Subcomandante Marcos finally brought his message to Catemaco a day late, but forgot his horse.
A casual observer could possibly count on 2 hands and maybe a foot the number of local residents welcoming him. But he did have an entourage of hill people, car loads of young uropean/gringo/chilango groupies and a handful of apparent indians. What I especially liked was one of his campaign vehicles with "New Mexico" car license plates.
The subcomandante did take a chatting walk around the city and some pamphlets crossed hands. One could literally smell the fear Catemaqueños exuded, for being seen with him and reported to their local party chiefs. So much for social democracy!
Happy Trails!, subcomandante.
