I don't know exactly what I’m looking for when I decide to take this trip. Just that definitively a woman play a part in it. I wasn't originally part of the team that is building the school in the middle of the jungle. I just follow my intuition, which leads me to this adventure, to a path in search for my ideals, for love, for a tribe of people that is hidden behind the facade of our modern civilization, for a living history, for a connection with the pure ideals of freedom and solidarity and revolution in communion.
Looking out of my window as we are sliding above the Atlantic clouds, I know and con feel I’m carrying with me the burdens of the old and the promise of a new life. It maybe fateful that a European can't escape felling this way going to America.
The megacity we land on hasn't been the floating garden hive on a lake that it was centuries ago when the first Europeans arrived, but still, the awe I fee must as well be quite similar to what those pale people encountered. We’re staying in Mexico City for a few days, just enough for what we need to do in order to move on to our destination, and not one day more. Our hostel is next to the Zocalo the legendary central square of the city. There, one can see an Indian here and there, dressed in feathers and tribal accessories. I guess it looks picturesque for the unsuspected tourists which can't imagine that the line of the ancient civilization that flourished on these lands were never really uprooted, despite the furious effort of the colonizers. It only went underground and kept flowing. In our time, it has started to rise up and claim its identity, language and culture. And actually we are heading right in the beating heart of an uprising that started locally but envisions the future globally. We are a team of architects, artists, vagabond travelers and free idealistic minds, led by a dream and a mission.
After a bus trip of which I have no recollection of -probably because it was so long and uncomfortable- our arrival at San Cristobal De Las Casas is a real treat. If we were tourists, we would be happy and complete. But been on a mission, gives this wonderful city a more beautiful aura and wholesome taste, than that of a sight behind a glass to take souvenirs from. It feels like a transitory space to our destination and, in a strange way a distant home.
We spend the next few days meeting our connections, gathering the provisions need for our residency and renting the van that will take us to it. We are ready for the road, not some paved to a clear destination, but the dirt one, to get lost in the jungle.
We've been in the country for about a week, and we’re definitely not disappointed by our adventures so far, but as we take the jungle path heading to the Land of Zapatistas, we know that our adventure had just begun.
Driving for the most of the day on the long bumpy road, we reach our first stop, the village of Garucha, one of the Karacoles. The word Karacol means snail in the Indian language, and because of its spiral shape, and the fact that be it slow it is full of resolution to surely reach its destination, in the Zapatista code it comes to signify the seats of the Good Government (as opposed to the evil one of the country). After so many hours on this super-dirt road, we know well that there is no straight road to life, not even a paved one and that life itself is a series of wavy turns.
When we're talking about a village in the jungle, even one that is the seat of government, we're actually referring to a clearing of the woods. It brings back to mind the basics of civilization, to push back the wilderness so people can settle together – and at the same time use it to protect the settlement. There is always the sense that the jungle is the one that sets the rules here. And people take advantage of it - the visible part of the village is just the public space. The private homes seem to take refuge in the privacy of the wild. There is a strong feeling that once you leave the clearing, you're lost in the mercy of the jungle, of this sweet yet cruel Goddess called La Selva (the jungle). The reason we're going to spend the night here, is to meet the committee of the government- that is: we the people- let them get to know us, update them with news from Greece and get updated from them about the situation in Zapatista land. Only then we can have clearance to move on. All of the municipal buildings are filled with graffiti on the outer walls.
We're led to one of them, in a big room. The wooden walls are painted with graffiti of native and revolutionary imagery, in Spanish and Indian. Soon the room is filled with so many people, men, women, young, old, the assembly of the people. Most of them are wearing bandanas. It feels a little bit creepy. Could it be that they don’t trust the white newcomers or are they honoring us by wearing the mark of the Zapatista?
After we’ve briefed them about the situation in Greece and they brief us on theirs, they let us know that tonight they’re holding a fiesta –I think for some saint- in the village’s square. We can’t hit the road today anyway, since we’ll be caught by the night, so going to a party while staying here, is really a treat, and a confirmation that we are most welcome. It takes place in the open space of the basketball court, under bright lights that delete the jungle giving an artificial sense of modern civilization. The music, though it’s traditional, it too has something artificial, played by a duo with synthesizer and drum machine. Oh, and there is no alcohol, since it is banned from all the Zapatista areas.
But the thing that I will remember forever from this night isn’t the
music or the dancing. It is in as moment where, feeling I need to pee, I walk
towards the jungle. As I turn the corner of the last house, I suddenly find
myself out of the bright lights and into the darkness. I stare at the jungle
and the jungle is staring at me with her mystery. She’s total dark, but not
completely dark. Above her, lie the stars, as I’ve never seen before. They are
so many, so different in constellation and so luminous, emphasizing in this way
the jungle’s dark body. But what astonishes me more, is that there seems to be
a whole constellation of stars in the actual jungle, among the trees, touching
the earth. For a moment I stand here enchanted and in a mind gap, this is
something that I can’t find space to comprehend. Until I notice that the jungle
stars are moving around, and I realize that they are fireflies! To my
astonished eyes, they seem to be not like the European ones, but much bigger
and luminous. I just stand here for some moments absorbing this (outer) space
experience, in awe of the beautiful starry sky and what seems to be another
starry night on the body of the Selva. This same night, touched by this
experience, I start writing the lyrics to what will come to be one of my
favorite songs…’’Fireflies’’.
But the thing with is experience isn’t just about how wonderful
it was. I took it as a sign. In the same way that the stars appeared to have
bridged the sky and earth, in the same way the ideals do not have to stay in
some unreachable space above our heads, but they can actually become reality.
It’s only a matter of how much we’re willing to come out of our comfort zone
and put the work needed…
(to be continued...)
