combi in Mexico is a van, usually a Toyota van, stripped on the inside with bench seats installed along each wall, behind the driver's seat, and across the back. Packed they can hold upwards of 20 people, with many standing and holding onto bars installed across the ceiling.

I've had some amazing and frightening combi rides. One in particular was along Lake Patzcuaro when the van was packed so solidly that if it rolled, probably everyone would have remained in the same place when it righted itself. Fortunately, even though the driver was going too fast, on a rainy night with all kinds of livestock looming out of the darkness, we didn't have an accident.

Combies stop and go all the time. Anyone can flag down a combi and unless no one else can be squeezed in, the driver will stop and let more people get on. Combi drivers have a reputation for crazy fast driving around turns, passing other cars on blind curves, for sliding over the yellow line into the oncoming lane and all kinds of driving misbehaviors, yet, miraculously, you almost never hear of a combi flying off a cliff and killing everyone. Sometimes they go off the road and people get hurt, but more often than not, the drivers are just careful enough.

Combis that go between towns are usually newer and have seats like a van or school bus. The more expensive the ticket, the more comfortable the seat. Sometimes a combi is owned by the driver who pays a commission to the company he drives for (I say "he" because I have never seen a woman driver....). Sometimes they are paid only a percentage of the take for the day, another reason to pack-out the little bus.

And once in a while a driver is so bad you know your time on earth is limited, so bad an atheist would pray.

Such was the wild ride from Las Guacamayas through the mountains to Comitán.

I had a clue. I could have gone with my gut and not gotten on in the first place, but combies go to Las Guacamayas only when they are called, it's not a regular stop, and I'd been waiting for two hours. The driver was young, probably not yet 25 years old. The van was old, rusty in spots, the back tires bald, and the interior had a foul odor. I knew from experience the odor was the least of my worries.

Clue number two was the windshield. There was a big crack running across it. The top 1/3 of the windshield was covered with some kind of sun shade material to block all light The bottom 1/3 had an opaque layer of white with writing on it, something about trusting God. And directly in front of the driver, just above the steering wheel and directly in his line of vision was his radio with a springy cord holding the mic. And to block his vision even further, he had danglies hanging down that swayed back and forth as he zoomed around corners.  I'd guess he had maybe 20 percent of the normal visual range.

THEN, he had a radio blasting scratchy Mexican folk music full volume so he couldn't possibly be further distracted from the job of driving a van full of trusting passengers. Oh but I was wrong. He could be further distracted. Not ten miles into the trip we picked up a pretty girl who sat in the front seat next to him, and his driving took an immediate turn for the worse, the showing-off and driving fast to impress a girl kind of worse.

I sat in the far back, my arm out the open window, hanging onto the ladder used to put stuff on the roof. I was thrown back and forth across the bumpy seat until I thought my arm might come out of its socket. The window was a slider and it occurred to me that should we go over the edge, the window might just slice my arm off below the elbow. Of course, I might also be dead so it wouldn't matter too much.

They say travel changes you. I thought it had changed me. Long ago I took the attitude that there is only so much I can do to keep safe, the rest is fate.  But in that combi, I was back peddling like a reformed druggie at a Rolling Stones convention.

I was scared. I wasn't at all serene about the idea of a violent end. I wanted OUT. But there was no getting out. We were flying through curves on mountainous roads in the middle of nowhere, in the jungles of Chiapas, zipping past guys on horseback, for Pete's sake. What would I do, alone on that road with my backpack? Could it possibly be any more unsafe?

Ultimately we made it out of the mountains and down into a valley to a small town called Maravillas Tenejapa. I told the driver I was sick, which wasn't the whole truth, but not a lie either. He offered to let me sit behind him. I said no, I wanted out. On solid ground I found a restroom and a nice lady who was selling tortas under a porch. Together we waited in the cool shade for another combi.

This combi also had a cracked windshield with only one dangly, a cross with Jesus on it. The driver was an older man and the tires had tread. He drove fast too, but somehow it was different.

There comes a time when you have to do something, anything, to change your own fear even if you can't really change anything else.

Guacamayas - Ecotourism

A Mexican ejido is a group of (usually) indigenous people living communally, sharing land, labor, equipment costs, etc, sort of like a large company but with democratic leadership. The ecocenter of Guacamayas is the project of the Reforma Agraria ejido, a group of Chinanteco people who migrated to southern Chiapas from Oaxaca in 1976. 

For several years they tried various ways to make a living. They finally discovered the way to grow export quality chilies and they still do that today. But in 1996, using assistance from the federal government, they built a center of ecotourism. It is a conservation project to protect and encourage wild scarlet macaws, the Guacamayas. 

The center is on the edge of the Lacantún River, on the southern side of the Lacandon jungle, a national park called Montes Azules. Opposite the center the jungle is dense and dark. A contrast to the "people" side where much of the undergrowth has been removed to make room for farms.

The center consists of a reception building, a restaurant, and about 30 hotel rooms with private baths, each part of a cabaña with two to three rooms, covered by a tall palapa roof. The ceiling of each room and all windows are covered with insect screen, but the space above is open under the organic roof. Any talk or noise is shared with the neighbors!

Cabaña with two hotel rooms under one roof

In addition there is an area for backpackers and tents, plus the "economico" shared housing, three beds to a room with bathrooms outside. The cost of the single bed is about a quarter of the hotel room. Traveling solo can get expensive, so I opted for the shared room. However, there were only two other couples in the entire place so I had the room and bath-building all to myself. Not a bad deal at all, and my little cabin had a river view, something you pay extra for if you get the hotel room!

One of the other couples was touring with a private guide. They had reserved a boat tour for the next morning and asked if I would be interested in sharing the cost. We pulled away from the dock at 7am in the cool of a slightly overcast morning. 

Directly across the river, the ejido had installed a couple of nesting boxes for the Guacamayas and a pair have taken up residence. We got to see both birds in flight as well as many other species as the tour went on: Toucans, parrots, fishing eagles and a Cojolite, which a search of the Internet revealed is a crested guan, just as endangered as the macaws. 

We turned up a tributary of the Lacantún River, shallow and of a different color. The Lacantún is the color of Chiapan jade; the tributary was teal. Such a beautiful scene as we rode up the mirror surface, surrounded by emerald jungle topped with blue sky and white clouds. Nature's palette skewed to the indigo side. 

Cojolite, also known as the jungle turkey

The boat pilot was fantastic. In the narrow and rather shallow tributary with many fallen trees and hidden rocks, he managed to zip through barely visible spaces. Far upstream we came up against a short water fall. A line of rocks about a foot high with water pouring over. There was one small gap with water gushing out. The guide mentioned something about the tour being over, so I expected us to turn around. The next thing I knew, the boat was roaring towards that tiny break in the wall, the front of the boat rose up and slammed back down. In an instant, we were up and over the falls. In retrospect, the guide must had said, “If we don’t make it through the crack, this tour will be over!”

After the tour, and breakfast in the palapa-covered restaurant, I wandered around the tiny village. Houses were wood or concrete block with stucco, roofed with fronds (the palapa roof) or corrugated metal (hot and noisy!!). They were simple one or two room buildings with an outhouse a few feet away. Some appeared to have indoor plumbing, and wires were strung all over indicating ample electricity and maybe phones. Each house had a decent plot of land, used for chickens, gardens, animals, banana plants, and coconut palms.

Festive little church in the village

The only businesses appeared to be activities of the ejido: a greenhouse, a mechanic shop, the ejido meetinghouse, and an outdoor clothing store. The food store was a tiny lean-to against a house where an elderly woman sold junk food along with staples like cereal and shampoo. Her TV roared in the background. 

The tourism center had a large flight cage with four macaws. Other fenced-in areas were populated with native Mexican deer. I'd never seen any and thought them to be relegated to zoos, but they do live in the Lacandon Bioreserva across the river where their main predator is the jaguar. They're small, about the size of a large goat with long slender legs. In the village there was a bigger flight cage with more scarlet macaws, some were nesting pairs. Their nesting box overlowed with straw and feathers.

After the tour of the town it was time for a swim. Beneath the short cliff near the restaurant, there was a rocky beach. People had been diving off the boat dock, but I thought it would be better, swimming alone, to be near the shore. One of the meseros assured me that the crocodiles were upstream and downstream, but not over there where I wanted to swim. 

Swimming hole 

Hundreds of black tadpoles wiggled in the solar heated water between the rocks. I had to swish my sandals to keep from killing dozens at a time while wading into the river. The water was quite cool. The current between a rocky outcrop and the shore had created a fairly deep channel with water just strong enough to swim in and not actually go anywhere. A true swimming "hole". 

Neck deep in the water, I watched a foot-tall gray heron fishing in the shallows. It walked slowly among the rocks pecking up small black round shapes with tails. So much for my attempts at tadpole conservation!

Mexican Venado

Wild hybiscus in abundance

Here is their website:  http://www.lasguacamayas.mx