Conquistador trip 1981 – (2) Oaxaca, Villa Hermosa, San Christobal, Comitán, Panajachal

We drove to Malinelco Christmas Day,

got tired and lost, but photos only show

my Bill, brown, healthy and relaxed posing

beside the iron church gate, straw hat perky,

thumbs tucked in waistband cowboy style, blue shirt

matching the gate post with its flowers, buds

and butterflies all made from beans and corn.

Bill Barrie at Malinelco, Christmas Day 1980

Also frozen in time, en route Taxco

Oaxaca: Family with iguanas will

pose for pesetas. A wee tot peers through

our mini-bus window (open one third).

His mother, hazy through the glass and heat

seems to grimace, small baby in left arm,

giant limb-tied iguana in the right;

beside her, boy and girl, eyes vacant (how

long have they stood there?) iguanas atop

their heads. Behind them scrubby trees, parched land.

In Oaxaca, Bill said to me, “I’m up to here

with ancient sites. Today I do my own thing.”

Conflicted – did I want to miss the sites? –

I stayed with him. We spent two hours immersed

in market day, bought woven bags and whole fried fish,

caught local buses, dined on chicken mole

and relaxed into the day. I didn’t always

see it at the time, but Bill was wise.

Oaxaca Public Library 2018   Photo: Gayle Bowler

Next day’s long drive, distance misjudged, meant tin

beds, soulless cells in Valle Nacionale.

Even George complained, “Did we sign up for this?”

Locals were curious and friendly –

a little waitress, wearing high-heeled boots

and satin shorts, with gaps where her front teeth

should be, practised her English and flirted with Bill.

Through fertile valleys into Veracruz

State with its ugly oil cities to reach

Villa Hermosa, grumpy at John’s lack

of skills in finding rooms. Impressive ruins

at Palenque, but Bill was mutinous: Had day

alone, away from John’s boiled egg picnics,

and went into the jungle where I watched

a crew make mud bricks, which when dry

they built into adobe plastered walls.

I walked freely with local Indians.

We cheered up in Chiapas State. Photos

in Agua Diente show us both relaxed

in stance, his arm snug round my waist;

framed by the famous fall of misty pale

blue-green; Bill glowing with good health, me fresh

and pretty-shouldered in a red sun frock.

Bill and Ann Barrie at Agua Diente, Mexico, late December 1980

San Christobel at seven thousand feet

was cold despite bright blues, yellows and pinks

on adobe buildings. Indians, so poor,

in shawls and serapes. Slogans on the walls:

Fuera Yankees de El Salvador.

Muera Reagon. Death to Reagon.

Yankees get out of El Salvador.

It made me shiver.

Happy again in Comitan, at Family Plan

Restaurant we pushed tables together and

for ninety pesos each they laid a spread:

chorizos, enchiladas, tamales,

quesadillas, guacamole, rolled meats,

tortillas, tostas, tamales. Our one

good deal in this country, Bill wrote.

A photo shows Bill, quizzical, watching

two mariachis whom we’d hired. Both heads,

sombrero-clad, cast down to carefully watch

their faltering fingers tread accordion and guitar.

Good-humoured at the border while waiting

for the fumigation of the bus, our men

played Gringoes versus Guatemalan boys,

a rough and ready football game. We pressed

on singing in the dark: Scottish, English,

Australian, Broadway, often led by Bill.

Penajechal for two nights meant we could

unpack and wash our clothes.

Bill felt inspired to write: We breakfasted

in gardens at a hotel, took boat rides

on Lake Atitlan, met two Indian tribes –

gentle and friendly like the Balinese,

they weave and wear multi-coloured costumes.

 I photographed a shy lady who sold

me bright embroidered cloth. Her eyes downcast,

she stands inside the doorway of her shack

holding a length of textured cloth around

her shoulders, richly woven blouse beneath,

big skirt in rays of orange, pink and green.

The cloth hung on our wall for thirty years

until it faded and disintegrated.

Blog by Ann Barrie ... to be continued