Caminos Entrelazados or Intertwined Paths.
Part 2 As Ernesto and I arrive in Chamula, we see endless street markets, towering cathedrals and chickens running a muck all around. The colors, sights, and smells seem to conquer my senses, and in submission of them, I am lead to a discreet little table, gluttoned with pan dulce. Every color, taste and flavor imaginable, little ones, medium ones and big, big, big ones. Ones shaped like plump watermelon slices, beefy little piggies, and silly looking ones that were lumpy and ugly all over, but tasted like home, like a memoir almost. My stomach bellowed for them all, though instead I bought one for Ernesto an...