This year we scheduled our trips so that we would be in Ottawa over Christmas and early January to await the birth of a new grandson. Roman Auerbach was born January 6, 2007 to our daughter Erica and Andrew Auerbach. We stayed around for a few weeks to help out with the new baby and his big brother Atticus, then we took off for seven weeks in the warmer climates of Mexico and Belize. The plan was to take advantage of the good airfares to Cancun and re-explore the Yucatan and Belize. As the saying goes, the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.

Puerto Morelos Leaning Lighthouse

We were at the Ottawa airport at 5 AM on February 8, 2007 ready to check into our 7 AM Delta Airlines flight to Cancun via Atlanta. The check-in clerk seemed a bit perplexed by our reservation and called over another employee. We were told the reservation had been cancelled. We were shocked. We had found a great rate from a reseller on the internet and had the printout with all the information. Something about a duplicate reservation, causing a cancellation was mentioned but we had never been notified. Ray had mentioned that the charge had never gone through on our credit card, but we had not been concerned. At least one of our previous trips had not been charged until after we had departed. We should have checked our reservation more closely but we didn’t.

What were our options? Delta told us there were seats on both planes and but the price, including taxes was $1900 each! That was too rich for our pockets. We said no thank you and left. Our next call was to the Air Canada reservation desk in the airport. They could give us flights to Cancun leaving at 8 AM via Toronto and the price was a total of about $1000 each. That sounded great, although it was somewhat more than our “bargain” fare we thought we had bought. As well, we had $200 vouchers from Air Canada that we had received as an incentive for agreeing to be bumped on our return flight from Calgary just a few days before. We took their offer and off we went. The lesson we learned is that when you reserve with a reseller over the internet, always look for the ticket number as well as the reservation number on your notification and confirm with the airline that they have your reservation.

Sian Kaan Laguna

We started our trip this year in Puerto Morelos, then returned for the last five days before flying home. This was a favourite beach destination last year and we liked it even better this year. Puerto Morelos is only 30 km south of Cancun but it has not experienced the over-development of Cancun. It is a thriving fishing village with a beautiful, clean white coral sand beach and the protected coral reef 600 M offshore. Even more appealing to us was the discovery of small underwater coral mounds and a small cenote sinkhole just a short distance from the shore. We had brought masks and snorkels with us this year but we didn’t even need fins to gaze at all the colourful fish. There were lots of lazy barracuda, sting rays and even a turtle close to shore. We stayed in a small hotel a few blocks from the beach, took long walks on the beach and sampled many of the good restaurants that surround the main plaza in town. We even visited a Botanical Gardens started by Dr Alfredo Barrera where we walked the 3 km of trails built around collections of native trees and plants, plus reconstructions of a Chicle workers’ camp and an old Mayan house. We are surprised that most Yucatan tourists would choose to go to Cancun or Playa del Carmen rather than Puerto Morelos. On the other hand that undiscovered quality is part of its charm.

Isla Mujeres was a new destination this year. We travelled by bus to Cancun where we took a ferry to the island. The main town is lined with restaurants and souvenir shops, quite different from Puerto Morelos. It took a few days for us to get used to the crowds and to enjoy its charms. Our first choice of accommodation did not work well. Our clue that we were in the wrong place came when we were issued tickets for a free drink at their beach bar, which was only open from 11 PM to 3 AM. We changed the next day after enduring the loud throbbing beat of the music until early in the morning. Luckily we found a better place for the same price in town.

The best beach, small Playa Norte, was lined with rental chairs and large mattresses that were filled with basking tourists. We never did reach water over our head but the water was pleasant and relaxing. We took a snorkel trip to see the fish swim around the reef just offshore. The current was quite strong so we just floated along until the boat picked us up again. In one area we floated over bell-shaped concrete forms that act as an artificial reef and provide safe homes for the fish. The concrete forms also provide some protection from the hurricanes that sweep along the coast.

Isla Mujeres is in its prime in the evening. Streets are closed to cars and strolling musicians entertain in front of the restaurants and bars. The entire population of the island turned out the weekend we visited to see the annual Carnival celebrations. Dance groups, from small children to adults, dressed in elaborate costumes and performed well practised Mardi Gras dances.

Whenever we travel we try to use our timeshare exchange and treat ourselves to a little luxury for a week. This year we were booked into the Mayan Palace on the Mayan Riviera between Puerto Morelos and Playa del Carmen. We arrived laden with groceries purchased in Cancun as we were to have a one-bedroom suite with full kitchen. We spent the week lounging by the huge pool complex or on the beach, taking long walks down the beach and just relaxing. We did take a shuttle bus one day to replenish groceries and visit Playa del Carmen. Playa is a bigger and more expensive than Isla Mujeres with even more tourists, but the beach is nice. We had a nice lunch in a beach restaurant but were glad to say goodbye at the end of the day.

Making our way down the Yucatan coast, we stopped in Tulum, intending just to overnight, but ended up visiting the first time for three days and on our way back to Cancun, we stayed for five more days. This year we stayed in town at Rancho Tranquilo. Extensive renovations have been carried out over the past year and the guests and owners are very friendly. The rate for our simple thatched roof cabaña included breakfast and there was an inexpensive shuttle bus ride to beach.

Sian Kaan Muyil Temple

We took an excursion to the UNESCO site, Sian Ka’an Biosphere Reserve, 5000 sq km of tropical jungle, marsh, mangroves and lakes on the coast. The local Mayans have formed a co-operative to show visitors their home territory. We visited just a small section at its northern tip and were amazed at its variety. We visited the archaeological site Muyil, which dates from 300 BC and once housed 55,000 people, but was abandoned in the 17th C. There were three pyramids uncovered, one had a concave top which when filled with water acted as a mirror to chart the skies. We walked through the jungle to the shore of a broad lake surrounded by marshland and piled into motor boats. We crossed the lake and followed a narrow canal built by the Mayans to connect to a second lake. We crossed the second lake and entered a narrow river. This was a major trading route linking the Mayans to the ocean. We stopped at a wharf built next to a small Mayan temple. We donned life jackets, upside down like a diaper, to float nearly two km down the river. The river was shallow but the current was swift enough that we didn’t need to swim at all, just enjoy the scenery. The boats picked us up and we returned to the lakeside where we were fed a typical Mayan lunch of empanadas and tamales. Then it was on to our last activity, a swim in the clear blue water of Chrystal Cenote. The Yucatan peninsula is a porous limestone shelf, riddled with fresh water filled limestone sinkholes called cenotes. Even the two lakes we had crossed were cenotes. We used our snorkels to see tiny fish swimming near underground tree roots. We got back to Rancho Tranquilo in time for supper, tired but satisfied with our day.

Laguna Bacalar, near the Belize border, was recommended as a peaceful stop. The bus we took seemed to be labouring as it rolled down the highway. The driver stopped to find out what was wrong then drove to the nearest Mayan home. The driver filled the radiator of the bus with water from a well, one of many connected to underground cenotes and conveniently located next to the road. We made it to our destination. We stayed in Hotel Laguna, a slightly tired hotel but nice place on the shores of the beautiful tourquoise waters. We were within walking distance of Cenote Azul with its pleasant restaurant. The cenote was good for swimming but we couldn’t see very far due to the depth of the waters. We asked a couple from BC who was visiting the cenote how long they had been in Mexico. They hesitated then admitted they left home in August 2004 and have been exploring Mexico and Belize in their RV ever since. We aren’t prepared to be away from home that long yet!

The Belize border is about 50 km from Laguna Bacalar. We planned to take a taxi to the town of Bacalar, 5 km from the hotel, then catch a bus to Chetumal, where we would transfer to a Belize-bound bus. In my rusty Spanish I asked the hotel clerk to call a taxi to take us into town. We no sooner appeared with our bags than the taxi was there. I established how much the trip would cost, which is what you do when there is no meter. It seemed a bit higher than I expected but the driver assured me that 50 pesos (USD5) was the going rate. When we reached the highway, the driver headed towards Chetumal instead of the bus stop in town. We were confused until we realized he was taking us all the way to Chetumal, a half hour drive! We truly had a bargain ride. It sometimes pays not to have a full understanding of the language.

We got a bus going straight to the town of Orange Walk Belize and were on our way. The border is a nuisance but it just involves standing in line to get our passports stamped and paying 100 pesos each to leave Mexico. A group of Mennonites, dressed in traditional clothing, was on our bus and one of the men asked us where we were from. He said he was part of the “plain people” from Missouri on their way to visit a Mennonite Colony near Belmopan, the Belize capital. He had been in Belize several times on missions organized by his church. Belize has many thriving Mennonite colonies. They comprise just 5% of the Belizeans but produce 65% of the agriculture in Belize. Belize has recently declared that the Mennonites must pay taxes. This has prompted some of the families to leave Belize as they traditionally pay no taxes and receive nothing from the government, taking care of their own social and medical needs. Belize is worried that if more leave their agriculture would be in serious trouble.

Orange Walk is a small agricultural town on the New River. We had come to take a tour on the river to visit the Mayan ruins of Lamanai. We stayed at the Lamanai Riverside Retreat, which sounds more impressive than it is. Situated on the bank of the New River, there is a popular restaurant and three simple rooms. The owner Raul and his family of nine children run the place. Raul beckoned us over to see Bob the crocodile cruising up to see if his favourite snack of chicken skin was being served. Raul has made a hobby of tagging the crocs. He and a friend drive a motor boat up the river until they spy a croc. The driver leaves the motor running to distract the croc. Raul jumps into the river and loops a wire snare around the snout of the croc and attaches a tag to the tail. So far he has emerged unscathed but I wouldn’t recommend this sport to anyone.

Our tour to Lamanai was well organized. We motored up the river for about two hours while our guide Gilberto pointed out the many water birds, crocs and lizards basking on the shores. We passed by the Mennonite community of Shipyard and small boats with men fishing for supper. Sugarcane is the main crop in this area and we passed a small rum distillery and a Sugar refinery. Trucks filled with cane line the road to the refinery and the sugar refinery runs full tilt from December to June processing the cane. The evening before tugboats had passed the Lamanai Resort towing three barges full of refined sugar. This happens twice daily.

Lamanai, which means submerged crocodile in Mayan, was occupied as early as 1500 BC and grew into a major ceremonial center with immense temples earlier than most other sites. Like the other Mayan centers, the coming of the Spanish in the 17th C spelled their doom and Lamanai reverted to the jungle. The British completed the rout of the Mayans by chasing out those who had survived plagues of measels and smallpox in order to clear the forests and plant sugar cane further decimated the Mayans. The site remained hidden until it was excavated by the University of Toronto archaeologist David Pendergast from1970 to 1983. Only five of over 700 temples have been excavated but those that have are impressive. Gilberto led us past several, explaining the history of the area as well as pointing out the many medicinal plants growing everywhere. Near the Jaguar temple we heard the unmistakable sound of a band of Howler monkeys. We watched from the ground as they called to one another for quite some time. You can’t go to a temple area without climbing at least one to get the view and the High Temple, the tallest pre-classical temple in Belize at 33 M, did provide a good vista.

San Ignacio (Cayo) is in the mountains near the Guatemala border. Once again we lucked out with a taxi ride. We arrive on the bus in Belize City ready to transfer to another bus travelling to Cayo. After refusing several offers of taxi rides, one driver explained that he had driven from Cayo to the Belize airport in the morning and was willing to bargain for a return fare to Cayo. It was a done deal and a lot quicker than the local bus that stops for whoever flags it down. The driver was promoting Windy Hill Resort in Cayo. We had planned to stay at a less expensive hotel in town, but when we couldn’t get a reservation, we agreed to stay at Windy Hill. It really was a very nice place, the only disadvantage besides being a little above our meagre budget was the distance from the town. We did enjoy our brief stay. Our cabin with a hammock on the balcony was comfortable, the service and food in the restaurant was good and the pool, set in lovely gardens, was more than inviting. We almost regretted moving into town, but we didn’t have a car and the taxi ride to town was expensive.

In Cayo we arranged a day tour to visit the Mountain Pine Ridge area. A local guide, Sam, drove a couple from Toronto and us into the forest, which years ago had many mahogany trees, but few are left today. Sam told us he had been a chicle worker for a year in his youth. The workers climbed the chicle trees slashing the bark as they went and collecting the sap in bags at the bottom of the tree. The sap was combined with water and boiled until it was the right consistency to be used as the base for chewing gum (remember Chiclets?). This was an important source of income from the 1920s until the invention of artificial gum. Much of the forest has been replanted with pine but it didn’t look very healthy. The pine beetle devastated the area and bare trunks littered the hilltops. It will take many more years until the forest regenerates. We came to visit a few of the caves. Rio Frio Cave, a huge gaping cave carved out by a river that still flows through it, was the first. We were surprised to see several armed military personnel lounging around the approach to the cave. Sam explained that there had been a rash of robberies of tourists in the area a year ago and this was the government’s solution to the problem. We visited the small hidden Jaws Cave. Sam gave us headlamps and we crawled into a room full of stalactites and stalagmites. By the time we emerged it was raining gently and the temperature had dropped enough to prevent us from swimming in the pools of our next stop, the Thousand Foot Falls. We ate our box lunch there, admired the view from afar and drove on to more waterfalls on the River On. We made our last stop at the secluded Five Sisters Resort, next to a series of waterfalls of the same name. The resort guests are not all capable of climbing the steep pathway to the falls so there is a convenient funicular to transport guests. It was still rainy so we just admired the view from the balcony.

The prettiest drive in Belize is the Hummingbird Highway between Belmopan, the inland Belize capital and Dangriga on the coast. The road winds through a narrow jungle valley with orange groves rising to green hills on either side. We stayed in the Garifuna village of Dangriga overnight on our way to Tobacco Caye. The Garifuna are descendants of African slaves, with a little South American indigenous mixed in for good measure. They were transported originally to St Vincent in the Caribbean and subsequently sent by the British from one island to another until they settled in southern Belize in the early 19th C. If you ask any Garifuna, they will tell you they speak three languages, Garifuna, Creole and English, the official language of Belize. We could understand some of the Creole but Garifuna was unintelligible to us. Sunday morning is the time for families to attend church in Dangriga. Choir members carried their long robes and hymnals and women, some dressed in a long flowered dress reminiscent of the Africans we saw last fall, passed us on their way to church.

Tobacco Caye, a 40 minute motor boat ride from Dangriga, was just as nice as we had remembered from our visit two years ago. It is still a very quiet, simple tiny 5-acre island right on the corals of the South Water Caye Marine Reserve. We stayed once again in Gaviota’s in a small cabin with electricity supplied by a generator until about 10 PM, but with communal showers and toilets. Included in our charge of USD32 per day were three delicious meals served family style in the screened dining hall. The snorkeling right off the beach is great. We saw stingrays and spotted eagle rays, lots of tropical fish and even to my consternation, a shark, although it was identified later as a harmless Nurse shark. We stayed four days and wished we had stayed longer.

We had never visited Hopkins, a fishing village on the coast just south of Dangriga. Upon arriving in town without a reservation, we saw an appealing sign advertising Kismet on the beach “just a 10 minute walk” away. It wasn’t the best place to stay in town but by the time we had walked more than a km with our packs on our backs to find it we were reluctant to return to town to find another. A ditzy New Yorker woman and her Garifuna boyfriend Elvis ran it. After ten years in Belize I think she needs a break. She had a non-ending litany of complaints about the village, some well-founded, but some we sympathized with the locals. At least she cooked a good fish dinner, caught by Elvis in front of the hostel. One of our landlady’s complaints was the amount of garbage on the beach and we had to agree. The locals don’t want to pay for garbage pickup so they haul it to the edge of the narrow strip of sand beach and burn it. Piles of black residue lined the shoreline. Just next to Kismet was a fancy new vacation home complex, far grander than anything else in town, which is nowhere near ready for a tourist influx.

One advantage of visiting Hopkins was its proximity to Cockscomb Basin Wildlife Sanctuary. An American Alan Rabinowitz who tracked and studied jaguars established the reserve in the 1980s. Jaguars are nocturnal so we didn’t see any, but there are supposed to be at least eight in residence. Instead, we went to hike the trails. The reserve is huge, 98,000 acres, but we explored only one small section. It was overcast when we started out from Hopkins, but the sun came out for a brief time, causing the temperature to rise just as we were engaged in scaling a peak. I have not been so out of breath in a long time. It must have been because of the heat. Anyway the view from the top of Victoria Peak, the second highest in Belize, and several others, was lovely. We didn’t even mind the periodic rain as it cooled us down. Half way back to our starting point was a waterfall with a good swimming hole at its base, just perfect for the end of a hike. Another time I would like to try the tube ride down the river and stay overnight for a guided night walk. There is lots of territory to explore.

Placencia is undergoing quite a bit of development but it is still nicely low-key. We travelled by bus from Hopkins to Placencia along a bumpy red dirt road past waves of expensive vacation properties under construction. This is in stark contrast to the beachside town of Placencia where simple accommodation is the rule. The construction of a new airport at the north end of town is making the area more accessible. In the meantime it is still pleasant, uncrowded and quiet. The coral reef is 17 km offshore but the sand beach is wide and the water is clear and warm. We chose to return to Placentia this year because of the better swimming, compared to the sea grass choked shores of Caye Caulker. We were glad we came. We got a simple room a block from the beach and kicked back for another five days. The restaurants were good and several bars offered evening entertainment. Friday night was drum night in one bar. A five piece band of locals played a combination of traditional African drums, maracas, conch shell and two turtle shells hung by ropes around one man’s neck. The beat was infectious and the variety of sounds and rhythms was just right. We ended our visit with an evening at the lovely Garden Restaurant being entertained by a young American man playing classical and acoustic guitar. No wonder North Americans are buying property in the region.

Placencia is not the only Belize location becoming popular with North Americans. We stopped overnight enroute to Mexico in Corozal and talked to a Canadian man getting ready to build a home on the coast just north of town. We met several other Canadians and Americans, attracted by the fact they don’t have to learn another language, also building homes in the area. The Belize Government has offered tax advantages to foreigners, especially older people, to build homes and the prices are still reasonable.

All’s well that ends well. We ended our trip as we began, back in the Mexican beach towns of Tulum and Puerto Morelos. Once again we escaped the worst of the winter. We came back with good tans after all that time on the beach. It was a relaxing trip with time to read and some new and old places to visit.

local food in mexico

Along the Pacific Coast north of Puerto Vallarta, visitors argue about which beach town is best. Is it one of the more developed towns within shouting distance of Puerto Vallarta, or do you have to head up the coast and farther away from the major resorts, to a place like Rincón de Guayabitos? Or maybe the perfect beach town is somewhere else altogether.

Our goal was to find out. We weren’t looking for a lot: a sandy beach, fresh seafood, a laid-back atmosphere and a genuine taste of Mexico.

We travelled by bus from Guadalajara. We planned to get off at a little town called La Penita and then take a collectivo (a local van or small bus) to Guayabitos – a popular beach destination we’d read about in our guidebook.

But we hadn’t counted on the winding coastal highway. My motion sickness was so bad, I felt too woozy to leave La Penita right away.

That turned out to be just as well. Our brief stopover turned into an eight-day love affair.

La Penita gets only a paragraph in our guidebook. The hardworking neighbour to Guayabitos, it has the bank and post office. At first glance, La Penita is a dusty, unimpressive town. The main street, Emiliano Zapata, is lined with grocery stores, clothing and gift shops, and small restaurants, none of them chic. Some buildings are in disrepair, others are under construction; some of the dirt roads are rutted and look, well, dirty. This isn’t Cape Cod.

But slowly, the place grew on us. As La Penita worked its charms – a friendly chat with one shopkeeper, a smile from a passerby, and an exchange of email addresses with a fellow Canadian visitor – we began to relax and feel at home. Could there be a better beach town? Day after day, we decided to put off the search for just one more day.

And there was, of course, the beach. Most days, there are more pelicans than people on the shore. The beach at the point where Emiliano Zapata St. meets the sand is small, but there’s a wider stretch if you walk north for about 10 minutes.

We checked into Bungalows Don Jose, one of several small hotels offering apartments with a bedroom, living room and kitchenette. When we told the manager we might stay a few days, he reduced the nightly rate to $35 U.S.

Days start early in La Penita. The church bells begin ringing at 5:30. Then there are barking dogs, crowing roosters, and guys who drive around town with bullhorns, announcing sales on everything from limes to cooking gas.

It’s not an all-inclusive, but, hey, this is real Mexico.

There are gringos, mostly Canadians and some Americans, almost all from the west coast. Some congregate at Hinde and Jaime Restaurant Bar, a simple place a block from the beach. In the morning they come for Hinde’s Mexican version of an Egg McMuffin. Tequila shots start soon after that.

Another place to find gringos is Hamaca Maya. One of the only shops in town carrying good-quality Mexican crafts (the others carry mostly key chains and ashtrays made of seashells), Hamaca Maya is owned by Hala Hazzi. The Egyptian-born Hazzi, who also lived in Montreal, discovered this part of the world in the 1980s, when she worked for Canadian Holidays.

Hazzi has travelled across Mexico in search of merchandise for her store. Still, she insists there’s no place like La Penita. “There are none of the manicured lawns of the five-star resorts. But what there is here is a human heart and human spirit,” she said.

If La Penita feels too sleepy, Rincon de Guayabitos is just a 15-minute walk south along the beach. Guayabitos has dozens of hotels and restaurants geared for tourists. It’s also a place to come for happy hour or to sunbathe on a bigger beach.

But if you want even more quiet, head in the other direction. The village of Chacala is 30 kilometres north of La Penita. The beach is the star attraction, its water perfect for swimming. So we decided to pack up our bags and hang out here for a few days.

Susana and Poncie Escobido run Casa Pacifica, a pretty B&B about a 10-minute walk from the beach. “Chacala is what Hawaii was like 100 years ago – before the highrises,” said Poncie Escobido, who was born in Hawaii.

Some visitors stay at one of the seven Techos de Mexico – modest lodgings inside local homes. The initiative began in 1997 and allows villagers to improve their homes and create a new source of revenue. Rentals of rooms or more cost between $25 and $45 a night.

Though Chacala hasn’t got much in the way of a town centre, you can get a fine dinner at one of several casual restaurants on the beach. The seafood specialties include mahi mahi, slow cooked over charcoal, and fresh shrimp cooked any way you like.

Towns like Chacala are found up and down the Pacific coast of Mexico. Travellers learn through word-of-mouth about little beach paradises found off the beaten path. We were reminded of Playa Azul, north of Ixtapa. Or Puerto Angel, on the southern reaches of the Pacific coast.

But once you’re off the beach, there might be little to do and few conveniences of home. While we had first-class digs at Casa Pacifica, including a room decorated in antiques ripped from the pages of House & Garden, that’s not the norm in the more remote towns.

On this stretch of coast, most of the travellers we met were looking to strike a balance between the complete, colourless comfort of a high-rise hotel in Puerto Vallarta and the rustic beauty of a village on the frayed edge of the map.

When a cold, rainy spell hit in Chacala, we wanted to go home. So we headed right back to La Penita and Bungalows Don Jose, our very own balancing point.

The first thing we did was knock on the door of our downstairs neighbours: Eric and Laura Bracht and their 19-month-old son, Forest. From Wenatchee, Wash., the Brachts were in Mexico for six months. Eric, a bus driver, who in a former incarnation worked as a therapist, has an interesting take on the search for the perfect beach town: “There’s no such thing as the ideal paradise. People are basically discontent. They want things they can’t have.”

Hala Hazzi would disagree. And so did I, at least that afternoon.

Just before sunset, I grabbed my towel and my book and headed for the beach. Two fishermen emptied a bucket of fish heads onto the sand, which brought more pelicans than I’d ever seen. My book lay unopened as I watched the birds and the orange sun.

When I looked behind me, I noticed a line of shop owners – they’d left work to come and watch the sunset, too. Right then, I couldn’t think of anything else in all the world I had to have.

How to get there: Air Transat has direct Montreal-Puerto Vallarta flights. Then it’s a one-hour bus trip to La Penita. The bus trip from Guadalajara takes four hours. Primero Plus buses leave several times a day from both cities and make stops at La Penita. To get to Chacala, you’ll need to take a collectivo or taxi from La Penita. To learn more about Techos des Mejico, visit the organization’s website at www.techosdemexico.com.
© CanWest MediaWorks Publications Inc.
Thinking small leads to the perfect Mexican beach town

Copper Canyon Mexico

We made the trip to Mexico’s Copper Canyon in November. This is the trip that you helped Justin and I plan the itinerary for — and I am reporting back to you on details that I hope you will find helpful.

We were unable to do the hike from Batopilas to Urique due to time constraints and weather. Instead, we travelled by bus/train to Creel, van to Batopilas; where we stayed for 4 days before retracing our steps.

We took the bus from El Paso across the border to Juarez. As we drove to the Greyhound station in El Paso, parking was immediately an issue. We looked at several options; our choice was a parking garage right across the street. Well guarded, well lighted. We parked on the bottom within view of the guard, who generally won’t wander about. 3 dollars a day. When we returned, all was well with the vehicle.

The bus leaves to cross the border every hour on the half hour. 5 bucks. At the border, we received verbal assurance from the bus driver that he would wait for us as we did the paperwork. We came back outside to find our packs on the ground, no bus. On the bus we had left two small bags of relative importance. ALWAYS STAY WITH ALL YOUR BELONGINGS.

We ‘knew’ that…In any case we were told to wait for the next bus, while a bus official radioed ahead about our bags. In a small panic and in a state of lack of trust, we hopped a cab (15 bucks to the bus station in Juarez.) to the bus station and found our bags waiting.

There was confusion with the terminal officials who had not been able to find us on the next bus and apparently there were several people looking for us. A security official sat us down and gave us a talking to, while we smiled and nodded, not understanding a word of his hurried spanish in our anxious state…we had severely underestimated the reliability of the folks we were dealing with, and we were humbled. We abruptly adjusted our collective attitude and continued our journey.

First class bus: Juarez to Chihuahua (Omnibus) — $23 dollars each. We also exchanged some money at the bus station. Rate was 9.20 to 1. We saw two Danielle Steel movies on the bus — quite dramatic. The bus made one food stop – cafeteria style restaurant – 2 burritos and a soda for 35 pesos. We stayed right next to the bus…the trip was quite pleasant.

Your suggestion of hotel — The Posada Aida — was most excellent. Clean, small, and a good mattress for 80 pesos for the both of us. We will return. The proprietress fussed over us, bringing us extra blankets which we did not need… In Chihuahua we ate dinner at Don Cremas – very clean and good food. Cold beer – Indio. We wandered around the city and felt safe.

The train left the city at 6 am and we grabbed a taxi to get there, with a stop at a grocery for snacks. I know you are familiar with the train so I’ll leave that alone. It was pleasant and the food ‘okay’ but not spectacular or even worth mentioning. The tour groups eat first so if you’re on your own, be sure to have snacks for breakfast because it’ll take awhile to get served. The coffee is decent.

We disembarked at Creel. At the station, we were met by several people hawking hotels; we were attracted to a young woman who appealed to our sense of fiscal responsibility by promising us a ‘backpackers hostel’. Margarita’s guest house; 250 pesos a night for a private room for two, includes breakfast and dinner if you don’t mind eating in a crowded room, the walls lined with folks waiting to eat. We’d have breakfast there (varied – oatmeal, tortillas, eggs, beans etc.), but go elsewhere for dinner. Hospital de Cruda has limited hours but is wonderful, as you recommended. Our other favorite — Veronicas. We tried one other — ugh – and stuck with the first two.

We met some interesting folks at Margaritas, and took a tour we felt we could have skipped (100 pesos each, local tour by bus and ‘tour’ of Tarahumara mission). In any case, Margarita’s was comfortable and clean though quite busy. Great source of information.

Also it’s very easy to exchange money in Creel — there’s a casa de cambio right on the main street with a good exchange rate and it beats standing in line at the bank across the plaza.

Bus to Batopilas leaves every other day, and there’s a Suburban on the other days leaving from Los Pinos hotel. We managed to finagle space on a van doing a tour for tourists — cost us 150 pesos, the tour members paid 200. The van made frequent and interesting stops for leg stretching, and a wonderful lunch break perched on a precipice. Took 7 hours.

Copper Canyon Mexico

When we got to Batopilas, all the hotels were booked for tourist groups. We had heard of senora Monse at Margaritas and headed straight there while the other tourists stumbled about in a confused state. Senora Monse’s has 4 rooms — all clean — 2 with private baths. Hot water if you tell her about it in advance — hot water bong, wood heated. Our room on the river was 250 pesos a night; the others are 200 pesos, but we splurged. She has bottled water and is a wealth of information. The other tourists from the van finally landed on this hostel, one woman in tears at the state of the rooms (!!!!). Apparently their collective expectations were much higher — and although they had planned (as a group) to stay several nights, they left the next day.

Restaurants: the Swinging Bridge was booked for said tourist groups. Beer is hard to find. La Zagjuan will have cold beer (and Luis will slip you tequila if he’s in the mood), but food is not always available. We prefer Senor Che’s. Senora Adenina is a wonderful cook. You need to go tell her what you want to eat and what time you’ll be back. Dinner for 30 pesos each — wonderful hospitality and Senor Che will slip out for cervezas.

A storm descended and this is where we decided against the backpacking. Navor is highly recommended locally as a guide – 150 pesos/day/person plus 100 pesos/animal for backpacking. Also does local tours. We did local hiking, on our own, when the rain let up.

We stayed in Batopilas 4 days — one I spent in bed and senora Monse sent me to a local healer/massage lady who was wonderful. We went to her twice and spent some time talking to her and her family.

We cooked for ourselves for the most part – local groceries are fine, though baked goods are not very fresh. Spent much time just sitting and relaxing in the plaza.

On the return trip, we caught a bus (leaves daily 5 am during the week) 120 pesos for the both of us; full of locals and a herd of drunk cowboys. Harrowing and interesting. Bus driver had to stop at every stream to fill the radiator with water and provide constant maintenance to the dilapidated vehicle — the recent storm didn’t help that road. Bus finally quit outside of La Bufa, but we saved the day with duct tape from our packs. Unbelievable that the thing ran at all…

Back in Creel, we stayed this time at Los Pinos, not feeling like all the camaraderie over at Margaritas. Los Pinos smelled like disinfectant cleaner and was 200 pesos/night for a private room with bath.

Only second class buses are available for the return trip to Juarez, as far as we could tell. (We asked for first class, but you get what’s there.) We took the bus all the way — with all the usual second class stops, etc. Cheap, though (750 pesos for two)…and fun. No restaurant stops – few station stops for toilet – no toilet on board – bring food and water, plus we had a deck of cards.

Satevo Mission Church Copper Canyon Mexico

Returning back across the border was a long slow process – we were slightly ticked that the other passengers were treated rudely and we were given courtesy (we were the only whites on board) at the border itself. All went well, and then we were back in El Paso.

It was Justins virgin voyage to Mexico, and he loved it, although he swore off corn tortillas for awhile. The food in the Canyon can be dull, but with your recommendations we were very happy.

Thanks for all your help in our planning this trip – your tips and of course the People’s Guide proved invaluable!! All the little things – having coin pesos for bathrooms, hauling water and snacks, expecting time delays and keeping expectations expectant of surprises, A TRAVEL POCKET for paperwork/cash, having an inflatable pillow and immersion heater, reading material and cards, a small spanish dictionary for constant study, carrying toilet paper…on and on…all these little things prove invaluable in the big picture toward making the trip stress free and enjoyable – and I Iearned that level of detail from the PG.

If there are any small details I left out that you would find important, please let me know. .

Our next trip is to the Pacific Coast!

Saludos, Sheri

This is a contribution about their Mexico bus travel trip found at The People’s Guide to Mexico.
Here is the link to her original report on their bus travel experience in Mexico The Copper Canyon Cheap & Easy.

The Mexican volcano Citlaltepetl, often known by its Spanish name of Pico de Orizaba, is the third highest mountain in North America at approximately 18,400 feet. I’m not exact about that figure because nobody seems to agree how tall it is and estimates range by hundreds of feet. It is agreed upon that only Alaska’s Denali and British Columbia’s Logan surpass it in height, giving Cita claim to a respectable …

© Mike Gradziel

Mike
Erin
Jeremy

… third-place title. The snow-capped volcanic cone rises out of a barren brown land southeast of Mexico City. Agricultural villages climb high on its slopes and, in 2002, no regulations of any sort existed to control access or climbing. The high base, accessible trailhead, and favorable weather patterns during the dry season make it an enjoyable climb that takes just a few days to complete. It was a perfect spring break destination.

The Newark airport is immense. One encounters giant blue “Are you lost” signs while circling about on narrow roads by the guidance of cleverly hidden signs that point in directions which no road takes. It seemed that half of the airport roadways were under construction. Jeremy and Erin and I had driven to New Jersey in Jeremy’s Tercel, which was packed to the gills with climbing gear for three. The poor little car struggled to keep pace on the Interstate with no overdrive and more than 200,000 miles on the vehicle. In our haste we had neglected to bring pillows so the night seemed very long as we attempted to sleep in Economy Lot G. Jets roared overhead and we wriggled about uncomfortably between the gear shift stick and the steering wheel and the duffel bag full of axes and crampons in the back seat. Morning found us on an early flight to Mexico City, our baggage stowed neatly in the hold of a 737 that bucked and rolled like a seagull. I watched anxiously for Mexico while traversing the endless blue Gulf, but there was much more water than I was prepared to patiently cross. At last we made landfall, crossing over a layer of clouds below. Breaks in the cloud cover revealed a huge brown expanse that supposedly contained the largest city in the Western Hemisphere. The only sign of hills or mountains was the icy summit of Ixtaccihuatl rearing above the clouds, but that was enough to clear the sleep from our eyes. We had a mountain to climb! More hills rose out of the arid plain as we descended, and thousands of buildings materialized from the dust. They whirled and jerked about erratically as the bucking seagull caught gusts and overcompensated, and the ground became uncomfortably close without any sign of an airstrip. Then the plane leveled out and we glided in past a Wal-Mart store to a soft landing in Mexico.

In the airport we found a perfect rectangular nook in the corridor where we could explode our bags and stow our gear in backpacks and a small duffel bag. We purchased first class bus tickets to Puebla for 115 pesos each, at 9 pesos per US dollar, choosing to pay extra rather than brave the taxi system so early in our adventure. Looking back it would have been simple enough to take a 50-peso cab to the TAPO bus station and pay 65 pesos for bus fare. TAPO is the giant eastern bus terminal in Mexico City. There is a place to secure bags in lockers in the airport at Booth 10, but it cost 55 pesos per day, which is unreasonable for long trips. We saw secure storage racks at TAPO as well, but I did not inquire about the cost. It’s always best to take what you can carry and no more.

© Mike Gradziel

During the two-hour ride to Puebla we observed that much of the countryside was on fire. The air was hazy and gray but not unpleasant, unlike the oppressive atmospheres of other cities I have traveled through. Perhaps we were timely with our arrival. The strangest thing about the fires was that nobody seemed to care. Flames flickered unattended among the pine trees in the highlands and the air in some places was heavy with dust and smoke. Flames licked at fenceposts and utility poles beside the road at one point, but the traffic sped by without concern. The trees were not touched and the fires seemed to be quite docile. In the villages, people played football – soccer, to us gringoes – and basketball in large open dirt arenas. Dome-topped Spanish churches dotted the countryside. After two hours on the neatly paved and painted express highways we emerged from thick forests in the highlands and descended to the city of Puebla at an altitude of 7000 feet. The toll booths and checkpoints were manned by green-uniformed, gun-toting Federales lurking behind walls of sandbags. From the small 1st class Estrella Roja bus terminal we took a taxi to the cavernous Puebla bus station. We purchased tickets to Tlachichuca for 41 pesos apiece at the AU counter and then waded through the crowds for half an hour before becoming enlightened to the fact that the AU bus to Tlachichuca left from the Valles terminal. Tlachichuca is a tiny town that many people had never heard of. I presume that many such towns exist however. Buses leave every 30-45 minutes but even so on a Saturday afternoon, the bus was packed so full soon after we got on that there was no standing room. Erin and I squeezed into one seat so a woman standing beside us could sit. Then we asked how long it would be to Tlachichuca: Dos horas! We traveled beside the high snowy peaks of Popo and Izta, tantalizingly close, and then left them for a huge dusty expanse dotted with occasional towns and cactus farms. The cacti have green paddles that are harvested and sold in the markets for food, their spines shaved off with a sharp knife. Paddles are harvested with thick gloves and cacti are planted in neat rows, individual paddles half buried in deep furrows so they may take root and grow.

© Mike Gradziel

In the towns we stopped to take on and let off passengers. Vendors walked through the bus and thrust trays toward open windows. The food looked delicious: sandwiches of avocado, cheese, and tomato on white deli rolls, cold drinks, fried potato chips, and other snacks. Our water bottles were stowed below and we were too timid to make a hurried purchase with our newly-changed large bills, so we merely watched. It was pleasantly warm but very dry. Our gesture of kindness in giving up a seat was returned when our neighbor produced a Coke from a bag she was carrying and gave it to us, having understood our keen interest in the drink venor. Throughout our trip we encountered much kindness and no trouble of any kind. As the sun sank low over the hazy horizon we caught sight of the great cone of Citlaltepetl ahead. It looked immense, with concave sides rising in a perfect cone to a snowy summit more than ten thousand feet above us that glowed red in the low sun. We all felt suddenly unsure of what we were getting ourselves into. We were in a foreign country, in a remote town at dusk with limited language skills and no place to stay, hungry and tired, come to climb a giant mountain. Darkness fell as we disembarked in a dirt lot behind the Tlachichuca bus station, the end of the route. We gathered our bags nervously, relieved that none had been taken away at earlier stops, and wandered out into the town. Overhead, tattered blue and white banners strung between utility poles fluttered in the breeze. We made our way to the town square, which was quite empty except for a few taco stands and booths. Stray dogs scampered about in small groups and dry leaves tumbled along the cobblestones in a stiff cool breeze. The few orange street lamps were quite insufficient to light the streets so darkness was soon upon us. Aside from occasional cars and trucks passing through and scattered people walking about the town was very quiet. We inquired about hotels in broken Spanish and were directed to what may have been the only lodging in town, Hotel Gerar. Though our host spoke no English, we were able to arrange for a room, storage for our extra bag, and white gas for our camp stove. The hotel also provides transportation up the 4WD track to Piedra Grande but we did not inquire about the cost; our room was 140 pesos per person. There was hot water and the beds were comfortable. It was more than we had hoped for.

We soon ventured back out into the night in search of food, carefully noting our route down the dark narrow streets to the center square. After a few vaca tacos from a street vendor, we sat down in a restaurant and debated what a vaca was. It was not until later in the week that we finally confirmed that our tacos had been of bovine origin. Regardless, they were tasty. After dinner we walked through those market booths that remained open. Nowhere were we approached as tourists, something that I found unexpected and pleasing. It was nice to be accepted in a different culture. Back at the Hotel Gerar, our host was so curious about my altimeter that he brought it up stairs and ladders to the rooftop 6 meters higher to see the numbers change. I followed with some reservations through the inky darkness as we threaded our way up a shaky ladder, past a sewer vent, through a half-finished addition, around gaping holes in the floor of the new construction to the highest point. From the rooftop I could see faint lights glowing throughout the town. Dogs barked, truck engines rumbled, and the breeze blew steadily. It seemed to be a lonesome place. The blankets were heavy and comfortable and we slept very well.

© Mike Gradziel

© Mike Gradziel

Returning to the hotel to check out of our room, we found some extra space in Jeremy’s pack and after filling three 22-ounce bottles of white gas (which turned out to be two bottles too many), we returned to the markets. We bought tortillas and a pineapple, onions, peppers, avocadoes, and a small watermelon that I carried by hand for the first mile of hiking. At last we retreated taking care not to snag tent lines with our ice axes, which protruded from our packs. We set out towards the mountain, having a rough idea of our path from a topographic map in the Hotel Gerar. There was only one road going that way and we followed it in the hot sun toward the hazy mountain that seemed so far away. We were confronted with one problem: there appeared to be a complete absence of public trash cans in Tlachichuca. We were not excited about the possibility of hauling plastic juice bottles into the hills and back, but as we shuffled out of town the trash-strewn gutters only reaffirmed the situation. Not wanting to be seen as arrogant, litter-slinging gringoes we warily and reluctantly added our bottles to a curbside as discreetly as possible, feeling very guilty but helpless. On both sides of the road there were dusty fields plowed into dry furrows. The wind picked up spirals of dust that surged across the open expanses in gritty clouds. Hardly 30 minutes out of town we encountered a solitary tree beside the road and made ourselves comfortable in its shade as we devoured the watermelon. It was the most juicy, red, sweet melon I have ever eaten. As we sat in the grass and nibled on sweet slices of melon, cars and trucks filled with Mexicans returning from the markets bounced by, the passengers waving and calling greetings. I caught the words “living the good life” from one. We certainly were enjoying ourselves.

The mountain loomed above us in the haze and called us on, but the watermelon had affected our judgment and we took to the fields, making a straighter path toward the higher villages visible on the slope above. We slogged through dusty fields as the wind whipped fine volcanic dust in our faces. We had bought 4 liters of bottled water in town to get us to San Miguel, half way to the village of Hidalgo. The town was very quiet. Three men roughly dressed and wearing dusty white wide-brimmed hats played cards outside a store. A young child played with a lariat. We bought more water there as well as a cantaloupe before continuing on. Erin was suffering from dehydration and we all tried to rest and rehydrate. Again we left the road and walked up a dirt path between dry cornfields and fields of young soybean and pea plants. In the hedgerow beside us a steep-sided gully had been cut by runoff in the hard layered ash. It was very deep in places, with near-vertical sides that stood up straight in the soft dusty soil. The erosion hinted at the unpredictable crumbling of the soil that could swallow entire roads, trees, and buildings in a heavy rain. In a grove of pine trees we stopped to eat the cantaloupe, then wandered on up the slope as the sun sank lower into the haze. The sky had been changing to a deeper blue as we climbed higher but the horizon was stil very hazy and we could not see far behind us.

We suddenly found our path intersected by a sharp-sided gully several hundred feet deep. Layers of ash formed colorful bands along the walls and the furrowed fields, plowed by mule, ended abruptly at the edge of the gash in the earth. It looked as if the hillside had cracked open. We marveled at the stability of the volcanic soil and made our way up alongside the gully. The sun faded in glowing orange haze behind us, lighting the beautiful rocky mountain ahead of us in shades of red and gold. Every piece of flat ground was furrowed and dusty and we searched until after dark for a place to camp. Jeremy went on ahead to look for a way across the gully, which was oriented slightly across our desired course, and he discovered the village of Hidalgo not far ahead. The week’s announcements were being read over a loudspeaker as we passed by in the night. Only a few orange electric lights broke the darkness. We continued on and crossed the ditch where it ended abruptly at the road. After every rain the road must get narrower as chunks of road collapse into a 20-foot deep hole. The village was dark and only a few people and animals wandered through the streets. All land was cultivated and we settled for a dusty camp above the road just outside of town.

Our three sleeping bags fit comfortably on the tent groundsheet. We did not pitch the tent, for the sky was clear and starry and there were no insects. Through a gap in the pine trees that surrounded us we could see the icy heights of Citlaltepetl tantalizingly close silhouetted against brilliant stars. We must have hiked more than ten miles that day. Dinner was an introduction to Mexican cuisine. We combined dried shrimp (still in their shells), onions, pasta, tomatoes, fresh jalapenos, dry red cayenne peppers, tomato bullion, and several carrots we had found lying on the ground in a dirt track late in the afternoon. The carrots were fresh; the greens were hardly wilted so they must have been dropped by passing horsemen we saw earlier. The shrimp were very salty and rather prickly, and the peppers were very spicy though not intolerable. With some dry sweet bread I had bought in town we ate our fill and turned in for the night.

At dawn the edge of the glacier glowed bright pink. The sun rose behind the shoulder of the mountain and warmed us as we ate oatmeal and devoured the cold juicy pineapple. I was reminded, however, that one must choose foods carefully in the desert or deal with with a sticky mess, for there was no water. We packed up and walked back into Hidalgo in search of more drinking water. Animals and small children wandered about the streets. The church was by far the most elaborate building, plastered and painted white and pale green with colorful streamers strung from poles. All of the houses were of rough weathered planks, shoddily fastened together. Horses and mules walked free in the streets. Shocks of straw were stacked neatly on rooftops. Soccer goals of wooden poles sat at opposite ends of the large flat dirt commons, the only flat space on the mountainside. We asked for water at a home and were taken into the fenced yard, where we filled our bottles from a hose tap. We saw only women and children in town.

A shepherd and his flock of sheep passed us on the road out of Hidalgo, the hundreds of feet pattering like raindrops and stirring up a cloud of dust. Above town the road was no longer paved with gravel and climbed steeply through open pine forest with furrowed fields. We left the road at a well-traveled path that seemed to go more directly to our destination. We had some rough maps and sketches of the mountain and knew approximately where the Piedra Grande trailhead lay. The country was beautiful – grassy open pine forest, brilliant blue sky, yellow flowers, and a rugged white snowy mountain not far away across the green and gold hills. To acclimate, we napped mid-day in the warm sun beside a pine tree. We encountered the road higher up in the forest, where the grass had recently been burned. The land seemed dry, but if I scraped the dust aside with my boot I found moist earth just under the surface. The burned tufts of grass had green spikes poking out already. March is the end of the dry season in Mexico and the people may be clearing the undergrowth in preparation for the rains. Perhaps it makes for better grazing lands.

The day dragged on as we climbed in the hot sun through clouds of dust kicked up by an intermittent breeze. The trees thinned out and then vanished entirely and we hiked on over grassy hummocks and hills at 14,000 feet. We cut across where the road descended and finally came over a crest from which we could see the stone hut and concrete aqueduct at Piedra Grande. There were several tents set up below the hut and we pitched Jeremy’s TrangoII tent beside the others, which were for a guided group of five from the States. Our tent seemed small indeed on a sandy flat in a great rocky bowl overlooking hazy hills below. Once the sun sank behind the ridge it became cold quite quickly. Erin was feeling the altitude rather badly. We cooked dinner and I filled water bottles with silt-laden runoff from the aqueduct. The covered concrete channel diverts water across from a gully to the hut and then back to the gully below the hut. It also serves as a sidewalk extending a short distance up the slope and making the first bit of hiking very easy. We left the bottles to settle overnight and settled ourselves into warm sleeping bags. I was very alarmed to see my water turn bright cobalt blue when I poured a small quantity into my bowl to rinse it after dinner. We were using iodine tablets rather than my purifier for water to save weight, and I was not expecting to see the reaction between iodine and starch. It was rather amusing.

The temperature was below freezing in the morning and our water had begun to freeze. Clouds obscured the higher slopes and high cirrus clouds overhead indicated a change in the weather. After breakfast clouds obscured the sun. The folks staying in the hut and the team camped next to us planned to hike up high to acclimate and return for the night before attempting the summit the next day. We packed up everything, intending to sleep up high. It was slow hiking on the steep loose scree. We were soon in the clouds. Finding a suitable established campsite just a thousand feet higher, we stopped mid-day and set up the tent in one of several circular stone walls built by previous campers. It was an excellent site, perched on a flat area at 15,200′ and far enough from the cliffs nearby to be safe from falling rock. We heard boulders tumbling into the gullies from time to time. No water was running since clouds hid the sun so I collected snow and ice and Jeremy set about melting it on the MSR Dragonfly. We were carrying an excess of fuel so we boiled some of the water to purify it. We ate early and sought warmth in our sleeping bags early in the evening. I had to go out once after dark to bring the packs into the vestibule when wind-whipped snow squalls battered the tent.

Jeremy and I departed at 4am under starry skies. Erin, still feeling the altitude, opted to stay down. It was well below freezing as we set out by the light of our headlamps. Several lamps flickered in the ice gully high above us. We walked cautiously with our ice axes for support, moving ever so slowly up the scree. We kicked steps up steep frozen snow in the gullies, unable to see the bottom below or the top above us in the darkness. Two hours later we reached the glacial moraine and stumbled out onto the loose rock to wait for daylight. It was cold, bone-chillingly cold, in spite of our warm clothing. In the thin air at 16,000 feet we felt weak and huddled in a gully while the eastern horizon became pale yellow, then bright orange, then brilliant red. When it became light enough to see, after 20 minutes or so, we climbed up to the glacier and put on our crampons. The ice and rock mingle together without any change in terrain so it was not difficult to get to the crunchy snow surface.

Two climbers well ahead of us were moving fast up the mountain. We later learned that they had been climbing on the mountain for a week and were thus well acclimated. A roped team of three waited off to the west and started climbing once we were past them. Jeremy and I climbed solo, the crumpled ice being mostly free from crevasses because the slope is concave. At first we chose an arbitrary path, but when we paused once I planted the spike of my axe firmly in the ice and heard a “whump” from the glacier as if it had just cracked or settled. We moved on with haste and followed the Normal Route marked by wands. The snow had been melted and re-frozen into a latticework of ice that crunched underfoot and made for solid holds. We paused often and held a steady pace. As the sun rose, it lit the glacier in orange and gold light that quickly turned to a brilliant white. My ordinary sunglasses were insufficient to dampen the glare. To the West we could see the summits of Izta and Popo protruding above hazy white clouds. Below, we saw our route of the past few days laid out like a map. From our snowy perch the little towns looked tiny and very far away. Higher on the glacier the slope steepened past 45 degrees. We spotted our tent far below. The well-traveled path zigzagged up the snow toward pinnacles of orange rock that seemed so hard to get to.

At 9am we were at the crater rim beside the Ice Needle, one of many fingers of shattered orange-brown rock that lean out over the crater. The ice on the eastern slope of the mountain was frozen into hard pointed teeth that were angled up into the slope and were difficult to walk through without chopping a path. It took much effort to move at 18,000 feet. The crater was very impressive – vertical walls dropping hundreds of feet to a flat floor, pinnacles of rock leaning over the caldera, sulfurous gases wafting out in the light breeze. The crater was not far across, perhaps deeper than it was wide. Mold-like gray fuzzy mineral formations grew on some rocks. I rested briefly at the rim, photographed the crater, and then retreated to a more friendly altitude a thousand feet down. Jeremy traversed around to the true summit part way around the crater, where the ground was bare and a tangle of iron crosses adorned the highest point. He joined me 45 minutes later where I was napping on the steep ice slope. The view was spectacular. Clouds began to form around the high summits later in the morning but otherwise the sky remained clear. The hills below were rugged and beautiful. In the hot sun the snow became soft, but we descended with care down to the end of the ice. Descending the ice gullies was much easier by daylight since we could choose the easiest route and kick steps in the soft snow.

We met Erin at the tent; she had climbed to the glacier, explored the lower slopes, and bouldered on the moraine. Though it seemed much later, it was only noon. We devoured two freeze-dried meals left by our friendly tent-site neighbors and then rested in the sun, deciding to sleep another night up high rather than hike down. The view from our tent site was amazing. The hills below curved over the horizon as if we were looking through a giant fish-eye lens. We filled bottles with silty glacial meltwater, ate another meal of pasta, and went to sleep. Jeremy and Erin were both having trouble sleeping at altitude so we decided to get down early in the morning. I’ve found my altitude ceiling to be around 17,000 feet, below which I feel fine and above which the altitude headache catches me. I’ve never had trouble sleeping high though. But even after three nights above 14,000′ I still was not acclimated enough to walk quickly up the aqueduct to fetch water.

Descending the scree slope in the morning was more difficult than climbing it had been. We stumbled into Piedra Grande and heated water for oatmeal. After filling our bottles from a puddle in the still-dry aqueduct (which would fill once the sun began to melt the ice above) we hurried down the road to Hidalgo. We stayed on the track, but it would have been shorter to take a shortcut through the pine forest like we had on the climb up. Once again the weather was sunny and warm and the road dusty. As we arrived in Hidalgo a man parked his green pickup beside the road and got out. We inquired where we might find a ride to Tlachichuca and he happily led us to the corner where, he said, his friends would be passing by shortly. Minutes later a couple of trucks approached. He flagged down the first and we hopped onto the back of a wooden-railed pickup truck. Traveling with us there were two women with baskets of flowers going to the cemetery in Tlachichuca, a woman with two small children, two Mexican men, and two climbers who had hiked down ahead of us. Moments later we were careening down the gravel road over the ten miles we had taken the first day to climb. It was well that we had walked in, since we needed to acclimate, but the quick ride down was much appreciated by all of us. I gave the driver a few dollars when we arrived in Tlachichuca.

In town we bought a watermelon and some tacos, recovered our bag and signed the logbook at the hotel, and bought bus tickets to Puebla. After two hours of dusty hazy bright sunny Mexico we were once again at the bus station in Puebla. We approached one of the taxi drivers soliciting business in the terminal and he led us to his taxi, packed in the bags, and took us to the Hotel Villa Real in the city historic center. We had located the hotel in an information booth at the bus terminal. Our room was very nice, with hot water, for 480 pesos a night. We showered and ventured out to the town, which was quite lively for a Thursday night. Dinner was very good and very inexpensive compared to the American equivalent. After dinner we walked through the park, which was enchanting with the palm trees brightly lit and the grass bright green and the balloon sellers walking through with huge bundles of colorful balloons and vendors selling food and drink. We were completely lost but navigated back to the hotel by the orderly arrangement of streets numerically to the norte, sur, oriente, and poiente.

We slept late the next morning but even so we had to wait for the shops and restaurants to open later in the morning. We enjoyed and excellent breakfast and then located the market section, where dozens of booths sold pottery and textiles and silver and handcrafts. Most customers were Mexicans and I did not feel as out-of-place as I had in Africa. We spent the morning there, then set out to explore the rest of the city in the afternoon. Calle Cinco De Mayo was bustling with foot traffic and shoe shiners and balloon sellers and the occasional beggar. We especially enjoyed the orange juice sellers. They plied the streets with shopping carts full of oranges, which they squeezed to produce giant cups of sweet juice that sold for 5 or 10 pesos. We passed meat markets, bakeries, basket weavers, sellers of dry corn and rice and beans and peppers and spices, fruit sellers, fish sellers, stores selling plastics of every type and form, carpentry shops, mechanics, paint stores, shoe stores, sellers of hardware, book stores, music stores, and sellers of every other imaginable product. Sidewalk vendors sold boiled corn, fresh fruit, ice cream, and fried snacks. Mid-afternoon we made our way back to the hotel, went out for dinner, bought ice cream, sat in the park for a while and gazed up at the shiny black sky behind brightly lit palm fronds and tree branches, admired the church towers, listened to the music drifting in from stores and musicians, and talked until late at night.

We found the bakery in the morning, after breakfast. The bread and cakes were very inexpensive but some were dry and had been out in the air for a day or two. We purchased 40 pesos of delicious pastries, two bags full, and checked out of our hotel. The staff called a taxi grande for our many bags and we were quickly shuttled to the bus station. As we approached the station we observed a great cloud of black smoke and I feared that the bus station itself was burning, but it was a large commercial store directly across the street from the main terminal that was engulfed by fire. Not many people seemed to be concerned and we continued on our way, purchasing tickets to TAPO in Mexico City for 65 pesos each on Estrella Roja. The AU buses cost the same but the Estrella Roja buses were nicer and less crowded and easier to find in the terminal. At TAPO a driver led us to his taxi, which was a green and white Volkswagen Beetle. Fleets of Beetles make up part of the Mexican taxi system. We told him we needed a larger taxi but he insisted we would fit, and indeed we did! There was no passenger seat and he managed to pack us all in. We asked for a good cheap hotel and he took us to the Hotel Plaza Madrid, which was by no means cheap but was quite nice. Breakfast was included so that lessened the burden of the 650-peso charge for a room.

We were not impressed by Mexico City. Our hotel was in the city center but there were few people about on a Sunday afternoon. The side streets were trashy, and even though the air was relatively fresh at this time of year, it was still very hot and uncomfortable. There was a ’60s’s rock concert under the Monument to the Republic but the audience was small in number. Restaurants were closing down early in the evening and we walked around for a while looking for a place suitable for three ragged travelers. We ended up at a seafood place with live entertainment and delicious food. It was a change from the usual fare and though the music moved on down the street soon after we arrived, we enjoyed the meal. As we walked back to the hotel after dinner the setting sun lit the cloud edges bright orange. A warm breeze rustled in the palm fronds overhead. We ate ice cream and walked slowly along cobblestone sidewalks, circling until we found our hotel. Early in the morning we took a taxi to the airport and caught a flight back home.

For one week I escaped to Mexico. I explored the bus system, saw what life was like in the most remote villages, walked through the street markets and sampled the cuisine of the region, hiked through warm sun-splashed meadows and climbed on the snowy heights of Citlaltepetl, peered into the crater of the volcano to see what lay within and then, satisfied, hurried down to the city where I walked the streets and listened to the music and watched the people and explored the markets. I saw a tiny bit of Mexico and then returned to New York and settled down to work once again. One can learn so much in a single week; traveling opens the eyes to the world and gives life a little more meaning. Soon I’ll be gone again; I never stop exploring.

Note:

This is an expeditious experience of bus travel in Mexico written by Mike Gradziel © – http://www.mjgradziel.com/

Guadalajara offers visitors transportation ranging from frequent buses to a subway system, taxis and airport transfers.

Read the rest of this article for an update on Guadalajara transportation.

BUS

This is without a doubt the most economical and efficient, but sometimes least comfortable, means of getting around the city. Buses run every few minutes between 6 am and 10 pm to all local attractions, including Tlaquepaque, Tonalá, and Zapopan.

“Just got my book (Bus Across Mexico) today. Well worth the price. The schedules alone are tremendous. Thanks for all your hard work.: – Alva S. of Baton Rouge, LA

Fares are about 25¢, making buses the favorite mode of transportation for Guadalajara natives, so expect to stand during daylight hours.

Various “luxury” buses – which run on some of the city’s main routes, including out to Tlaquepaque and Tonalá – costs 55¢ and are less crowded and more comfortable.

Buses to nearby destinations such as Chapala, Ajijic and Tequila, depart from the Antigua Central Camionera (Old Bus Station) just northeast of the Parque Agua Azul on Avenida Dr. R. Michel between Calles Los Angeles and 5 de Febrero.

SUBWAY

Guadalajara’s underground tren ligero (light train) system is clean, safe, and efficient.

Line 1 runs along Avenida Federalismo from the Periférico (city beltway) Sur to Periférico Norte, near the Benito Juárez Auditorium.

Line 2 runs east west along Avenida Javier Mina (which becomes Avenida Juárez at the Calzada Independencia) from Tetlán in eastern Guadalajara to Avenida Federalismo.

Trains run about every 15 minutes from 6 am to 10:30 pm. A token for one trip costs about 25¢. Juárez Station, where the two lines meet, serves as a public art gallery, featuring changing exhibits of Mexican artists.

A Guadalajara subway map is included in the guide Bus Across Mexico.

AIRPORT TRANSFERS

Autotransportaciones Aeropuerto (Phone: 3/812-4278 or 3/812-4308) is a combi (VW minibus) and taxi service to and from anywhere in the Guadalajara area. Fares, based on distance from the airport, range from US$ 8 to $12 for up to three people going to the same destination.

At the airport, buy a ticket at the booth outside the terminal exit. Going to the airport, a regular city taxi should charge similar fares, though they are not allowed to pick up passengers at the airport.