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Field of Dreams; Fields of Reality
Our miniature caravan was making its way through the selva, trav-
eling at a pace that was persistent but moderate enough to keep the
bodies inside the Volkswagen buses from being catapulted from their
seats as yet another of the jungle’s natural speed bumps was discov-
ered. After various stops, some anticipated and others not, it seemed
as if we might actually get there, get to Nahá. I was anticipating our
arrival there with a large amount of delight and a small degree of anx-
iety, both of which had been keeping me awake while the other stu-
dents in the van slept. Every time I began to drift away into slumber,
I would begin to recreate the photographer Trudi Blom’s black-and-
white images in my mind, the aging faces of Lacandón Maya, adorned
in their white tunics and so picturesque and prominent among the
dense leaves of the selva. I was still suspended in a mystic dreamlike
abstraction when I felt the van slow and come to a stop. Upon open-
ing my eyes, I saw the sleepy faces of other students, Jeanne telling us
to relax and keep calm, and then I finally saw the soldiers in the road:
our very first military checkpoint.
Peering out through the tinted glass, I realized that there were more
than a dozen of them—clustered around a large military humvee, and
also some plainly dressed men. It appeared that where there once was
a bridge there was now a mudpit, one that they were struggling to by-
pass with the construction of a new bridge. The soldiers approached
the vans with very somber faces, initially at a pace that was extremely
intimidating and that was transformed into a lingering movement, cir-
cumambulating around the vans. Occasionally, one of them would
press his face against the windows, blocking the glare of the sun with
his muddy hands and surveying the cargo with piercing eyes. Finally,
Jeanne was called upon to exit the vehicle and join Roberto, our driver
outside. Kate and her driver joined them at the rear of our van and
began sputtering off their diplomatic terminology, flashing any and
all documents supporting their proposed intentions.
Finally, Roberto returned to the van and we began to roll toward
the muck and rushing water ahead. It would seem that we were at-
tempting to gain enough momentum to drive through the chaos of
the washout and onward to the other side. Roberto floored it and the
rest of us just held on and prayed that we would not tip over or be
