Sweat.

Merida, Yucatan

Mayans. People of the Corn.

Tecoh, Yucatan

Cenotes. Crawl through long stretches of this(with a backpack!) to get to the refreshing lagoon at the end. Look up, stick your tongue out, and take in the rainwater, ultra-purified through layers and layers of earth. It tastes like nothingness filtered through diamonds. Like the purest virginity if it were a flavor of honey.

Isla de CozumelIf low season means empty beaches and empty hammocks, we'll gladly take the occasional rainstorm. We'll plow our rental moped through those puddles like we own this island.

"We apologize but this is a revolution"

The few days we trekked through southern Mexico into Oaxaca and the Chiapas region mostly comprised the following:

A soporific (thanks SAT vocab flashcards) photo shoot of Annie and I as sleep-deprived bar wallflowers on Mexico's independence day, a bittersweet (spicy I'd say) love affair with chiles in all its gastronomical versatility and gastrointestinal volatility, sweaty hikes through Mayan ruins, and pondering a couple differing but not necessarily opposing opinions of the 1994 Zapatista movement and legacy by new friends who were there.

Coffee, cacao, and indigenous social justice programs flourish in these parts. You can smell it.

Oaxaca, Oaxaca:tired, sleepy and silly on Independence Day

San Cristobal de las Casas, San Juan de Chemula, Chiapas:

Palenque, Chiapas: banana-totin' guerilla...

and her army of ants