Search This Blog

Wednesday, January 3, 2018

Mexican Gruta de San Gabriel

Mexico Gruta de San Gabriel

January 26, 2002

While driving the Honda on a five-day loop through the state of Colima, we happened upon a highway sign which displayed an icon that looked like an Aztec pyramid.  On a whim, we decided to check it out.  Our maps and tour guides said nothing about any ancient ruins in the area, so we were somewhat skeptical.  A lady behind the counter of a small country store explained that the sign was for the Gruta (cavern) of San Gabriel.  “Just ask for information in the town of Ixtlahuacan,” she said.  

“How far is it?” I asked.

“Maybe ten minutes,” she replied.

“That won’t take long,” I said to Pat.  “Let’s check it out.”

“OK, but don’t think that I am going into any cave,” Pat warned.


We entered Ixtlahuacan in about five minutes and saw a sign pointing to the gruta.  Figuring that it was only about five minutes further, we proceeded without asking for additional information.  OK, so you guessed it!  The lady at the store meant that the distance to Ixtlahuacan was ten minutes – not the distance to the cave.  But Pat and I did not know it at the time, so we proceeded down a dusty, cobblestone road through fields of irrigated corn and cantaloupe.  We added a Stripe-headed sparrow to our list.  Maybe three miles later we saw another sign directing us to turn right.  We started up a narrow valley and climbed steeply.  Loose rocks on the cobblestone road would sometimes slip under the tires and make a disturbing, grinding noise.  We stopped at some flowering trees to observe several warblers and listen to loud Chachalacas out in the bush before continuing.  The climb continued on and on.  After maybe 30 minutes, I asked Pat if we should give up and turn around.  “I would have turned around long ago if I were driving,” she said.

“Maybe just a little further,” I suggested.  We ultimately reached the top of the mountain and looked far down into the valley we had left earlier.  Another sign suggested that maybe the gruta was not far ahead, but now we could see another valley on the other side of the mountain where our road could be seen below.  “Can’t turn around here,” I said.  “Road’s too narrow.”  When we finally found a place to turn around, an old Ford station wagon filled to overflowing with people met us and stopped.  I gave him my usual greeting of, “Hola, como esta?”  

He smiled and returned the greeting.  If my translation is correct, the driver said, “The gruta is both beautiful and terrible.  Go thru the gate and turn right by the big Higuera (fig) tree and continue until you see a sign for the gruta.  Someone will come with a small electrical generator which will make light for viewing the cavern.” 

“How far ahead?” I asked.

“About five minutes,” he said.

We found our way past the flimsy wire gate, by a braying donkey, a very small brick church, around a sleeping dog, several brick homes in various stages of completion, the huge fig tree and finally the gruta sign.  “Where do we go now?” Pat wondered aloud.

Tree roots, worn by foot traffic, suggested a trail down an embankment.  And, sure enough, down through the trees, we could see the opening of a large hole in the rocks.  A big fig tree grew on the lip of the hole and its roots extended down into the hole.  A metal staircase wound around a 4- inch iron pipe down into the depths of the hole.  We looked hard to see if we could see the bottom.  Stepping out onto the top of the stairs caused them to sway under our weight.  This movement did not instill great confidence in the stability of the structure and I seriously considered a hasty retreat.

Then, a man and woman drove up in an old pickup truck.  “We have a generator and will light up the gruta for only 70 pesos,” he said.  “It is beautiful and it will make you very happy.  I will show you the way.”

“Bueno,” I said, somewhat reluctantly.   

“No way,” said Pat.

So Pat and my guide’s wife stood up on the lip of the cavern and watched as the man trotted out onto the rickety stairs and started down rapidly.  I followed much more cautiously and slowly.  The stairs swayed and I dared not look down.  As we approached the bottom, my eyes adjusted to the dim light coming from the sky and I could see my guide entering a small hole in one side of the bottom.  “Oh no!” I thought to myself.  “I’m gonna have to squeeze through a tiny hole into the darkness below.”  Visions of having to dive underwater in the dark -- like they do on TV -- clouded my mind.  When I reached the hole, it was a little bigger than I had first imagined.  A rickety metal ladder was perched on the edge of the hole.  

“Be very careful and watch your head,” said my guide.  

“Not to worry,” I thought.  As I stepped gingerly onto the first rung of the ladder, the ladder slipped away from the wall, so I readjusted my weight over the ladder and stepped again.  Now I could see that my guide was standing below, steadying the ladder as I descended.  After reaching the bottom, it was clear that we were standing on a large pile of rocks.  Below the rocks was a large room, dimly illuminated by several bare electric bulbs.  I dismissed from my mind what we would do if the electric generator died and stranded us in the darkness. 

“Be very careful on the rocks and watch your head,” my guide again commanded.

Again, if my translation is correct, he told the following story.  “This cave was once home to some very rich people.  In here they lived like royalty.  Far back in this dark corner is a tiny hole that leads to another room that is filled with a large pile of pure gold coins.  A man and woman once tried to reach the coins and were turned to stone.  See the column of stone on the left is the woman and the one on the right is the man.  No one tries to get to the gold anymore for fear of being turned into stone.”

He spoke with such authority that to ask how the rich folks got the gold into the other room seemed inappropriate.  I took a few photos of my guide standing by some stalagmites and he took one of me.  There were apparently no other rooms to the cavern that we could visit, so after only a few minutes, we climbed back up the rock pile, the rickety ladder, through the small hole, and up the circular staircase.  During the climb, my guide asked, “How old are you?” (He must have wondered how sound my heart was.)  

Win in the Cave

I replied that I was 65.  “Don’t worry, I am in fairly good health.”

“How old are you?” I asked.  

“I am only 60,” he replied.  “You are older than I am,” he assured me.  

When we reached the surface, Pat seemed glad to see me.  After paying my guide, we retraced our route over and down the mountain.  I wondered about getting all that gold myself, but considering the certainty of being turned into stone, I decided that maybe my life is OK just as it is -- without piles of gold.
 

No comments: