Jorge finished with the two couples, spotted us, and asked if we needed a ride to town. He asked about twice the going fare. We said we weren't going, and besides, his price was too high. We needed to understand that he had quoted the round-trip fare, and could return whenever we wanted. As it turned out, we really need a taxi for early the next morning, so we quickly struck a deal. 7:45 A.M., round trip fare, return whenever we needed to.

The next morning Jorge arrived right on time and drove us to our appointment at the car rental agency, where we were to rent a car for a day trip down to the Guatemalan border to see some mountain lakes. On the way down the hill from the hotel, Jorge inquired if we had already made plans for our return to the airport at Tuxtla Gutierrez, and would we be needing a ride? He would show us all the sites, do it all up right, take as long as we wanted, and not short-change us like some of those unscrupulous fellows down on the square, the tiburones (sharks). We would visit Sumidero Canyon and take a boat ride, and he would pick us up on the far side of the canyon. He just happened to have the official tourist brochure in his glove compartment. Would we like to take a look at it? He knew of a nice restaurant that sat on the canyon rim. Why just go home, why not take in all the sights on our last day, enjoy our remaining time in Mexico? And of course we could start very early so that we would have time to see everything…

Still on our way down the hill he spotted a friend, and playfully eased his car up beside him and yelled "Careful, I'll put your buns right back on that sidewalk!" About five minutes of pleasantries ensued. Under way again, he passed a boy on a bike and flagged him over. The boy was a driver for one of the tourist agencies, riding his bike to town to pick up his car for the day. Jorge lectured him on what to see, where to go, how to make sure the tour would go to all the best places, etc.

Finally we arrived at the agency. Jorge informed us that he worked for this agency, in fact drove one of their cars! He found out which car we were renting, took the keys, and disappeared for about five minutes. When he returned he made some wry remark about maybe he'd swap cars later if this one proved more reliable than the one that the owner had him in now… It was a sprightly 1982 Volkswagen bug with only about 70,000 miles on it, in other words a gem. It had a muffler, lights that worked, a spare tire, plates, insurance, everything! It would be acceptable for us to rent this car.

Jorge offered to escort us out of town to make sure we got off in the right direction. There was one paved road  to San Cristobal, but why refuse Jorge at this point? Waving and beeping, we bid a fond farewell as we headed south to do our birding and perhaps even set foot in a jungle for a moment or two.

On the way out of town we stopped at two of the most beautiful churches I have ever seen. In the church at San Juan Chamula there were pine needles and candles on the ground, with groups of Indians praying to the various pictures of saints on the walls. I stepped forward to get a better look at one of the pictures. I knocked over a candle, right into the pine needles. For a brief instant, I imagined myself stoned to death if I did manage to burn down with the church without being incinerated. Some quick shuffling among the needles managed to remove the combustible material from the flame. I relit the candle. We left the church and town as quickly as possible.

When we got to the lake area of Montebello we found some of the most burned-out, surrealistic jungle imaginable. There were little rivulets everywhere. People were living in the mud everywhere. The odds of spotting a Quetzal in this scarred land were slim to none. We saw any number of checkpoints along the way. We hoped we didn't cross over into Guatemala accidentally about the time a Guatemalan border guard made his rounds.This recent picture of the lake itself (©Miriam Cuevas) shows real progress from when we were there! 

We returned from our trip to find Jorge back at the hotel. By this time, Jorge had practically been adopted by the two American couples. He admitted to having made a slight slip the previous day when he allowed one of the women to be stoned for taking pictures of the Indians without first asking permission, but they really didn't blame Jorge for this. Apparently, the official guide books that Jorge carried along with him had failed to mention this sensitivity the local Indians had about picture taking. Jorge assured them that they could go anywhere, stay as long as they wanted, and he would only charge them the annual income of a small village for his services. He accepted English, Spanish, pesos, dollars. He knew everybody, no exceptions.

San Cristobal, in those days, was an easy place to get to but an extremely difficult place to leave. The local economy, as far as tourists went, worked in a single direction. We spent nearly half a day arranging our return to the airport in Tuxtla Gutierrez. After lunch we were ready to throw in the towel and place ourselves at the mercy of Jorge. But of course Jorge was booked up completely and we weren't anxious to find out if he had a cousin with a 1942 Studebaker who could drive us to the airport.

The last time I saw Jorge was in the men's restroom of the airport restroom in Tuxtla. He was loading up on paper towels. He asked us how our return trip had been, and knowingly smiled when I told he that we went only half way up the sumidero canyon when the boat driver suggested an additional fare might be needed to go any further, unless we wanted to swim up the canyon. Jorge would have started the day earlier, if he had been available. How much did they charge? How many people went on the tour? Where did we stop for lunch?

The airport was only equipped with liquid soap dispensers, so the towels were the best booty that Jorge could secure at that time. Upon exiting the restroom he headed for a strategic spot for greeting the next planeload of arrivals, working on his speech, his next moves. New maps, a full tank of gas, a late-model car, a friendly smile. Would the kindly people be needing a ride back to the airport? A visit to the zoo in Tuxtla was a nice stop. If they were staying in San Cristobal he would drive them directly to their hotel. Palenque was a nice side trip, once they were settled. Why take a bus when one could ride in the splendor of a late-model taxi, equipped with paper towels, official tourist materials, and an excellent guide? Ride in comfort, in the company of your friends and loved ones, not on a bus with perfect strangers! He would be there for them if ever they needed him….

After cruising the web recently I came across some wonderful sites on San Cristobal. Randy Johnson has an excellent narrative and phone gallery on his web page.