A Tourist's Delight: Days 6-10. Creel, Guachochi

Day 6: Creel: Eco-tourist's Delight

I spent the morning trying to catch up on email and when you're in Creel, the connection is slow and the computer set a World's Record for "Error Page."

I checked out the Tours and all sounded like paradise for the Eco-tourist, plus they added in a visit to the Tarahumaras, who call themselves the Raramuri (Light feet). Or with a map, you could do-it-yourself: bike, motorbike, rent-a-car or hike.

At the tourist center there were free maps for the hiker, camper and overnighter. I wondered if Leonardo Lopez Carrillo protected the popular hiking route from Creel to Urique.

I took the 2 p.m. tour which was advertised at 120 pesos. It assumed a minimum of 6 tourists. We were only 3, so the price was adjusted to 200 pesos ($19) which I couldn't complain about since 6 times 120 is 720, and among us, we only paid 600.

Martin was a courteous driver and I rode shotgun. The couple behind was from Norway, or at least Einar was native Norwegian, his girlfriend Carmen was Mexican from Monterrey. She had earned a scholarship and was studying in Norway for her Masters. She loved the 4 seasons and the winters. This was Einar's first trip to Mexico. They spoke English and Norwegian, but Einar was lost in Spanish.

Tour Number 1 took us to Horseshoe Lake and Cascada Cusarare, where we walked, hiked and took photographs. A herd of goats came by under the pine trees as we admired the lake. But Cusarare Falls were a dribble. Martin said they were in the seventh year of a drought and the famous Basaseachi Falls, higher than Yosemite, were completely dry.

We visited the restored San Miguel Mission church and museum with outstanding oil paintings of Saints from the 18th Century. I entered the church, now plain and barren. All paintings had been removed and were protected in the museum. The walls were whitewashed and the windows accented with a broad band painted brick red.

Four ladies sat silently against the right wall on benches, the only seats in the church. In the center of the sanctuary in front of the altar there was a small flower adorned cardboard casket. The women were silently grieving for a child.

Martin called us to the van and we headed back to Creel. We made our last stop at a home of a Tarahumara family. They opened their home to tourists for a tip. The house was a cave built under an overhanging rock.

The front of the cave was walled up with stones. Dark smoke billowed from a stovepipe chimney marking the rock cliff with black soot. Inside, there was a kitchen, cupboards, two beds, chairs, a table and a small hammock used as a cradle. Water was hand carried in buckets from a nearby well. I coughed. It was smoky and my photos looked like I took them in a fog.

The father had died in a rockslide accident while building a highway. The widow was tenderly rocking an infant in the hammock cradle. The daughter, 24, dressed in a casual black sleeveless top and jeans, rather than the bright colors preferred by the indigenous, lived in town and worked at a hotel. She was a single mother of two and earned $10 a day. She said she was born here in the cave. The children lived here with her mother. She said she had a primary school education and left home at age 14 to work.

Creel was a rustic town. Log buildings gave it western feel. Work crews with picks and shovels were everywhere repairing streets and sidewalks. Cement was being mixed in batches on the street.

Creel was located in a valley and surrounded by forests. There were ponderosa pines, long needled, short needled and Triste (Sad) pines whose needles drooped down. Sculptured rock formations framed Creel to the east. In the west, on the hill, overlooking Creel, there was a giant white Cristo Rey (Statue of Christ).

Expenses: Hotel $25, meals $19, tour $20, Internet $2. Total $66.

Day 7: Creel: The Flying Stone

The Norwegian-Mexican couple I met the day before enjoyed hearing about my Mexican experiences. They invited me to dinner and asked if we could join up together.

Carmen was on a scholarship and her Master's thesis was about Eco-tourism and my comments about the places I've been fit her theme. She studied photography for 3 years in Paris and would like to video my remarks. I agreed. It sounded like a new adventure.

We signed up for Tour Number 2 and for the bus to Batopilas in the heart of the Copper Canyon.

At 7 a.m. I was up and walking the streets of Creel in my green Timberline jacket in the cold, fresh morning air. Kids with backpacks were on their way to school, adults with backpacks headed for a canyon hike.

I walked to the edge of town past the train station and the Noreste Bus depot where I had arrived Monday night in the dark. I walked over a bridge but the riverbed was rock, dry sand and weeds.

A fellow was leaning against the bridge. I asked, "When does it rain?" "June and July," he said. "And snow?" "December," he said. "How much snow do you get? I asked. He took his hands, palms facing each other and showed me a measure of about 7 inches. "This is a little he said. Then he moved his hands apart to about 10 inches, "This is a little more." And parting his palms to about a foot, "This is a lot," he said.

I walked back to town. In this isolated place, there was a Banco Santander with an ATM and in the main street drivers were talking on their cell phones. You could sit down to a treat at the Holanda Ice Cream parlor or choose among dozens of restaurants.

It was hard to believe that the hotels would ever fill up, there were so many. But I was told that during Easter and Christmas it was wise to have a reservation.

There were nearly as many Tarahumara craft and gift shops as restaurants. Plus the Tarahumaras brought their crafts to the plaza where they continued to work and were ready for sales. On the plaza, I purchased a figurine of a Tarahumara weaving from a lady working a loom.

Tour 2: Highlight Piedra Volador

Wednesday I met Einar and Carmen for the tour that took us to Divisadero, Piedra Volador, Piedra Fertilidad and Elephant Rock.

The rock formations were impressive, but the canyon, with its sheer, vertical drops, weakened my knees. The highlight was the Piedra Volador (Balancing Stone), which I had translated as "Flying Stone." A huge granite stone the size of a tractor tire was perched at the end of a rock abutment jutting out into the canyon. This rock abutment was about 20 feet wide then narrowed as you walked towards the cliff. The Balancing Rock was at the end. It was an odd-shaped stone, somewhat egg-shaped, resting on a flat rock top.

Our driver, Salvador, walked out on the jutting abutment, hopped on the egg-shaped stone and then shifted his weight. The stone rocked back and forth. It was a Flying Stone.

Salvador drove us back to Divisadero where one of the first Copper Canyon hotels was built. We shopped, ate lunch and 6 tourists in our van left to catch the train for Los Mochis.

Great tour, although it was a heart stopper for me.

Expenses: Hotel $25, meals $16, tours $15, bus $16 miscellaneous $7. Total $79.

Day 8: On the Road to Batopilas, Arrival at the Bottom of Copper Canyon

I woke before the roosters crowed but my sleep was broken multiple times throughout the night by fits of barking dogs.

I met Carmen and Einar at Hotel Margarita. It had the only open restaurant for breakfast at 7 a.m. Murals decorated the dining room. There were scenes, brilliantly colored, of the Tarahumara depicting dances and tribal life.

Carmen, Einar and I had toured the sites outside Creel the day before. Today we were headed deep into Copper Canyon.

We caught the Transportes Turisticos de la Alta y Baja bus on the main street, still deserted, at 7:30. Transportes ran a daily service for 170 pesos ($15) but the schedule varied.

It was a short bus, 24 seats, ideal for the mountain's sharp curves and switchbacks. There were 15 passengers. I sat in the rear and looked forward. One man was reading the Bible, another Shakespeare's Othello in Spanish. "What are odds?" I wondered. The man reading Shakespeare was a Mexican construction worker. The man reading the Bible was an American Priest, Father Dominic, whose parish was Batopilas.

I asked Father Dominic, "What's the weather likely to be in Batopilas?" He said, "We have two seasons: hot and dry, and hot and humid. The rainy season is June and July."

It's a lonely road from Creel to Batopilas, a 5800 foot decent from Creel to the bottom of Copper Canyon, three times the size of the Grand Canyon, home to 60,000 Tarahumara (Raramuri People) and a trip back in time to the 19th Century where a treasure in gold and silver was gouged from Mother Earth. The few vehicles, trucks and worn-out cars, on the road were filled with passengers, and a hitchhiker would rarely find a lift.

The paved road from Creel to the junction was 75 km. (47 miles). Then the bus turned west onto a dirt road 65 km. (37 miles) to Batopilas. Travel time was 5 hours. If the entire road were paved and flat, I could bike the route in less time.

At the junction, our driver shifted into low and we ground gears. We were in a pine forest following a ridge. The road was cliffhanger narrow, made of twists and mountain switchbacks. Then the canyon, one of 7, came into view. Majestic cliffs rose like guardians painted in multicolored, red, white, brown layers and streaked with green. Here was Nature's Calendar. Sedimentary stone, slate, rockslides, volcanic lava flows, white tufa and igneous rock were present.

Father Dominic pointed out features in the canyon and the Urique River.

We passed old mines, peered down at the river and crossed an iron trestle bridge supported by mammoth stone piers. The bus turned left. We were in Batopilas.

As we crossed the bridge we could see cows along the riverbank and Tarahumara women washing their clothes in the river.

Batopilas was a linear town forced to stretch 2 miles along the river. Steep canyon walls hemmed it in. We drove down the narrow road toward the center. We encounter a truck that backed up and pulled over to let us pass. A minor increase of vehicles will be a major problem for Batopilas.

Children played in the street. There was a soccer game and a boy and his sister bounced on a tire trying to off-balance one another. Cows roamed freely. They seemed to own the street, paid us little attention and were the town's street sweepers, licking up loose, fallen leaves that lay on the cobblestones. The leaves were broad and looked like they had fallen from a mango tree.

I saw more cows in Batopilas than I've ever seen in Texas.

We drove past a long well kept colonial styled building with a blue tiled cupola. It was a private chapel and part of the luxury by-reservation-only Hotel Riverside. There was no name on the building.

The bus made its final turn and we were greeted by the splendid sight of the town square with an ironwork bandstand framed in the background by a mural of Tarahumara children in bright colors.

Othello (that's what we called the man reading Shakespeare) suggested Mary's Hotel. Carmen, Einar, others from the bus and I entered and asked to see a room. The owner was out and the maid didn't know when he'd return, but she wanted to show us a room.

The office was locked but the maid took a table knife and tried to jimmy the latch. I said, "Pardon me. My misspent youth might be handy here." I took the knife and popped the lock open. There was mild surprise from onlookers.

Mary's would not have room for all of us and I noted there was no air-conditioning. At the end of the plaza was Juanita's. It was perfect, attractive, with inner patio, overlooked the river and offered central air. Juanita charged $20 a night for a single. Carmen and Einar choose Casa Real. It was painted a bright blue. A horseshoe was used to latch the gate. It was charming and had an alcove with photos and memorabilia.

I took a walk before dinner. There was a library and an Internet at the Centro Comunitario de Aprendizaje. Students were studying and learning computer skills. I retraced the main street all the way back to the green iron bridge. Near the bridge was an artist's studio. Luis was a German artist who chose Batopilas for his home and studio. I looked at the fine detailed paintings. "Are they pen and ink?" I asked. "No, they are watercolors." I liked the paintings but I was truly impressed by the fine detail work.

It was nearly 7 p.m. and I'd promised to meet Carmen and Einar for dinner.

I started to walk back. I passed a shack selling beer and soft drinks. A man spoke up. He looked like a wrangler. He wore a cowboy hat and white cowboy shirt opened in front. He was solid with muscular arms and a mustache.

"Are you with a group?" he asked. "No, I'm by myself," I said. We talked. He introduced himself, "Arturo, guide." He struck the right note with me and we agreed to meet at 8:30 a.m. for a comprehensive tour of Satevo, Mission San Miguel Archangel, Eagle's Nest, the Tarahumara Village and San Miguel Mine.

I was all set and hoped that Carmen and Einar would join me and share the expense.

Expenses: Hotel $20, meals$18. Total $38.

Day 9: The Mission, the Mine and Dancing with Gringas

Carmen and Einar were enthusiastic and agreed to join Arturo's Tour and split the cost.

They were staying at Hotel Casa Real with a squad of motorcyclists, business and professional men who could afford the bikes and enjoyed the challenge of the canyon's steep unpaved roads. One biker, Mike Madden, from the Bay Area, near my home, said, "I graduated from a school you never heard of, Maritime Academy." (A top school for Merchant Marine education.) I fished in my brain and came up with," Do you know Tom Stapleton?" "Yes, where is Tom?" Six Degrees of Separation seemed like only 1.

Next morning, Arturo showed up at 8:30 a.m. with his tour-mobile, a pickup truck outfitted with automobile bench seats in the truck bed. He surprised us with two additions, Heidi and Amber, mother and daughter, whom we had seen on the bus ride into the canyon. Arturo said we could split the cost 5 ways. I was surprised by his generosity. A four-hour tour, $30 divided by 5, brought the price down to $6 each. He could seat 8, 2 in the cab and 6 in the bed facing each other. We were only five and comfortable.

I hopped in the back. Arturo drove a block, stopped and called out for gas. There are no gas stations in Batopilas. A lady wearing a pink tank top and jeans with a red stripe highlighting the pant's seam came out from a store with a 4-gallon white plastic container. She inserted a rubber tube into the gas container. Arturo held the container upright. The lady sucked on the tube and siphoned the gas from the 4-gallon jug into the truck's tank.

We drove out of Batopilas towards Satevo bouncing and weaving on the rough road. I told Carmen, "I haven't had such a great ride since my dad hauled trash and I got to ride in back, but without this comfort."

We had a great view of the canyon, the steep walls, the desert cacti in bloom, the river and the cows. "More cows than Texas," I said. A bull faced off the truck then changed its mind.

Einar, Carmen and I were wearing short sleeves. I could feel the sun. Amber was wearing a tank top. She offered us sunscreen. The youngest was the best prepared.

Arturo stopped when Mission San Miguel Archangel, originally built in 1707, came into view. It was a National Geographic picture view: a canyon, river, swinging bridge, ancient bell towered mission set in a valley with a mountain backdrop.

As we neared the mission, Arturo stopped periodically for us to take photos, each closer than before.

There was a small community living here in Satevo. Arturo called a girl over and asked her to run get the key to the San Miguel Archangel church. The interior was simple, without benches, but the building was unusual. It was built of red bricks. It was designed in the form of a Roman cross, the cross arms rounded not squared off.

Outside I learned about the pitalla tree, a hands-on experience. It looked like a young cottonwood to me. When I stepped up on a stonewall for a better angle to photograph San Miguel Archangel, I put my hand on the pitalla tree for support. My hand jumped in reflex. I got my first opportunity ever to use the tweezers in my Swiss knife. Seven needles implanted themselves into my left hand. The 4 in my fingers I pulled out with my right hand. But three broke off in my palm and once again I praised the Swiss.

The girl who brought the key also came with a guitar. Arturo asked the girl about her progress and what she could play as he tuned the guitar. She was shy but played for us. Arturo asked for songs. I suggested any song by José Alfredo Jiménez.

Arturo played Camino de Guanajuato. He encouraged me to sing along. I knew some of the verses but needed Arturo to prompt me and fill in gaps. We sang, "No vale nada la vida..." (Life is worth nothing). The song is a miner's lament and Carmen videoed the performance.

Arturo shifted to a waltz. Here we are at the bottom of the Copper Canyon and Arturo's strumming the guitar. There was a smooth surface, part of the old church courtyard, near the low stonewalls where Arturo sat and played. I asked Heidi, "Would you care to waltz?" We danced, everyone laughed. Carmen filmed.

Amber picked up the guitar. Her current guitar skill was modest but she was a talented singer. She sang blues. Here in the desert, she entertained us with "Give Me A Reason." She sang slowly, beautifully as if touched by Billy Holliday.

Arturo returned the guitar and key.

Tarahumara Village

I didn't see the village on the hill among the cacti and the brush until Arturo pointed it out. We followed Arturo up the path and as were neared the village, walking up the knoll, we saw trash strewn everywhere. There were scraps of plastic snagged on cacti, a child's cap, pink embroidered with a smiling Mickey Mouse, a discarded red sweater, plastic bottles and aluminum cans.

It really wasn't a village but a small family community. Only women and children were present. Arturo said we could talk, visit, and take pictures. A gift was expected.

We received a mixed reception. We met bright smiles and easy conversation. Then again, there were blank stares that I felt were either resentful or hostile. I asked Arturo. He said, "No, you are welcomed, but some are just shy."

I asked one of the young ladies, "Do you live here year around?" "No," she said, "we move higher up during the rainy season."

One young lady played the harmonica. She was friendly and smiled. She smiled with perfect white teeth, the whitest I've ever seen. They were so white and straight they seemed like an ad for "Bright Smile."

The Tarahumara women dressed in bright colors, broad skirts, and billowy blouses. They have an aesthetic sense of color. I said, "They are the Canyon's desert flowers, so brightly colorful."

The homes were primitive. There were wood-burning stoves, improvised, made of metal castoffs and a stone metate for grinding corn. The Tarahumara were kind, but I felt intrusive.

I asked Arturo how we should pay for our visit. He said they we could offer a small amount to whomever we photographed or talked to. I suggest that we make it to the community, put all our funds together and let the Tarahumara allocate. Arturo thought this was a reasonable idea. He picked up a small clay pot and we dropped in pesos.

Arturo led us away and showed us a cave, once lived in, higher up on the hill. We returned to the pickup truck.

Next Stop Eagle's Nest:

Arturo drove along the river, then stopped. We followed him down the steep bank to the riverbed, climbing over boulders. Then we walked up the river on smooth river stones. We looked at the vertical red cliffs. Arturo pointed out an eagle's nest. A young eagle, not mature, but not an eaglet either, circled overhead.

Two boys were fishing in the river with a spool and line. They were using dough for bait. The boys had chosen a spot where the river took a twist and large boulders nearly damned the river and created a pool. We climbed out on a large granite rock. There was a clear pool about 15 feet below. We could see the fish swimming in a school, but the boys had no luck.

We climbed back up the trail to the road. It was after noon, before 1 p.m. The sun was overhead. Arturo drove us back to Batopilas. Lunch and cold drinks were in demand. We talked it over. We were tired. Carmen hardly spoke. The heat had wilted her. We told Arturo that we would like to go on his mine tour later in the afternoon, but we needed a three-hour rest. Arturo agreed to return to the plaza at 4 o'clock and we would go to the abandoned San Miguel Mine and he would also show us the finest swimming hole in Batopilas. He said, "Bring a flashlight."

A three-hour rest and cold drinks did us well. Our tired spirits were refreshed when Arturo returned.

We drove to the mouth of the mine, a gaping hole, pure rock, large enough for a good-sized truck to enter. Painted on the wall in red letters: "Do not enter. Dangerous Mine" It was.

Arturo's advice to bring flashlights was the minimum precaution. He knew the mine well. The danger was not from a rock falling. The mine was solid rock without supports. The danger was that it appeared safe. About 20 yards from the mouth of the mine, just about where one would still feel comfortable and just when, like entering a movie theater in the daylight while your eyes were still adjusting to the shadows, there was a 20-foot shaft nearly as wide as the floor of the cave. We crossed on a two-foot ledge.

We followed Arturo in a single file. He led us around, walking past shafts and drifts. One shaft was filled with crystalline water. Arturo told us to be silent and he pitched a stone into the water. We could hear the sound of the stone through the water as it tumbled and bounced off the shaft's walls as it fell to the bottom. He directed us to the "veta," a silver-lead vein. There was silver. It was just a matter of the cost of mining versus the price per ounce.

Arturo told us to keep still and turn out our flashlights. It seemed to get colder with the lights out. In the black silence no one stirred. We waited in suspense. Someone in the dark spoke sharply, "Get your hands off!" We burst out laughing and the flashlights came back on.

Amber felt claustrophobic in spite of the large tunnels. She was happy to leave the mine.

Arturo took us back down the canyon from San Miguel Mine and crossed a bridge. He drove the truck off the road and up the left side of the riverbank. He stopped at a swimming hole. "It's up stream of Batopilas. The water is safe and clean, " he said.

We felt like a swim, but caution ruled. Arturo picked up a smooth river stone and skipped it across the river. We all got into this childhood sport. Arturo was champ.

Evening: Dancing with Gringas

We agreed to meet in the plaza at 7:30 p.m. for dinner. Heidi recommended Swinging Bridge Restaurant where she and her daughter ate the night before and met Arturo. "They have live music and cold beer," she said.

At dinnertime I ordered arrachera, a thin-cut Mexican steak. But the cut, influenced by tourists I suspect, was thick. I chatted with Heidi. I mentioned that I had spent Day of the Dead in San Miguel de Allende. Heidi asked, "Did you pass a hacienda called La California?" "I filmed it. I know Rosalia Peña." Heidi had once dated Martin, Rosalia's brother. La California is an architecturally eclectic hacienda inspired by places that Casimiro Peña, the patriarch of the family, visited traveling around the world. He had named the hacienda for his alma mater, Cal Poly in San Luis Obispo. For the second time, Six Degrees of Separation turned into one.

The conjunto arrived.

An American lady, Lynn, introduced herself. She had a jewelry store in Batopilas, "Open from 4 p.m. to 7 p.m. daily," she said. She told us that the conjunto (three piece band) charged 10 pesos ($9) for three songs.

Arturo came in. There were greetings around the restaurant. We invited him to our table. He ordered a beer. Young friends dropped by.

I called the conjunto over and requested a few songs. They played Norteño style, a polka beat rhythm. Arturo asked Heidi to dance. I don't recall them sitting down. A young man came over and spoke with Amber. She practiced her Spanish. The young man asked her to dance. It was fun to watch the couples and listen to the band.

Carmen and Einar were weary and said goodnight. I stayed, watched and listened a while longer, then feeling worn out from sun and activity, knowing that the next morning the bus would leave at 5 a.m. for the junction where I could connect to Guachochi, I waved goodnight.

Expenses: Hotel $20, meals $41, tours and tips $20, music $9. Total: $90.

Day 10: Part 1: The Junction

I woke before the alarm went off. It was set for 4:15 a.m., but I woke, reached over for my glow in the dark clock and read the time, 4:05.

In the coal black dark I couldn't find the light switch. I got out of bed, felt the wall, found the bathroom and switched on the bathroom light. I had forgotten that the bedroom light was over the bed.

I left Juanita's at 4:30 a. m., early for the bus. I walked to the church, crossed the plaza. The night was cold, crisp, with faint stars overhead. The deep canyon walls prevented me from seeing the moon.

I was the first to arrive and stood waiting. I saw shadows coming towards the church, the main door being in front of the bus stop. The shadows were Carmen and Einar. Arturo, Heidi and Amber showed up a little later. Heidi was using an unfamiliar clock for the alarm. Arturo had risen early and came to say good-bye and make sure Heidi and Amber didn't over sleep.

It was a 3-hour ride to the junction. Instead of the canyon vista that we saw on the way in, the view was of a steep dirt road lighted by bus headlights. We were all quiet. I sat, rocked and swayed with the bus. Eventually, I slumbered. I woke a little muddled. I looked straight ahead. We were in snow. The road was pure white framed with pine trees with all the lower branches covered in white power.

I nearly said, "Look at the snow." But shortly, I recovered my senses. We were on a white dust road, calcium carbonate I believe, and the dust kicked up by trucks and vehicles had powdered the pine branches. It was a beautiful sight to follow the headlights until the white road changed to brown.

I got off at the junction. I said good-bye to Carmen, Einar, Heidi and Amber. They were returning north to Creel. I was headed south to Guachochi.

There was a roadside home and business at the junction. I had a two-hour wait for the Camion Rojo (Red Bus) to Guachochi. A window to the house-refreshment stand was open. I called, "Hola" (hello). A lady came. I ordered coffee. The lady invited me into her home where I could sit down at a table.

She brought me a cup of hot water, a tablespoon and a jar of Nescafe. She was gracious and thoughtful.

I looked around the room: cement floor, pink walls, blue trim. It served all purposes. It was a dining room, children's playroom, and storage for Mobil oil and transmission fluid. There was a 3-week-old newspaper and parking for a child's bike. The walls were decorated with 5 calendars, each with a different picture and a black velvet painting of three roses with a verse from First Timothy 2:5. "For there is one God, and one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus."

Personal treasures were housed in a cupboard. Some were knickknacks. There were figurines and religious items.

Three children scurried between the kitchen and bedroom, peeking at me as they rushed across the all-purpose room. It was a home with joy and love.

There was a four-foot half-wall that divided the kitchen from this all-purpose room. I could see the glow of the wood burning cast iron stove.

I finished my coffee, paid my bill and walked outdoors to wait for the Red Bus in the blue daylight.

Day 10: Part 2: Guachochi Frontier Town

The Red Bus picked me up at the Junction at 10 a.m. We arrived in Guachochi at 1:30.

Guachochi was a frontier town, dusty streets, a log cabin restaurant, cowboys and Indians. Reminded me of Gallup, New Mexico, 1974. There was a western flavor and a Tarahumara presence.

I entered the Tarahumara Artesania (arts and crafts) shop. Cipriano showed me three rooms filled with handcrafts. He said that Guachochi was the center for Tarahumara crafts. He picked up a drum, narrow in width but two feet in diameter, and took it outside. He called over a young Tarahumara man and encouraged him to play the large drum. The man smiled, but kept away. Cipriano banged away on the drum. He said he opened the store 34 years ago, started with cowboy hats. He had a good location on the center plaza.

I thanked Cipriano and explained that all I could carry was my shoulder bag. I said I had to find a hotel and he pointed the way to the Melina Hotel.

As I entered the Melina Hotel a huge wall photograph of a cascading waterfall greeted me. I registered, $30 a night for a very attractive room, the best so far on the trip. I asked about the photo. "That's Tónachi," I was told. It was only 40 km. (25 miles) from Guachochi, but an hour's drive.

My belief that you never need to think ahead in Mexico for activities was confirmed. I had arrived on Saturday, the first day of the Fair. Tonight there would be a Norteño Band, a dance and the crowning of Miss Guachochi.

It was a modest fair. Seemed like the carnival that used to come to my hometown in Colorado in the '50s. I attended the dance and sat as far away from the amplified music as possible. The band played but the room echoed and the music blended into noise. No one minded. The princesses sat on a dais, but as the ceremony started late and I was dead tired, I left without knowing which beauty was Queen.

My bus would not leave until 11:30 the next day. I thought, maybe I can sneak in a side trip to Tónachi.

Expenses: Hotel $30, meals $12, buses $16, entertainment $23. Total: $81.