24 hours in Cuetzalan

Late friday afternoon, feeling restless and bored, I was flipping through my digital copy of Lonely Planet: Mexico for places accessible from the DF. A Pueblo Magico called Cuetzalan jumped out at me. Waterfalls, idyllic setting in the steamy jungle mountaintops, locals in indigenous clothing, a town which appeared frozen in time. So I packed an overnight backpack, went to bed, and in the morning I rode to TAPO to catch a 9 am bus to Cuetzalan. For the next six hours.

It's not easy to or cheap to get to. If it was, it would probably be drowning in tourists. The round trip bus tickets were about $40. And six hours on a bus. That's a big discouragement. At least it's a direct route with a few stops along the way.

The climb out of the city reveals the valley of Mexico for what it is: a vast bowl drowning in a noxious brown broth, shockingly visible from the roads ascending the ridges.

We crossed through the high pine forests which surround the city, drove through the high plains and through hills covered with joshua trees. I watched the three movies which played one after another and read intermittently. The last hour, we were driving through dense tropical vegetation along twisting and winding mountaintops before the bus finally dropped us at the bus depot at the edge of the small town. It was warm, with very high humidity, but not unpleasantly so. It felt nice actually as a contrast to the cool dry air of the capital. I'd arrived at 3pm in the heat of the day, and I had a return ticket at 3:30 the following day, which left me with 24 hours for a Cuetzalan adventure.

I'd grabbed a nutella crepe (Chilangos are crazy about crepes, no idea why) at the bus station before I left, but it was now 3pm and I was starving. But I needed a place to spend the night more, so I set off down the steep cobblestone road towards the red dome of the church. In most Mexican towns, its usually pretty easy to find the center. Look for a giant dome or spire and that's going to be the big town church. The town church is going to sit on the zocalo, the town square, which is the center of activity, food, and information.

The guidebook had suggested Posada Jackeline as the "best value" option (clean, cheap, and good location are my only requirements), and it was surprisingly easy to find, steps from the overlook over the zocalo. A flight of concrete steps led past the office where I plunked down my 150 pesos (about $12) for the night and got a key. The hotel was a small brightly painted courtyard building with the two dozen rooms opening into the patio. I'm not sure what the qualifications are for a 1-star hotel, but this one might have squeaked it's way in. My room key unlocked a padlock on the door latch. A very spartain room with a musty smell and cracking paint. Two chairs, a table, a bed, and a bathroom with no shower curtain. Forget a minibar and a TV, a fan would have been nice. The guy running the hotel appeared at my open window and passed me a small towel and a roll of toilet paper. I dumped my bag and set out to the zocalo to get my bearings.

Cuetzalan is a dense town on a hillside, so all the streets are either steep or flat. All the buildings in town are whitewashed with red tile roofs, and banded with a earthy red at the base. The zocalo is actually a really great series of stepped spaces which climb the hill. At the top, there is a kind of an overlook with a balustrade great for sitting and watching the city and forested hills beyond. Walking down some steps, there is a series of wide terraced steps where many people had set up stalls and tents and tables selling food and clothes and souvenirs. There is a kind of public garden at the base which is boarded by the municipal building containing the tourist center and the ATM, and then the final terrace is the church plaza with the massive pole in the center for the flying dancers.

The sky was filled with small butterflies for some reason, the entire time I was here, there were thousands in the air, flittering and fluttering, mostly black with yellow stripes.

The town was a curious collection of Mexican tourists and locals in typical clothing of jeans and tee shirts, although almost all of the men wore big woven cowboy hats, and also about a third of the people dressed in their local native attire. The campesino men, all older, were dressed all in white, with loose pants tied mid-ankle, white shirts, wide-brimmed sombreros and wore complex leather strapped sandals. The women, young and old, all wore white or cream billowy dresses with elaborate embroidery at the necks and sleeves, and most also wore light embroidered shawls. Many of them came barefoot.

At the tourist center, really an office with a counter open to the square, I talked to a woman who was thrilled to have a chance to practice her English. She gave me a good map of the town marked with places to eat, visit, shop, and sleep, and described the various offerings in the town and surrounding areas. They do really seem to try to make things easy for tourists, which I suspect is the main livelihood of the town. I pocked the map, and went to go find some grub.

At the other end of the square, I ate a bowl of shrimp soup from a recommended restaurant. It was ok, but I think I just ordered wrong. Should have gone for the pineapple stuffed with seafood. After lunch, I wandered back to the hotel and changed into swimming shorts and flip flops. I walked down behind the church and hopped in a combi which had a bunch of young people carrying towels and hiking sticks and bathing shorts, and confirmed with the driver that he was going to las brisas (the name of the waterfalls).

It was about a ten minute combi ride, really pleasant, with the views of the hills, passing small houses and tiny villages, indigenous people walking barefoot, chickens. I followed a small group down a short trail following signs and we came to a concrete footpath which descended along the side of a steep tropical ridge. Amazing views of the canopy covered hills and valleys. At the valley base, there were a few stands selling trinkets and drinks, and I paid my 5 pesos entry fee and walked to the waterfalls.

 The falls were really pretty. Not huge, but just large enough to be dramatic, crashing from the surrounding vine-covered grotto into a large pool at the base where about fifty visitors were mostly hanging out on the pebbly beach or splashing in the shallow water. There as also the token beet-red German or Belgian tourist with an expensive camera and tripod taking pictures. I dropped my stuff and trusting the people not to steal my change purse (or camera) and waded in. The water was a little chilly, but not freezing, and it felt great in contrast to the high humidity and heat, especially after the hike down. I swam out to where there was a secondary waterfall, a stream splashing over mossy rocks, and sat for awhile, letting the stream of warmer water wash over me. It was wonderful to simply float, hit by the spray and buffeted by the current, looking up the water falling over me and the green rocks above. After mostly drying on some rocks, I grabbed a beer at a concrete patio with some plastic chairs, and relaxed watching people come and go on the way to the falls.

I went back the wrong way, ending up in a town I didn't recognize. Some girls told me where I could catch a combi, so I went down to the street and waited, and finally one came by and took me back to Cuetzalan. In situations and places like this, I love combis. You don't need to hire a taxi, you don't need a car, you don't need to memorize bus schedules. Back at the hotel, I took a shower and then spent the rest of the late afternoon exploring the town.

At dusk, a group of indigenous dancers came out to do the flying dance. Five dancers in red costumes climbed a pole carved from a single massive tree about 50 meters high erected in the middle of the church square. The top of the pole was about level with the belfry. They climbed without ropes or harnesses and all sat on a square wood frame around the top while the leader danced and hopped in place on the round top of the pole while playing drums and a flute, about 160 feet in the air. The other four then flipped backwards off the the square frame, and suspended by ropes tied to their feet, began to spiral around the pole "flying" upside down. As they spun, the rope unwound around the pole, lowering them closer to the ground and finally they all flipped in place acrobatically to land on their feet.

The sun setting on the town and surrounding hills was really nice, and made me happy I'd decided to spend the night. I wandered through the town at night, the narrow cobblestone streets and buildings lit by yellow streetlamps, and even late into the night, the streets were filled with people shopping, selling, enjoying sweets and coffee, drinking in the bars. I stopped in and grabbed some tacos with a cup of the locally made "wine" locally distilled alcohol flavored with fruit. Not bad, actually. I didn't even go blind.

Called it a night around 11, and read in bed for awhile. I was actually pretty tired. I'd bought some mosquito repellent, but it turned out that the only things that bit were some anklebiting flies down by the waterfalls. Didn't sleep that well, either from the mustiness or the heat or the strangeness of place.

I was up early, well before 9, and walked around the market which was in the final stages of being set up. Sunday is the big market day, with many more indigenous in town from the surrounding countryside. I grabbed a cup of coffee and some tlacoyos (small corn meal patties stuffed with beans) from one vendor, and then some mini fried enchaladas and atole chocolate from another vendor. It was still too early to do some serious shopping so I decided to try to visit the local ancient ruins after buying a cheap and giant sombrero from a vendor for $2.

Took awhile. Against my better judgement, I walked to the edge of town and tried to catch a combi from there rather than asking at the tourist center what was the best way. I took one combi which took me the wrong direction, and hopped out a tourist stand selling adventures in caves. They helped me find the right combi and soon I was passing through a small town with a lively street scene. Wondering where I was, I suddenly realized I was passing by my hotel. I could have waited at my doorstep and saved about an hour of frustration. Anyway, this combi driver took me in the direction I wanted to go, but then basically told me he had no idea where the pyramids were and that I should basically just get off. In other words, fuck off.

I jumped out, a few buildings around, and Cuetzalan across the valley. I walked to a nearby store where I asked a woman about how to get to the pyramids and she walked with me to where a young guy was lounging on the side of the road and the three of us waited there until lo and behold, a combi came by with the name of pyramids on it. I jumped in, waved goodbye, and rode this combi which took me to within fifty feet of the historic site entry.

For all of that, the pyramids at Yohualichan were a bit disappointing. The scenic drive was worthwhile, and the overgrown and quiet ruined pyramids were serene and the views from the hilltop were nice, but this was no Teotihuacan. I wandered through, took some photos, decided that I'd rather spend more time in Cuetzalan, and hopped on a combi waiting outside that took me directly back to Cuetzalan. The bus picked up more passengers, mostly in the native variety, and I think most of them were speaking to each other in nahautl, the pre-columbian tongue which is the language of the village around Yohualichan.

By now, the streets were full of people and stalls. Woven shirts and embroidered dresses, embroidered souvenir tortilla warmers, flowers, stacked fruits and vegetables, household goods, cooking equipment, leatherwork, machetes and leather sheaths, fish tacos, CDs and DVDs, jewelry, used clothes, shoes.

I picked up a guayabera style shirt some simple lines of embroidery, and a jarrito clay mug to use as a pen holder in the office. After checking out of the hotel, I crossed the street to enjoy a leisurely lunch at Restaurant Yohualichan which has nice views of the puebla and surrounding hills for a decent price. I drank a beer, enjoyed the breeze and the music and the views while munching on a plate of local specialities, including enchaladas, tlacoyos, mushrooms, and marinated pork. 

In the heat of the afternoon, I made my way slowly back up to the bus depot and waited in the shade while trying to let the breeze dry the sweat from my body before I'd be sitting in it for the six hour return to Mexico city. 

Three more movies on the way back. Wasn't able to sleep, although at least I had the sense to bring some snacks with me this time. Read more in my book, watched the dramatic sky, and finally, exhaustively six hours later, we were pulling into the Mexico City bus terminal once more. 

It's a long haul from Mexico City, but well worth the trip. Really an incredible place. Justifiable if you're only in Mexico City for a week? Debatable. It really comes down to your patience for bus rides and the opportunity cost against the desire to see a part of Old Mexico.