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The rest of the company suffered in the same way, so we all got up and went to work. A group of carreteros breakfasting, invited me to eat with them hard tortillas, atole and salted meat, formed a much better breakfast than we got, a little later, at the house upon the hill where travellers eat their meals.
Coffee, bread, tortillas, eggs, and brandied peaches, made a good impression, and we ordered our buxom young Zapotec cook, who was a hustler, to have an equally good dinner ready at 2:30. We set this hour, believing that she would be late, but she was more than prompt, and called us at two to a chicken dinner. It was interesting to watch the carreteros in the grove.
Coming out into a more level district, we passed Paraje and Dolores, reaching Carizal at five, where we stopped for the day. This is a regular resting place for carreteros, and there were plenty of carts there for the day.
Here we constantly met many carts heavily loaded; the road was narrow, and several times collisions, due to the falling asleep of one or other of the carreteros, were narrowly escaped. Finally, one really did take place, between our second cart and a heavily loaded one going in the other direction. The axle of our cart was broken, and the vehicle totally disabled.
The scenes of starting and arriving, packing and unpacking, chaffing and quarreling, were all interesting. In the lagoons of Vera Cruz, our boatmen applied the term jornada to a straight stretch across a lagoon made at one poling; here among the carreteros, the word jornada means the run made from resting-place to resting-place.
The indian dips up a jícara full of clear spring water, and then, taking a handful of posole from his pouch, kneads it up until a rather thick, light-yellow liquid results, which is drunk, and is refreshing and satisfying. Almost all the carreteros at this camp were Juchitecos.
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