Mexico and Posada Engelbert

Mexico and Posada Englebert

Xanthus hummingbird

February 19, 2003

The touristy town of Cabo San Lucas was too busy, noisy and brassy for our tastes, so we headed north on highway 19 along the Pacific Coast to escape.  Cabo is the Spanish word for Cape and the town is located on the southern cape of Baja California.  It is full of expensive hotels and tourists from all over the world. 

About 20 minutes out of town, we spied a fruit stand along the highway.  We find it difficult to pass these stands, not only because they often offer quality, local fruit, but they can be a good source of information.  After loading up on tangerines, a ripe avocado, a few limes and a colorful, ripe papaya, I struck up a conversation with the lady in charge.  I had seen a brochure advertising small, oceanside cottages at the nearby town of El Pescador, so I asked the lady about them.  She explained that the owner was a Californian and that he offered cottages for rent for more than $100 per night on the Internet.  But if we drove up, he would likely ask $70 – but he would take less.

A few miles further north, we found the sign for Brimwater Hollow.  We turned off the paved highway toward the beach on a narrow, dirt road.  Near the beach were several homes and no sign for the cottages.  An American was standing on his porch close to the road, so I asked about the cottages.  “I think he still has one available,” he said as he pointed to the house next door.  By this time, the owner of the cottages was at his front gate, ready to greet us.  Sure enough, he had a cottage that we could rent.  

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 “It will be $70 per night,” he explained.  

“Can you give me a special rate for two nights? I asked.

“Sure” he replied, “for two nights the rate is $60 per night.  Let me show you the room.”

The room was reasonably large, with a kitchenette on one end, a queen-sized bed, and a small black and white TV in the corner.   The sound of the pounding Pacific surf reverberated through the open windows, but it was necessary to climb over the sandy beach to actually see the breaking waves.  It looked like a great place to spend a couple of days, so we agreed on the price, brought in our luggage, food box and ice chest.  We sat on the palm-roofed porch and chatted with the owner.  He explained that although his satellite dish provided lots of channels, we can see only one at a time – whatever he is watching in his home.  He also explained that he loved to watch football and other sports, so that if there is a game available then football rules.  Otherwise, he would be open to receiving requests for our preferred TV channel.

“We are leaving tomorrow for the US, but the other renters can take care of you when we are not here.  Please understand that these cabins are somewhat primitive in that electricity comes from solar panels that charge four batteries during the day.  So, after everyone goes to bed, we turn off the electricity till the next morning.” 

He introduced himself as Jim Elfers and explained that he had played tight end for the Stanford Football Team.  But, he hurt his knee and played as a backup.  He gave the appearance of being somewhat impressed when I mentioned that our son, Brian, biked on the Stanford team.  Jim explained that he also biked, but was unwilling to go on those daily 100 miles rides to get in shape for racing.

When I asked if there was an Internet Café in the area, Jim smiled and explained that he owned one in the little town of El Pescadora.  His Mexican wife, Bibi, ran the café which also served pizza.  Just tell her that you are staying here and you will get a ½ hour of Internet time for free.  So, later that evening, Pat and I ventured into town and made a visit to Jim’s café.  The name above the door was: “Roadkill Café.”  Bibi said that she did not yet have any dough prepared for pizza and that it would take about an hour to prepare.  Her son, Brian, was nagging her for something that Bibi explained she did not have enough money to buy.  An hour later, we got our pizza and our ½ hour on the Internet and, being the only customers in the café, enjoyed the company of Bibi and Brian.

When we mentioned that we were interested in birding the area, Jim told us about the Xanthus hummingbird – found only in Baja California.  “They seldom come below the 1000-foot level and may be found in the foothills nearby.  I would be happy to take you to see them, but we are leaving tomorrow.  However, I can point out the road if you are willing to follow us as we leave town.  There is only one dirt road that crosses the mountains here and the Xanthus may be seen feeding on yellow flowers along this road.  So, the next morning we followed them a few miles north till Jim stuck his arm out the window and motioned for us to turn.  The dirt road was somewhat washboard and corrugated, but otherwise in good shape.  A few cows, goats and burros met us along the road, but we saw few humans except for an occasional passing pickup.  After a few miles, we descended into a valley, forded a shallow stream and started up a valley where the road crossed back and forth across the stream.  Whenever we saw birds or flowers, we stopped to observe.  Many of the birds were the same as those found in Californian deserts.  At one stream crossing, the water was murky.  I wondered if there might be a muddy bottom and maybe should maintain my velocity so as not to get stuck.  But on a hunch, I slowed instead.  Halfway across there was a crunching sound and the car came to a sudden stop when something underneath struck a hidden rock.  I backed out, inspected underneath, decided there was no serious damage, found a new route around the rock and continued up and up the mountain valley.  At one stop, Pat said, “I hear a hummingbird chattering.”  We searched the blooms and shrubbery nearby but saw nothing.  Then, there it was.  The characteristic white and black stripes on the face and the reddish tail identified it as the Xanthus hummingbird.  We were delighted!  Add another rare bird to our list.

We continued the drive which grew steeper and steeper up the narrow dirt road with deadly drop-offs into the valley below.  The road ultimately led into a mountain pass and down the other side of the mountain range.  

On the way back, we looked for the Xanthus in many locations, but were totally “skunked.”

The next day we drove to La Paz, where we planned to stay at the La Perla Hotel where we had stayed on the way south.  It is a relatively inexpensive, but well-run hotel on the beach near the center of town where there are many restaurants, hotels and Internet Cafes.  But on the way into town, we took a detour to explore a large, multistory hotel on the beach.  When we arrived at the hotel, we could see that all that remained was an empty, vandalized shell of a hotel.  But where we parked along the beach, we noticed a small hotel nearby with lots of palms and a bell-shaped swimming pool.  I walked into the lobby and inquired about the availability of rooms and prices.  A gray-haired gentleman at the bar told me that someone would meet me at the desk to give me the information I wanted.  A young Mexican appeared and explained all the pricing for the rooms and casitas, which ranged from $75 to $110 per day.  “Unfortunately, none are available,” he said.  “An Elderhostel group is arriving this afternoon and will take up all the rooms.”  As I prepared to leave, the gray-haired gentleman from the bar offered that a room had become available because one gentleman from the Elderhostel bunch was stranded in New York because of a heavy snowstorm.  We could have his room.  It was a casita that normally rented for $110 per night but we could have it for $75.  

“May I see the room?” I asked – as we normally do at every hotel.  

“Sure,” he replied, “but let me tell you something of the history of the room.  Back in the 1940's, this was a hide-a-way for the Duke, John Wayne.   But the Casita del Sol you will be staying in was the favorite of Bing Crosby.  The casita was relatively plain on the outside, but the inside showed evidence of its one-time elegance.   The doors and headboards on the bed were all hand carved wood.  The bath was large, the bedroom very adequate, the living area nicely furnished and with a fireplace.  The patio contained a palm and bougainvillea.  It also had a huge bath with colorful painted tiles.

We were happy to accept the generous offer!  Later when reading up on the hotel, we found out that it is currently owned by Engelbert Humperdink and is called the “Posada Engelbert.”  Although it is showing some signs of age, it was great fun sleeping in a bed where Bing Crosby once slept.  However, the next morning I was disappointed to find that I could not croon “White Christmas” any better than before.

 

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Christmas in Alamos, Mexico

Christmas in Alamos, Mexico

 

Manger Scene in Alamos

December 25, 2002

Merry Christmas, everybody!

After traveling down the east coast of Mexico to near the Guatemala border, we were heading back north to the USA via Mexico's west coast.  Various birders had recommended that we spend Christmas 2002 in the town of Alamos, Sonora, Mexico.

Our route in orange

 

Our Sanborn Insurance Travelog instructed us to take an alternate route around downtown Alamos in Sonora, Mexico because the city streets are inadequate for our motorhome.  In their words, “The streets of Alamos are just too narrow and are quite a chore (next to impossible) to negotiate with large vehicles.”  There are 3 RV Parks in Alamos -- 2 easily accessible and one more remote.  You can guess which one we chose.  We chose the Acosta RV Park on the far side of Alamos because it has 30 amp electricity -- the others have only 20 amps.  Little did we know . . . .

The Sanborn’s directions were, “get to it by the river, not thru town.”  A map of Alamos showed no rivers, but three 3 dry arroyos passing through the town.  We wondered which one was the river.  “Not to worry,” I told Pat, “when we reach the edge of town, I’ll stop and get instructions.  We can also look for signs that might give directions.”   

After pulling off the road at the edge of town, I asked a young Mexican fellow how to best bypass downtown to reach the Acosta Park.  He thought long and hard and was just starting to give directions when a beat-up van pulled off onto the dusty roadside.  “May I help?” the driver asked in English.  After I explained our wishes, he said, “Follow me.”  The pavement ended and the cobblestone street began.  The street narrowed.  We approached a circle that was apparently once designed for oxcart traffic and we squeezed around it and turned left down another narrow street.  The policia leaning against a nearby wall watched intently.  The road led down across a dry arroyo, where the cobblestone paving ended.  Our leader then turned right beside the arroyo through a dusty, weekend marketplace.  Horses, burros, pickup trucks, vegetable stands and lots of folks made the going difficult.  We slowly wended our way through the crowd, then down into the sand and rocks of the arroyo itself.  If we ran over anybody, they did not complain.  After bouncing along at a maximum speed of about 5 mph for a while, we squeezed around between the end of a footbridge and a rocky cliff, then onto another cobblestone road.  We drove up out of the arroyo into a narrow, wall-lined street till a large cemetery appeared.  We followed a narrow, rocky, dusty road around the cemetery, around another tight corner, over a narrow cattle guard, hit bottom on a dirt hump and there it was -- Acosta RV Park.  And, our new friend had just presented us with our first Christmas present.

Winnebago Vectra and Honda CRV

 

“I could have given you verbal directions,” our new friend said, “but it was much easier to lead the way.”  He introduced himself as Elliott and explained that he has lived in Alamos for 5 years.  His older companion has lived in Alamos for 20 years.  A sizable group of American expatriates lives in Alamos, which has the reputation of being one of those places that you don’t want to miss.  It is a charming old mining town, whose silver financed some Spanish expeditions into California in the 1870s and '80s.  Before that, Coronado had camped here in 1850, before he took his soldiers north to hunt for the “City of Gold” in Arizona, New Mexico, and Kansas.  Now, Alamos is recognized as the most authentic, colonial-style town in Sonora.  It has an impressive old cathedral and many restored colonial homes.  It’s lots of fun to walk the old streets and watch the local girls and boys eyeball each other as they walk around the square.  It is certainly more fun to walk through the town than to drive a motorhome through it.

Smoky haze over Alamos

 

Upon hooking up in the Acosta Park, our new neighbors (Chris & Irene Magneson from Winnipeg, Manitoba) volunteered information relating to survival in Mexico based on their many years’ experience.  “Never let a policeman know that you speak any Spanish,” was the first suggestion.  (No reason was provided.)  “Always carry a dummy billfold with a few pesos inside.  So, if you are robbed, the robbers will not get your credit cards, ATM card, drivers license and any other important papers you may normally carry in your billfold.”  

“Have you ever been robbed?” I asked.  

“No, and it seldom happens, but why take chances?” Chris replied.

Actually, we do not need to worry about someone stealing our ATM card.  We must have lost it somewhere in Arizona.  We use ATM cards all over the world to obtain local currency at acceptable exchange rates.  Anyway, the first time we tried to use it in Guaymas, Sonora, we could not find it in the special compartment of my billfold where I always carry it -- or anywhere else.  Pat was still carrying an old, obsolete one in her purse, but it was worthless.  So, we went to a bank and paid about $4.50 to obtain 5,000 pesos (about $500) by using a credit card.  OK, so that was also a Christmas present -- of sorts.

When leaving the bank, we both noticed a big bulge on the right-front tire of our Honda.  Two new B. F. Goodrich tires cost us 1,800 pesos and a full day delay in our journey as we waited for the tires to be shipped from Hermosillo.  The cash reserve that we hoped would last for a couple of weeks was disappearing rapidly. We hopefully canceled our ATM card by email with our banker.

Pat’s sprained ankle is healing nicely.  She stepped into a drain beside the car in Guaymas -- lucky her ankle wasn’t broken.

You may wonder why we complain so much about our troubles in Mexico.  Well, the truth is that we wish not to brag excessively about the great time we are having here.  Thought we could soften the blow by bitching instead of describing all the fascinating places and wonderful birding.

But, maybe a little bragging is in order.  For example, our neighbor Irene is a competent birder of Mexican birds and gave us some very useful advice on where to bird in the neighborhood.  “Listen,” she said, “I can hear some Mexican Parrotlets.”  Then, as if to prove her point, a small flock flew out into clear view from nearby trees and we added another species to our Christmas list.

The one bird we really wanted for the area was reported to frequent the Caracol (snail) RV Park near Alamos.  We met Mrs. Willman, who has owned the park for 30 years.  She explained that she and her husband had lived in San Francisco, CA (which explained her perfect English) but her husband wished to move back to the country of his ancestors.  They purchased 1000 acres of thorn scrub and cactus at the base of a mountain and built the RV park beside the highway to Alamos.  Her husband died a few years ago and they had never made their wishes known to each other about contingencies after death.  So she took it upon herself to have him cremated and hoped he would have approved.  A friend with a helicopter scattered his ashes all over the nearby mountain that he had loved so much.

As we prepared to leave the park, a worker announced that he heard the sound of the Uracca – the bird we were seeking.  We headed toward the sound and finally found five of these magnificent birds cavorting in the mesquite and Organpipe cactus.  It is also known as the Black-throated Magpie-jay, has a very long tail and a top notch on its head.  A very elegant bird!  We added several other birds to our list but the Magpie-jay was the best Christmas present.

Magpie Jay

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Mexico, France and Serendipity

Mexico, France and Serendipity

April 24, 2004

While searching for rare birds in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas, Pat and I were driving west of Mission, TX on Hwy 83, when we stopped along the highway to scan for hawks.  Looking south across the Rio Grande into Mexico, I noticed an odd-looking structure on the horizon in this unpopulated part of Mexico.  This tall, thin, limestone-colored, oblique-shaped structure did not appear to be any kind of building, habitation, windmill or water tower, so I was intrigued.  What in the world could it be?  I was determined to find out, so we turned south at Rio Grande City, and crossed the bridge into Camargo, Mexico.  After explaining to the Aduana, “Camargo no mas,” we drove through the narrow streets of old Camargo, past the city plaza, and found Mexican Hwy 2 that runs along the Mexican side of the Rio Grande River between the Gulf of Mexico and Lake Amistad. 

Turning SE we followed the busy, narrow highway, stopping frequently to scan the horizon for the structure we were seeking.  Pat began to wonder out loud about the “wild goose chase” that we were on, but by now I “had the bit in my teeth,” and was determined to find this elusive goal.  I thought about asking some local citizen for directions, but remembered our experience with such inquiries in Mexico -- which generally waste time and seldom provided accurate information.  (On the other hand, we sometimes use this ruse as an excuse to chat with the friendly, helpful Mexicans – but then, we mostly ignore their directions.)  Besides, I did not know how to describe the object of our search, especially with my less-than-masterful command of the Spanish language.

Anyway, we continued our search -- stopping frequently to scan the horizon – till there it was!  At least there was a green sign that read, “Monumento Sta Gertrudis” with an arrow pointing south to a largely ungraded dirt road.  The word, “Monumento” put my mind into high gear.  That’s probably what I had seen from the US side of the border – a monument.  But what would a monument be doing way out here? The road continued south and turned into a discouraging, sort of turn-row at the end of a field, but again we persevered.  Mounting a rise in this field-road, we got our first glimpse of the top of the monument.  From there, it was only a matter of aiming our Honda at this landmark.  Some turns were necessary, but we continued as best we could on narrow, dirt tracks, around the edge of fields and hoped no locked gate would impede our progress.  (Note:  a few years later we again visited Sta Gertrudis with my brother, John and his wife, Linda and the road seemed much better.)

John, Pat and Linda Sterling

 

The monument was big!  It was also well-kept.  A sign at the base explained the reason for its existence.  It was a monument to the defeat of the French army of Emperor Maximilian by the Mexican army.  This trip took place back in about 1995, so I do not remember all the particulars of the battles, but apparently, one of the major French-Mexican battles was fought at this site of Santa Gertrudis.  

Why were we ignorant of this important event in the History of Mexico?  OK, so maybe I should have paid more attention in Mr. Dugan’s history class instead of focusing on how cute Eva Casas looked.  Maybe Pat had some similar excuse.  Mr. Dugan may have provided us with detailed information about the history behind this monument and we were the only ones in our classes who didn’t get it.  Que lastima!  So, all you Mexican history buffs, please excuse our ignorance.

But, for those who may have missed Mr. Dugan’s lecture (assuming that he really did lecture on this subject) or may have forgotten, you may wish to visit this monument to rekindle your historical obsessions.  Although our interest in the history of Mexico may be somewhat marginal, I found this site of considerable interest.  It is also reasonably accessible from Rio Grande City.  It was great fun to experience the serendipity of this accidental find.  

To access the site, it is not necessary to pass through the 25-mile Aduana check-point as when leaving the “Frontera” region of Mexico.  So, when you cross the border and tell the Aduana, “Carmargo, no mas” -- when your true intention is to travel to Santa Gertrudis -- the lie you tell is so small that nobody is likely to question you.  My guess is that the Aduana may not know about Santa Gertrudis, so if you tell the absolute truth with “Santa Gertrudis no mas” you will only cause him consternation and delays for yourself.

So, is there some sort of “take home” message from this story?  What if the French had won?  Is it possible that Edinburg would have been named Bordeaux, we would have grown up with an insatiable thirst for red wine, would never have developed a fine-tuned, connoisseur’s palate for Lone Star Beer and would all speak fluent French?  Is it possible that we could have developed a taste for the French cuisine that could have remotely matched our love of Mexican food?  Personally, I’m glad the Mexicans won that war!  Give me a Tecate, fresh corn tortillas, pollo asada, and a smiling Mexican waitress, and I’ll quickly forget those snooty French waiters and the French dinner table where there’s nary a single bowl of fresh salsa to be found.

 

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Mexico and Veracruz

Mexico and Veracruz

Schoolkids in Veracruz

February 19, 2008

In past trips, we have avoided driving through Veracruz city because it is large and driving there can be dangerous.  The decision this time was easier since we were maneuvering a much smaller motorhome than before –  much more comfortable to drive in heavy traffic. So, on this trip, we decided to visit the old fort of Castillo de San Juan Eula.  It is so old (building started in 1535) and has played such an important role in the history of Mexico that we decided we could not pass up the opportunity.  Among other things, it was here that the American Army landed during the War with Mexico and then marched all the way to Mexico City.  

As we entered the city from the north, a sign indicated that the left lane provided access to the Fort.  So, we moved into the left lane and kept watching for another sign indicating where we should turn.  It never came or we missed it!  We soon found that we were in the downtown area in bumper to bumper traffic.  We drove slowly around a motorcycle accident and no parking places could be found.   But, I could see the waterfront several streets to the left, so we took a chance and turned left.  The waterfront was much less busy and we quickly found a parking spot big enough for our motorhome.  As we were parking, we noticed a group of high school students lounging and laughing nearby.  As I opened the door, they all looked up as if expecting me to say something.  So, I decided to oblige them.  “This is your chance to practice your English,” I said in English.  Suddenly, they were nervous, giggly school kids again.  They had all apparently studied some English in school but seemed unsure of entering into a conversation with this old gringo.  

Then one of the kids pointed to one of the girls and said, “She speaks English.”  At this point, the girl took total command.  With all the regal bearing of a queen and all the characteristics that would qualify her for the title of Miss World, she responded by asking me, “What would you like to know?”

“Where is the Castillo?” I asked.

“Right there across the water.”  She pointed to an old fort that we could see maybe a half mile across the harbor.

Castillo of Veracruz

“How do we get there?” I asked.

“I have no idea,” she replied – in perfect English.

“OK, thank you and have a good day,” I said.

We waved, they waved and we crossed the street to photograph the old fort.

As I took photos, one of them yelled something like, “Hey, come take our photos.”

Well, nothing could make me happier than such an invitation.  I had thought about asking them if I could take their picture because they were handsome kids having a good time.  But decided that teenagers can be rather volatile when asked such questions, so decided against the idea.  But since it was their idea, they proved to be very willing subjects.  They quickly arranged themselves and I took only one photo.  So far, it is one of my favorite photos of Mexico.

We have been warned about leaving our motorhome parked in cities, but with those happy kids nearby, we decided it might be safe to walk around downtown a bit.  When we returned after maybe 45 minutes, some of the kids were still there and nobody had broken into our motorhome.   I said, “Hola.”

They said, “Hola” and smiled a friendly smile.  All was well!  Codgers and kids can still sometimes communicate without rancor.

By now, we decided it was too late to actually visit the old fort and we had miles of beachfront driving to arrive at our RV park before dark, so we left.

Later, as I transferred the photo to my laptop, I wished that I had obtained an email address from one of the students so I could send them the photo.  Oh well!

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Mexican Topes

Mexican Topes

February 3, 2002

“Tope” is the name given to those devilish speed bumps that are placed with diabolic frequency onto Mexican roads to slow traffic.  All topes are not created equal.  Some are so tall that small cars drag bottom when crossing them.  These must be crossed very slowly or there is considerable risk of permanent damage to the frame, shocks, tires, and passengers.  They are made of almost any material that is handy at the time.  Usually, they are made of the same material as the road – rocks if the road is cobblestones or “bitumen” if the road is asphalt.  The most durable ones look like rounded steel hubcaps, placed in a line across the road.  Restaurants on the beach may even build temporary topes of sand to reduce the dust from passing autos.   Automobiles themselves actually build inverted topes in the form of potholes.  They are all fairly effective in slowing traffic.

I do not know the history and all reasons that are given for the tope phenomena in Mexico.  My guess is that they were invented by a Catholic Priest as a penance for a sinner who stirred up dust with his burro and cart in front of the church.  But, who else benefits from the tope?  How about tire dealers, shock absorber specialists, alignment specialists, frame straighteners, tire rim salesmen, mufflerologists, doctors, etc.  Do they lobby for laws favoring topes rather than policemen?  Maybe topes are cheaper than policemen?

Most topes are very effective.  They definitely slow traffic.  However, there are some exceptions.  Some drivers use topes as a place to pass slower traffic.  Of course, this is contrary to the purpose of topes, but apparently, the macho image of any self-respecting Mexican driver is compromised if he cannot somehow pass the car impeding his travel.  He will pass on the shoulder of the road to the right, on blind curves and at school crossing topes-- where little children and chickens must run for their lives. 

Topes are also used to reduce dust from passing cars.  They are certainly more effective dust reducers than the signs in the USA that read, “Please drive less than 10 mph to prevent dust.”  These signs are routinely ignored by drivers in the American West as they stir up dust at 45 mph.

Sometimes a series of smaller topes are placed onto the highway to slow traffic before the main or largest tope.  Such a series of topes can be found in front of our RV Park in Zacatecas.  On one of the main highways through this part of the world, these topes slow all traffic that enters the city -- usually at breakneck speed.  To slow for the tope, trucks often use their exhaust brakes, which make a nerve-shattering noise – not conducive to sound sleep.  After passing the tope, the accelerator is pressed to the floor and the large diesel engines roar to life so loudly that the vibrations are felt on the computer keyboard as I write.  Immediately behind the RV Park is a railroad track.  For some reason, Mexicans do not place topes on railroad tracks.  Trains are bigger than other vehicles, so it is the duty of smaller vehicles to get out of their way.  However, they do offer the courtesy of blowing their whistle as they pass the RV park -- to warn us not to crash our motorhome through the wall behind the park into the path of the oncoming train.

Topes are part of the social life of Mexico.  At topes you may find children selling candy, sliced fruit or anything else that may make a peso or two.  It is also a place where the Bomberos (firemen) collect donations.  Thus, there are often small groups of Mexicans at topes whose behavior ranges from total boredom to a party-like atmosphere.

Recognition of topes may be easy or very difficult.  Sometimes signs announcing topes are obvious and may even include clearly painted white lines across the road.  On larger highways,  there is often a sign announcing a tope 500 meters ahead, followed another at 300 meters and another at 150 meters. Other times, they may be totally unmarked or placed so that the shade of some tree camouflages their existence.  Some claim that you have not really traveled much in Mexico if you have not hit a big tope at about 60 mph in a 20,000-pound motorhome.  We met one fellow at the Spartan Chassis Headquarters in Michigan who had bent the frame of his large motorhome while banging it over a large tope that he had not seen until it was too late.  The motorhome was still under warranty, so this guy was trying to get his frame straightened for free.

Shortage of cops may be a good reason for the existence of topes.  Roads heavily patrolled by cops, such as in the larger cities, have very few topes.  Small towns and populated areas along Mexican highways -- that maybe cannot afford policemen -- tend to have the most topes.

On the balance, are Mexican topes of more benefit than harm?  I can’t really answer that question.  I find them an annoying nuisance.  Especially, when they are placed at an angle across the road so the two tires on the same axle do not hit them at the same time.  When the rear tires hit, one before the other, the motorhome pitches sideways so violently that all the canned goods in the upper cabinets bang around.  After such an experience, we must be very careful when opening the cabinet doors or a can of beans may drop on our head.

However, I must admit that in some cities I actually prefer topes to red lights.  Topes only slow you down, unlike red lights that give the window-washer-boys time to mess up your window so they can be paid for cleaning them.  

In a developing country like Mexico, topes are obviously a relatively inexpensive way to slow folks down.  If just one chicken can be saved, maybe they are worth the cost.  Just hope I can continue to recognize them before they rip the wheels off my motorhome.

 
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Mexican Serpents of Palenque

Mexican Serpents of Palenque

Royal Flycatcher

March 9, 2002

When traveling Mexico, we hear many stories of dangers.  Some of them may even be true!  Certainly, there are dangers of having a car wreck on the narrow and potholed highways of Mexico, and there are thieves – just as in any other country.  But, when something bad happens to some tourist in Mexico, the word seems to spread like wildfire.  With each telling, the story may grow slightly.  The Zapatista movement in Chiapas has caused considerable concern that tourists might be held for ransom or something.  An Entomologist acquaintance of mine was killed many years ago in Southern Mexico when he landed his plane in a drug-growing area.  Certainly, folks have been robbed when traveling on foot through the national parks of Mexico.  A major risk is that the thieves will run up large bills on your ATM card before you can report the loss to the company. 

Warning

Some tourists have devised ways to minimize loss from theft.  One suggestion is to carry a small, cheap billfold with a little cash and no credit cards when walking in the forests and countryside.  The thief will be happy to take the billfold and will let you go without harm (at least in theory.)  This is the strategy we take when birding in the deep forest of Palenque, Chiapas.  But even with this precaution, Pat was noticeably apprehensive when we started down the dark trail soon after daybreak.  “It’s too dark to see the birds,” she said.  “The trail is so rocky and muddy that we must watch where we step rather than watch birds.  I don’t really like to go birding in the deep forest.”  But, we walked and watched for maybe 30 minutes anyway, seeing only a glimpse of a bird as it flew rapidly through the quiet woods.  There was no breeze, not even in the tops of the tall Ceiba trees, where the early morning sun was shining.  We walked silently, swatting an occasional mosquito and sometimes slipping on a wet rock.  The streams we encountered were clear and shallow with strategically placed, but slippery and un-level, rocks for crossing.  We met two boys, one carrying a basket of tomatoes and the other, some chayote squash.  We chatted briefly about birds and animals of the forest and parted company.  

While searching the tops of some giant trees, I spied some movement.  “Big bird or mammal,” I thought.  But I was totally unprepared for the very loud scream that seemed to come from a bush close in front of us.  It was not too difficult to imagine some very large carnivore hungry for some gringo meat.  After all, cougars are still seen in these woods.  We glanced around and saw no animal charging us and quickly realized the source of the sound.  We had seen and heard Howler Monkeys before on this trip – but never so close and so loud.  We examined the treetops again and observed a troop of adult and immature Howlers.  In the quiet of early morning, the noise was almost deafening -- guttural and toneless.  No sense in trying to hear birds singing – it was even noisier than the big trucks on the highway.  After watching them howling and feeding on leaves and fruit for a while, we continued down the trail.  Somehow the monkeys had a sort of calming and invigorating influence and we returned to enjoying rather than fearing nature and the unknown.  The birds started moving and we quickly picked up four new birds -- including the Royal Flycatcher -- to add to our Mexican bird list. 

A woman and three children passed us on the trail.  We exchanged pleasantries and one small boy was heard to say something about “Santa Claus” as they moved away.  Guess they don’t see many white-bearded old coots on this trail.  The heavy jungle began to give way to shorter trees, including coconuts and bananas, and we realized that we must now be out of the National Park.  A four-strand barbed wire fence appeared, and we crawled through to see a couple of small boys leading a horse through a pasture.  They approached us and said that there were some really great birds near their home on top of the hill.  We followed them until we met a man on a horse wearing a straw hat and carrying a machete.  We waved and he came down the hill to greet us.  “Follow me and I’ll show you an area with great birds, some Mayan Temples, and a great view,” he said.  We followed him up a hill from which rain forest had been cleared.  At the top, we could look down across the broad lowlands of onetime forest that were now covered with pastures and cattle.  “I own all of this land that I inherited from my father who inherited it from his father.  My grandmother lived to be 117 years old here. “Here we are very careful to protect the plants and animals,” he said as he swung his machete to chop some offending shrub.

“We are currently standing on the old Mayan Temple de Mirada,” he said.  “From this hill, the Mayans could watch the approach of their enemies across the lowlands.”

Then he explained that this Mayan Temple of pre-Christian times that had been flattened into rubble by earthquakes.  He mentioned how many meters wide, deep and tall it was before and after the earthquakes.

“For twenty dollars, I will show you another temple over there under those tall trees,” he said.

“But I can see the trees and we could visit the temple on our own,” I suggested. 

“No, it is too dangerous.  There are many serpents there that will kill you if you are bitten, but I have my machete and will protect you,” he said.  

“How much do you charge in pesos?” I asked with feigned ignorance.  

He thought for a while and then said, “That will be 100 pesos.”  Maybe his math was bad or maybe he had just reduced the price in half.  Anyway, I quickly accepted the deal although still very unsure of what we would get for our money.  He rode to the fence, dismounted, said something to his horse as he tied it to a tree and climbed through the fence.  We followed obediently.  With his machete working rapidly, he cleared a trail through the vines and shrubbery, identifying the trees and plants as we went.  “This is a yucca plant,” he said as he pointed to a tall, slender plant.  Digging at the base, he uncovered a thickened root that he claimed becomes very large in one year and is very good in soups.  Then he showed us how to chop the stems into about foot long pieces to replant for next year’s crop.  What looked like short forest turned out to be his garden.  He showed us lemons, limes, and coconuts.  Picking a fruit he called a lime, he began to peel it with his machete.  He handed us some slices and asked us to eat them.  Expecting a bitter lime taste, we were surprised that it was sweet and tasted like limeade.  Approaching a larger tree, he swung his machete as high as he could reach and down came a large green fruit.  It was a guayabana that “brings 80 pesos per kilo in the market.  Juiced and added to milk, it is very good.”  Sensing that he wished for us to buy it, I offered 30 pesos, which he accepted readily.  “In three days it will be ripe and you can eat it,” he said.  We already knew about guayabana from our trip to Brazil, and sometimes order the juice in the College Station Mall.  But it was a small thrill to obtain the fruit directly from the tree.

Manual with Guayabana

 

At the edge of his property -- apparently the Palenque Park boundary -- we came to a barbed wire fence.  Before I knew what he was doing, he struck and cut the wire at the post, which made it easier for us to enter.  Feeling a little guilty to be party to this park vandalism, we entered through the hole in the fence, then climbed the rocky debris of a once-great temple.  When we reached the top, our guide explained that this was once the great Municipal Palace that was over 70 meters tall.  By now, I felt comfortable in our guide’s presence and asked his name.  “Jose Alfredo or Manuel,” he said.  “You may use either name.”  He then pointed to a large hole in the top of the rubble and explained that he had worked with the archeologist when they made the excavation.

I explained that many gringos are afraid to hike the forest trails for fear of robbery.  “Is this a real danger?” I asked.  

“Yes, four years ago there were some robberies.   But I cooperated with the park rangers and the criminals were caught.  The rangers and I all carry radios, so when a tourist reported a theft, I was able to spot the thieves and radioed the rangers of their location.  But don’t worry, there is only peace and tranquility on my farm – you are perfectly safe here.”

As we descended the rubble, Manuel pointed out the native trees and gave them names.  “This is the Mullato and that is the Ceiba, which grows very large and is sacred to the Maya.  Another large tree is called the Guanase and produces fruit for the birds and animals.  There are over 300 species of trees in this area and 1500 Howler Monkeys.  The Cegro and Caowa trees are the most important.” (Apologies to Manuel if I misspelled the names of these great trees.)

As we continued our descent, an old temple stone gave way under my food and I fell heavily on my tail.  “Are you OK?” Manuel asked.

“Yes,” I explained, “when I fell, I hit on the bird book I was carrying in my rear pocket.  It cushioned the blow.”  Thus, I learned that bird books have more than one function.

On the way to the third temple, Manuel showed us an old Mayan aquaduct built out of the same limestone used to build the temples.  Cutting away a few vines and shrubs, he led the way down to a man-made opening from which a stream was flowing.  He explained that this aquaduct, built of heavy stone, extends underground for over 100 meters, and three streams actually merge underground.  “Next time you come, I will take a flashlight and we can explore it.”  I found it of interest to speculate how the Mayans could have built these massive stone structures without the benefit of any metal tools.  It was built so well that the aquaduct had survived earthquakes for around 1300 years since about the time of Pakal the Great, whose rule of Palenque ended about 800 A. D.

Manuel then took us up another climb to the Hidden Temple, that had also survived the earthquakes.  He explained that he had helped in building some of the reinforcing to stabilize the vaulted hallways of the ancient structure.

Pat and I had previously spent a couple of enjoyable days climbing and wandering through the magnificent, partially rebuilt temples of Palenque that bring flocks of tourists from Germany, England, Italy, France, Japan and elsewhere.  Since the archeologists have learned to decipher the glyphs carved in rock on these temples, they now know the names of many of the rulers and the times that they ruled.  But it was maybe more fun to follow Manuel through some forest-covered ruins and his finca that most tourists never see.  It gave us a little of the sense of how Fray Diego de Landa may have felt when he hacked his way with a machete through the forest to discover these ruins back in 1566.

As I paid Manuel the 100 pesos (plus a 30 peso tip) that I owed him, he looked at the money in his hand with the practiced look of disappointment that we often see on the faces of folks who are hoping for a larger tip.  I thought little of it until after Manual left and I realized that I had short-changed him by 10 pesos. So when we arrived back at the parking lot, I asked if anyone knew Manuel.  One man offered that the boy standing nearby was Manuel’s son.  So I gave the boy a 10-peso coin and explained that we had unintentionally shortchanged his dad and to be sure to tell him we are sorry.  The boy looked at me like I was surely out of my mind but readily took the money.  

Yes, we survived our trek into this wild and dangerous jungle filled with thieves and jaguars.  Manuel had done a very good job.  As we drove down the steep hill from the Palenque Temples, we were hot and tired from our long walk through this steamy forest.  However, we felt very good about a morning well-spent -- but a little disappointed that we had seen not a single dangerous serpent.

 

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