16 hours in a bus on one of the bumpiest roads I've ever experienced. Regardless of that, I slept more than I initially thought. Looking inside the bus, I'm the only foreigner in the bus; looking outside the window, the green is growing at the same level as the dark clouds over me. It's interesting how the scenery changes moving from north to south. The earth color of the desert and cactus forests leaves spaces for greens that get more intense and present as I go more east.

Palenque seems a quite small rural town; it reminds me of the northern Thai villages. Here, the Tren Maya has its starting station. A station that seems built for a big city from the outside, something that really doesn't fit the reality I see looking from the windows of my taxi.

I arrive exhausted at the hotel, but I force myself after a bit to go out and explore since I'll be here two nights.

The sun is already gone. There is something interesting about arriving in an unknown place with darkness. Everything feels a bit threatening. It happened during my first visit to New York; it happens here. Regardless of the place, roaming at night requires confidence that is easier to get after having explored the place during the day.

I evaluate every corner or dark street carefully before taking a street. I don't want to be a victim of my "follow the dirty road" attitude, but at the same time, I don't want to be a victim of the media portrayal of this country either.

I mean, shit is real here in Mexico. But to what extent? Is that the same in the whole country? Or, as in every place in the world, there are safer areas than others, and everywhere can happen to get robbed, as just to be fully safe and have a great time.

I wear my best smile, relax my shoulders, and sink in the warm, humid breeze.

I roam a bit around when I'm attracted by a group of people. A family by the size and kind of interactions between them. I look inside the place from the other side of the street and I see a Christmas tree and some colorful lights. A few steps after passing this scene, I decide to go back and just be curious. I say hello and ask what's going on. There is always something magical about approaching big gatherings of families and friends.

I discover that they are a big group of friends and families that are celebrating El Señor de Esquipulas, another name for for a Christ figure. They invite me in and offer me bread and coffee. A sweet bread that looks more like a cake, and coffee made out of leaves instead of beans.

I wake up the morning after with a bit of a sore throat and decide to get out and explore the town with sunlight. Yesterday's clouds are gone. The dark streets that looked sketchy last night, now are full of people. I sink in the buzz while I walk my way to a local food and veggie market: these places are usually the small towns' heartbeat.

And Palenque is definitely no exception.

People look more curious than annoyed when I pass in between with the camera while saying "Buenos días". Most of them react well to big smiles and goofy movements. A few times I sense it's better to take down the camera, but overall I'm having a great time.

Of course I get to know someone. I enjoy small talks with Jairo. He got my attention while he was combing his hair looking at the mirror of a car. He's proud of his English and likes to switch between languages.

The day passes by, I bring some printed photos to Jesus from the evening before, and I start to wind down. A visit to the zocalo, the central square, to enjoy the bus of people getting out of schools, work, and gather to enjoy the refreshed weather.

And then, it's time to head back to the hotel. I need to plan the day ahead: a train to Campeche is waiting for me in the morning. I will stay there for a night before moving on to Merida.

I wonder from which one I will send the next missive.

Till then,

— M