The next stop on our tour was the Cascade Cusare. These waterfalls plunge over 30 meters (97 feet) to the rocks below. Unfortunately, we were there in dry season and there was just a trickle of water falling down one side of it.
We had packed our lunch before we set out on this trip and so dragged it along with us to the waterfalls. We had visions of sitting on the rocks and watching gallons of water plunge over the falls as we munched on sandwiches. Well, we set on the rocks and munched sandwiches alright, but not to cascading water. It was a sound of a different sort that we were forced to listen to.
The girls that had caused us so much grief with their pubescent giggling and screaming on the train had picked the same day as we to visit the falls. They were everywhere. Shouting back and forth amongs each other and squealing like little piglets. We changed position twice to try to get some quiet in this pristine environment but there were just too many of them. We finally gave up and just put up with it.
We had had to walk about 400 meters (433 yards) through a rough, rock strewn, log clogged and slippery path to get to the falls. And, like at every other place where tourists congregate, the vendors were there. But these were different. No less pesky, but different. They never said a word. Women sat at strategic points along the path and as you passed, children would temporarily block your way while the women silently held out their good towards you. Once you said "No gracias", the children would sit back down. It was kind of creepy.
And we saw other children. They were scattered along the trail and among the trees. Shy, curious children, eager to get a peek at foreigners. Or anybody who was not a Tarahumara. They would poke their heads around the truck of a tree where they were hiding. Once they knew you had spotted them, boing, back behind the tree would go their heads. And there was a third class of children. The kind that upset me the most. The ones who follow along behind or beside you, clutching at you and begging for "dinero por favor". (money please) I can only assume that they were from a nearby village and did not belong to the women vendors. Cruel as some of you may think it is, I never give money to begging children. It only encourages this behaviour. Although the Tarahumara indians are a poor people, they are not destitute nor starving. This kind of thing should not have been allowed and was not necessary for their survival.
After leaving the falls, we were taken to a museum of local paintings by Jesuit priests. I found them totally lacking and dull. And, of course, all dealing with only one subject. Jesus saving the Indians.
Once back in town, we had dinner, strolled around a bit and then hit the hay. The next day would see us taking an unexpected tour and then catching the train back to Los Mochis.