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Hasta Luego Mexico

Monday, March 26, 2012 to Tuesday morning

The last full day of our Mexican journey was anticlimactic.  We'd left the ocean behind and the mountains no longer dominated our route.  We could have easily made it to Nogales in Arizona, but sometimes traffic backs up at the border and we decided to cross in the morning when we would not be stressed for time.  As we neared Magdalena de Kino, road construction slowed our progress and we were happy to call it a day.  Our accommodation was the back lot of a motel.

We had our usual late afternoon shower to cool down.  Jim popped open a beer and poured me a tequila cocktail.  I used the last of the fresh white cheese to make an exceptional pizza.  We spent the evening reminiscing about our four winters in Mexico.  It has been a joy getting to know this country and its marvelous people.  Everywhere we went we were greeted with great cordiality.  Every part of the country astonished us with its beauty and its history.  How fortunate we were to come here.

..........................................

In the morning we stopped a few kilometers short of the border to turn in our motorhome permit and our visitors' visas.  When I attempted to convert some pesos into dollars, the woman at the kiosk turned me away.  This was the booth for new arrivals in Mexico to buy pesos.  I would get a better exchange rate selling my pesos at the kiosk across the highway and she would not take advantage of me!

I took a final photo of this sculpture as we passed through a small town.  

Adios, hasta la vista, gracias Mexico.

San Carlos

Sunday, March 25, 2012

We were skeptical when the Churches' guidebook warned of the possibility of fog north of Los Mochis, but there it was.  It brought only the tiniest twinge of homesickness.

This was another day of 5-6 hours on the road.  Our preference is NOT to strain ourselves or our rig by punching in 10 or 12 hour days.  Many people would drive from the Tepic area to the border in 2 days but we were in no rush.  This was our first visit to the northwest coast and we may want to return, so it's good to get a sense of the place.

Our last stop on the coast was Totonaka RV Park in San Carlos.  It was the largest park we have visited, with 130 sites.  For some campers this is the first and only stop in Mexico.  There is a community of RVers that spends the entire winter here, just a day's drive from the U.S.

We had dinner at an upstairs restaurant as the sun set over the bay, our last view of the ocean for this year.

Los Mochis and a celebration

Saturday, March 24, 2012

The Celestino Beach RV park was in a beautiful location, had a friendly caretaker, friendlier cats, etc., etc., but brought one huge disappointment:  WiFi was no longer available.  All three parks on the beach had dropped the service due to their hard economic situation.  Ordinarily a day without WiFi would not constitute a major catastrophe but this was not an ordinary day.  This was the day the next NDP leader was to be chosen at the Toronto convention and I wanted to watch.  My plan had been to take a layday, keep the computer charged up and check on ballots in between beach walks.  It was not to be and there was no point staying put and fuming in frustration.  

Our Saskatchewan friends filled us in on the results of the first ballot, which they were able to pick up via satellite.  But their priority for the day was watching championship curling, so we couldn't cosy up to their TV.  At Happy Hour the previous night we had noted the conservative views of the other Canadians in the park who had satellite, so no hope there.  Might as well move on.  We knew the next park had no WiFi but we might as well make progress toward our ultimate destination.

The coastal highway made for good driving, with a relatively flat autopista flanked by inland mountains.  Jim drove most of the way, with me doing my best to cherry-pick the easy stretches.  We were to spend the night at Los Mochis, where there is a down-on-its-heels RV park close to the interchange.  Unfortunately we did not exit at THAT interchange.  Our mistake in exiting a few hundred meters too soon was compounded by an error in our guidebook.

Now, it is impossible to RV in Mexico without constant reference to A Traveler's Guide to Mexican Camping  by Terri and Mike Church.  It's a wonderful book which describes all the RV parks, how to get to them, what to do and see in each area -- absolutely all the essentials.  The Churches are real genuine people, quite down-to-earth.  They research their books extensively, travelling in their truck camper.  This was the first of our four winters in Mexico that we did not encounter them.  Their advice has rarely led us astray.


But here we are on the wrong approach into Los Mochis.  We begin to suspect we may not be on the right road, but I have entered the Churches' lat/long coordinates for the park into our GPS and we think this will rescue us.  Oddly though, the GPS wants us to take a route right through the town for 6 km.  So we do.  Once again we drive our fat contraption through streets not designed for our girth. And when we reach the waypoint, where are we?  No, not at the RV park.  They have sent us to a bloody Walmart!  Now what does that tell us about the homing instincts of our *American* RV gurus? 


Okay.  After a few more adventures we acquired a pollo asada from a street stand.  Four workers assembled all the accompaniments for our chicken -- plastic bags of fresh warm tortillas, salsa, rice, lettuce in water (new one on us) -- while simultaneously arguing over the best directions to get us to the RV park.

Finally, finally we are at the park.  Most of the big Class-A RVs are from Quebec and are sitting empty.  Their owners were clever enough to figure out how to catch the train to the magnificent Copper Canyon.  We'll have to see it another time.  I snapped a picture of all the Quebec rigs sporting maple leaf flag license plates.  Let's hear no more talk of our Quebecois friends denying their Canadian citizenship.

A bright young man came to check us in, so we completed the little form and handed over our tarif.  Then he said the magic words, "Would you like the WiFi code?"  Well!! I did my happy dance, we broke out the vino and the cervesas and cranked up the computer.  We were able to follow the last ballot and, for the one and only occasion this winter, we were able to stream live video, so got to watch Tom Mulcair's acceptance speech and toast our new leader.

Note the orange shirt -- we both wore them for the occasion.

Celestino Beach

Friday, March 23, 2012

Jim started the day with a business meeting.  He had arranged to visit a large shipyard in Mazatlan and was extremely impressed with the quality and scope of the operation.  The owner, a most impressive gentleman, gave Jim a ride back to the RV park.  As Jim gave him the tour of our casa mobil, I watched the look of horror on the man's face.  Those crazy canucks -- imagine choosing to live in this little box!

Mazatlan just wasn't our speed so we drove along to Celestino Beach, its complete opposite.  This is a pristine natural beach, frequented by seabirds and dophins.  You pass through a tiny speck of a village, then take a lumpy, unpaved road to a string of RV parks.  We chose one that had been recommended by friends and were pleasantly surprised to find them there. 

The park was small and basic but attractive, with lots of trees and basic amenities such as laundry and a book exchange.  This coast has suffered greatly in the past few years with a sharp decline in the number of RVers coming from north of the border.  The nightly cost at each of the parks on the beach is now only 150 pesos, about $12.  The monthly rent was a mere 2000 pesos, $160, with free off-season storage available.

One of the more attractive features of the park was Pedro.  He's a handsome, well-fed kitty.  There are several resident cats who have been neutered by park regulars.  They are living the good life.  Pedro sampled our treats and accepted cuddles.  We returned from a stroll and opened the RV door, to be met by Pedro on his way out.  Presumably he had entered through an open window.  Later in the evening he came back to check for leftovers from our barbecue, bringing with him a handsome, dark-coated associate.

Reaching the beach

March 22, 2012

At last we were on the autopista, the toll road, and heading west, down the mountains toward the Pacific Coast.  For much of the way we had a divided highway, with two lanes in each direction, but quality can drop without warning and tolls are not cut just because you hit a 2-lane section or have to drive through a big city. Every hour or two we handed over our cuota (toll) of 87 pesos or 112 pesos or some other seemingly random number.  Between tolls and regular gas purchases the currency stack was shrinking steadily.  (Gas, by the way, was up to 10 pesos a liter this year, about $0.80 Cdn.)  

The first year we came to Mexico we attempted to use our Visa card in various types of businesses but it was never accepted.  The simple solution was to give ourselves a weekly cash allowance from an ATM.  Credit card use is spreading in Mexico and we understand many Pemex gas bars now take them, as well as upscale restaurants and retailers.  We decided it's not a bad idea to have three months per year in a purely cash economy so we continue to rest our plastic while in Mexico. 

                        

We hit Tepic just at lunch time and stopped at a small restaurant to have gigantic juicy pork tortas and our favourite apple-flavoured pop.  There were police and military checkpoints at both ends of the city.  We were asked for our destination and then waved on through. Later in the day we came to the checkpoint we truly feared -- the agricultural inspection.  Some Mexican states restrict the movement of fresh foods from other parts of the country.  We are deeply suspicious that these regulations have more to do with protecting local farmers than preventing the spread of disease.  It would be such a shame to lose the rest of our lovely berries.  Anyway, we got lucky.  We owned up to the limes that were in full view and invited the inspector to check our fridge, but he just smiled and wished us a good trip.

And here we are, dressed for an evening out in Mazatlan.  At the end of our long day's journey we drove (inadvertently) through some of the busiest streets of this resort city, marvelling at the big buildings and crowds of tourists.

We had a great dinner of coconut camarones (shrimp) in the company of a friendly couple from Michigan who had spent last summer visiting Newfoundland in their 5th wheel.

We wondered how many of the people around us would top our costs for 12 weeks in Mexico in their one or two week vacation.

Ixtlán del Río

March 22, 2012

The Ixtlán del Río site is believed to have been established in about 300 BC and occupied until the arrival of the Spanish in the early 1500s.  I won't attempt to discuss the people who lived there and their way of life.  For us, it was a privilege to see the structures that remain and marvel at the skill of those who built them.

Wikipedia describes the most striking of the structures: 

• One of these temples has a road paved with stone slabs, which leads to the round monument, discovered in 1948 by Prof. José Corona Núñez who eloquently describes his discovery, stating: "the round monument has 30 meters in diameter by 4 meters high;" sloped walls crowned by a perforated parapet with crosses, as if skylights, four access stairs . . . some of them still have cross shaped handrails.

Detailed description is available at:   http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ixtl%C3%A1n_del_Rio_(archaeological_site)

I'll take the low road.

March 22, 2012

So we had this short and easy drive from Lake Chapala to Etzatlan (yeah -- see previous post) and the other part of the charm was that we were now just a few kilometers from the cuota, the toll highway, to the west coast.  And so we were.  We had just missed the tiny snippet of information that there is no interchange between the local roads and the cuota for another 72 km.  Aha.

Now -- I cut my driving teeth on narrow, winding roads. I recall taking fiendish pleasure in scaring townies as I sped along the Conception Bay Highway as it was in the late '60s between Holyrood and Brigus.  Just last year we drove thousands of kilometers of unpaved roads through northern Quebec and Labrador.  I had the misfortune two years ago of taking the wheel of the RV just before we started an hour of impossibly steep highway, complete with switchbacks, overhangs, spindly bridges and zero pull-offs as we approached Puebla from the east.

That said, Highway 15 from Magdalena to Ixtlán del Río set a new benchmark for sharp curves and moments of sheer terror as we seemed suspended in the air over a straight drop of staggering depth.  We dropped almost 2000 feet in the 90 minutes it took to accomplish the 70 km.  (Excuse the mixed measurements.)  Jim drove.  I took a single picture and after that held tightly to both armrests the entire time.  

Our ordeal was ending as we entered the town of Ixtlán del Río and we agreed Jim deserved a break.  Just at this moment we saw a sign indicating 'RUINAS' ahead.  Past experience told us this would be worth a stop.  Mexico has more archeological sites than we can fathom, some of which are not well know even within the country.  This was another unheralded gem.  


To begin, we visited a small interpretation centre that housed excavated sculptures dating over a period encompassing about 1000 years from 300 BC onward.  The sculptures were retrieved from shaft tombs, vertical wells where diverse sculptures were placed as offerings for the deceased.  Some of the smaller pieces were displayed in a cave-like setting so visitors could appreciate their original placement.

Doesn't this man look Asian?

We were delighted with our museum visit and ready to return to the RV when one of the employees pointed us in the direction of a laneway and sent us off to the main site. 

Which way to Etzatlan?

March 21, 2012
Our aversion to driving in or around Guadalajara began the day in 2010 when we were trying to skirt around the city as we drove north to south. Our GPS guided us into the heart of the metropolis, spouted a few nonsense instructions, and then blithely announced, "No data is available for your current location."

This year we poked our nose into Guadalajara to buy building supplies at Home Depot. The navigator (me) missed a crucial turn and we spent the next 45 minutes trying to find our way back to the key junction.  Round and round we went.  The GPS would count down the kilometres and we'd be really close, possibly even in sight of that huge Home Depot sign.  Then, Jim would chicken out on a right-side merge down a steep sloop into a 3-lane lateral, and the km would start to ratchet up again.  Or the GPS did not account for an exit that had been closed off since the last map update.  At one exciting moment, we were driving along with four lanes of traffic in each direction, when the GPS instructed us to get into the left lane and announced, "left turn in 800 metres".  Oh sure.  But it was quite right -- there was a special overpass to allow hapless drivers to double back to where they should have been.  Exciting times.

[That day I did something I never did before in my entire life.  When we finally got to the store, I poured a shot of tequila and tossed it back before I could face shopping.  Don't tell Mother.]

My point is that we are utterly phobic about Guadalajara and would do anything to avoid a route that included the city's periferico or ring road.  How then to drive west toward the coast?  When we heard of a park in a rural Etzatlan that could be reached by travelling south of the city we decided it was for us.  It also made for a short run on our first day out of the Lake Chapala area.  Alas, less than an hour from our destination, Tomi (nickname for the female voice who torments us through our TomTom unit) took us on a creative shortcut.  The low point was when we found ourselves on an actual, literal cowpath.  We persevered (NEVER go back is my attitude) and got to a tiny crossroads.  An elderly woman and a young boy were quite unable to offer assistance.  I don't believe they understood us when we said 'Etzatlan', but in any case, people who don't drive cars are often unable to help with road directions.

Should have followed the sugar-cane truck.

I can say with some confidence that we were the first RV to navigate through several of the narrow lanes we traversed during the afternoon.  The total time we were off-road was not long, but it was a bit worrying.  Would we reach a place we could not get through and have to retrace our path?  Eventually we found ourselves in a village where some of the approaching traffic was bigger than Vagrant Van.  A little while later we connected with a wider road.  Saved again.

Delia's RV Park was a welcome sight.  It is run by a woman called Bonnie, so it had to be good.  It is a park in every sense -- trees, a grassy field and lots of animals.  Several of the resident dogs came to visit during the evening, once word got around that Jim was distributing treats.

Hard to spot, but there are two iguanas in this picture.

The horses were curious, but spurned my withered carrots.

Arizona or bust

March 21, 2012
Time to start our ~2500 km trek north to Arizona, where we will leave the RV for the off-season.  It was good to spend a final non-travelling week at Hacienda Contreras in the company of several couples we had met over the past few years.  This park has become a real magnet for Canadians, most of whom come from BC or Ontario, but this week we also had Nova Scotia and Saskatachewan represented.  Americans are fewer in number, here in the interior of Mexico, and probably in most areas except the northwest.

We weren't able to adopt a kitten to take with us.  Instead left this stone cat at Hacienda Contreras in hopes that Barb and Sal won't forget their first (and so far only) Newfoundland visitors.

As we started our trip out of the country, every encounter took on special meaning.  We stopped at a grocery store on the highway and I ran inside to get the usual staples -- milk, yoghurt (Mexican is best), bolillos (crusty rolls), local cheese, Squirt (my favourite soft drink to mix with tequila), frozen treats (more fruit than cream).  The young man working there had some English and with my bit of Spanish we had a real conversation.  Three years ago I would have been reluctant to enter the store.  Now, with enough Spanish to confidently greet the shopkeeper, ask for foods by name and understand the price, it was a breeze.  I also learned long ago that Mexican retailers don't bite.

Our route took us through the berry-producing area on the south shore of Lake Chapala.  Berries were 50 pesos ($4) for three 1-litre containers.  I wanted one each of raspberries, blackberries and strawberries, but there was a slight problem.  The raspberries weren't at their best.  The old man at the stall helped me choose a tub where the berries were not too mushy.  I paid him and then, as if to ensure that I was completely satisfied with my purchase, he thrust an extra litre of blackberries into the bag.  So sweet -- both him and the berries.

The first day's distance was fairly modest and we had a quick stop at Roca Azul to catch up on friends at the resort and note that the jacaranda tree was in full bloom.

Now, all we had to do was point the GPS to Etzatlan, weave our way through a web of secondary highways, and we'd be there in a couple of hours . . .

Hacienda fiesta

On March 18, Barb and Sal held a big party at Hacienda Contreras to mark the (almost) end of the season.  They invited friends, neighbours and family from Valle de Juarez as well as us campers.

We gathered on a beautiful, very windy, afternoon.  Food, drink, music and dancing were all on offer under the big tree.

Sal in charge at the barbecue.

This is dessert -- wow!

Don Quijote in his party outfit, grabbing a snack before giving rides to the kids.

Picture potpourri

March 14, 2012

Lots to take in this day.  After our visit to the lost church, we took back roads through mountain villages and experienced a sense of being far removed from the modern world.

 

This outdoor oven in Angahuan looks as if it is still in use.

The cool boys outside the school high-fived me as we drove by.  Just a few kilometers down the road, this church and the women sitting outside could have been from a different century.

 The baskets and metates in the market opposite the church were outnumbered by the  stalls selling running shoes  and pirated  CDs and videos.

Cemeteries are nothing like home.  Monuments and mini-chapels are standard.  The dead are greatly revered and families spare no expense to honour them.  

Indigenous style

March 14, 2012
In the course of our Mexican travels, it has not been unusual to see women dressed in a traditional fashion. Usually this would feature embroidered blouses and full skirts, often finished off with a shawl, variously called a serape or rebozo.  Older women may wear dark shades, but bright colours are common among all ages.

Angahuan is a small, rather isolated Purepecha village and we had heard that the women wore distinctive clothing.  The form their fashions took was a surprise; it was quite different from what we had seen previously.  


For me,the most striking part of the costume was the skirts.  They were full, below the knee, usually pleated and made from fabric which was often bright and shiny, like taffeta.  Over the skirt was an apron. Sometimes this looked utilitarian but frequently it was lacy or gauzy, perhaps what we would call a pinafore. With the skirt they wore a blouse (possibly pleated or in a floral pattern) and always a shawl. The shawl may be used as a head covering, especially on cold mornings, and often there will be a baby tucked inside.  Girls seemed to take on the shawl in their young teens.  The women's hair was braided and tied at the ends and sometimes also near the start of the braid.

This is the tail end of a very long line of women leading to an office (government?  health?) in the village. 

Good view here of the narrow pleats and also the hair braids.

I had an ethical dilemma in my desire to capture photos of the clothing.  Ordinarily I would not take someone's picture without asking permission.  When we spend time in a town we naturally come into contact with residents in the markets and on the streets.  It is a simple matter to ask by words or gestures if we may take a photo.  In this case we were driving through the town with no real interaction with the people.  I thought it would be terribly rude to stick the camera out the window and snap away.  So . . . not a lot of pictures.

A market in the plaza sold all the fancy fabrics for skirts and aprons.

Later in the afternoon we drove through a mountain village where all the rebozos were the same beautiful blue.