And Now for Something Completely Different...

Getting Off to a "Rocky" Start

Our jet lag had dissipated and with two weeks of Ajijic life under our belts we were ready (sort of) for our Copper Canyon adventure.  It would be hard to find a more different landscape or culture from Japan than that of the land of the Tarahumara (they prefer to be called the Rarámuri).  The Rarámuri live within and around the Copper Canyon in Northern Mexico.  They are best known for their ability to run vast distances wearing sandals made of old tires.  When we were in the Canyon a 250km race went right by our hotel.  That is correct -- 250 KM or about 175 miles.  But I am getting ahead of myself.

Our guide for this trip, Karuna, scheduled a lunch a couple of days before departure so that we would have a chance to meet our trip mates and get an overview of the trip.    Karuna had visual aids.  There was a giant map of the Canyon (which is really 200 linked canyons) and then a series of very scary pictures.  The scary pictures portrayed what had occurred in the Canyon very recently.  There is a single, narrowish road that descends into the base of the Canyon. We were supposed to travel that road to visit with the Rarámuri. However, a giant boulder had fallen on the road making it impassible. When I say giant, I mean GIANT!  It was about the size of a 4,000 square foot, two story house.  One photo showed two guys standing on top of it and they looked like specks.  Since we were to spend an overnight at the canyon's base it was clear that a change of itinerary was in order.  I don't believe in omens, yet, still......

Taking Flight

We've flown out of Guadalajara tens if not one hundred times and leaving 45 minutes travel time to the airport has always been fine.  We were leaving at 3:30 AM so were doubly sure we'd be fine.  But no.  A serious accident doubled our time and then the chaos that is Volaris airline assaulted us.  One day at 5 AM there will be three people in line at Volaris.  The next day at 5AM there will be 300 people in line at Volaris.  And there will always be the same number of agents. Sigh.  Karuna somehow managed to wrangle us to the front of the line and on the plane.  We arrived in Las Mochis, Sinaloa (yes El Chapo's home state) which is  a rather unimpressive  town on the Sea of Cortez.  By mid morning we'd settled in to our hotel and then headed via bus to a restaurant located WAY up a gravel road overlooking the sea in a small town called Topolabampo.  Topolabampo was a growing resort area until....da,da,da...The Drug Wars.  The economy crashed and appears not to have recovered.  Ghostly, half constructed buildings of exposed rebar and superstructure loomed on all sides.  Clearing cliffs by inches in our massive bus we all sighed deeply and ordered  margaritas immediately upon arriving at the restaurant perched precariously on the hilltop.  The shrimp may have been the best I have ever had.  Ever.

Looking down on the town of Topolobampo from the restaurant...

and looking up at the restaurant from down below.

The superstructure of an unfinished building in Topolobampo.

Next we were taken to the harbor where we climbed aboard pangas to have a tour of the bay.  It is arguable that perhaps taking a bunch of geriatrics who have just glutted on seafood and libations on a little boat bobbing on the waves is not sensible.  But we survived and saw some playful dolphins (impossible to photograph) and interesting birds.

Loading geriatrics onto swaying ponga was not easy, but the crew did a great job and no one ended up in the drink.

This tri-colored heron standing on the rocks was one of the birds we saw on our voyage around the bay.

We also saw these shrimp boats headed out on the bay.

The Mark of Zorro

The next morning we headed out to see the Botanical Gardens.  Having just come off some of the greatest gardens in the world in Japan we found this garden underwhelming.  Our friends Barbara and Allen who were on the trip with us took a detour to the bathroom and ended up being "misplaced" for a half hour or so when we visited the Butterfly House without telling them.  If we were counted once on this trip we were counted a hundred times and yet, occasionally, one of us would escape  That morning we also went to probably the neatest Children's Museum I've ever seen.  Take a look at the photos.  Sometimes these Mexican towns surprise you with their sophistication.

At the butterfly house this guide showed us how the chrysalises were made into ankle bracelets which rattled as the indigenous dance.

These are the butterflies which provide the chrysalises.

This butterfly landed on one of our tour members hats.

These young guides at the Children's Museum sang a greeting as we arrived.

This fanciful "jellyfish" made quite a children's play structure.

Our friend Allan trying his skill at balancing on the disk before he had to grab on to the bar.

Karuna's assistant Christy on the bed of nails.

All of the tour members posing for a group picture along with our two Children's Museum guides.

This crane was designed to pick up balls in one area and transport and drop them in another area.

Deirdre disappearing into the wall of foam tubes.

One of the guides at the museum in an exhibit that helps children to understand where the sources of their food.

The museum had these train track with a ride on train that circled the museum.

Another room where the children can exhibit their creative side.

We trundled up the road for an hour or two and landed at the Hacienda that was the Birthplace of Zorro.  In fact, we had the room right next to the room where Zorro was born.  This Hacienda was absolutely gorgeous.  I would have stayed there the whole week (and occasionally wished I had).  There was a show that evening featuring "Zorro" that we skipped because we are a little jaded.  But everyone said it was fun,

The covered terrace outside of our rooms at the hacienda...

where the massive roots from this vine have been allowed to grow up through the tiles.

The dining room of the hacienda.

The Zorro statue was in one of the outside courtyards of the hacienda.

I captured this photo of the woman and her parrot strolling through the town.

The hacienda had several hummingbird feeders, which attracted quite a number of hummingbirds (and bees as well).

On To The Canyon

Bright and early we boarded El Chepe -- a scenic tourist train that ferries people into the Canyon.  It took 90 years to complete due to the challenging landscape and various Revolutions and other unforeseen events.  The train takes 6 hours to reach the heart of the Canyon  and, at its highest, is 1475 feet above the ground.  Many years ago bandits held up the train and forced the travelers to relinquish all their valuables.  One guy, Swiss or German I forget which, either didn't understand or wouldn't give it over so they shot and killed him.  As the story goes, the bandits were found hanging in a nearby town shortly thereafter.  The cartel didn't want any problems with the tourists that might hinder their activities.  To this day, the train runs with two guards with very large weapons at the ready.  I think they are overreacting.

Our Copper Canyon train El Chepe pulling into the station at El Fuerte.

When we arrived at Posada Mirador, the rarámuri women had their wares for sale spread out on the steps. Their baskets are amazing.

The view from our room at the Posada Mirador of the Copper Canyon.

From the station we headed to our hotel which was truly something.  It is called The Posada Mirador Hotel and every room has a balcony that dangles over the Canyon.  The views are incredible.  At this point we were at almost 8,000 feet so it was sweater weather -- nice for a change.  As we all oohed and aahed about the natural beauty surrounding us we had no idea that this would be the last day that our little tribe would all be happy and healthy.

Going Down That Stony End.....

The next day we were going to Creel, a logging village, which is even higher than The Mirador.  We heard a human rights commissioner (he's also a priest) speak of the Rarámuri and the challenges that they face.  Like having school teachers who don't speak Rarámuri while the students don't speak Spanish. And that's just the tip of the inequality iceberg.  Next on the agenda was a hike to  The Valley of the Phallus, aka The Valley of the Monks.  While I found the concept titillating, the thought of an uphill hike at over 8K feet quelled my desires.  Michael's photos would have to do.

At this altitude the poplar trees had turned already.

A rarámuri child selling woven handbags outside the hotel in Creel.

This huge antler chandelier was in the lobby of the hotel in Creel...

along with this stuffed owl and various pelts adorning the walls.

The very  interesting rock formations in the Valley of the Phallus aka the Valley of the Monks.

At the end of the outbound hike we were greeted with this amazing view of the valley and the canyons beyond.

This vulture was waiting for one of us to slip from our lookout.

This Catholic church built by the rarámuri reflected their influence and incorporated their beliefs.

A magnificent sunset from the balcony of our Posada Mirador.

In this area water is a scarce and valuable resource and determines how many rarámuri can live in a given area.

A puppy in the rarámuri settlement.

A view of the Posada Mirador from the rarámuri house.

The chicken coop is designed to keep the chickens from night time predators. The chickens walk up the plank at night to stay safe within the coop.

Meanwhile, the first of us went down.  It was Karuna unfortunately.  She hadn't felt well upon arising but trouper that she is she led us onward.  By lunch she was a goner.  Fever, gastro-intestinal issues, the whole thing.  She was so bad that she went to the clinic and they held here there until they could figure it out (they didn't) and give her lots of stuff (they did).  Now our comrades started dropping like flies.  The next day one person couldn't even get out of bed and we had to leave her behind (she eventually caught up).  Probably two or three the next day went down.  And it kept going until there were only 6-8 of us out of 24 who were untouched.  We went through all the aspirin, Aleve, lomotil, and immodium that everyone who travels in Mexico brings.  Antibiotics were also to be had -- even though we know it is wrong.  Karuna's assistant Christy was prowling the aisle of the bus distributing Electrolit like bottled water.  Somewhere during all this Libby fell backwards out of the bus (not moving) and broke her wrist. So each day the cast of characters changed as some took to their beds while others arose like tarnished Phoenixes from the ashes.   Michael and I congratulated ourselves on our hardy constitutions and then Michael came down with it about a week after our return.  After browsing the internet he matched his numerous and disgusting symptoms with the Norovirus -- yes the evil plague of cruise ship passengers.  You can stay contagious for up to 2 weeks after symptoms show up so you can see why it spreads like crazy.  He is recovered.

Geriatrics At the Zipline

There is a zip line that stretches about 2 miles across the Canyon.  One goes 85-135 kilometers per hour on it if one is insane enough to go on it.  Sounds like fun, huh?  Well, it did to Michael who just squeaked under the age limit of 70 by a few weeks. After your exciting ride you then get to climb up 200 feet in elevation to reach the plateau where you get the cable car back.  I was most impressed by his moxie and willingness to subject his very subpar knees to the uphill climb.  Then we went back to El Mirador and had wine and some Aleve.

A lookout by the gondola with views of the canyon below.

A shy rarámuri child with her colorful skirt, jacket and hat.

A rarámuri mother and child at the edge of the canyon.

Many of the rock formations looked as if they could tumble down at any time.

Looking down on the complex from which the gondolas left and the zip rider line stretched across the canyon.

A rarámuri house built into the overhanging rock face...

where the rock face is the back wall of the house.

These interesting rock formations were in this rarámuri village.

This rarámuri church in the village had unique wall paintings...

as well as these rarámuri symbols painted on the ceiling.

An improvised clothes line.

This burro greeted us enthusiastically as we passed.

Another more primitive chicken coop with two sticks to allow the chickens to enter.

Lunch with the Rarámuri

Due to the giant boulder slide, our guide Karuna went looking for another branch of the tribe that we could visit on the rim of the Canyon.  Their area is rather extensive and remote by which I mean that to reach the village we drove 40 miles on poor, dirt roads.  We were all grateful to arrive.  But then we didn't know what to do. So, we had a Cliff Notes tutorial on interacting with a group of people who have hardly ever, if ever interacted with folk like us.  They are generally shy, avoid eye contact and do not speak Spanish -- much less English.  Why it was JUST like Japan!  I could do this.

As we clustered on the dirt road, shambling to and fro self consciously we observed in the distance a very large group of Rarámuri forming a parade like line and heading toward us.  They were dressed in both traditional garb (mostly women) and incongruous (think Yankee T-Shirts) American garb (mostly men).  Thinking quickly we all sort of formed a reception line.  As each Rarámuri would approach us they would extend a hand but horizontally not vertically.  You would brush your hand (horizontally) across theirs and say something that sounded like quira or qweera.  Some made eye contact (mostly kids and young women) but others looked to the ground.  There were few to no young men since they were out working -- usually logging or working the fields.

The Rarámuri had planned a program for us that was pretty fascinating.  First young boys would race.  But they don't just run.  They have to kick a wooden ball (ouch) barefooted in front of them following the ball wherever it goes.  Thus the straight kickers have an advantage.  They run with one sneaker on and the other foot bare-- all the better to kick. The girls do the same thing but use a stick to pick up a loop of yarn (shaped like the infinity sign) and toss it ahead of them.  They ran 3 laps that equalled about 2 miles and the elder said they were disappointed that he made them stop because it was far too short a race.  They start running around 4 years old.  Even the elderly move really fast -- it is humbling.  Studies have been done that show that the Rarámuri have significantly larger lungs than your average person which can make us all feel better about our inability to run 175 miles.  Phase 2 of the program involved much music making, chanting and dancing.  I would say that the Rarámuri are better runners than musicians although it was undeniably heartfelt.

The rarámuri process out to greet us...

and then the boys demonstrate their skill in kicking the wooden ball and running after it...

while the girls also demonstrate their skill in tossing the loop of yarn and running as well.

This group led us back to the church...

followed by the head of the village with the white stick and the musicians.

The rarámuri women danced while the musicians played.

Now it was time for lunch.  We had brought 600 burritos (not a typo) and about 300 cans of soda (a nutritionally inferior choice I know).  It was interesting to see how the food was distributed.  Without a word (they are really quiet people) the elderly people got into lines, followed by mothers with small children, followed by young women without children, followed by actual children.  The burritos were good, the soda was cold and everyone chilled under the trees or in the shade of the church.  After lunch, the Rarámuri gave us our gifts.  They had carved the traditional balls they use in their races/games and inscribed on it their word for sharing-- Korima.  They are a very communal people but because of the geography they do not generally live close together in towns or villages.  Their land is very, very dry and access to water is difficult.  If they find a water source they determine if one family or two or whatever can be sustained by it and that's the limit.  One reason they run so far and so well is that they must cover large distances just to fulfill their basic needs.  We asked why they didn't use horses and the answer was "they are too slow and eat too much".  We had additional groceries that we had placed in bags for each family.  These people are very poor. Very.  Once again, the elderly came forward first, followed by younger women with children.  When the food was distributed, the larger children came and took the bags from their elderly relatives and headed off across the fields to their far flung homes.  Engaging with the Rarámuri, along with the incredible scale and beauty of the Canyon, were the highlights of the trip.

This goat posed on the wall outside the church.

These rarámuri elderly men waited patiently...

 

while the village head explained that we could be trusted.

Young love is universal.

A raràmuri woman heading back to her home.

A rarámuri youth on his rock overlook.

Handing out bags of food to the rarámuri...

and receiving a gift of mounted wooden balls the boys use to kick as they run with the word "korima" engraved on the balls. Korima (sharing) is a very important concept in the rarámuri culture.

But It's Not Over Yet

The next day we headed to Cuahutemoc  which is home to 100K Mennonites and their Mennonite Museum.  Both the Mormons and the Mennonites have a strong presence in Northern Mexico and have lived there for about 100 years.  The Mennonites fled persecution in at least five countries before they finally hit Mexico.  It was nothing specific -- just the usual religious persecution.  The Mormons on the other hand fled the U.S. when America outlawed polygamy.  It may or may not still be practiced by them here in Mexico.  It's Mexico, quien sabe?

The Mennonites are masterful farmers and their area is famous for its fruit trees -- mostly apple but almost any fruit that hangs from branches. They live in a valley with many rivers so they have the water to grow fruit trees.  When you read on you will see the import of this. Our guide in the museum was a fascinating young girl of about 20.  She explained the difference between historical Mennonites and modern Mennonites.  To shorthand it, it's like Ultra Orthodox and Reform Jews.  And like the Jews they coexist happily.  She, a modern Mennonite, went to public schools and will go to University.  Traditional Mennonite girls would not finish high school and would focus on learning the skills necessary to support the family and the farm.  Our guide spoke Low German, High German, Spanish and English.  And she was adorable.

An old John Deere tractor on display at the Mennonite Museum.

Our young Mennonite guide...

showing us all of the old farm equipment...

an old safe and cash register...

and even an old wood cookstove.

This was the recreation of a Mennonite parents' bedroom. Note the crib in the bedroom.

There was an impressive array of old farm equipment in the museum and outside of the museum.

While we were in Chihuahua the terrible murders of the Mormon women and children took place.  Cue the What's Apps and phone calls about our safety.  Many people say it was the cartel (some cartel) but I'm not entirely convinced.  It turns out that the Mormons had dug 2,000 wells in order to irrigate their walnut trees.  It is not good agricultural practice to plant trees that soak up water like sponges in a desert but that is what they decided to do.  Water has probably killed as many people as religion.  When we lived in Texas a friend who owned a ranch in San Angelo told us he thought there would be violence near him because Mormons had diverted water from other rancher's land to nourish their almond trees.  I don't know if there ever was violence there or if a similar situation was truly the precursor of this atrocity.  I will say though that I've never heard of the cartels murdering women or children- much less babies.  But, being Mexico, we will probably never know.  Not everything is good in Mexico.

Our final stop was Chihuahua City which is a big, modern place.  It is also the birthplace and home of Pancho Villa -- the hero/villain of Mexico.  I've never really figured out where I come down on him.  Anyway there was a tour of his house and, after endless hours on a bus, I just couldn't climb on one more time.  Good choice.  Michael went and as they were at Pancho's Place a ferocious thunderstorm broke out and essentially screwed up all the rush hour traffic which was already screwed up.  Hours later they returned to the hotel.  And the next day we flew home.  Fini.

Pancho Villa's car...

in which he was assassinated.

The mural of Pancho Villa across the courtyard (the spots are the raindrops pouring down as we were at Pancho Villa's house.)

So, here we are and here we will stay for a few months.  Michael's got one quick trip to Dallas for a pre-op session in December and then we are off to Dallas for the surgery in late February.  So all you folks enduring snow, sleet, and ice the door to the casita is open for your visit.  Take care and have a wonderful Holiday Season.  After all these blogs we may take a little respite.

Update:  Of COURSE we can't stay home for three whole months.  Just scheduled a short trip to Bacalar in the Yucatan.  The Times article said: "Bacalar -- could it be the next Tulum? We decided we'd better go BEFORE it became the next Tulum.  More to follow.