Chiles, Coyotes, and Vanilla
On the Road to Volador were tree-lined, rocky hills, as well as a fútbol field where a few kids kicked around a ball. A boy on a wobbly-wheeled bicycle navigated the dirt path next to the road, spinning his legs as fast as he could to keep up with our truck. Just outside of town, a group of ten women and girls were picking chile piquín on a steep slope above the road. As Josh and I spoke in English to prepare our questions, the women chattered in rapid-fire Spanish to one another, clearly welcoming the work interruption. They had stopped plucking the tiny red and orange chiles, which they collected in two-liter Coke bottles with the tops cut off. Before we could introduce ourselves, an older woman said in Spanish, “It sounds nice, like what we’ve heard on soap operas.” They said they had seen gringos from time to time in Papantla, the municipal seat, and at the pyramids of nearby El Tajin, the spectacular pre-Colombian archeological site. But they claimed during our trip in 2007 that we were the first gringos to visit tiny Volador. The rugged but fertile land around Volador was planted with corn, beans, papaya, chiles, bananas, oranges, mangoes, and other crops. It was more difficult land to farm than that of Agua Dulce. Volador was also more isolated, and it had fewer people. The main difference, though, was that Don Beto Cruz, an absentee landlord from Papantla, owned nearly all of the land surrounding the village. There was no ejido here. Locals traded their labor with Cruz for little plots of land to farm. Wage work in the fields earned about $8 a day, but it was irregular, maybe one or two days a week. Several of the fieldworkers were high school–aged girls earning summer money. Despite the blazing heat, they dressed in jeans or sweatpants and had layers on top to protect against the scratchy fieldwork and the sun. One of the girls wore a white-and-blue shirt that read, “Telesecundaria Mariano Matamoros.” The shirt featured a television with a smiley face inside.