When I had been walking for nearly a year I came into a small Mexican village. Although it was far from the through ways and unaccustomed to visitors the Andrade family offered me breakfast: Tortillas and beer. They spoke no English and I spoke no Spanish but somehow they invited me to stay the night, to help with work in the morning, to wait for the daughters wedding (in a weeks time) and eventually to stay for good.
A year passed as I became accustomed to the work, as my Spanish became tolerable and as I eventually began to think out loud about leaving; the same way I had come.
As the day approached Don Nyo walked up to me and placed a pair of boots at my feet, a pair of pants in one hand and a rope in the other.
My eyes followed the rope along its length: <<The donkey can carry your things now.
The means he understood well but the ends were far from him.
So I put my bags atop Judas and we began to walk from pueblo to pueblo. The people weren't so drawn to me but Judas attracted most everyone. We couldn't much walk through a village without a crowd forming. For the next five and a half years we walked south meeting Latin America. I've gathered some images from those years trying, with a few descriptions, to provide a context. I don't pretend to be a great photographer. My vision like my camera was humble and limited but like most of our lenses, the only one I had.