An already lengthly bus journey somehow turned into 20 hours with each winding slope up to the mountains seemingly taking us only fractions of the hundreds of miles closer. Still, I slept most of the journey, only to be prodded awake by a gruff Mexican police officer at 4 in the morning demanding my passport. The landscape up to the mountains once the sun has risen is preoccupying enough for a while, with wildlife grazing amongst the lush greenery and sadly also mass areas of deforestation. By the time we finally arrived, however, I was sick of the over air conned bus, the disgusting smell of urine and a little boys travel sickness and most of all the packets of crisps and M&Ms that had been keeping me alive for the past 20 hours.
Our hostel is lovely and the quaint cobblestone streets of San Cristobal remind me of Antigua in Guatemala. As soon as the sun goes down though, San Cristobal is cold, England comparable cold, and I fear that my one pair of jeans and thin cardi will be used and abused these next couple of days.
Dinner for 40 peso (£2) at a traditional Mexican food joint is delicious and it looks like we're the only non Mexicans eating here. This is confirmed when the lovely little Mexican waitress serving us engages in conversation about where we're from and subsequently asks to take our picture and hopes we will come back to her restaurant tomorrow.
Desert from a food stall across the street is a giant but delicious bowl of fried banana which even shared between the two of us we struggle to finish.