Cancun Dispatch: 9/3

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The reading gives us all an emotional boost. It reflects a stronger "yes" than I actually feel -- what I actually feel about this or any of our plans is a deep squirrelly feeling in the pit of my stomach. The police presence is growing. So far they are not actively harrassing people, but they are watching.

A group of us go out to eat after the meeting, thinking we would continue our discussion over food. We take a table at our favorite little food stand in the Parque de Palapas, where they serve a full lunch with soup, a main dish, horchata, and desert for about $2, but a very suspicious-looking man parks himself on a stool next to us. Peyote, one of the students from Mexico City, points him out and nudges us. He has a grim face and really looks like he walked straight out of Central Casting for Undercover Cops. So, instead, we talk about past actions. I'm watching the churro maker behind us squeeze dough through a hand-cranked press into long, ridged snakes that he deep-fries in a well in his stand. Tristan is telling amusing stories about the G8 at Evian. Felicidad and I are sharing an unspoken and possibly politically problematic appreciation of the sheer sex appeal of so many of these activists who surround us. In my case it's more of a generalized, aesthetic appreciation, as I can't really lust after someone when I'm old enough to be their mother -- possibly even grandmother. But Felicidad, despite her considerable organizing skills and general level-headedness, is only 19, and very appealing herself, flouncing out the door as I'm writing this in a white camisole and much-ruffled skirt.

Back at the Convergence Center, our ecoteam has returned from a day of gathering materials and redesigning the site. The municipality's bulldozers are scraping the ground bare, removing even the giant boulders that cannot possibly be carried in a riot but which would make such wonderful gardens and great habitat. Erik describes sadly how dozens of displaced iguanas, their homes destroyed in this "cleanup," are fanning frantically around the bleak landscape, looking for somewhere to hide.

The team has acquired some 55-gallon drums, but they prove to be full of paint thinner. Juniper, our genuine, accredited environmental engineer, assures us that we can clean them well enough for a graywater system to handle whatever residue exists, so we carefully pour out what is left and then discuss the problem of cutting them. If fumes are trapped inside, they could ignite and explode, which would have bad repercussions personally and politically. The team carefully washes them out and Scotty applies the circular saw, with Coco bravely sitting on the barrel to stabilize it while sparks fly. I am not having a good feeling about this, and Juniper is starting to wonder how we will ever convince the police

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