Greetings – I am back in Guadalajara, with quite a story to tell. I had not planned on returning here, but I had no choice. It’s quite an adventure, but more on that momentarily; The last time I wrote, I was in Morilia, where I had planned to spend a few days, but I felt like I had the gist of the place in a day, so on I went. Next was a small town known for it’s colonial Mexican charm, called Patzquaro, which is just 65 Kilometers south of Morilia. The town is really bueatiful with it’s colonial adobe buildings painted white and reddish brown, cobbled streets, several grand plazas and impressive old churches. Patzquaro is mainly a tourist destination for Mexicans, which was both interesting and a little daunting at the same time. I never really felt welcome there, which, in retrospect, may have been a combination of my own lack of confidence as a solo traveler and the general attitude towards outsiders that I sensed. I had met a guy a while back who told me “the people here can be very warm and inviting, but don’t forget for a second you are not one of them”. Regardless the town was a great place, just bring your own company when you visit.
3Km south of Patzcuaro is the serene lake Lago de Patzcuaro which was quite beautiful. Having had suggested by several people that I visit the surrounding villages, I decided to drive the entire circumference of the lake. The small Indian villages that surrounded it, with names like San Andres Tzirondaro and Oponguo, were quite a treat to see. These were the real deal, Indians dressed in their colorful native garb, narrow cobbled streets barley wide enough for a car, but used more by burros, small shops that sold food I had never seen before (things that looked like roots and gords). It was truly another world, like something out of a National Geographic issue!
There is an island, Isla Janitzio, that is popular with tourists, in the center of the lake. It had also been recommended to me, but with no secure parking for the bike and the not so warm reception I had received in the last Mexican tourist destination I had visited, I decided to pass. Apparently there are no cars on the island, only footpaths and it is necessary to take a small boat (water taxi as it was called) to get there. It did sound interesting, maybe next time…
Just on the other side of Morilia, in the state of Michoacan, is one of Mexico’s greatest natural parks. It is called “Santuario Mariposa Monarca” or the Monarch Butterfly Reserve. Every October/November, millions of monarch butterflies from all over North America begin a tireless journey to this particular spot in the Mexican highlands for winter hibernation. The truly amazing part is that no one butterfly ever makes the entire journey. The round trip takes between 4 and 5 generations, yet year after they return to the same spot, and it is quite a sight to see! It is like swimming in a sea of butterflies! I did my best to photograph them, but I don’t think I was able to capture the magnificence of the phenomenon. There were so many that whole branches of large trees were drooping because o the weight!
After a small mishap with a guide who forgot to show up for my tour, (actually he got a better offer from somebody who had “outbid” me) I met a very nice Danish couple who had rented a car and offered to let me tag along. Despite being the “3rd wheel”, they were quite understanding of my predicament and extremely gracious. We had a really nice afternoon together. The road to the sanctuary was more like a jeep trail than a road. I believe our car was the only non 4 wheel drive I saw. (good thing it was a rental…) The sanctuary itself is atop of a small mountain, which was quite challenging to climb. (Maybe all those tacos and cerveza have been catching up with me?) The climb took about 45 minutes, and required several resting stops. I suspect that, despite the local’s desire for the great all powerful tourist dollar, until they figure out how to put in an escalator or cable car on that mountain, that the mainstream tourist appeal may be limited. Probably a good thing. Anyway, I stayed in the small pueblo called Angangueo at the bottom of the mountain. While there, where I found an enterprising gentleman who had turned his back porch into several “guest suites”, complete with private bath. He charged me pesos a night (roughly ), which I felt was a little high but I was tired, so I took it anyway. Seeing as how the local hotel wanted pesos a night, I think I got a good deal.
So, after making it all the way to Michoacan, why the return trip back to Guadalajara? Funny you should ask….. After leaving the butterfly reserve, I was looking at a map of the area and decided that by taking a dirt road, I could knock off a good 20 miles or so on my trip to my next destination, Caurnavaca. The road began friendly enough, plenty of width for two normal sized cars and fairly smooth. Well, as I’m sure you can figure out where this is going, the further I got back on this “road”, the more mother natures persistent tormenting had taken it’s toll. At first, it wasn’t so bad (had it been paved, I’m sure it would have been with good intentions…), some ruts and washouts, but nothing so serious that an adventurer such as myself would be deterred by. But the farther I got back, the rougher it got. Where once had been a nice, quaint little bridge now resided only the tracks of the farmers truck that disappeared in the small river, only to reappear on the banks of the other side as if to say “come on buddy, let’s see you do this! Ha!”. It got worse as I got further along. It was apparent I had made a mistake, the road was clearly too rough for my bike, especially being loaded down the way it was. And I was REALLY in the middle of nowhere at this point.
So I was faced with a decision. Should I continue on and try to make it? Surely it would reach pavement soon! Or should I put my tail between my legs, admit defeat and turn back. Me, being the brilliant genius that I am, decided to go on. The reasoning went something like: “I had been at this for the better part of the day, I had to be much closer to the end than I was to the beginning. Not to mention the challenges in front of me couldn’t possibly be any worse than the hardships I had already endured. Right?” Wrong.
I crested a hill and got that feeling you get when you are at the top of a ski slope, when your ski tips seem to be hanging over the edge over the abyss. Mentally, you know there is ground somewhere down there, but since you can’t see it, it feels like you are hanging over a bottomless pit. A washout had eroded the top half of this hill, but the bottom half had remained intact. This had left a pit of sand midway, and down went my front wheel into the pit. This might not have been so bad, because the rest of me and the bike followed faithfully, and gravity might have done its job and pulled us through, but being in the terrified state I was in, had grabbed a handful of front brake on the way down. This was the wrong thing to do. Now one thing you can say about a BMW motorcycle is when you really apply those brakes, they work really well. Next thing I know I was skidding down this hill, looking like a rag doll feebly trying to hang on to the back of a charging rhino. Down I went.
Motorcycle safety gear has come a long way in the last few years, and it did it’s job. Luckily I had been wearing all of it at the time, and didn’t even get a scratch. The bike on the other had, didn’t fare as well as I had. It was laying almost upside down, in a rut, nose first. The back wheel stuck up in the air, whimsically spinning from the momentum. It was mocking me.
Ever hear the phrase “it’s a really big small world”? Here I am brushing off the dust, trying to figure out how in the hell I was going to lift a 600 pound motorcycle out of a hole on a hill, in the middle on nowhere, when out of the bush walks this little Indian farmer. He had an inquisitive look on his face that reminded me of the movie “The Gods Must Be Crazy” when the coke bottle landed in the village. He must have been amused by the whole thing. Anyway, he helped me lift the bike back right side up, and I gave him a swiss army knife for helping me. There was no way I could have gotten it without his help. I could not really understand him, I don’t think he was speaking Spanish.
As for the bike, one of the side cases was torn off, the front hand guard was wedged into the front brake lever, the turn signal was broken off, faring scratched up and a small plastic piece was broken off the engine. Nothing that would keep me from continuing on, or so it seemed. Well, as fate would have it, that little plastic piece was some kind of engine idle sensor that allowed the motor to idle without the gas being applied. So the bike would start and run as long as I kept the gas applied. Now consider this for a moment; brake was not functioning properly and the only way I could make the bike run was to apply the gas. And I was still in some really treacherous terrain. Oh, and it was starting to get dark. Now we’re talking adventure!
(Write about bridge out – trees blocking road – hurdles to roadway – that night with the predatory mechanics and trip back to Guadalajara)
With my return to my friends in the Guadalajara BMW dealership, I was greeted with the good news. The part was actually in Mexico, and would only take a week to get! Oh joy. (it would have been months had it not been in the country) So what to do? Another week in Guadalajara sans transportation? After consulting my trusty Lonely Planet guide book, I decided the best thing to do would be to take some day trips to the surrounding areas while awaiting my replacement part. So I packed a bottle of water and was off to brave the bus system, first stop the small town of Tequila.
The bus system in Mexico is more chaotic than you could ever imagine. Although there are designated stops, it is also accepted practice to stand on the side of the road and wave one down. Given enough advanced notice, the driver will generally oblige and stop. This is all fine and dandy, but it makes getting directions absolutely impossible. Imagine asking the guy in the store where to catch the “619A” bus! He will tell you to go down the street and wait on a particular corner. So off I would go looking for the bus stop on that corner. Of course there was no bus stop on the corner, and his directions would explain nothing of flagging down the bus, so I would ask somebody else where to catch the 619A. They would, of course, tell me another place to catch it, adding that it hasn’t used the aforementioned corner in 15 years. OK, so off I’d go looking for the newly directed “stop”. The “new” corner had no bus stop, but at least it had a red light, so if I were lucky enough to see my bus come by, at least there was a 50% chance he would stop. This went on for quite some time, but eventually I did manage to get on the 619A, which took me to the road on the outskirts of Guadalajara at a cost of pesos (roughly $ .80 cents), three different busses and 3.5 hours of my time. Only one problem - I had caught it on the wrong side of the road (again following the advice of the locals). So I asked the driver, who proceeded to put on his parking brake and explained to me in a very patient manor (despite a very warm, standing room only bus that was also blocking traffic with horns blaring) that where I really needed to go was the bus station in the center of town, not far from where I had started. That was it. I got off the bus, went straight to the closest taxi and went back to my hotel. Here ends my Mexican bus experience.
The next day, Jesus, my mechanic at BMW, called to inform me they had located a temporary part and I could have my bike back for a few days while we waited for the permanent one to arrive. So I was back in the road! I made that trip to the small town of Tequila the next day and it turned out to be very interesting. I toured the Jose Cuervo plant, which was fascinating. It was very interesting to see the harvesting of the blue agave, the preparation, cooking and grinding of the plant, distilling process and different methods used for various types of Tequila. Afterwards it was lunch with some very nice folks I met on the tour then back to Guadalajara. Incidentally, the restaurant we had lunch at was called Pollo Feliz, or “happy chicken”. I was happy, but I don’t think the chicken was…..
The next day I visited the town of on the lake which is due south of Guadaljara. There is a population of gringos there, mainly due to the almost perfect climate.
Shoe Shine in Guadalajara!
