Durango

There was nothing special that drew me to Durango; it is decent sized town and was an overnight bus ride away from Creel. My guidebook mentions its charming old town center. I was very pleasantly surprised.

I want a door like this.

Or a door handle like this.

I can't help believing life would be more exciting and interesting were it spent coming and going through such portals.

I mean, seriously, look at this door. This is a place where hushed whispers are exchanged, or passionate final embraces. State secrets are sold in a doorways like this. This door has drama. Presence. Couldn't we all use more of that in our lives?

Beautiful buildings are a balm for the mundane. There's a McDonald's behind some of those windows, as I recall.

I could use a balcony like this. I'd use it to address the people. My people. Benevolently and magnanimously, of course. Unless they crossed me... then they would feel the full force of my rage.

Even the vacant buildings look great. I would very much like to have a reason to rent a building like this.


And governmental buildings? Don't get me started.


I love this courtyard idea. It brings the outside in.


And murals. Just wait 'til we get to Mèxico City (well, 'til you get there, really.. I've already left).*


There's a cathedral, of course, where I accidentally attended a funeral (I thought it was a regular old mass).


When I came back to take pictures the setting sun was doing pretty great things for the lighting.


The dome.

I also swung by a museum dedicated to a fellow named Guillermo Ceniceros. It was free and across the street from a top notch sandwich shop. And the art wasn't half bad, either.


He seems to have been a big fan of overlapping female forms. This is one of his more.. realistic? Most tended toward geometric, circular layouts.

*A brief note on time and disconnection therefrom: as most of you are probably already aware, this blog is far from current. I was in Durango at least two weeks ago now. I will be attempting to get caught up in the next week or so, while I study Spanish and relax here in Puerto Escondido. The cities between Durango and Puerto Escondido were Mazatlàn, Guadalajara and Mèxico City. I plan to spend the next week and a half here.

Creel

Before I get to the pictures, I need to talk about something important: responsible tourism. This is a broad topic but relates to my stay in Creel in a very specific way. Namely, respecting the human dignity of the people you visit.

It is impossible to escape the fact that one of the primary draws of La Barranca del Cobre beyond its scenary is its people. The Tarahumara (or Rarámuri) once inhabited much of the state of Chihuahua but retreated to La Barranca del Cobre upon the arrival of the Spanish. Current estimates put their population between 50,000 and 70,000, nearly all of whom maintain a fairly traditional lifestyle based on farming and livestock. They are famed for their long distance running abilities, with ball kicking relay races sometimes lasting days (envision running multiple marathons in stages while kicking a wooden soccer ball). Their women are known for their brightly colored style of dress.

Yes, I took their picture. But I did it sureptitiously and I felt bad
about it afterward.

They are also, by and large, extremely poor. For anyone that has not traveled outside the U.S. it can be shocking. No matter how much one travels, it is always saddening.

But what to do? In theory, my very presence as a tourist in their land improves their lives. Paying for my accomodations, food, internet, etc. introduces much needed hard currency into the local economy. Better still is to ensure that I book accomodations and guides through locally run organizations. But that's not much comfort. Do I buy their arts and crafts? Perhaps, but my backpack is already too heavy, and I'm only just beginning my travels. Do I give alms directly? Perhaps, but their need dwarfs my ability to give.

In the end, all I think I can really do is try to respect them as human beings. I learn about their history and culture. I don't take their picture as though they are exotic beasts in a zoo. I see how they live and try to learn from it, try to be more grateful for what I have. Try to be a better person for it.

And I'm still looking for a way to help. If not the Tarahumara themselves then another people like them. For there are, unfortunately, many, many more like them.

And now, the pictures.

This church is yellow.


This church is old (the two are kitty-corner).


I rented a mountain bike and went for a ride. It is a popular route and maps were provided. Here we see the arrival of the car-bourne tourists following my same route.


The first object of interest is a "cave" dwelling (more of an overhang, really). They wall up the lower 4 or 5 feet, leaving a small chink for smoke to escape. One of my fellow tourists (he was on the car tour; prat) remarked: "I don't suppose they actually live there.. it's just for us tourists." I don't know about that particular cave, but I saw one just like it at the end of the day that was quite clearly actively occupied. It looks to be a cold, smoky existence.


Next stop on the tour, "Valle de los Hongos." I see the mushrooms, sure. In the foreground, a Tarahumara woman selling crafts. This would prove a recurring theme.


More mushrooms.


Proof that I personally walked among the stone mushrooms. In the distance, the Mission and school.


Valle de las Ranas (Frogs). It wasn't much of a valley, per se, but I'll be damned if that doesn't look like a frog.


The Mission.


I couldn't decide which view I liked best, so you get both.


The Mission door. I like old doors. This will become more evident in the near future.


There were birds in the belfry.


Mission interior. Guess you can talk to god standing just as well as sitting.


Next stop: Valle de las Monjes (Monks), though supposedly the locals had (have?) a more colorful name for it. In the foreground: Tom. He's Belgian and was riding the same route as I.


Valley of the Hard-ons, they call it. All I can say is that I don't really see monks. That bright thing in the lower right is an amphitheather, for staging traditional dances, I would imagine. We saw no one else in the valley, though.


More erect pe... monks. Standing monks. Yeah, that's the ticket.

In all seriousness, it is an eerily beautiful place. The otherwise ever-present wind completely died within the confines of the valley, making even little sounds startlingly clear. Definitely the sort of place I would pick for a peyote-fueled trance (yeah, the Tarahumara are down with the Peyote).


For a sense of scale, that's Ben in the shade just to the left. He's not a tall man, but still. Those are big rocks.


Next stop, Lake Arareko. It was alright, I guess, for a lake.


To illustrate the climate, an icefall. It warmed up a bit the day I was riding about, but the day I arrived it was 35 degrees at best. In the direct sunlight. And there were still numerous patches of snow on shady, north facing slopes. And at night? Don't get me started. So cold.

Also, the occupied cave/overhang is perhaps 500 yards down from this icefall, in the same cliff. Like I said: a cold, smoky existence.

La Barranca del Cobre

They say the best way to see La Barranca del Cobre (The Copper Canyon) is by train, so that's what I did.

I was at the station at 5:30am. Such was the depth of my commitment.

It was a pleasant enough sunrise.

The first 3 hours are flat and agricultural.

But soon hills start rising out of the plain. Those pinkish smudges, incidentally, are some sort of flowering tree.

Quite lovely, really. There were an abundance of wildflowers, as well, but they are tricky to photograph from a moving train.

You cross a veeerrry looonnng bridge.

And are quickly in the canyons themselves.


One particularly dramatic section is "La Pera" where, within the pear-shaped canyon, the train completely doubles back on itself. Note the bridge from whence we've come and, above and to the left of the bridge, the tunnel we will soon enter.


A quick shot of our means of conveyance.



In Mexico, you're allowed to hang out the side of the railcars to take videos to scare your loved ones.

And finally, the money shot: a cliffside view into La Barranca del Cobre itself. There are hotels there in Divisadero hanging off the side of the cliff and offering this view out your bedroom window. They are, unfortunately, rather expensive.

Instead, I pressed on to Creel, which will be the subject of my next post.

Tijuana, Guerrero Negro, La Paz

I only took this shot to prove I was there. TJ is not a photogenic city.

So.. I climbed the decaying lighthouse in Guerrero Negro (it was my driver's idea, I swear). Note my shadow at the top.

It did afford a decent view, if of decaying waterfront facilities and barren dunes..


..but descent from the upper level was kinda tricky. Mind that first step, it's a lulu.

And why were those facilities built? Salt! Lots and lots of salt. It's so flat and dry around Guerrero Negro that they just pump in seawater and wait six months. Pretty exciting, eh?

Not really. No.

Guerrero Negro is also a prime location for whale watching. Unfortunately it's hit-or-miss, expensive and I would have needed to book ahead (or stay another night). This guy was easy to find, though.

La Catedral de Nuestra Señora de La Paz.

Raaawrrr.

This guy is in a little museum on local history and wildlife. In short, things were going fine until the Spanish showed up. Then.. not so much.

Scuba diving Isla Espiritu Santo.

It's a sere landscape, but there are some lovely and secluded beaches. The sailboat owners are the ones really enjoying Espiritu Santo.

Cliff?

Time to go back to La Paz. :(

Finally on the Road

October 12th to February 18th and I've done..

..not a whole helluva lot, to be perfectly honest.

It's odd how easy it is to completely waste more than four months of your life. Sure, I went surfing a bunch. Sure, I helped out my family here and there. But did I accomplish anything of actual import? Did I brush up on my Spanish? Research my destinations and route? Ensure I had everything I needed and that my affairs were in order?

Nah. That's not really my style.

So, in a flurry half-assed preparation and last minute packing, I flew to San Diego then took a bus from San Diego to Tijuana (it only took 2 tries!). After a pair of 12 hour bus rides (broken up by a night in Guerrero Negro) I find myself in La Paz, Baja California Sur. It seems a nice enough little beach town, though at the moment everyone seems to be still hung over from the Mardi Gras celebration I managed to just miss.

I think it's still sinking in that I finally, finally, finally followed through and am on the road. Hopefully I'll hit my stride soon.

California is Nice

I made it out of NYC. Barely.

Due primarily to my own procrastination (but also to everyone's need to "get one more beer before [I] go"), I was packing, shipping and cleaning right up until 4pm the day of my 6pm flight. Factor in USPS stupidity ("You can't mail that box. It has a corporate label on it." Oh noes!) and rush hour traffic and I ended up making my plane by about 30 seconds.

It's great being the last one on the plane. Everyone is seated with their bags stowed and nothing to do but stare at you as you walk down the aisle, sweating profusely from stress and the jog from security. "Hey everybody! It's me, the asshole that's had you sitting here for the last 10 minutes! How are ya feeling this afternoon?"

Whoa. Tough crowd.

On the plus side, California is nice and not having a job in California is fucking fantastic. I'm still working on those previously alluded to details, but preliminary results seem to indicate that quitting my job and fleeing NYC was the best idea I've had in years.