Fever Dreams and Cloudy Skies

Bus trips in Mexico are always longer than you would expect by looking at a map. It is that curious phenomenon that allows for a mile of intestines in a five foot tall person, where the road follows each side of a mountain, always doubling back on itself to gain elevation and making only superficial progress forward, overlooking switchbacks already traversed or else giving glimpses across the way to some small village not yet reached. This journey in particular, five hours between San Cristobal and Palenque, seems longer than most, due again to a particular intestinal effect. Waking up, my stomach felt like a brick, but nothing a strong cup of coffee couldn't pass. On reaching the bus station, I felt too weak to walk, had lost all appetite and nausea threatened to spill me into the bushes. The hour waiting for the bus I had a slight fever from the neck up and terrible chills from the neck down; even wearing two raincoats I couldn't help shivering in my seat.

Between aspirin and Dramamine, I no longer felt I was dying. The drowsiness was not enough to put me under, but I thought about two dreams from the night before: one where I was crushed in between two whale sharks and nearly drowned with broken ribs, and one where my appendix burst and was taken out through my ankle.

From Ocosingo on, I felt a little more alert and well enough to enjoy some of the scenery. Everything under the sky was green; this is one of the rainiest parts of Mexico, hot and jungly, looking nothing like the pine forests a few hours before. But more beautiful even than the land was the cloudy sky. It was as if someone had taken every type of cloud, jumbled them together, and then rolled them like crapdice. Here a typical stormcloud, grey and threatening, towering over the landscape; now a puff of cotton candy, brilliant white amidst blue sky. Between them sails a battleship, dumping white rain that never reaches the ground; overhead a sort of manic cirrus graffiti. I don't think I've ever seen a sky so lacking in organization, and the switchbacks only add to the tumultuous effect-- now the sun is on your left, now it's concealed over on your right-- so that it felt more like watching a planetarium from a slow merry go round.

The sun hid itself most of the trip, but towards sunset it finally slipped free of the clouds, illuminating whole valleys with that evening light that fills landscape with such contrast. Eye popping greens, deep shadows, golden rivers; baby turkeys fleeing the highway, shirtless men in the shade, sheep and goats grazing. And the clouds-- nightfall softened them, hued them with orange and purple, spread them out and gave some sense to the sky. Here in Palenque they look like bootprints, fading into the darkness.