Real del Monte has a history of mining and the first mining strike ever in the Americas took place here. It's a beautiful mountain setting and much wealth was spent on architecture. I noted a touch of English presence. English mining engineers put English roofs on Spanish buildings for ventilation and protection from the rain. Most roofs were corrugated sheet metal, and someone decided that they should be painted red. Red roofs, steep, winding streets, a church tower influenced by London's Big Ben, plazas, arcades, portals, all combined to stimulate the artist and photographer.

Here's how it started.

I'm eating breakfast in Puebla, under the arches at the zócalo (downtown plaza), reading my paper and a guy asks, "Where did you get the paper?" He's on a trip with his brother who lives in San Miguel de Allende. The brother is older, retired and showing him around Mexico.

That's how I met Michael and Robert Hegger.

I tell Robert where to get the English edition of the Mexican Heraldo and we get to chatting.

Robert is enchanted with Mexico. "Oh, yeah," I say, "Where have you been?" And he tells me about the Hacienda Trail. He and brother Michael just drove from San Miguel down the touristic Corredor de La Montaa, which is like driving along the ridge of the Sierra Nevada, Highway 49, in California.

He says, "Hacienda San Miguel Regla is beautiful, the grounds are fabulous." He tells me that the area is a vast recreational resort. It's eco-tourism, hiking, biking, rock climbing and rappelling. Robert says, "You've got to stop and walk around the mountain towns." And then he mentions Real del Monte; it's the jewel of the silver mining towns in the Corredor

So I look at the map and adjust my route home. I'll head for Pachuca, the gateway to Mineral de Chico, Huasca, Omitlan and Real del Monte.

My plan is to stay at Hacienda San Miguel Regla.

I leave Puebla. The Grand Marquis winds its way north and sometimes west. It's a slow tedious route. I by-pass Pachuca. The Grand Marquis climbs and heads into the mountains. It's beautiful scenery. I pass Real de Monte. It's 5 kilometers east. I'll catch it on the way back. I drive through Omitlan, I see the signs for Huasca and Mineral de Chico, but I'm concerned about getting settled in Hacienda San Miguel Regla. It's Friday and I don't have a reservation. Weekends can fill mountain resorts with wealthy D.F. clients. (D.F. is shorthand for Distrito Federal. It's used like D.C., meaning someone who lives in the capital.)

The air is clear, fresh, cool. Pines are profuse. Restaurants and campsites are frequent. This is weekend-escape country.

I get behind an overloaded truck carrying bricks. The double axle tires bulge under the weight. I watch the two right tires, one wobbles. I wonder about those bricks secured with a strand of rope. I back off and watch the scenery. We move along at 25 mph.

I spot the "Hacienda San Miguel Regla" sign. Regla is the small town where the Hacienda is located. I leave the main road and travel on narrower secondary roads. There are potholes and speed bumps. Restaurants pop up around every curve. This mountain, vacation paradise reminds me of Estes Park, Colorado.

It's slow, but not far. There are signs along the way. It's well marked. Then one sign points: Hacienda San Miguel Regla. I turn. It's as steep as Taylor in San Francisco, straight up, all cobblestones. The Grand Marquis rumbles, something squeaks, the car moves up and on to a level street in front of the hotel's main gate.

The guard, seeing the Grand Marquis, swings the iron gates open. I drive under the arch and park.

The hacienda once refined silver ore. Now, there are gardens, a miniature golf course, and a playground for children with swings, teeter-totter, slide, a large swimming pool and a trampoline. The old mining works are incorporated into the garden setting. It's hard to say which came first, the old walls and stone arched aqueduct complement the gardens so well and vice versa.

Some of the abandoned extraction works are incorporated into a dam and lake. Today, it's trout fishing and boaters.

It's just after 1 p.m. I check in. I must be the only single here. This is a family retreat. The posted rack rate is 1048 pesos. I ask, "Is there a discount for "jubilados?" Meaning, I'm retired. "Yes," the clerk says, "813." She explains, "All meals are buffet, the rate includes 3 meals." She gives me a coupon book. Lunch is 2 to 5 p.m. So, I'm in time for lunch and the room with 3 meals is $72 a night.

Salvador takes my bag and shows me to my half-cottage. My room number is "Estela." All the cottage rooms have names. I have a view over looking the forest and the well-kept grounds. There is fireplace in the corner and a sign says, "Firewood available, ask at the front desk."

Outdoors at the entry, there is a sign-up table ready for guests and activities. Indoors there are billiards, ping-pong and foos-ball. Rental 4-wheel ATV cycles called "cyclimotos" are lined up along the park. Bicycles are for rent, but the kids gather around the ATVs. I see a jeep-truck with bench seats.

I go over to the activities table. The afternoon trip is to "Los Prismas" (The Prisms). It's an hour and a half tour. The guide tells me that I can ride in the jeep for 78 pesos, or follow on a cyclimoto for 210. I grab my chance to impress my grandkids.

I sign up for the cyclimoto. I sign all the waivers too and put on helmet. I ask Sergio, our guide, to snap my photo seated on the cyclimoto wearing the helmet.

The jeep fills up. We're all set. This is great fun for the first 100 feet until we leave the hacienda grounds and I hit the cobblestones and my kidneys rattle. This is an all body massage.

It's two miles to Los Prismas. We travel slowly. The passengers in the jeep are having a good time watching the old man jiggle like Jello. We come to the main road, it's smooth, and we speed up. I feel relief. But it's only temporary. At a turn-off, it's not cobblestone, it's dirt and I'm in the wake of the jeep's dust. I drop behind. It gives me space to avoid the dust and to learn how to drive this thing. I practice. I speed up and then hit the breaks. I start to get the knack, but I do feel that a skid and rollover is a real possibility.

We reached Los Prismas which are natural, basaltic rock formations accented with waterfalls and a swinging bridge across the chasm where the earth split, pulled apart, opening up to reveal the stone columns called The Prisms. They are a natural wonder.

The jeep stopped. I parked the cyclimoto behind. It felt strange to walk on solid ground, like the feeling you get after a trampoline workout. We walked the grounds, crossed the bridge and followed the trail to the bottom. I looked up. The stones appeared stacked. One column bulged as if ready to fall.

Young people took pictures standing in front of the leaning column. They climbed the wet rocks and posed with a waterfall background.

That was my first afternoon adventure.

I was glad to unbuckle the helmet and return the jiggle-mobile. Then I got into the Grand Marquis and with so-so directions I sought out La Pena del Aire.

It's late afternoon and I head for the cliff. It's over the cliff to see La Pena del Aire, a spire that stands alone in a deep canyon. It's mainly a dirt road that takes me past ranches with sheep and white cows, rock walls and maguey fences. It's rich earth, great scenery and poor people.

There is an old hacienda, San Juan Hueyapan, run by a religious order, and they've posted a sign, Ronpope (eggnog). They claim that they were the first to bottle and flavor this specialty. So I pull in, sample the almond flavored eggnog and buy two bottles. They also operate a small hotel; a few rooms are for rent. I wonder just how anyone ever learns of this place.

I get back into the Grand Marquis, back up through the main gate and don't see the iron handle sticking out. I hear it. The Grand Marquis got vaccinated, a two-foot long scrape on the rear passenger side.

Back on the road, a chicken struts in front of the Grand Marquis. Maybe it's proud of all the eggnog.

The canyon is not far off and there is a bus parked right at the edge. It's a group of rock climbers and they are practicing rappelling over the cliff. The bus is their anchor. As each rock climber drops over, trusting his gear, the group at the bottom cheers. It's a mixed group; mainly guys, but there are gals too.

I look out at the scene below. In the far distant valley there is a river and a farm. "How does any one get there, and live there in pure isolation?" I wonder.

The Spire in the Air is a pure stone obelisk. It's a shear spike. I snap photos and get a picture of the rappellers too.

It's been a great day. I'm ready for supper.

Dinner's a buffet. I find a table and look around. Tables seat 6, 8, and 10. There are few for 2. This is a family retreat and three generations are here for the weekend.

I greet Ruben Solis and his wife. He's from Tampico, 72, a medic, has a lively wit and wears a guayabera. We met this afternoon. He and his wife were jeep passengers as I followed in the dust.

A grandfather gets up from his table and goes over to the piano in the dining room. He plays a light, graceful tune. His grandchildren come over and watch him. He plays Guantanamera and a few songs I recognize by Agustin Lara, "Madrid", "Veracruz," "Maria Bonita." He's collecting an audience. People finished with supper, start to leave then stop at the piano.

The grandfather plays, "Cuando Calienta El Sol." The English is, "Love Me With All Your Heart." People start to sing. There are three generations surrounding the piano. Babes in arms, children on shoulders, youths, parents and grandparents.

Next morning I wake early and with Ruben and his wife, we are the first for breakfast. We chat and Ruben invites me to Tampico.

I get an early start for Real del Monte. There are no trucks on the road this morning and I'm in Real del Monte a little after 9 a.m. There is hardly any parking, but my early hour gets me a prime plaza location. Stores open at 10 a.m.

I get out my camera, but the place is under siege. Photographers are all over pointing cameras and setting up tri-pods. I look through my lens; they are like poka-dots, everywhere. It's a student class from Mexico City and they'd rightly chosen Real del Monte as a picturesque mountain town.

Real del Monte has a history of mining and the first mining strike ever in the Americas took place here. It's a beautiful mountain setting and much wealth was spent on architecture. I noted a touch of English presence. English mining engineers put English roofs on Spanish buildings for ventilation and protection from the rain. Most roofs were corrugated sheet metal, and someone decided that they should be painted red. Red roofs, steep, winding streets, a church tower influenced by London's Big Ben, plazas, arcades, portals, all combined to stimulate the artist and photographer.

Silver shops brought in tourists. And under the arches in the main plaza, I was welcomed to try empanadas and pastes. The empanada is a flour treat, a folded pastry with a fruit filling. I order pineapple and got an apple empanada. But I was curious about the "paste", it was new to me.

The waitress, a very friendly lady in this family restaurant, showed me the kitchen. There were a number of busy workers and you could feel the heat from the ovens. Apparently they made empanadas and pastes for much of the town.

I asked about the paste. She said, "It came from the English." She showed me how the empanada is folded, but the paste is creased, pinched along the edge. The paste is a real meal. It's filled with potatoes and chili. I tried one, it was tasty, and it's got a bite. She said. "Miners took pastes with them for their lunch underground."

I walked the streets. Tried to take a few pictures of the town without the student photographers and their tripods, when I saw a Tour Bus, open sided, looking like a San Francisco Cable Car. It offered a 40-minute tour with guide and commentary for 25 pesos ($2.25).

They gave us a great view of the city from the English Cemetery and a brief history. The guide claimed that Real del Monte was the city with the highest elevation in Mexico. He said we were 2800 meters high, over 8000 feet

But his best information was that the last working mine, the La Mina Rica, closed January 14, 2005 and now offered a tour. We could descend in a miners' cage 1300 feet and see the inside of a mine.

I followed directions and got to the La Mina Rica. There was already a good sized group waiting. I signed up and they honored my Berkeley Student I.D. (I go to Senior Classes).

I got into blue overalls, put on a yellow safety helmet with a miner's light attached to the front and a cord leading to a battery pack held on a leather belt around the overalls. I was ready, along with a group, families, and couples. We took turns getting into the miners' elevator, a double stacked arrangement. Our guide pulled the flex-gate closed, rang a bell signaling system, and one cable dropped us 1300 feet straight down. We zipped past rock walls broken in places by tunnels. We felt the cool air and the pressure change. It was smooth and swift and stopped perfectly at the bottom platform.

We gathered together and were told not to raise our hands as there were live cables overhead, and not too far overhead either, I noticed. The guide said, "We will be walking through an access tunnel, then we'll get on a miners' trolley and drive over a mile deep to the face of the mine. " We would see the vein that the miners had followed for years, but which finally had become unproductive. At the current price of silver, it was not profitable to continue.

We walked and took pictures. We saw abandoned ore carts, rusted iron supports, hard rock tunnels branching off and narrow tracks. We stopped and looked into an even deeper pit. The guide silenced us and we listened to a rock fall 150 feet. We listened to it bounce off the walls of the shaft and heard the rockslides and sifting dirt that followed.

The guide took us to the face and pointed out the vein. We all got our chance to rub the vein for luck. Then in an open area, we formed a circle. We stopped dead. No one moved and we all turned out our miner's light.

In the dark of the mine, it was pure black. Nothing registered. It was pure absence of visual sensation.

The guide said that anyone could speak and offer reflections. "You're anonymous," he said. One lady spoke up. She said that her father had worked in this mine for 14 years and this was the first time she had been in a mine. The thought of his labor, here, stirred her feelings. She felt a connection, a respect and a reverence.

Another spoke in the darkness. He reflected on the value of sight and how blessed we were. Not only for sight but for the fact that we were healthy and could visit a mine.

The mood turned more reflective and spiritual. It was like a Religious Camp moment, giving thanks and witness to the grace of God.

This story is from my Forty Days in Mexico.
The previous story in the series is Oaxaca: Cultural Exchange, Reciprocal Visits?
The next story in the series is Ixmiquilpan: Murals and Music.