these days it’s raining every day at 2 or 3 pm. it keeps going on and off into the night. it smells good and is gorgeous because it’s misty and dreamlike as it tends to be when it rains during the day, which makes up for its inconvenience.

feels like I’ve been on a long, long trip that was almost a dream. I went to the intergalactico, and it was amazing, although I have had long talks with friends about the issues we would raise in planning another. However, it was an amazing experience, You get there, to Oventic, and you can feel resistance and collectivity in the air. There are these gorgeous hand painted banners just billowing in the wind and SO many people and once the guards at the gate let you pass you walk down this huge walkway lined with collectives (coffee, weaving, etc) and meeting spaces and comedores. I really wish I hadn’t gotten sick and somewhat defeated by all the alternating burning sun and pouring freezing rain, because I feel like it was an amazing opportunity to exchange a ton with la gente, all the people there…A compartir…The English words don’t work as well as the Spanish ones seem to. But anyway I went and it was great. And I got to interview a darling woman in one of the weaving collectives there, Subcomandante Marcos came and spoke about the Yaki pueblo in the north and their struggle for autonomy, there were amazing mesas de trabajo on the Zapatista health system, and on women’s struggle within the larger Zapatista struggle, and so much more. Oventic’s about 1.5 hours away from San Cristobal, we got there crammed 6 into a taxi on the winding roads with breathtaking scenery all around. We came back in the back of a truck, much cheaper and made more friends that way, the whole thing in the open air, and we just beat the rain!

When I got back I was feeling ok, went to call family and do some work in Tierra Adentro. A few hours later, though, when I got home from the café, I could barely stand up. I made myself a grilled cheese and tomato sandwich and went straight to bed for three days, alternately freezing cold and then sweating from the heat, with a terrible headache, cough and nausea. The whole time, because of where I live, in this insane beautiful yellow and orange commune/house/hostel/squat, there were more than 10 argentine, Mexican and French hippies banging away on their bongos right above my room on the roof and in the courtyard singing at the top of their lungs as they polished off a HUGE bag of mushrooms that they found a couple days earlier in the campo. This trip of theirs lasted about two straight days, with me getting out of bed every 10 hours or so to feebly ask them to keep it down until my fever broke. Awful! And two or three days later, it did, and I took a shower and did all the dishes they left in the sink and felt a little better. I finally got back to work. In the course of my flu, I watched a trillion movies (storytelling, and the squid and the whale), slept more than I have the whole time I’ve been here, read (now obsessed with Marquez!) and wished my mom was here. Today is my first day back at the Centro, and, although I am mostly better, I have a terrible sinus cold and my stomach was killing me this morning. At least I can walk places again.

also, i’ve been feeding myself well. lots of cooking with bags full of acelago (like chard) and tomatoes and avocado. and I finally understand the culture of maiz a little better. It’s not just like bread for us…it’s everything. The indigenous people are mujeres y hombres de maiz…the tortillas, the ejote and esquite …corn on the cob with chile, or the kernels cooked with salt, chile and a million other things all on layers…tamales…corn bread…more tortillas…oh, and a hot sweet drink made of pureed corn. Oh, and that soup, white and creamy…and probably a million other things I can’t think of right now. And the husks don’t go to waste either. I mean, I only had an inkling of an idea before…So much to absorb! I have to teach myself to like corn tortillas more than flour, which are only sold packaged in stores. It’s hard, been raised on flour ones my whole life! but the real tortillas are where it’s at, hot and sold in kilos and fresh wrapped in paper from the tortilleria and that you brush off in your palms and then roll up into a little tube to eat with, kind of like the white bread you get at the barbecue in atlanta when you’re little…

love,
leah