If you think the Megabus is bad, you should try taking the bus from Oaxaca into Chiapas, south-east Mexico. Twelve hours of trying not to vomit in the blistering oppressive heat. When the shaking and rolling finally stopped, I staggered away from the road and lay in the undergrowth for a while, enjoying the stillness.

According to the map I still had to trek down into the valley where I would be met by my hosts, so I shouldered my rucksack and started off down the rocky path. The landscape was incredible, tropical forest covering the hills like green clouds. I hadn't gone too far when I came across a wooden sign nailed to a tree, with the word "Xtilala" daubed in black paint, and an arrow pointing down the hill.

I followed the path and soon found myself approaching a wooden shack, with a group of people milling around outside, laughing and smoking. They all looked about my age, and all wore cut-offs and loose shirts, some with wide-brimmed hats to help fend off the uncompromising Mexican sun. There were some white guys with dreads, a Chicana with cornrows, a few people who looked like they were probably of Scandinavian origin, and some American girls. The loudest of them all was a stocky guy with a baseball cap and skin the colour of roasted coffee beans. 

*

"Ay, chica," he called out "You starting today, no?" I nodded and unshouldered my pack. "You should go see Maruja, she show you where you can dump your gear."

"Gracias," I replied, smiling gratefully. "Where can I find her?"

He inclined his head to indicate the direction I should head in, and I picked up my pack again, suddenly feeling full of beans and much recovered from my hellish journey.

I started out through the trees and he called after me, "And after that come and see me, no?" resulting in a burst of laughter from the guys and snorts of derision from the women present.

I looked over my shoulder to see the Chicana give him a shove. "Ay, Pepe," she chided him, "you need to show some respect."

The banter of the group faded away as I approached the hut he had pointed out. I pushed open the door, to find nothing inside, save for a few open sacks of raw coffee beans stacked underneath a wooden work surface. I turned around and went to go look around the coffee fields, to see if I might find this Maruja lady there.

They stretched out for acres and acres, coffee plants as far as the horizon, but no sign of life. It was approaching the hottest part of the day, so I wasn't too surprised. I started thinking maybe a siesta wouldn't be a bad idea and headed towards a shady looking grove to lie down for a bit. As soon as I entered the shade, I noticed that there was someone there, squatting behind a tree. She had darker skin than the others I had met, and long braids tied back. An Indigena, probably of Mayan descent.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I exclaimed, embarrassed.

She didn't move a muscle, she just fixed her gaze on me, smiling slightly, and continued emptying her bladder. "You must be the new WWOOFer," she said.

"Uh, yeah," I stammered, not knowing where to look.

She stood up, buttoning her shorts. "It's good to give a gift of your water to the trees. I'm Maruja." She cast her eyes up and down my body, appraising me. "Hmmm," she murmured, gripping my upper arm. "Fuerte, no?"

"Si," I managed to say.

She laughed at my discomfort, "You are not one for words, eh chica? No te preocupes, there's plenty needs done here, and we have more need of strong fingers than a quick tongue." She said this with a grin, and I couldn't keep from blushing. I knew then that I'd given her all the info she needed.

She walked off in the direction of the fields, indicating for me to follow. "Venga, I'll show you where you can dump your pack and after siesta, we can get you started in the fields."

*

We worked long into the evening harvesting the "cherries" from the coffee plants, a job still, in this mechanised age, I was told, best done by hand. I had imagined coffee plants to look like bush beans, but they were like little trees with bright red berries. Once the pulp is removed, one of the American girls explained to me, you are left with the raw beans. The de-pulping is typically done on the farm, but as Xtilala is part of a cooperative, they take it to the local mill where there is more efficient machinery.

I made friends with the other WWOOFers, and even Pepe turned out to be an okay guy, once I'd told him I wasn't into dudes.

Dinner was tamales, washed down with some of the local honey beer which they called balché. After a while, I felt like going out for a stroll so I got up and wandered out into the Chiapas night. Maruja was leaning against the wall, smoking something that smelled herbal and pungent.

"Ay, chica, you worked hard today, you want some of this?" She handed it to me and I took a toke. It tasted of strange Mexican herbs, but there was also definitely some strong weed in there. She watched me as I exhaled, but I had been out in the fields all day proving my worth and felt less self-conscious than before. 

"¿Tu es una mujer que gustan les mujeres, no,?" she asked, bluntly.

I didn't say anything as I was having a headrush from the weed, but the lazy grin plastered across my face must have told her all she needed to know, because next thing I knew she had taken hold of my hand and was leading me through the trees, to the hut where I had looked for her earlier in the day. I let myself be led, still grinning uncontrollably, and she pulled me inside and closed the door.

She picked me up and put me down on the workbench above the sacks of raw beans, then removed her hair band and shook her long braids free. They cascaded over her brown shoulders, and all I could do was sit, transfixed. She took another hit of the joint before stubbing it out and, wrapping her muscular arms around me, kissed me full on the lips. When her tongue touched mine it felt like an electric shock and I was so high from the weed I felt as if I had floated off to a higher plane, and was watching from above while my brain switched to bio-survival mode and took control of my body.

We tore off each other's clothes, and I only had seconds to admire her stunning breasts before she had my shorts half off and her lips on my belly. I could only yelp with intense anticipation as she began stroking my thighs...

*

Viktor looked mournfully at the lorry load of sacks he had to unload. He was hungover and could do with a spliff to take the edge off. There was nothing to be done about that though, the sooner he got started the sooner he'd be finished. His colleague Dieter had already climbed into the lorry and was starting to haul the sacks onto pallets, which they could then forklift into the processing plant. He sighed and followed suit, cursing that last beer.

"Hey Viktor!," shouted his workmate, "Come and look at this!" He ambled over, expecting another dead mouse one of the sacks.

"I told you, it adds to the flavour."

But there was no mouse in the sack Dieter was holding, just a lot of raw coffee beans spilling on the floor of the lorry. In his other hand, however, was a half smoked, but very fat spliff.

"You know this shipment came from Mexico, right? This'll be some crazy loco weed." Viktor's eyes lit up. "Those Mexican dudes must have been having a sneaky spliff on their coffee break," he replied.

"Nein," said Dieter, patting his pockets for a lighter "you wouldn't be having coffee breaks if you spent all day harvesting the stuff, I reckon their boss lets them have spliff breaks."

Viktor found a lighter first and lit the joint for his friend, who took a huge lungful and immediately doubled over, coughing his guts up.

"Shizen," he exclaimed when he could speak again. "That's some wild stuff." Viktor took a hit and nodded in agreement, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "It's given me a boner," he giggled.

"Ja, so I see," Dieter replied, "Let me take care of that for you."

—

This story was written while drinking Durito coffee from the Cafe Libertad Kollektiv, part of the distribution network for Zapatista coffee from autonomous uprising communities in Chiapas, Mexico. This coffee's production and distribution are securing indigenous people's livelihoods, and reinforcing the autonomous movement against the government, landowner and military powers which oppress the native people in Chiapas.

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