Pandemic Pandemonium

Is It Just Us?

We have achieved some notoriety for our ability to zero straight into the heart of mayhem in our travels.  Our friend Allan says we should open a business called Searles Disaster Tours.  You may remember the typhoon we barely escaped in Japan, the flood in the desert of Morocco, the norovirus plagued trip to the Copper Canyon, being lost for 48 hours in the cartel infested hinterlands of Michoacan..... well you get it.  But this trip was a  real pip!

Off to Dallas

Michael decided that it made the most sense to have his knee replaced in Dallas.  We would have to drive (20.8 hours each way) because his doctor (who I categorized as Alarmist and he characterized as Prudent) said he couldn't fly for two months.  Dallas for two months....I think not. As usual our driving trips through Mexico always provide stimulating adventure and abject fear.    Well, actually the drive between Guadalajara and Laredo is one of the most boring drives known to man.  The only sight of note was the Tropic of Cancer Monument somewhere near Zacatecas.  It was only memorable because it threw me back to being 13 and sneaking a read of Henry Miller's scandalous book by the same name without detection by my parents.  That held my interest for about 3 minutes.  Also, there are a bunch of these  T of C monuments in places like Cabo and Santiago-- so who cares?

Things continued to bore us for several more hours until we saw that both sides of the road were lined with Federales with very large guns who were standing next to State Police with very large guns.  By the time we got down to the Municipal police line up I turned to Michael and said, "I don't know -- this doesn't look good."  "Well, we just keep going because turning around looks odd", said Michael.  From there we passed a squadron of bomberos (EMT/firemen) with no guns but blaring ambulance sirens and then, most unsettling of all, about 40 guys in full scale bio-hazard suits.  Michael looked up the hill (I was totally focused on the guns) and saw a bunch of tents. There had to be somewhere between 300-400 officers of the law + bomberos and who knows who the biohazard folk were. Since we didn't get shot and no one else got shot we assume it was some sort of large scale exercise of -- who knows what.  The thing about Mexico is that we'll never know.  I mean Americans would totally freak if their police were arrayed like that with no explanation.  Not here.  Quien sabe?  We were more content to be bored after that.

Oh Boy, This is SO Not Ajijic

We rented a house in a 55+ community because it met the post surgical need for one floor, grab bars etc. etc.  It came with three walkers which I think tells you everything you need to know.  The interior of the house was really nicely furnished and outfitted which was great since we spent over a month there.  We will include some photos of the neighborhood and I believe you will see that it is decidedly NOT Ajijic.  All the houses are virtually the same. If they removed all the street signs and just plopped you down in the center of the community I would defy you to to find your house out of the thousands (not exaggerating) virtually identical houses. Zero lot lines.  All the shrubs are the same size.  It's a new development and I pointed out that just about when all the shrubs grow to a decent height  the original homeowners will be dead.  We could sit on our patio (absolutely no privacy) and observe as our neighbors walked the "common area" armed with sticks to poke at the ground and then sprinkled  poison on the fire ants when they  were aroused. It was jolly good fun. I really don't mean to be judgmental but you know I can't help myself.  A lot of people think we're crazy for living in  Mexico but no one would ever say it is boring.

Some pictures of the cookie-cutter houses and the small trees, showing how recently everything was built.

The house we rented. We were packing up to head back to Ajijic.

In one of my rehab walks, when I was finally allowed out of the house, I spotted this Great White Egret and this Great Blue Heron staking out their fishing areas.

We had arrived just in time to experience the full hysteria of the pandemic.  Texas, being Texas, was reluctant to put in place the guidelines of distancing that we have all come to know and love.  Their mega churches (roughly the size of Yankee Stadium) were going full throttle in attempts to save their flock from the "invisible enemy".  Michael was in and out of the hospital in less than 12 hours with a new knee and a truly disgusting photo (which I know he will insist on including) of his newly installed titanium knee.  From then on we were exiled to the house for at least three weeks.  I would make forays to the Krogers at sunrise and obtain delights unknown (or unaffordable) in Mexico.  For instance in Mexico at our local expat store a box of Cheez-Its is about $7.50 a box, ditto pickles and salad dressing.  Being in Krogers was like winning the lottery.  I threw crackers and pickles and salad dressing and artisanal bread into my sanitized cart with abandon.  I spent 20 minutes just mooning over the cheese counter.  It was heaven.  And then back out into the plague infested suburbs.

The Pandemic Diet

Surprise! There is none.  If you are a congenitally skinny person stop reading now because I hate you already.  Almost everyone I know is as concerned about dying of obesity as Covid-19.  I mean what else is there to do?  Plus there is the subconscious fear that each tempting scoop of ice cream may be the last to ever cross your lips.  Also, you are told to stock up on items with a long shelf life.  Pasta, beans, potatoes, more pasta, more beans. Why is everything low calorie so damn perishable?  In an effort (probably vain) we ordered a food dehydrator from Amazon.  We then bought about a truck load of perishable items and began shrinking them and saving them.  What we failed to realize was that dehydration of food (unlike of humans) takes FOREVER.  Thus, on our maiden dehydration voyage it took a mere 14 hours to dry out our mushrooms. We are racing against time to preserve the remains of the truckload.

A Triumphant Return to Mexico

It was triumphant only in that we actually made it back across the border.  As the days ticked by (oh so slowly) in Dallas we began to hear rumblings about the border closing.  We were pretty sure we would be OK since we are permanent residents but our friend Alex (who has only a temporary visa) was meeting us in Laredo and following us home to Ajijic.  A friend had advised us to use the Colombia Bridge crossing just outside of Laredo rather than the main crossing in the city.  Some advice is truly golden!  We arrived at the crossing and we were literally the only two cars there.  The inspection of our car was cursory at best although the young officer was clearly entranced by my collection of jigsaw puzzles.  I could have had a kilo in every box but he didn't seem to care.  Then into immigration and to get Alex's car taken care of and voila the whole thing was over in 15-20 minutes.  You can contrast that with a couple Alex met at the hotel we stayed at that night.  They had gone through the main border crossing and it is so dangerous in Laredo now that they had to have a police escort for a half an hour until they were out of town.  Dodged that one.

Contrast these views from our back terrace with our views from the house in Frisco Lakes and one can easily see why we love our house in Ajijic so much.

The New (Ab)Normal

It's Semana Santa (Easter) which is the biggest holiday of the year in Mexico.  Everybody has vacation for two weeks.  Week One is religious and solemn and Week Two is intense, incessant partying.  In normal times, there would be the Passion Play that stretches over multiple days and involves a torch light parade as Jesus carries a really big cross up the mountain, and a number of other installments like the Resurrection.  The Plaza is buzzing before, during and after each offering. When Easter Day is over everyone (and I mean EVERYONE) heads to the beach for a week of parties.  Those forced to stay in Ajijic amuse themselves by firing off cojotes constantly, drinking a reservoir of tequila and singing along to Tuba bands.  It is quite something.

Not this year.  We will provide pictures.  You cannot meander on the Malecon.  You can not imbibe in (or even enter) the Plaza.  Everything is closed.  There are checkpoints set up at the three entrances to Lakeside to ensure that those feckless (and perhaps infected) Guadalajarans  don't come into town to spread contagion.  You can't even buy liquor until April 30th which is a horrible imposition for Mexicans and Gringos alike. We have luckily found a bootlegger. They did resolve that the brewing of beer was an essential business so the breweries are back up and running.  Priorities after all.

These photos were taken on a Sunday afternoon when the Chapala malecon would normally be thronged with at least a thousand Tapatios and locals enjoying the beautiful day.

The malecon was totally closed by the Chapala Municipio to enforce social distancing and stay at home orders.  You can be subject to 36 hours of administrative arrest if you defy the order.  I don't know what an "administrative" arrest is but believe me you just don't want to get any kind of arrested in Mexico.

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The last block leading to the Ajijic malecon was closed off so that no one could even drive down by the malecon.

A previous photo showing how many people crowd the Chapala pier on a normal Sunday.

A Canine View of the Pandemic

Since it appeared that everyone in the world was being interviewed about how they are coping with the pandemic, I decided to check in with our Pit Bull Chico to get his view of the situation.  I was pretty bored.

"So, Cheeks, I guess this is really a bummer for you.  No running on the mountain, no trips to the ice cream store," I said.

"Au contraire ma cherie", he replied.  Chico is quite polished. "This is the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Well, you're probably the first interviewee to express such a favorable view of the pandemic.  Enlighten me."

"Certainly.  For starters, I can't get it.  Not like that stupid tiger.  It's conceivable that you could get it from petting me but that would really be YOUR problem, true?  Secondly, now all of my humans are home 24/7.  This means extra hands to take care of my every need or whim.  Beyond this, the three of you are easily confused about who has catered to my various whims at any time.  For instance, you are probably unaware that I have had 37 treats today by simply going from one of you to the other looking mournful.  Yesterday I scored a coup with two breakfasts.  And I've never seen you guys cook so much.  Before it was dining out and leaving Chico home.  Now it's dining in with Chico by your side looking....dare I say it.... mournful.  I have never had do many table scraps before in my life.  This whole thing is sweet."

"So, in your view there is no downside to this horrible pandemic that has cost tens of thousands of lives and probably wrecked the economy for decades?" I asked.

"Well, it is not ALL roses.  I've been meaning to talk to you about your incessantly watching that TV show with the guy with the horrid Orange Hair.  I like the guy with the New York accent better.  Actually, I like the Trailer Park Boys better than either of them.  Perhaps you could confine your viewing time to when I'm asleep by the pool."

"Well Chico, this has been most eye opening. I'd interview the cat next door but you know how they obfuscate and lie."

"So true, so true.  Time for the pool."

Chico napping in preparation for his interview with Deirdre.

Chico with his hat at a jaunty angle and his dog treat "cigar" ready for his interview.

So What Comes Next?

Who knows?  We've either been lucky in having no cases here at Lakeside or it just hasn't gotten around to us yet.  We're Zooming for cocktails and book clubs and family chats but it does get a little lonely.  I'm sure you are all in the same boat.  I just cancelled our last reservations for the trip we'd planned to France in May -- maybe, just maybe-- we can do it in September.  So, until something of note occurs which calls for a blog we'll just be hanging around Ajijic, wanting it to be over and absorbing way too many calories.  Adios mis amigos.

Bacalar - Before it All Went to Hell in a Hand Basket

Explanatory Note:

We went to Bacalar at the end of January before the pandemic became a reality to Americans.  We had a lovely time but then got overtaken by pandemic craziness and a trip to the States (THAT was interesting) to get Michael's knee replaced.  We've made it back across the border and are cocooned in our abode above the lake.  Even though we  can't complain about our imprisonment we do.  We bet you do too.  So we thought we'd send out the Bacalar blog, albeit tardily, because it might cheer you up.  Just look at the pictures and it will reassure you that there is still a world beyond your four walls..  And one day, when this is all over, you could go there.

Shhhh. Damn it New York Times.  Don't Tell...

There I was, lounging in my mismatched PJs, sipping on my second cup of java when a headline leapt out at me from the NY Times. No, not the usual suicide inducing Impeachment drivel or the slowly emerging terror of corona virus.  Far worse.  The headline read:  "Bacalar, the next Tulum?"

So, let me explain.  Tulum was an idyllic laid-back, azure, cenote dotted haven on the Yucatan peninsula about 20 years ago.  We first went there in 2004 when our sons were 15 and 17 and it was truly gorgeous.  You could just drive up to semi-unearthed Mayan ruins and climb the pyramids.  You could find a cenote and dive in.  To explain.  The Yucatan benefits from a huge system of underground rivers with crystal clear water.  These rivers run under the limestone which blankets the area.  Limestone is soft.  Sometimes the current of the water wears away the limestone and the surface collapses creating this marvelous swimming hole  -- some with caves and tunnels which I find entirely too creepy to enter.  Phobia #1. But the open ones are terrific.

When we went through Cancun in '04 it was already a lost cause filled with mega chain hotels, package tours and many, many drunks of all sizes, nationalities and ages.  We based in Playa Del Carmen which was then a sleepy mid-sized town.  Last year we returned to the Yucatan with our friends Gary and Ginny and were appalled by the development that had afflicted (and I DO mean afflicted) the coast from Cancun to Tulum.

Having witnessed the carnage of Tulum I raced to find Michael and waved my iPad article before his eyes.  "We've got to go.  We've got to go NOW! It's in The Times.  It's months away from being overrun and destroyed" I pleaded.  I explained to him that Bacalar was a couple of hours south of Tulum and on the Belize border.  Bacalar sits on a lagoon called the Lagoon of Seven Colors which is actually a series of collapsed cenotes running 21 km long and 1 km wide.  The different blues are caused by the differing depths and angle of the sun.

Beating The Rush

Michael agreed that this was a serious issue and that we needed to scope this place out before the hoards arrived.  Luckily we could catch a flight (unluckily on Volaris) to Chetumal and be there in less than 2 hours. We got our rental car and a half hour later were at Casa Bakal checking in.

It REALLY is like the Tulum of old.  No giant hotel complexes.  Lots of small guest houses and hotelitos.  Also a lot of hostels and backpackers.  Checking in we realized that (once again) we appeared to be the oldest guests by several decades.  Nathan, our desk clerk/concierge urged us to avoid the more commercial boat tours of the lagoon in that "they are filled with young, drunk punks who don't show reverence for the lagoon.  You'll be more comfortable on our sailboat."  Well, he was right even if somewhat presumptuous that we didn't like hanging with young, drunk punks.

Are the Searles Capable of Relaxation?

Whenever we travel we vow that we'll adhere to a light schedule and relax a bit.  We never do.  There is always something intriguing lurking around the corner.  We appear to be highly reactive to any form of stimuli. Bacalar is the solution to this compulsion.  It is beautiful.  It has good restaurants. It has one fort and a small museum.  That is IT.  So, within a day we were rolling out of bed late.  Lingering over breakfast.  We'd amble out on the dock to the hammocks or chairs to drink a second cup of coffee and watch the sun shift. Michael would kayak.  I would read in the pool. We would eat.  We would read.  We would swim.  We would repeat the next day.  We did this for four days and really enjoyed it.  More than four days might be pushing it.

Who Goes to Bacalar?

Well, unfortunately, after that damn article probably a lot of people who shouldn't.  But when we went it was quite an interesting mix.  There were, of course, young Mexicans.  One couple got engaged at a table set up on the dock with the whole staff pitching in.  It was unspeakably cute.  Then there were a lot of Europeans.  How do they find out about these places so fast?  Germans, an Italian couple and a French family.  The French daughter is studying in Guadalajara and her parents came to visit.  They live on Reunion Island off of Madagascar.  The Dad asked if I knew of it and I said "Sure, that's where over half of all the fatal shark attacks in the world take place."  Phobia #14.  He looked at me strangely but nodded his head in agreement.

In Conclusion

This is rather short by our standards but all we did is relax and who wants to hear about that?  If you love beautiful clear water and a relatively uncommercial get away go to Bacalar -- soon.  But only between December and early March or you will die of humidity. Do not bring hundred of pounds of snorkel gear (like we did) because there are few fish in the lagoon or cenotes.  The good news is the lack of fish keeps crocodiles out (mostly).  Bring your books.

Of course, upon arrival home, our friend Barbara emailed us about an article in the Mexican Daily News featuring Bacalar.  It appear that shortly after we were there (or during-- it's hard to tell)  there was a shootout on the highway we took from the airport.  A plane (narco plane of course) landed on the highway (why?) and there upon ensued a gun fight killing multiple people.  Well, it seemed quite peaceful to us.

The reception desk is to the left under the overhang. We had an individual cabana. All the cabanas were to the right of the main house.

The rear of the main house showing the pool, the outdoor terrace where we ate breakfast and the bar to the right under the palapa.

The dock and deck overlooking the Laguna del Siete Colores, where we would relax with our coffee in the morning.

The sailboat we cruised on one late afternoon until the sunset.

This large bird in the center was always perched across from the deck where we sat with our coffee.

Further south from the place we were staying were Los Rapidos (although they weren't that rapid). These individuals enjoyed flowing downstream in the current.

Los Rapidos were formed by a narrowing of the passage of the water from one cenote flowing into another.

The only fish we ever saw was at Los Rapidos in a shallow area away from the main current.

One day I kayaked to one end of the lagoon and encountered these large buildings. 

We never found out exactly what was their original purpose, but they appeared to be largely abandoned now.

On the sailboat cruise we sailed over to Pirate's Canal, where we encountered these interesting murals and a structure which looked like the bow of a ship.

One of the structures we passed on our cruise looked like something out of the Arabian nights with its own minaret.

The sunset part of the cruise did not disappoint.

Before leaving on our return flight we spent some time in Chetunal.

This band stand with its unique round stained glass pictures under the gables caught our attention.

As did this character with his bike and dog balancing on the back.

So, that's it until we head to Dallas and our month + long sojourn in our rental in a 55+ community.  Quite different from Bacalar I suppose but probably relaxing. Probably fewer narco plane shoot outs. We will update you on Michael's appointment with the knife and follow on activities.  In the interim have fun and, for our Northern friends, stay warm.

Some photos for your perusal:

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.