Morning breaks with a fantastic send off, everyone shaking hands from the bus windows with the thousands of Zapatistas who are preparing for the journey back into the mountains, all of them in balaclavas, some of them wearing their traditional thick wool ponchos and straw hats aflutter with brightly colored ribons dangling to shoulder length. Descending from San Cristóbal, the mist hangs in the valleys below us, groups of EZLN supporters flank the highway, waving
and cheering.

Heading for the state capital, the tension builds as the heat rises; we have left the cool air of the mountains behind. For the past week, anti-Zapatista leaflets have been circulating in Tuxtla. If San Cristóbal is the indigenous and cultural capital of the state, Tuxtla is the ladino (westernized and often non indigenous) and industrial capital, as well as the governmental one.

The mayor of Tuxtla, an open adversary of zapatismo, has organized a children's festival at the same hour as the EZLN event. Nevertheless, 10,000 people fill the zocala, the trees creak and branches bend under the weight of dozens of people who have climbed up to get a view of the commandantes. Marcos noted wryly in his improvised speech that there seemed to be a high presence of children in the zocalo, despite the
competition.

Representatives of civil society give the comandancia new masks and white calla lilies, which Marcos expertly throws into the crowd, one by one, each taking precise flight like an arrow before falling into the hands of an adoring fan. The Tojolabal Comandante Tacho spoke to the crowd as well,
explaining that "...we don't want alms, nor surplus, nor crumbs. We don't want war. We don't want to kill while dying."

The crowds sing the Zapatista anthem and then the first stop is over, the caravan moves off with more than 30 stops to go, over a thousand miles to travel. We arrive at Juchitán, where more than 15,000 people have turned up for the event. The Comandancia lines up to speak on a stage backed by a wall of palm fronds, to which have been tied fluttering red bandanas. Above them enormous banners hang, painted with the iconic faces of Zapata, Che and a faceless balaclava clad zapatista. Each delegate receives a garland of flowers from a representative of the numerous indigenous nations, who then address the crowd in their respective languages. Marcos speaks of language, of how the conquistadores have always
attempted to destroy the indigenous languages, rightly
guessing that indigenous identity is deeply entwined with language.

Comandanta Esther speaks of the issues of women, saying: "Women are exploited three times. Because we are indigenous, and only know how to speak Tzeltal, we are scorned. For being women, they tell us that we don't know how to speak, they tell us that we are stupid and don't know how to think. For being poor, because we don't have food, nor dignified living,
education, we don't have good health. Many children die in their mothers' arms of curable diseases. For this triple exploitation itis necesary that all the indigenous and non-indigenous women raise our voices."

Once again the chorus of the Zapatista hymn echoes across another crowded square. The crowd cheers, the delegation files off the stage, banners are taken down and the numerous media crews pack up for the night. Supporters offer us showers in their homes and refuse an offer of payment; the government opens the municipal palace for the caravanistas to sleep, if we choose not to join the masses which are setting up camp in the zocala, which soon becomes a patchwork of
different coloured sleeping bags and tired bodies,desperately trying to get some rest before the next leg of the trip.