Copper Canyon from El Fuerte to Divisadero, September 4-5-6-7, 2001
Thursday, September 6, 2001 - Divisadero Walking Tour and on to Cerocahui
by
C. Juk; all photos property of Zihrena Systems©
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I awoke at about 5:45 the next morning. The sky was just beginning to
lighten, and I bundled up in my jacket and went out to watch the coming
of the day in the canyons below the Hotel Divisadero Barrancas. Outside
our room was a small patio with table and chairs, divided from the rock
ledge overhanging the canyon by a wooden railing delineating our
private patio space. 
The
rim of the ledge itself was protected by yet another rustic wooden fence,
allowing me climb over that first barrier and get close to the precipice
without feeling like I was going to be pulled inexorably over... if I
did, at least I had something to hold onto.
Bolstered by a couple of cups of coffee, I took photo after photo of each stage of the sun rising over the cliffs, the changing lights and reflections and the hummingbirds coming to breakfast on the maguey flowers. Each moment was more beautiful than the last. As I sat and photoed I heard guests from the surrounding and upstairs rooms stirring, making coffee, and exclaiming at the colors of the dawn.
John
finally got himself out of bed around 7:30 and after deliciously hot showers
we went to have a real breakfast at the hotel restaurant. There was a
buffet set out, decorated by bright jars of pickled fruits that filtered
the morning light, but one could also order a la carte. I continued trying
to capture the elusive hummingbirds on camera throughout breakfast. We
were seated directly in front of a very large plate glass window on the
upper story of the hotel, with a tremendous view of Urique Canyon, and
right outside that window was a tall spindly stalk of maguey in bloom
that was obviously a great attraction for the hummingbirds. Even
so, I think I only managed to get a shot of one.
At 9 we were ready to take our next walking adventure to explore the lookouts over the canyon. Again, our only companion was Ms. Dutch, although this time we were led by the real guide, Valenciano, a gregarious Tarahumara who had volumes of tales to tell as we wandered the hilltops.
Valenciano took us along a dirt road until we reached a plot of land in which stood a house - his house, it so happened - with his wife sitting out on a rock, lazily weaving the baskets that all women weave. Behind his dwelling was a wooden cabin, the pioneer house of the family who first established the Divisadero Barrancas hotel. The pioneer house was set up as a museum, and supposedly contained the original furnishings: stove, bed, steamer trunks, chairs, tables and couches.
We
then walked into the pine forest behind the house, toward the edge of
the canyon. The path was lined with wild flowers, mushrooms and gnarled
trees. Valenciano pointed out several herbs and medicinal plants used
by the Tarahumara. We emerged at the canyon edge where our guide pointed
out one of the many wooden ladders that are tucked into crevices
and used by the natives to scale normally unscaleable portions of the
mountainside - they form part of their mountain paths and walkways.
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We stopped at the Piedra Volada lookout, where the stone hangs poised
over the depths, looking ready to take the plunge any moment. Both John
and Dutch walked out to the Piedra. I kind of cowered on the other edge
with another retaining fence between me and the drop, taking photos -
if one can really take photos between fingers that keep on wanting to
creep over my eyes to shut out the gravity of the precipice. Nearby,
a group of colorful Tarahumara women and children squatted under a low-lying
tree, weaving their palmilla baskets and talking in their tongue, glancing
over at us occasionally in hopes of a sale, but with no sign of the pushy salesmanship
so often displayed by vendors in Mexico.
On our way back to the Hotel, Valenciano instructed us on how to prepare Gusano Quemador, what sounds like a type of caterpillar with hairs
that produce a burning irritation on the skin, for eating by burning off
the hairs first. He told us a few words in 
Japanese
that he'd learned from tourists he'd guided in the past, and spoke at
length about how many words of Tarahumara sound Japanese. He told us a
story about a plane crashing off the airstrip we passed by (it happened
10 years ago) and another about a lamentably drunk fellow native who only
a few days previous had miscalculated during a precarious nighttime trek
home and fell headlong off the cliff to his death. He also taught us the
Tarahumara word Cuira, which means Good Day, Good Morning, Good
Night, Hello, Goodbye and Good Health, among others...
We reached the hotel just in time to make checkout at 12:30. Our walk had taken a bit longer than scheduled. The westbound train was due through Divisadero at 1:30, and we were planning to return with it as far as the Bahuichivo station about 2 hours back down the line, from where we hoped to get transportation to the village of Cerocahui, our next and last overnight stop on our present trip through the Copper Canyon.
At
the station there were a lot of people waiting. We met a family of Chileans,
watched the women lay out their basketry - they were always fascinating
to watch in their bright array - bought a couple of baskets and observed
how filled corn-flour snacks were being prepared over the blackened-barrel
stoves that were set up in the open-sided station. The 1:30 train made
it into the station at 2:20, and we jumped on, ready to roll back down
to Bahuichivo.
Bahuichivo is situated in a green valley with no sign of canyon walls anywhere.
It seems to be a lumber-producing area and we saw both logging trucks and stacks
of cut logs along the tracks. It was nearly four 
when we detrained at the station
and looked around for a bus? taxi? anything to take us the 11 kms over dirt
road to Cerocahui. There was a bus at the station labelled "Hotel Mision"
- I asked the driver if he was going to Cerocahui - he was - and if we could
come along - we couldn't, not unless we were staying at the Hotel Mision. Well,
we didn't know where we were staying at that point, and we preferred to get
into town and scout around before committing ourselves to any one hotel or another.
Hearing this, the driver pointed out an old truck near by, saying that the driver
was headed to Urique, past Cerocahui, and maybe he'd give us a lift. I walked
over and the surly driver stated in no uncertain terms that he was going to
Urique, and that if we didn't want to go to Urique, we couldn't go with him,
even if Cerocahui was on the way and we could easily jump out of the truck without
him barely stopping... So, back to the bus and a bit more chat with the driver,
who by then had softened up a bit. He proposed that we come with him and look
at the Hotel Mision. If we decided we liked it and would stay there, then no
problem, we'd already be there and he'd have done his job. If after seeing the
hotel we decided we'd like to try one of the other couple of small guest houses
in town instead, we had only to tell him and for a small delivery fee he'd refer
us to a friend with rooms for rent. It was a deal.
There
were only 3 other passengers on the bus: 3 women of about 40-ish
from Mexico City who were out to have the time of their life, on holiday
in the Copper Canyon. They seemed only to be slightly put out at there
not being any nightlife in the area, and were intent on making their own
entertainment, joking around with us and the driver, loudly and good-naturedly.
The
road was dusty and windy and bumpy. We drove along a stream bed, through fields
covered in yellow and blue flowers and pine forests and past the
Paraiso del Oso, where a craggy Yogi Bear figure towers over the green
valley and resort below. Shortly thereafter we arrived at Ceracahui. It
looked to me like what I imagine Hunza of the past or Shangri-La
must have been. It was cool and green and lush with water flowing through
it, moss-laden trees and pasturelands lining the banks, horses, fields
of corn and fruit trees. A high valley protected by a ring of low mountains,
with a church spire jutting up from amongst a small gathering of buildings.
The Hotel Mision is one of the Balderrama Hotel chain and is situated next to the 500 yr.old Jesuit Mission in Cerocahui. We looked at a room and decided to take it, again choosing the room without the food. At least here we were in a town where there must be something other than instant soup to eat outside the confines of the hotel. The room and hotel in general were quaint and comfy. The low-beamed, colorfully decorated dining area and lobby exuded warmth and relaxation. There was no one else at the hotel except us and the 3 girls.
We
walked into town - the square was a short block from the Hotel's doorway,
and the core of the town itself didn't seem to extend more than two blocks
in any direction, anyway. Horses were tethered around the plaza and there
were a couple of decrepit vehicles in sight. We entered a store and got
ourselves something to drink and asked if there were a restaurant in town.
Well, no, not exactly a restaurant, we were told, but if we walk over
to the next corner of the square, there's a casa de dos pisos -
a two-storied house - where the woman sometimes serves comida corrida...
she might still have some left.
So over we trotted to the Casa de Dos Pisos, which had a tiny
front garden laden with blooming peonies, begonias, fuchsia and rock plants
growing on quartz crystals - everything I'd always wanted to grow but
at which I'd always failed. We knocked on the screen door and from within
the dark confines a woman's voice bade us to enter. We found ourselves
in a 
dim
room about 12 ft square, holding an oversized table in it's center, covered
with a lacy tablecloth and plastic, with little room for anything
else. The hostess asked if we wanted food and told us to please sit down.
She told us she can make us either Quesadillas and beans
or Machaca and beans. We opted for the Machaca, a type of
shredded, dried beef fried up with scrambled eggs. While waiting
for the meal to be prepared, which really didn't take more than a few
minutes, I continued to admire the flowers and plants in the small front
patio. Our hostess then served up our dishes of Machaca and beans with
hot, thick, hand-made tortillas on the side. She offered me a glass of
fresh, local peach nectar that was like what the gods were supposed to
have drunk.
After our meal, which was tremendously satisfying, and doubly so in light
of our previous nights' dinner, the lady of the house talked to us about
the quartz plants, how they seem to derive their energy straight from
the rock and little else, and explained to us how the lighting system
works in town. She had some solar panels installed (and many houses we
saw seemed to use them) which provided a certain amount of dim 
light
at night and early morning. The town also depended on a gas generator
that was on from 7 to 9 in the morning and from 6 to 10 at night. She
showed us the difference in power output between the stronger generated
power and the solar generated power. Then she pulled out a box of stones
she'd collected over the years - a variety of shiny, mineral-bearing rock
found in the Copper Canyon, and outlined where and when she'd found or
was given many of the pieces.
Once our dinner and pleasant conversation were over, John and I walked back past the Hotel toward the river. Flowers were everywhere on the roadside and in the fields. We spotted the electric generator at the edge of the river beside a small footbridge, fired up for the nightly session of electric light. Back at the hotel we arranged with the desk clerk to have a couple of horses on hand at 9 am the next morning... we were going to go horseback riding up to the Cerocahui waterfall before returning to El Chepe train in the afternoon.
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