End of Week 25 - Manatees in the Desert: La Presa Valsequillo, Puebla

The sun was glaring through the large pained-glass windows in the SEMARNAT office in Puebla. I had just returned from eating a large “comida corrida” at a nearby restaurant. As I sat at my desk overlooking the parking lot, waiting for a PowerPoint presentation to load, I watched other employees streaming out, leaving early in their government cars. I was exhausted; the kind of sleepiness that only eight hours in front of a computer, a heavy lunch in my stomach, and a Mexican afternoon sun can create.

I have been working to designate Lago Valsequillo, a large reservoir south of Puebla, as a Ramsar site, or a wetland of international importance. It’s the largest lake in the state and one of the only open lakes in the state during the winter dry season. When I talk about Lago Valsequillo as a Ramsar site, I usually describe it as a vast refuge for parched wildlife and a diverse oasis for increasingly rare flora and fauna. I highlight the huge flocks of migratory ducks that feed along its shores, the ospreys that pluck fish from its surface, and the ibises, herons and egrets that wade through its reeds. And I mention the recreation and tourism opportunities that can come with needed conservation efforts.

Lago Valsequillo and Puebla's volcanoes.

In contrast, I also discuss its problems. Lago Valsequillo is a seriously polluted, artificially created body of water. Factories from Tlaxcala and Puebla dump toxins into the lake’s river sources, turning them into oozing scars, thick and black with industrial sludge. The city’s non-existent sewage treatment system pumps thousands of gallons of raw sewage into the lake every day. Its waters are unfit for human use. If this were in New York State, the DEC’s fish advisory bulletin would say something blunt, like “Don’t Eat the Fish!”



Oil slicks on the surface of one of the lake's sources.



The PowerPoint presentation that I was watching slowly open was about the contamination of the lake and strategies used to clean it. I scrolled through the slides quickly, searching for something about the lake’s wildlife. I saw a picture of what looked like a large hippopotamus and assumed that it was some comparison to a lake in another part of the world. In my groggy haze, I kept scrolling through the slides. But then I saw the image again; this time it was superimposed over map of Lago Valsequillo, with an arrow pointing to a cove on the southern shore. I studied the small, fuzzy photo a little closer. The excitement woke me up a little and I could see clearer now.  It was a manatee, on the shore, lying on its back dead, and surrounded by people, but it sure was a manatee.

The unfortunate manatee.
(from the original PowerPoint)

Could it be that there are manatees in Lago Valsequillo? Although Amazonian and West African Manatees do live in freshwater rivers, the West Indian Manatee, the species found in Mexico, does not. West Indian Manatees live in the warm, coastal, salty waters of the Caribbean Sea and Gulf of Mexico. Lago Valsequillo is eight hours and several mountain ranges from the coast. It is 2,000 meters above sea level, and is surrounded by very dry cactus forests and desert scrub. It is cold in Puebla, especially during the winter. Puebla has volcanoes, not coastal salt-water sea-grass lagoons.

Could they have swam up from the ocean in Oaxaca? No, that’s the Pacific coast, and it’s too far and the river is too shallow. Did they escape from the nearby Africam Lion Safari? No, they don’t have manatees at the Africam. A thousand thoughts raced through my head. I decided I had to ask Diego, Ana’s work counterpart.

“Diego, hay manati en Lago Valsequillo?” He turned from his desk and smiled, taking his eyeglasses off. I braced myself for the answer.

“Si…” He paused, waiting for a response. I was stunned. But… How could… Why would… They should… I mean, manatees live in…. I couldn’t think of what to say. Sensing my confusion, he explained. Lago Valsequillo has a species of water lily that efficiently absorbs 80% of the toxins that enter the lake. However, the lilies are invasive and cover more than half of the lake’s surface. They block out the sun, preventing other plant growth, and when they die, their decomposition sucks all of the oxygen out of the lake, killing the fish that the birds feed on. In the early 90s, the government and a group of scientists decided that they should introduce manatees into the lake to eat the lily and control its growth. It was an experiment with a somewhat predictable ending; needless to say, it didn’t work.

Lilies on covering the lake. (from the original PowerPoint)

In a sad twist, the manatees didn’t die from the cold, the lack of salt in the water, the high levels of pollution in the lake, or even from eating the heavy-metal laden lilies. Instead, when the impoverished farmers living around the lake saw the strange, one-ton creatures floating slowly along the surface of the water, they immediately knew what they had found: “monstros!” And naturally, their first reaction was to kill them.

As weird and unfortunate as this story is, I think I can use all of this to my advantage. Ramsar sites are all unique; they protect endangered species, are examples of rare ecosystems, and are internationally recognized for their ecological value. So let’s be honest; how many other freshwater lakes in the middle of Mexico’s high deserts can claim to have had manatees living there in the recent past? That must be hidden somewhere in at least one of the Ramsar designating criteria!

Lago Valsequillo from San Baltazar de Tetela.

White-faced Ibis on the lake.




Northern Shoveler on the lake.




Eared Grebe on the lake.




Blue-winged Teal on the lake.



First Ever Sighting of a Bonapartes Gull in Oaxca, Mexico

In the first week of January, 2011, a birdwatcher spotted a probable Bonapartes Gull on the Pacific Coast in the state of Oaxaca, Mexico. Although they can be found on both the Pacific and Gulf Coasts of Mexico, this is the first ever recording of a Bonapartes Gull in Oaxaca, one of the southern-most states in Mexico.

The same species of gull can found in flocks of thousands on the Niagara River in Buffalo and is common there during winter every year. The following video was taken in early January at the locks in the Black Rock Canal.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wt8I0FOpxiM&feature=email

(Near) End of Week 23 - How do you use the phones in Mexico?

There is something funny about Mexico that I want to share with everyone - the phone system. I have been avoiding using the phone in Mexico since I arrived and up to this point I have been successful. In fact, Ana and I have yet to buy cell phones and are some of the last hold-outs of the 2010 volunteers. We don’t even have a land line in our house. We figure that with high-speed wireless internet and Skype, we can accomplish pretty much everything we could possibly need to do. It’s a win-win situation; other volunteers will save money by not being able to call us and we won’t have to worry about the same volunteers bothering us all day long with texts (not that you would do that, other volunteers!).

But, at work, I am finding that many people I try to contact outside of the office don’t actually respond to their emails. Whereas I sit in front of my computer anxiously waiting to be distracted by emails, Mexicans, even those with office jobs, don’t seem to be so inclined, so I have to use the dreaded telephone. Fortunately, Peace Corps is kind enough to share the "how to use a phone in Mexico" table with us. But, unfortunately, to use a phone I am somehow supposed to be able to remember all of the instructions without carrying around my computer to look them up.

Let me explain why this is such a big deal - please be patient. If I want to call from a cell phone to a cell phone, or cell phone to land line, and it’s a local call, then no big deal; I just dial the seven or eight-digit number. But if I want to call from a land line - or Nextel cell phone for some reason - to a non-Nextel cell phone, even if it’s a local call, then the trouble starts; I have to dial 044 plus 3, or the two-digit city code (as if I would know that), plus the seven or eight-digit phone number. To make a national long distance call from a cell phone (I’m not sure when reading the instructions if "cell phone" actually signifies "cell phone" or only  "non-Nextel cell phones") or land line to a cell phone in Mexico,  I have to dial 045 plus 3, or the two-digit city code, plus the seven or eight-digit phone number. This is very similar to the previous set of instructions and hard to differentiate. Now, if I want to make a national long distance call from a cell phone or land line to a land line, things change a bit. I have to dial 01 plus 3, or the two-digit city code, plus the seven or eight-digit number. And, to further complicate things; how would I know if I’m calling a cell phone, a Nextel phone, or a land line?

Of course, when attempting to use this information it never actually works. The grammatical logic to the directions can be confusing and can be interpreted multiple different ways as I’ve discovered while trying to write this. For example, when I read "01+3 or 2 digit city code+7 or 8 digit number" from the directions for a national long distance call from a cell phone or land line to a land line, I could interpret it to mean that there are two options for making the call - dial 01 plus 3 or the two-digit city code, then the phone number of seven or eight digits - or I could interpret it to mean that there are three options - dial 01 plus 3 or the two-digit city code plus  seven or the eight-digit number. I won’t go through all of the possible strategies for calling international long distance, either to or from Mexico, but you can see the table of directions at the bottom of this post.

And, well, another curiosity: people in Mexico write phone numbers in many different ways. In the U.S., phone numbers are written with a three-digit area code inside parentheses, followed by three numbers grouped together that are separated by a dash from a grouping of four numbers - i.e. (716) 536-5743. In Mexico, numbers are often written with or without country codes, area codes, or city codes. After the code, if there is a code, the following seven or eight digits are written in either four groups of two (12 34 56 78 / 12 34 56 7) or a group of three and a group of four ala the U.S. of A. (123 4567), or two groups of four (1234 5678), or one large group of consecutive digits (1234567 / 12345678).

Does all of this sound frightening to you too? Because, as if that wasn’t enough, using the phone in the office is even more complicated. To use the phone in the office - and I’m not making this up - I have to dial *61*1645#3 then use the appropriate technique described above, followed by the seven or eight-digit phone number. Each of the large office rooms, like the one I work in, has its own phone and its own unique code for being able to use it. I usually call from Diego's office. Diego is Ana’s counterpart and boss; I work in his office because the space I use there is the most stable, less frequently rotating desk space that I can find. I have managed to stay there without being moved to a different computer and/or desk longer than any other place I have tried so far. It has been almost a week, that is, if I start counting the days today and don’t get moved again for another week. All of this means that if I want to call someone from work for work related reasons, I have to do it in front of Ana's boss, as he watches. This is a little embarrassing, for one because I can never get the phone to work, and secondly because my Spanish isn't so great.

It usually takes about ten attempts before I figure out what to do on the office phone. Every once-in-a-while I reach who I was trying to call, but am asked by a recording to enter an extension; today, after about two months of giving up at this point, I learned that in order to enter an extension into the office phone, I first have to press 9 and then quickly type the extension before the effect that the magical 9 has wears off.  If it's a long distance call or a call to a cell phone, I have to register the call in a book beside the phone. I wonder how I am supposed to register all of the mistake calls that I make?

End of Week 21 - Veracruz, La Mancha, and The Gulf of Mexico

I've always wanted to see the Gulf of Mexico. The Gulf coast is famous for its bayous, shrimp, oil, and hurricanes, none of which exist where I come from in Buffalo, NY. Is the Gulf tropical, like the Caribbean, with crystal clear blue waters, or is it like the Atlantic, cold and immense? Being in Mexico, I had to find out.
About six years ago I took a trip to New Orleans, thinking I would also have a chance to see the Gulf. With my family, we drove to Venice, the last town on the road south following the Mississippi River. I thought I would find beautiful sand beaches and an amazing sunset on the coast. Instead, after miles of cypress forests and swamps in the delta - impressive in their own right - we arrived in Venice, a small, rusty, forgotten port on the river, still miles from where the Mississippi reaches the Gulf of Mexico. After Katrina, I'm not even sure Venice still exists.



Veracruz



Several years later, after spending almost five months in the high deserts and volcanic mountains of central Mexico, I needed a change and set my sights on the Gulf of Mexico. From Puebla, the nearest Gulf town is Veracruz, a busy oil port on the coast. Ana and I decided to spend the week after Christmas there, eating the seafood, going to the beaches, hiking and camping. We looked forward to the warm temperatures on the coast after several long months in frigid (or luke-warm by my standards) Queretaro and Puebla.

  The bus ride between Puebla and Veracruz is breathtaking. After several hours of desert, we passed by the snow-capped Pico de Orizaba, an active volcano and the tallest mountain in Mexico. After passing Pico, we traveled down into a deep valley, marking the entrance into the state of Veracruz. The vegetation quickly became thicker, greener, and more tropical, as the humidity levels rose. Gorgeous river canyons and cliff faces passed by one after the other. From there to the city of Veracruz was a long flat plain, mostly fruit plantations and sugar cane fields.

After arriving at the bust station in the city, we ate a "comida corrida" at one of many small restaurants across the street froom the station. Although there isn't much I expect to ever fully know about Mexico, I do know this; the food is great! A comida corrida is what you eat for lunch in Mexico. It's fast, filling, and inexpensive. For usually less than three dollars, you get a three course meal with a soup, a guisado (the main course of meat, rice, and vegetable) and a desert, with agua included (agua translates to water but is always some sort of juice in Mexico). The all-you-can-eat warm corn tortillas are perfect for dipping in the sauce that bathes whatever meat you order, and the meat is always perfectly tender. The agua varies, but is sometimes a fruit juice, orchata which is a sweetened rice juice, or jamaica, a juice made from hibiscus flowers. At the restaurant near the bus station in Veracruz, we ate beef and meatballs, in sauces with names that I can' pronounce, but better than any you can find in the States.

We spent the first night in the city of Veracruz in a hotel along the Malecon, a seaside promenade on the Gulf of Mexico. The Gulf's waters were warm and turbulent, with winter storms blowing far off the coast. The air was thick and wet there, but the constant sea breeze kept the temperatures cool.

Ruddy Turnstone

This coastal part of the city is busy with tourists, restaurants, hotels, and markets. Street performers line the Malecon, and huge crowds gather to watch. Ocean-going container ships come in and out of the port, blowing their fog horns as they leave. Smaller barges make their way busily from dock to dock and from ship to ship. We saw shorebirds like Ruddy Turnstones and Willets along the Malecon. We ate dinner at a large cafe called La Parroquia, famous for the way they pour warm milk into your coffee at your table. They say that if you don't go to La Parraquia, then you haven't been to Veracruz.


After our brief stay in the city, we went by bus a little further north to a community called La Mancha. In the city of Veracruz and less than an hour north in La Mancha there were no signs of the destruction from a recent hurricane that devastated the area less than three months ago. But along the coastal highway in between, vast tracks of trees along the sand dunes were leefless, limbs were broken, and debris was scattered everywhere.

Campsite at La Mancha

We stayed the next three nights in a tent at a community ecotourism center in La Mancha. It had campsites, cabins, bathrooms and showers, a restaurant and guides for tours of the area. Each night, from inside our tent, we went to sleep under the stars, with crickets, frogs, and nighthawks noisily working in the distance. We woke every morning to the sound of the dawn breeze coming from the water and to birds as they began their day. Our campsite was frequented by Montezuma Oropendolas and Brown Jays, each trying to outdo each other for the loudest and strangest noises. http://www.ecoturismolamancha.com/

Montezuma Oropendola

The beach nearby was wide and windswept. Although crowded in some spots, it was completely empty in others. We eventually found a protected cove where the wind and the waves weren't so strong and went swimming. Brown Pelicans dove into the water looking for fish, floated up and down on the waves, and coasted on the air currents just above the surf without ever flapping their wings.  Royal Terns and Osprey soared overhead along the coast, fishing the Gulf's waters. Magnificent Frigatebirds watched from above, waiting for an easy meal to steal from the pelicans and terns. 



Beach at La Mancha



Brown Pelicans



The beach protected a large, inland, mangrove lagoon. At dusk on the second day we took a guided kayak tour of the lagoon. We floated by the mangrove-lined shores, found crocodiles waiting for perched birds to accidentally fall into the water, saw White Ibis fly out from their roost in the trees, watched Ringed Kingfisher dart quickly from tree to tree, shrieking loudly all the way, and watched as flocks of thousands of American White Pelicans soared in formation overhead, migrating on their way from the US Midwest to warmer waters further south. In some places, the lagoon was wide and open, and we watched the sun fall behind the distant mountains as it illuminated the sparkling waters in the lagoon. At other places the lagoon was narrow and dark, the mangroves engulfing you on both sides, close enough to get trapped inside their web of exposed roots.

 

The Mangrove Lagoon



Fishing on the Lagoon

Great Blue Heron (top left, Grey-necked Wood Rail)

The next day, early in the morning as the sun was rising, we took a guided tour of the La Mancha nature preserve. We walked through a wetland area and found Great Blue Heron, Little Blue Heron, and Green Herons feeding in the vegetation. We saw a family of Northern Jacanas, with their bright yellow wings exposed as they jumped up and down from lily pad to lily pad, searching for the perfect spot to feed. We were lucky enough to see a Grey-necked Wood Rail in the reeds, one of the largest species of rails. In the sand dunes and coastal forests we saw orange and black Altamira Orioles, ruddy Squirrel Cuckoos, bright-red crowned Lineated Woodpeckers, neon green Olive-throated Parakeets and brilliantly colored yellow Kiskadees.

Squirrel Cuckoo

Altamira Oriole

Olive-throated Parakeets

On the last day, before heading back to the bus on the side of the highway, we decided to take one last hike into the sand dunes behind our campsite. From a distance, we saw a pair of birds perched on fence posts. As we got closer, we realized that they were Aplomado Falcons, a very rare species found in few other places in North America. The orange, black, and white plumage is astounding. It was a Christmas like no other I had ever had in Buffalo. The falcons were a final treat, and another reason, including the food and the climate, to come back to the Gulf of Mexico.

Aplomado Falcons

 Jelly Fish at La Mancha -  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ahdpdFykyEo

End of Week 19 - The Week Before Christmas: Atoyatempan, Sierra Tentzo

Community Ecotourism Project - Atoyatempan, Puebla

http://ecologicoatoyatempan.blogspot.com/

Sierra Tenzo

Atoyatempan is a small community about two hours southeast of Puebla. There is a community ecotourism project with cabins and trails near the Sierra Tentzo Natural Protected Area that was constructed with money from SEMARNAT last year. We arrived on Friday evening, the week before Christmas, for an office party. After eating a lot of grilled meat and corn tortillas, and drinking some tequila, our co-workers decided it was time for them to go.

The campsite

The cabins were in the middle of nowhere - we couldn't see any other lights on the hills around us - and it was getting cold faster than it was getting dark. After a lot of prodding (from me), Ana and I decided to stay the night, and the owners decided to drive us to the bus in the morning. After all, I spent the first four months in Mexico trying to get out of the city and now that I had arrived I wasn't about to wuss out. Anyways, most volunteers live everyday in places like this.

Giant Cactus

As the sun set, beautiful nighthawks came swooping in over the camp. The untouched desert scrub and chalky white marble soil that surrounded us began to glow in the light of the full moon, almost brighter than when the sun was still up. We sat on top of the tiroleza (zip line) tower and looked out over the valley between us and the mountains. Mist slowly rolled in and crept into the camp, flowing over the cactus and acacia trees.

After accidently locking ourselves out of the cabin - briefly - we fell asleep. Although there was no heat and it was nearly freezing in our open air cabin, we were actually hot all night with all of the blankets that we had.

We woke, at about 3am, to the sound of explosions coming from all around us. Was it miners dynamiting hill sides? If so, why so early? Aren't there noise ordinances in the middle of nowhere in Mexico? I kept hoping that they knew we were there and would avoid blowing us up. The explosions continued to get closer and closer as the hours slowly went by. I started imagining that there was a heated land dispute outside, with gunfire at the heart of the fight, and we were about to be in the middle of the approaching war. As the sun started to rise, the blasts started moving further away from us, at last. We had survived! We discovered later that there was a religious procession that night that went from Puebla to the nearby community. They like to set off loud firecrackers in Mexico during religious processions.

Our guides

The camp owners returned the next morning and brought food with them; tamales, tortillas, atole, and texca, a kind of small insect. We ate everything, grateful to have people around us that weren't trying to dynamite us. Two women from the community decided that we should go for a hike down to the river with them, and led the way after breakfast was over. We soon saw a Lesser Roadrunner bolt through the brush and a Black-vented Oriole perch atop a tree. The cactus along the canyon were tall and straight, nearly 15 meters high. We walked down into a steep river valley with giant cypress trees growing along the edges of a clear mountain stream. Black Phoebe and Blue-grey Gnatcatchers ate insects from the trees. Rock walls lined the sides of the canyon and lush green ferns grew around the springs that poured ancient rainwater into the river. At one point, the river actually flowed back under the mountain, coming out in a wide cave on the other side.

Our guides, the same that cooked us breakfast, walked with us for miles, climbed up and down rock faces, forged through the river, and taught us Nahuat (an indigenous language), never got tired. Amazingly, they refused to accept money for the hike, the stay, or the food.



The giant cypress trees in the middle of the desert




Ferns on the wet cliff sides.



The cave where the river comes out of the mountain

Posadas - Tlaxcala

That night, after returning to Puebla, we went straight to Tlaxcala for a posada at Ana's work counterpart's house. A posada is a Christmas ceremony where every night the statues of Jose (Joseph), Maria (Mary) and El Nino (Jesus) are carried to a new house after everyone eats tamales. Of course, this procession is accompanied by loud firecrackers. We spent two nights here, and the kids in the community had a great time talking to the American. They wanted to know who my favorite wrestler was, and I kept telling them Hulk Hogan. Im really not a wrestling fan, but I didn't want to sound un-cool. I think Hulk Hogan's still alive.

End of Week 17 - The Colors of Oaxaca

Oaxaca - the state, not the city - is an off-limits area, meaning we need to have permission from Peace Corps in order to go there. I don't know much about Oaxaca or why it's off-limits, but I do know that what isn't allowed is usually more exciting than what is. But I'm not about to break any rules that could get me kicked out of Peace Corps, especially after spending so much time trying to get in. So how can I get to Oaxaca?

About two months ago during training I went with the environmental education group to a center for "ecotecnias", permaculture and environmental education in Huixquilucan, near Mexico City. We spent an entire week at the center where we all realized that ecotecnias, like estufas lorenas, are complicated things to build and that Mexico actually does get cold, especially at 3,000 meters. I also learned that the center had a partner center in Oaxaca - the state, not the city - and that was my answer. I could travel to Oaxaca if it was with work. But how do I convince my new work place, SEMARNAT in Puebla, that a six-hour trip - each way - to Oaxaca is worth their time as well as mine?

Apparently, its not as hard as I thought. My counterparts at work, like me, enjoy traveling. And when we started working on the development of a center for training in ecotecnias in Puebla, I suggested we go to the center in Oaxaca for a visit to a model center. My counterparts jumped on the idea and within a week all three of us were on the highway at 6:30am, heading to the center about 60 kilometers from Oaxaca city.  http://www.grupedsac.org/portal/index.php/en/demonstrations-centers/itt.html

Pico de Orizaba

Mountains along the highway.

The road to Oaxaca was fascinating. First we passed Pico de Orizaba, Mexico's tallest mountain. Then we went through the Tehuacan-Cuicatlan Biosphere Reserve, one of the most remote and arid places in I've ever seen. We were surrounded by deep canyons, rugged mountain peaks, bare rock faces, and tall cactus forests.

Deep cactus valleys.

Adobe building with natural ochre paint.

The center that we were traveling to, called Tonantzin Tlalli Institute (at least there are no x's in this one), is in a very remote, rural community, where the forested mountains meet the scrub desert below. There is very little water there. The center uses ecotecnias to generate energy, supply water, and support its permaculture gardens. Each building uses a different natural building technique, and all structures were beautifully painted and sculpted, even the outhouses.

The art of a dry toilet.

After our visit, we headed to Oaxaca city to spend the night. Before heading back to Puebla the next day, we spent a little time touring the historic city center. Oaxaca is a beautiful colonial city in the center of a large fertile valley. Its historic architecture was painted with colors that you can only find in warmer climates. It's central zocalo was lined with vendors, selling beautiful ceramic pottery, paintings, and clothing. Oaxaca is famous for its alebrijes, or ceramic figures of creatures with features from multiple animals, some real some fantastic. Its market was crowded early in the morning; meats, fruits and vegetables filled the stalls. I walked by women making blue tortillas, loaves of golden bread, giant pink pigs feet, mounds of white cow stomach, orange chickens piled high, crates of dried chilies in various shades of red and purple, stands with tropical colored fruits, and buckets of mole of all the colors of the rainbow.

Oaxacan hot chocolate.

Crickets, or chapulines, are a local favorite - the little ones taste like whatever they are cooked in, while the big ones taste like, well, sour grasshopper - and I bought some to bring home to Ana and my host family. I also tried Oaxacan chocolate. Oaxacan chocolate is well-known and for good reason (remember the movie Chocolat with Johnny Depp?); it's a mixture of cinnamon and cacao grown in Oaxaca, served for breakfast in hot milk or water with a loaf of sweet bread.






The city isn't all just pretty colors, though. Less than four years ago it was the home to a brutal fight between protesters, anarchists, the state police, and eventually the federal army. During a routine protest by local teachers, the governor ordered the state police to attack, killing several of the protestors. The protestors eventually took the city from the state police and held it for several months before the federal army was sent in to win it back. The city was shut down for nearly a year.

A new governor took office the day before I arrived; it was the first change in political parties in over seven decades. Although political graffiti covers nearly every building, the hotels and restaurants are filled with tourists, and the markets are bustling with shoppers, both local and from abroad. The crickets were alive and well, at least until we arrived. The beautiful colors of Oaxaca have largely returned since the violence ended, but there are still many subtle tones of grey left over from memories of the not too distant dark past.

Ceramics

Fruits and vegetables

Pigs feet

Chicken

Chilies

Fruits and vegetables

Ceramic parachuters

End of Week 16 - Angry Volcanoes and the Paso de Cortés

We woke up before sunrise on Sunday morning to catch a bus to Cholula. We were headed to the Paso de Cortés, the route between the two volcanoes that separate Puebla from Mexico City, Iztaccíhuatl y Popocatépetl. Popo, for short, is the taller one - and the active one - spewing smoke and gas constantly. Puebla feels a lot more tranquil at 6:45 am on a Sunday morning; there was no traffic, no car exhaust, and the traveling natural gas sellers and their loudspeakers weren't yet prowling the streets.

A church in Cholula.

We were meeting Cole and Jason, the Cholula gang, at 8 am in the Cholula zocalo. We caught one bus at the corner near our house to go to the bus terminal where we caught a second bus direct from Puebla to Cholula. To our surprise, the direct bus to Cholula returned directly in front of our house, which means we could have slept an extra half an hour and saved 10 pesos had we just waited for the Cholula bus. This was only a minor defeat and we were on our way.


When we arrived in the zocalo in Cholula (at 7:50 am), we learned that there was a marathon that day. Cole and Jason weren't as punctual, and had us scared that we were in the wrong Cholula (there are two), or the wrong zocalo (there are three; Puebla, Cholula 1, and Cholula 2). But we did eventually find each other, right before discovering that the streets in Cholula were closed due to the marathon, and our combi (mini van bus) that was taking us part of the way up the mountain was not running. This was a bit more of a defeat. The same thing happened to us in San Miguel de Allende, when a marathon had closed the highway to our hot spring.  But, like in San Miguel, there was another way, and after much prying of the locals, we found our combi on the other side of the city, working the leg of the route beyond the marathon.


We finally reached San Nicolas, the end of the combi route, at about 10:30 am. And again, to our suprise, the bus (this next bus was really just someone's van) was not waiting, as it usually does, in the town square. Another man was also waiting for the bus to take him from San Nicolas to the other side of the pass in Mexico State. He told us that he had been waiting for two days...




Our following of dogs.

Feeling much more defeated, and since there really wasn't much else to do in San Nicolas - other than watch Jason feed the mangy dogs - we decided to wait for the "bus". And at 11:45, our patience and lack of options finally paid off. The bus driver, who lived a few houses from teh squre, finally woke up, started his van and pulled up to the square. An hour later we were in the national park at the Paso de Cortés.






In 1519 Hernán Cortés, the Spanish Conquistador, and his men massacred an indigenous town in Cholula and traveled through this pass on their way to the valley of Mexico in order to fight the Aztec emperor Moctezuma. On the other side of the pass they found the bustling island city of Tenochtitlán, today's Mexico City, connected to the mainland by several large causeways. It was a city larger and more modern than any European city at the time.








Popo from the trail.



Pine forests.

The same pass today is a national park. The mountains are covered in deep pine forests and separated by vast alpine meadows. The start of the trail was along a road carved into the meadow, and the road bed was sand-like volcanic ash. Along the side of the road we could see different layers of soil, ash, pumice, and clay, representing different volcanic eruptions. Although it was cloaked in clouds and we couldn't see much of it, we knew that Popo was nearby, waiting to burst again.


We hiked to a nearby waterfall; it was the clearest, cleanest, coldest water I've seen in Mexico, too high to be polluted by sewers and factories. In the forest we saw several interesting birds, including a red-phase Mountain Pygmy Owl, three Seller’s Jays, a Brown Creeper, a Hairy Woodpecker, Yellow-eyed Juncos, Mexican Chickadees and a Western Bluebird.

Luckily, transportation on our return trip home was punctual, although a little bit crowded. And, most importantly, Popo didn't get angry and we weren't added to a new layer of ash along the road.

The waterfall.