Hacking Katesplayground

03/08/1910 04/03/1910


It was still daylight when, in the silence of the streets cold and dark, I went from San Cristobal. Because of the strong live music coming from 'the other side of the wall of my dorm where Charlie, the owner of both local hires rock bands three nights a week, I had hardly slept a wink. The doors of the pub
Charly were closed, but inside, it was a private party in full swing.
arrived in Palenque in the late morning and spent the whole afternoon to go up and down the stairs of the pyramids in the Mayan archaeological site, located a few miles of the city. The main street of the town is in the process of restoration.
Every house, hotel, shop, on both sides of the road are being demolished. As I had anticipated, not Palenque has nothing as fascinating as the city center and the nightlife is almost non-existent. On direct bus to the ruins, after lunch with the best tacos on the street bought so far, I met Arthur, a boy of 12 years that he offered to be my guide 'to the site for a bargain price. Accompanied by his brother of 10, I had to walk around the jungle giving me detailed explanations about the name on the vegetation and some scholars, discoverers dellla ruins. I could, then get some more information on the pyramids from my guide and seeing a documentary in the archaeological museum.
Arturo and her brother were a good company and took advantage of their presence to make me take some pictures at the top of large stone buildings.
The next day I went to the waterfalls of Agua Azul, a little more than 60 km along the main road back to San Cristobal. I arrived early and was able, So, enjoy the wonder almost completely alone. I breakfasted with a "cocktail" of fruit: pineapple, papaya, watermelon, melon and mango stuffed in a plastic cup, sitting on the ground with their feet dangling from a wooden fence and under me ... A majestic waterfall of crystal clear water that turned into many pools. I left when the first came pullmanns of tourists to turn off the spell and to cover, with their shouting, the symphony in which nature had enveloped me. I went, So, to the waterfalls of Misol He , On the way back to Palenque. The major types are completely different, but equally fascinating ': A journey through the wet rocks can go behind the waterfall that plunges 40 meters into a small lake. I knew that water was cold and I saw only two boys enter. I tried to resist, but when the sun of the afternoon it began to beat more strongly, I could not restrain myself and had a swim. I returned to Palenque very tired and I had dinner with a vegetable soup, drinking hot tea with lemon. They were a bit of day I felt a pain in the stomach, perhaps the last time I was put to the test, eating any food, even if unknown to me. When I returned to the room at about 21:00, something happened to me strange: I felt a great desire to vomit and I had to restrain myself from not doing so. Severe nausea was added to a sudden rise in body temperature and began to tremble from the cold, although there are 30 degrees in the room. I was awake at 5:15 to catch the 6:00 of the minibus to the border with Guatemala. At 4:25, after more than 3 hours of light sleep, I woke up. `So I hurried the preparations to take the 5:00 bus. Three hours later I was Corazol border, from where the single-engine boats directly to the ruins of Yaxchilan and those directed to small and remote city of Bethel, where there is `the customs office to enter Guatemala. To mark the boundary between the two countries is the river and there are different options to cross it. I gave up the trip to the ruins because of the enormous price that I asked the information desk: 700 pesos to be paid only by being the only participant to add up to another 400 to get to Bethel and cross the border.
The tour price of close to that of the 2-day tour offered by the agencies in San Cristobal and deemed it absolutely illogical. I said that I would have to wait for other people to split the fare and sat on a bench. The responses of the people who requested information were left very vague and easily transpire that there was a scam.
Thus I made my way alone to the boats moored to the riverbank.
I thought, "You can not that a Mexican who wants to cross the border must bear the expense. "I did not have time to get to the bottom of the stone staircase, when a guy stopped me and asked 'where I was heading.
For 50 pesos I crossed the river in about 2 minutes with the same man who had asked the 400 appears as a single option. I changed my 500 pesos on the other side, in Guatemalan soil, discussed on the discussion, but certainly was not very favorable for me.
At 9:00 I went on the old and dusty bus that `shares only after half an hour when the driver and his helper ended up making breakfast of fried chicken and fries in a kiosk in front of you.
the country, very poor, it is composed of, at most, 20 houses surrounded by greenery.
The same man who had changed the money you `facing the door of the bus I was the only passenger, and took 50 quetzal for an imaginary business. Paid him, and I saw him reach the two sat down to eat.
gave money to the guy who takes care of payments, with the other hand, gave him the rest: he had got his commission and the little that I managed to give me more in return. I had been ripped off 3 times within an hour.
I've tried to make `this does not happen and I had paid small sums of money greater than the real ones, but the thought of being treated differently by the locals made me nervous. You may consider, according me, a form of racism, where the rights of a person to change depending on your country of origin. This happens in all countries of Central America.
We started walking, moderate-speed ', the dirt road, dusty in the midst of endless prairies of plantations of bananas, mangoes and other tropical fruits. After more than an hour, we came to Bethel, we stopped to wait for half an hour something that never arrive '. Time passed slowly, as the mileage.
In the din of the rickety bus, the temperature increased steadily. Could not open the windows to avoid being invaded by a cloud of white dust raised by the other vehicles coming in the opposite direction.
I thought, "Of course a hole rubber in that place must be a really good breaking balls. "` I do not spend half an hour that a tremendous blast that made me think of me I was right "gufata" alone. Bucammo the right rear and lost another 40 minutes to change . Along the way, arid and endless rose more and more people, but no one fell! I was trying to stay awake and fight fatigue. They told me that I arrived in Flores in 3 hours.
Instead: 4 were of gravel road and an asphalt to Santa Elena. It was an exhausting journey, we made stops at least 100, bucammo a tire, crossed herds of cows that walked free on the street and the most fun thing was that in Flores, I even brought us.
I got exhausted from the bus, sweaty, dirty, with a layer of dust visible to the naked eye deposited on the skin. Total: 10 hours travel nightmare, with hardly slept, ate, drank or going to the bathroom.
the bus station, took a tuc-tuc, and I did bring up to where buses depart for Belize.

I took a room near the bustling market. I went out to dinner quickly and now I try to rest. Tomorrow I get to Belize City. Another state, another culture, another language, other food, other people .... another adventure!

Masterbation Is Haram

Guatemala San Cristobal de Las Casas, Mexico San C.de


Monday `I went to the 'Office of Human Rights" for information to visit a Zapatista community. I admit that, until now, almost completely ignorant of what were the ideals and actions of this active clandestine armed movement in Chiapas. A few nights ago, I witnessed a documentary screened on the wall of the Cathedral of San Cristobal.
Sitting on the floor along with about fifty people in a couple of hours, I managed to get an idea and understand what were the topics of the EZLN, which owes its name to the Mexican revolutionary Emiliano Zapata. Piqued my curiosity I did some research on the Internet is determined to want to go in person.
It was 12:30 when I walked into the office and the secretary I notice is that the (pre-visit) to the organization, was in full swing in the next room. About a dozen of children of different nationalities, sitting around a large table, took notes and followed with attention the words of a woman strong and very serious-looking, as that of my Italian teacher in high school. My community, without smiling, that the "lesson" was about to end but I still call 'to take place. I declined the invitation and I simply ask when would be the next. "` Every Monday from 11.00 to 13.00, "he said calmly but` austere, taking care to articulate the words properly to avoid being forced to repeat and prolong the interruption of his prayer, the content certainly very interesting. I apologized for the trouble and left the room. As I walked under the sun of early afternoon, in the crowded streets of the city, looking for a place to eat, I thought that I could not stop in a week more just to make a two-hour course on the Zapatistas, and I decided is that we I went on my own.
In truth, I was driven only by a strong curiosity, far from any interest politically motivated.
The next morning I got up early and walked to the market in search of a means of direct transport to the small community called Oventik. It was a cold, wet morning, the sky was covered by dense white clouds intent on hiding the tops of the mountains surrounding the city. I was not in great shape, suffering from a bad cold and I felt weak because of some line fever.
The problem here is that on cloudy days, the temperature drops dramatically and the rooms are almost all devoid of heating. The first of these is my hostel.
In the great room to sleep, the night temperature is not much higher than the outside. There is, therefore, at least for me, shivering in the pleasure of walking into a room and be able to undress and heat over a cup of hot tea. Perhaps this happens in places that I considered "luxury", where a dinner might cost the equivalent of 5 nights in the cold and my modest hostel. On the contrary, most of the bars and restaurants keep their doors open as an invitation to major customers, `But that must be careful not to sit in the middle of a cold current.
I had never crossed before, the market of San Cristobal, located behind the craft, mostly to tourists. A large corner of "real Mexico" comes to life in the north of the city. The traffic, the din of clacsons, the cries of vendors, music from all over, people who like to sneak into a nest among the cars in columns to immerse yourself in the expanse of stalls, produce a noisy and chaotic environment.
the street can walk on it while walking around and if you are not careful, even the walk to the wrong person. After 30 minutes of waiting and a salad purchased from an elderly man who moved with plastic containers on a tray, as an experienced waiter, finally departed.
made me get off the taxi on the roadside in front of a large red gate, 60 miles north of San Cristobal, in the mountains an hour and a half before innebbiate admired the town. Behind those cold, wet bars, surrounded by dense fog, and there were two strong men of average height. Both were wearing walking boots, jeans, heavy wool sweaters with dark colors. A distinguished and to attract my attention, blacks were the hood which covered their head completely and leaving his face to see, only the eyes. They asked me my passport and only after having brought him in to office and having received permission, I did pass.
The community is on the sides of a cobbled street down, 500m long, which ends with a big square of concrete brick color. After my ID and some brief questions from three members sitting behind an old wooden table, they accompany me to one of the colorful houses along the road. The buildings were mostly used as offices, stores, houses, and decorated with colorful murals representing images, faces, flags of the revolutionary movement. A couple of English guys had preceded me a few minutes and I had to wait outside in the cold for about half an hour.
The fog was very thick and dense, driven by moving wind if a few meters away was a large fire broke out. The clouds of smoke made it hard on the Environment and silent, almost eerie, ghostly. Sir, I have deliberately decided to call "The Captain", kindly welcomed me into the room and made me sit on a wooden bench. He sat behind the big desk, full of sheets stored in an orderly way, and start talking `. The tone of his voice was quiet and slightly hoarse and his words, spoken with great conviction and firmness, echoed in the empty room. She held hands with fingers crossed. They were strong hands of a worker, marked by dark and cold. Sconpose not even a second from his statuesque posture and looked at me straight in the eye.
In those few inches defined by the hood, I could learn more if I had seen his face uncovered. "The eyes are the mirror of the soul," someone once said ... dovendomi and just focus on them, I felt strongly idealistic energy and spirit that we send. The pupils, black and shiny like beads of tourmaline, highlighted the determination of the man hooded and red blood that surrounded, symbolized the passion and effort with which he was performing his role within the community independently.
Behind him, the flag symbol of the movement, completely black with the words red fire, "Democracia, justicia y libertad" arch-shaped, with a big star in the middle representing the five continents. More below, the EZLN acronym that means: Ejército Zapatista de Liberación Nacional. The conversation was very engaging and interesting, and I, many times, I could not stop myself from interrupting to ask questions. I left the room satisfied with the meeting and the special and unique, experience of life. Near the exit, in the small craft shop, I admired the great photos on the walls and as compensation for the time dedicated to free, I bought a T-shirt as a souvenir, and above it printed in red the face of Subcomandante Marcos, Zapatista Army spokesman.
I was struck by words such as "bad governance, independence, tired of waiting, the Our land, our water, our air ...." and on the return journey I stopped to reflect. I do not want and do not possess sufficient knowledge to be able to deploy, simply admire the effort of those people who give life, time and money to combat and support their cause.

How Long For Temazepam To Kick In

03/02/1910 Las Casas Mexico Waterfalls 02/25/1910


Sunday morning, Victor, the brother of my friend Marcos, came to fetch us at the end of the island at the intersection of Calle de Guadalupe, in front of his hardware store. `It comes on an old and a little 'wrecked' PK, I think, many years ago, was white. A few blocks later we loaded more Chico, who met us as hopping a gazelle being chased by a hungry cheetah. `Crouched behind the two seats in a small space dedicated to passengers not sure. Her hair tied accentuated the angular features of his face thinner and longer trimmed goatee without a mustache. He wore a gray hooded sweatshirt, at least two more large sizes and a pair of camouflage shorts. Red eyes and shiny and that a more joyful, lively and a bit 'lost, from "Alice in Wonderland" I made him understand that he had just smoke a "leek": a rod of pure Marijuana, without even a trace of tobacco, as used throughout Central and South America.
In succession, we went to Abram and Jorge prendre. The first made us sit in His big orange house with two floors, where lives with 4 other friends. We present to you is his little dog named Chita: a little brown chihuahua that wander around the house wagging happy arrival of new guests.
Among the small animal and its owner, there are at least 100kg of difference. The contrast between the large man with long dark hair, which probably descended from some ancient Viking ancestry, and her affectionate cheerful monster, was disturbing.
Jorge, the last one to pick, made us wait downstairs, having remained asleep even after long calls of alarm. I kept my place on the seats next to Victor, while his three friends sat on the cabinet rear and we set off towards the mountains.
I was calm, but excited at the same time `,` I'd never seen or experienced the `experience of the" war "with the bullets of paint.
Once in place, after the greetings, we hastened the preparations, to be the first to play. Wearing camouflage sleeveless jackets, helmets fitted with face shield and there armammo of airguns. Dictated the rules, entered the battlefield: 5000 square meters of forest, with constant ups and dices covered with shrubs forming small mountains. The field is bordered by a wooden fence. In some parts of the field, the walls were built with wooden planks long, about 3 meters high and 1.50, for use as a shelter during the battle. We were 2 teams of 5 players each. The goal of the first mission was the elimination, that is hit 3 times each member of the opposing team with paint bullets in any part of the body from the waist up. When someone hit for the third time, was eliminated, with raised hands and the gun pointed upwards, had to shout: "FUER" and leave the playing area, trying not to go in the "fire zone". We were not very skilled and conscientious even in the strategy, but in less than 30 minutes, still managed to defeat the opponent without even one of our were removed.
The second game was more long, and fought exciting. The rules of the first encounter remained unchanged, the target this time was to be able to get to take the opponent's flag hoisted on the opposite side of the field and at the same time, defend our behind us. We bought another 100 shots that score, leaving as many Abram, according to a tactic this time studied in more details should have remained in the rear to defend the flag. Me and Victor, we would have to be on the "front line" while Jorge Chico and we covered the shoulders. We began to move cautiously on the left side of the field hiding behind trees and walls in wood. In those moments, we are really excited, and knowing that it is just a game, the adrenaline flows in the veins quickly as the bullets are fired and can hit the opponent with precision up to a distance of 40 meters, causing, if hit on bare skin, a pain similar to that of a strong pinch.
I was really having fun, I was panting, sweating and very concentrated!
more I advanced along the bottom of the forest, grazing and the fence repaired by mounds of earth. I thought I could surprise the enemy coming out from the center of enemy fire, but I was not the only one with that idea! While peered from behind a tree on the mountain top where the flag waving, leaned his head on the right to be able to see some of my opponents. Suddenly, a bullet hits me is the I held that gun in his left hand pointing up and that I had carelessly left out of the coverage of the big pine tree.
The ball of paint exploded a few inches of my face understand the visor of the helmet of orange liquid. I threw myself on the floor with his back to the courts of the trunk and rough, while trying to regain visibility `wiping with a sleeve, I could hear the crackling of other bullets that came to repeat: I was fired from two different points! My opponent, who had the same idea, had seen me first and I was impressed. A find, was also the sniper on top of the mountain that would not stop shooting at me. I made a call to Victor, while crawling on the ground forced to retreat and he, from behind a wall, ran to my aid emptying half load to the man near the fence and forcing him to take cover and stop shooting. I managed to reach the hideout of Victor, as I covered her shoulders. I could feel the bullets passing close to the body and before the eyes, when I heard the sound of guns and flew out of impattavono when the ground near my feet against the trunks of trees.
Meanwhile I was running with his head down, ran the quickest possible! I felt like the protagonist of a film or even better, as his stunt double.
The enemy that I had shot, was in good aiming, but not as much patience. Once at the shelter, I waited for him: I knew where it was hidden and that sooner or later would have to come out. When lifted up his head after a few minutes of respite, while the heart of the battle had moved to the top of the forest, did not hesitate a moment and began to shoot. I hit him first to the neck (at the end of the game, smiling and shaking my hand he said that still hurt ...) and when you turn 'to me, three times in the chest in rapid succession, thus is its elimination. While, with his hands up and looked disconsolate left the field, taken my position and began to advance. The sniper had seen me and I knew that I was just waiting for a false move. Meanwhile, my companions had eliminated other two opponents, one of whom was wearing a white tracksuit, (Bianca!! I think there is less clothing suitable for that type of sports activity).
I still remember the scene: I saw him crawl out from behind a bush like a snake in search of food. I was too far to try to hit it with precision, and then I simply enjoy the scene. Unaware of being under fire 'surplus, fearless, on all fours and when he found himself `in the middle between his hiding place and the wooden wall a few meters in front of him, his rashness was punished severely. Assaulted by a barrage of bullets coming from the left and right simultaneously, and that changed the color of the sweat suit, was forced to withdraw.
agreement with Victor, we got together from our two stations, responding with force to attacks and focusing on the sniper. The latter was cosretto to crouch behind the wooden planks to avoid being hit and I approffitai the moment. I fiondai to the foot of the mountain and lay down with his back to the ground. At that time I was only about twenty meters from my rival, but is outside his field of vision. While listening to the roar of the battle behind me, undisturbed, I could work around the mountain and find me in a few minutes behind the enemy base. To climb the steep wall earthy and had to make more breaks, I was exhausted, sweaty and the visor, yet dirty, it tarnishes with my every breath. I slipped several times with his right hand leaning on the wet earth, while his left hand was holding the gun that was becoming more heavy. I felt the pungent scent of loam mixed with the aroma of the trees still wet after the frost in the morning.
reached the top, trying not to make too much noise, I found a few meters from the flag. The sniper was shot from behind, intent on shooting my teammates. I walked with slow steps and cat to turn around and waited. I kept the gun pointed at him, was less than 10 meters from me and between us, only the green flag that symbolized the fulfillment of the mission. When my team responded to the fire around 'shooting at me. Do not give him time to breathe and I downloaded a volley of bullets in the chest, leaving him still, with the painted face a mask of surprise, fear and forgiveness. I grabbed the flag with his right hand and stood up shouting at the sky. My classmates come out, too surprised and incredulous to see me on top of the mountain. No one had noticed I was gone for a few minutes, they were all too busy shooting themselves. I had won, we won! I was exhausted, breathed with difficulty, his legs could barely hold my weight, all had lasted nearly an hour and a half and I thought I just ran a marathon. The sweatshirt I was wearing was soaked with sweat and take off my helmet cloth was a huge relief. I was very happy, though, that I won and it was me in my team to triumph. I've always

been, still are and always will be `against any kind of war. I was never fascinated with weapons, much less the armies. I am thrilled to have been exempt from military service and, apart from playing with toy soldiers at the age of four years, war has never attracted me. `I will not waste unnecessary words, saying that it is wrong and that only leads to destruction, but I'll say` a, that what I attended on Sunday, has nothing to do with the war. It is simply a game, someone called sport, where the increased risk, if you follow the rules and forms of security, is to leave the field with some small bruise, which happens in any game of football. Yes, it is a simulation of war, but not for this may be considered unethical, unless you want to consider as immoral even an Olympic sport fencing, which is a simulation of a duel with swords.
I really enjoyed, I felt the adrenaline running through your veins and nele danger like a dog chasing me angry, all this with virtually no risk. The fact that the game is played in a wood, surrounded by nature on the slopes of the mountains of Chiapas, at least for me, has made competition even more realistic and exciting. Redo it `just` I will get the chance, I do not see anything wrong ...