Summer 2007 Car Trip - 51

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.

Summer 2007 Car Trip - 49

The next morning was one of those beautiful Mexican days. Bright sunshine and a sky so blue that they haven't even been able to name a crayon after it yet.



Since we had booked an all day tour of the area, our first order of business was to find some kind of grocery store/shop and purchase some food for our lunch. Meals were not provided in the tour and we would be nowhere near any restaurants or food stands. I hate tunafish and that was all that was on offer in cans. I settled for cheese sandwiches and chips. Any port in the storm!



Creel is built in layers coming down the gentle slopes that surround it. Our first stop was to a "true" Tarahumara home. It is not uncommon for the Tarahumaras to take over a cave and make it their home. They live everywhere in the mountains so why not avail themselves of the shelter Mother Nature has provided. This home, punched into the highest slope above Creel as no exception. A family had taken over a small, dark cave as their habitat.



Inside the low ceilinged room were several beds and one table with a few homemade chairs. All cooking was done outside over an open fire. The yard was basically packed dirt with the remains of rough living strewn everywhere. No garbage pickup here. Just toss it onto a pile. Maybe. At least in that general direction. There were a couple of pigs in a makeshift corral/pen and chickens were kept in cages, not allowed to free range. The reason for this, we were told, is because the coyotes are not afraid of people and will come into the yard and eat the chickens if they are free.



I did not take any pictures of this home. I just felt like it was too much of an invasion. As we left, I realized that maybe I should not have felt that way. The man of the house was waiting at the gate and it was required to give him a tip before he would open the gate to allow you to leave. For some reason, that really pissed me off. A request for an offering I would have gladly given, but I didn't like the extortion feel of the way it was done. He got one peso put in his basket. My little protest.

Our van, consisting of the guide, the three of us, a very disgusting Mexican couple who made fun of everything they saw and a lovely Swiss girl, next pulled up to the gate marking the entrance to Indian land. Not a reservation mind you. But true Indian land that had been occupied by the Tarahumara Indians for centuries. There we were charged an additional 15 pesos each to enter.

Our first stop was to this Jesuit Mission Church. Our guide could not tell us if it was widely used, a relic of a time gone by or even if the Indians were Catholic, Protestant and heathen. I think he needed to do a bit more research before leading tours. At any rate, it was a fascinating piece of architecture standing out like a sore thumb in this desolate landscape.

The interior.

The view from the church parking lot. It was a very depressing landscape. Dusty hardly fairly describes it.




Another overview of the land. These are community structures, not homes. Including the schoolhouse on the far left.




A closer look at the school shows it to be of similar construction to most rural school houses in Mexico.




This is a typical home on the land. Nothing fancy, for sure. While we were there, a little boy, maybe 8 years old, came running out of the house, waving something at us. When he got to us, he was offering handbraided friendship bracelets for sale. Five pesos each! A great bargain. B bought one but only had a ten peso coin. The sad little boy reported that he could not sell it then because he had no change. He could hardly believe his good luck when B told him to just keep the extra 5 pesos for himself! He tied the bracelet on B's arm and turned and high tailed it back to the house. His bracelets held high and peeling laughter. As I write this, that was 3 years ago. Still a strong memory and guess what? B is still wearing that bracelet! Guess it was worth all of the 10 pesos he paid.

The main tourist attraction, and the primary reason we had taken this tour, was to see the rock formations that litter the landscape here. Each one with a name. Can you guess the names?

If you guessed frog rock, you were right. This one is called balancing rock. With good reason!

What appears to be snow in this next picture is actually ground up stone dust. The local kids used pieces of cardboard as sleds and gleefully slid down again and again. Just like their Northern neighbors do in snow.

With the viewing of the rocks over, we piled back in the van and headed down the road to our next stop, Lake Arareko.

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Exactly two hours after getting back on the train at Diversado, we pulled into Creel.

As tourist towns go, Creel is small with a population of 5100. But the elevation is 2338 meters, or 7670 feet. The town is surrounded by majestic pine trees and the smell of pine is everywhere. During the day, it is a hot, dusty place. But that totally changes after dark. It gets cold there. Very cold. Heavy blankets on the beds and jackets were required.

Not knowing where the hotel was that we wanted to get to, we grabbed a taxi at the train station and went all of three blocks! We stayed at the Casa Margarita (27 out of 30) which included breakfast and dinner in the room rate. As I recall, we paid $30 US for a private room with two double beds. It was a pleasant room, certainly ample for our needs. The hotel also books tours of the region so we went ahead and booked one of their tours. Easy peasy.

Next we set out to explore the town a bit. There was not much to see. We went into a few shops because I always tried to buy a t-shirt from every town we visited. We were flabbergasted at how cheap everything was. Or at least cheap by the prices we have been used to paying throughout Mexico. We stopped for a coffee at one of the small restaurant/coffee shops that dot the main street. This town caters to tourists, mostly of the backpacker variety.

Further along and we discovered the Museum de los Tarahumaras. These are the indigenous people that have lived in this area for years. These are some of the poorest Indians in Mexico with over 40% having no income at all. They wear homemade shoes fashioned from old tires and held together by leather thongs. With the dust and dirt that they live amongst, they also have some of the dirtiest feet I have ever seen in my life.

Tarahumara girl and boy waiting at the train station in Diversado.

These are the Indians that are known worldwide for their ability to run. They have a game where two teams compete. They kick a small ball, about the size of a croquet ball, in a foot race that can take them as many 160 km (100 miles) through the canyons and rough terrain of the aptly name Sierra Tarahumara.

They are also expert basket weavers. We bought a few, they are everywhere for sale. Some of the most intricate hand work I have ever seen in my life. Truly an ability to be admired. I must say though, they seem to undervalue the amount of work and skill required to make a basket because they were not expensive at all. They are also known for their pottery, called Mata Ortiz. Beautifully formed pots of all sizes and decorated with dried cat gut. True works of art as well as functional.

Tarahumara girls trying to sell baskets to passengers hanging out of the train windows.

On our way back to the hotel, we decided to stop at a cash machine because I was running low on cash. I pulled out my wallet and that's when it hit me. I had left my ATM card in the machine in Durango! I freaked. After my panic attack subsided, we went back to our room and I called HSBC's emergency number. They checked and nobody had used my card! Thank goodness. They immediately cancelled it. They had no problem issuing me a new card but I wouldn't be able to pick it up until I again reached a big town. And that would be La Paz, which was still three or four days away. Nothing to do about it except worry for a few days!

With that stressful little chore out of the way, we went downstairs and enjoyed the dinner that was included in our room rate and then headed straight back up to the room to get some much needed rest and sleep.

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THIS POST IS NOTHING BUT VIDEOS OF THE TRAIN RIDE AND SCENERY. SKIP IT IF YOU ARE NOT INTERESTED.

The train ride was an adventure like I have never had. Sure, I had ridden the fast, flat trains in Europe but they didn't prepare me for what I was about to experience on this ride.

We first passed through flat, brown scrubland. Full of candlestick cactus and skeletal looking trees with no foliage. We did not whiz through this area. We would gain a little speed and then, inexplicably, slow down again. No rhyme or reason for it. Unless, just maybe, it was because a freight train shares this one track and they have to adjust their time so we don't all collide head on!

We gradually started to climb into the foothills, which didn't last very long. We were soon in the mountain ranges themselves. The track was carved out of the side of these mountains and, at times, the view out the window was straight down. Scary stuff. We passed to quickly or I would have taken pictures of old boxcars that had somehow come off the track and skidded down the mountain. Some were hung up on rocks, some had made it all the way to the bottom. Vivid reminders of just how treacherous this route. could be.

The track between Los Mochis and Chihauhau contains 87 tunnels that cut through the mountain. Some very brief, some so long you are blinded when you again enter into the daylight. So, let's take a ride for awhile!

A view from the tracks sliced into the side of the mountain.

Crossing one of the many bridges.

Look how the terrain just drops away from the tracks.

Passing by a town somewhat off in the distance.

The bleak and barren hills in the dry season.

Dropping away again.

Watch your head!

It took me two days to get Blogger to upload all of these videos. I hope you enjoyed them.

Summer 2007 Car Trip - 46

At last, safely aboard the train and on our way to Creel. Some ten hours ahead of us through some of the most majestic mountains, gorges and streams to be found anywhere. I had ridden plenty of trains in Europe, but never one in the mountains before. This was going to be some trip!

We were fortunate enough to have a map of the track posted at the front of our car. The route is in red on the map below. We started at the bottom, near the coast, and were going to get off at Creel. You can see it on the map, just a little ways past that loopy curlycue thing.




On the map, by where it looks like is says "NORA", you can see a big S like curve. At that point we actually had to circle around a piece of the mountain. It was just too big, I guess, to rip a tunnel through it. And that curlycue thingy! I puzzled about that until we actually got to it. What the track is doing is actually wrapping around the mountain as it climbs from bottom to top. It was one long curve, let me tell you!

The start of the trip out of Los Mochis was slow. I think I could have gotten out and walked faster. We traveled 16 miles in 2.5 hours! We went past a long area of, what shall I call them, shacks? Deplorable housing conditions next to the tracks. I have seldom seen poverty that severe and that close up. I did not take any pictures. I felt like an interloper, or worse, just for staring at the people going about their early morning business.

The terrain started out flat and we gradually began to see mesas and hills in the distance. I was tingling with excitement at the adventure ahead. I love trains!

There are no safety regulations on the train. At least none that are enforced. We were allowed to stand between the cars, hang out the windows and lean off the side. Whatever we wanted to do. It made things great for photo jounalism!

As we entered the lowlands, we passed by this gorgeous lake. Reflecting the surrounding hills like some kind of aqua mirror.

Did I say passed by? We actually traversed a long bridge that spanned one end of the lake. It was a big lake.

And then the foothills started.

Then the foothills fell away as we climbed our way ever higher. What you are seeing in the below picture is our first glimpse into the Copper Canyon. It is actually a series of seven canyons that come together at various points and intersect all over the place. Very easy to loose your way inside them. And these canyons are deeper than the Grand Canyon. Hard to imagine. The big difference is that there is no Colorado River running through them to help you actually pick out the bottom.

The picture above was taken at our only stop on the journey at Diversado. This is about seven hours after we left Los Mochis. And it was here that we got our first glimpse of the Talahumara Indians that populate this region.

There were makeshift kitchens set up and food was served to those daring enough to purchase it. I was not one of them. I'm not usually a quesy eater but none of it looked good to me. In fact, I doubt that I could have eaten anything at all. My insides were all jittery and felt like slush from all the jostling on the train.

Another view taken leaning out of the train. Shows the river gorge, mostly dry this time of the year and looking back at the cars behind us.