So, it turns out we didn't head for Morelia as soon as we thought we would, and at the end of the brief trip with Abraham, I only got a basic djembe lesson, but all in all it was worth it. I left Guanajuato one sunny afternoon, met Abraham in Celaya and after a quick lunch we headed for Queretaro to the apartment of one of his oldest friends. It was strange to be back in Queretaro, a place so familiar to me but now with very little meaning, and I hadn't expected to even pass through, let alone pass a few days there. We got in touch with a friend from Canada, who I'd worked with on a small, organic tomato/pepper/squash farm. He, like the rest of us, has completely changed all the plans he had the last time we all saw each other in Canada. It's funny how all of us had these grand plans and now, with everything completely turned upside-down, we're still all content and growing and making more plans. We had a few Noche Buenas and then left to meet up with Abraham's friend and another african percussion ensemble, the Queretaro group. It was good, not as inspiring as the Celaya/Irapuato group, but I was also exhausted and that contributed to my eagerness to get out of there.
Saturday was a good dance party in Guanajuato and a couple days later we passed through Celaya for our things and headed for Morelia. The rides came easily and were extremely generous. The first was an older man who took us about half way, handing us a 100 peso bill as we stepped out of his mini van. I just looked at Abraham until he nodded at me to take it. Thus, our blessed luck began. Ay, gracias a la vida. Our next ride was in a pick-up with 2 young biologists. We talked with them the entire way to Morelia and they invited us to a couple of beers and horse-back riding if we're ever near the village where one of them lives. In Morelia, we headed straight for our mutual friend's house, only to find that he was in a city an hour away working (he's also an African drummer with a group and they play often around Morelia), so we waited, very tired at this point, but still very happy to see him and be received so well in his home when he did arrive. Next time, a little warning would help, I suppose.
We wandered around the city the next day, drank coffee in the sun on Carlos' roof, watched the Morelia drummers play in a city park until the sun went down, among our wanderings through the market (wow wow wow the breads in Michoacan!!). We got information on the Monarch Butterfly Refuge, determined to head there early the next day.
And, we started off okay. We got up early, went to the market, bought tortillas and cheese and ate them on the sidewalk with some nopales we'd bought the day before. With a banana and some water, we were ready to go. We took a combi, as recommended by Carlos, to the salida towards Mil Cumbres. There are 3 different ways to get to the Refuge and by sheer accident we took the least traveled, oldest, curviest federal highway in the whole state. Again, our amazing luck came to our aid and, poco a poco, 15 minute ride after 15 minute ride, folks picked us up, surprised to see us on the side of the road. Every single ride, and we must have had at least 6 or 7 that day, warned us about the local situation, "muy peligroso," "muchos asesinatos," "la gente no esta acostumbrada que personas piden aventon aqui," cosas asi. In September of last year some bombs went off in Morelia and since then everyone assured us that the situation with the mafias and the narcos has only gotten worse. If we'd been out there after dark, we would have had to sleep by the side of the road, they told us. People are wary right now. It took most of the day and we'd advanced only a little more than half way when a vibrant, older woman who called herself La Senora Sara picked us up. She told us there was no way for us to make it to the Mariposas that day, so she suggested we stop in Tuxpan, climb a 900-something stair staircase to a top of a hill, come down and by an ice cream cone, and then head to a near by pueblo to sleep. At this point we had no other ideas so we told her that was fine and she left us near the base of the hill. With the altitude and the condition of our bodies, we made a slow ascent to the top of the hill but the view of the surrounding hills, farms and village were worth it, besides the motivation that came with physical activity. At the top we ate some fruit, rested on the ground, and, legs rubbery and shaky, made a comical descent back to Tuxpan. As Senora Sara told us to do, we got ice cream cones and the oldest ice cream shop in Tuxpan, where they offer flavors ranging from rose petal to tequila to squash to avocado. I got squash and "pasta," which I think is a mix of honey and nuts. Abraham got mamey and "chongos," which I believe is the cream on top of warmed milk (or something to that effect).
We got to Zitacuaro, picked up by a couple of off-duty police officers (no se preocupen, vienen con la ley! they told us, laughing), one fully dressed in a soccer uniform, and the other awkwardly hunched over the steering wheel of a car that was clearly too small for him. A strange duo but at least they got us to the pueblo before dark. We found Senora Sara in the parking lot that she owns in the center of the small town and we chatted with her and her daughter for a while. She told us about how she dislikes her daughter's partner but loves her grandson, Siddhartha, and that he has that name because she's become a buddhist in the past year. She gave us a lot of advice: Take lots of water into the mountains and bananas and a dulce. Smile at everyone, it's the best way to disarm someone. Don't provoke those that provoke you. Lay down and listen to the enormity of the sound of the butterfly's wings. Watch the butterflies dance and be careful not to step on them. Avoid the hotels "de paso" if you want to sleep. Etc, etc. She appeared to be a very strong women, ready to partir la madre de cualquier pendejo that gets in her way, even at nearly 60 years old. We thanked her and found the cheapest posada we could for the night, planning on leaving as early as we could to get to the refuge.
We rose early, looked for and found the town market, and stocked up on fruit, rice, beans, tortillas and bolillo. On a little stoop we stopped and made some absolutely perfect tacos for breakfast. An old man with a bag of limes and bleary eyes asked us if we wanted a couple. We accepted and he told us he'd been "pisteando por 3 meses," as he handed us 2 limoncitos. Ay.
Again the rides came easily, first to San Felipe, then to Angangueo (one of the funnest pueblo names I've had to say so far). Almost arriving we were stopped at a checkpoint where easily over 40 police officers were visible, and who knows how many others were beyond our sight. They only searched Abraham and, finding nothing, sent us on our way. At Angangueo we were immediately bombarded by men offering their guide services (only 450 pesos para subir y bajar! ha!). We told them we had no money and at the tourist office asked how we could walk up to the refuge. An easy 2 hour walk up the dirt highway, we should even be able to hitch easily, we were told. At the first curve in the highway, a man in a pickup truck asked us if we wanted his services as a guide. We repeatedly said no, explaining we were flat broke, and eventually the man seemed to believe us. Then he offered to tell us an even quicker way up to the refuge, through trails in the mountain rather than along the highway. Abraham jumped at the idea of this adventure, I was hesitant, knowing how many trails are often found in these types of places and how easy it is to get lost. Still, Abraham won me over with his talk of adventure and I figured walking under cool, shady pines would be better than along the dusty, hot carreterra.
We made it easily to where the man told us there was a pozo de agua. A little stream neatly ran down the mountain and there we refilled our water bottle. We continued, slowed a little by the rapid increase in elevation and then stopped by multiple paths and the realization that maps just don't help when you're trying to find your way in the mountain. We got frustrated with one another but pressed on, eventually finding a lone log cutter with his burro and two nervous dogs, who told us to head toward the sunshine until we found the highway again and continue from there. At this point we literally had to climb, pulling at pine needles and tree branches to pull ourself up toward the sun. The forest was filled with hierba buena, spearmint, and the air was intoxicatingly sweet. Already monarchs and hummingbirds were swirling all around us. We made it to the highway, looked out at the country side far, far below us now, and headed further up, up the mountain. The altitude and weariness got to us and, after over 4 hours, we were close to giving up. A family by the side of the road told us we still had hours more to walk. Abraham and I argued and walked in opposite directions, him back towards the mountain, and me further up. In 10 minutes I found myself at the gate of the refuge and a few minutes later, Abraham was there. We talked calmly and patched things up, and finally, finally went into the refuge.
On the way up I'd had a lot of time to think about the place and our reason for going. I realized that this particular place held a lot of personal meaning for me, being that the monarchs make their annual migration from north to south, actually even many from Michigan to Mexico (though the same butterflies never make the entire trip, but rather in trips and generations), and so I felt quite close to these incredibly strong, yet incredibly fragile creatures. No one knows why they make this migration, yet it is a fact and something in them drives them. Is there any better justification for migration? If the butterflies don't need one, do I?
Another 30 minutes up the mountain and bam. A cloud of butterflies signaled that we were near. A little bit further and we found fir trees coated with quivering black and orange wings, layered over and over one another. When the sun appeared from behind a cloud, the butteflies erupted into an energetic burst of flight, first up, then down to the ground to drink water from a trickling stream. They danced and landed on people's heads and legs. Their shadows and wings in the corners of my eyes were dizzying. We were inside of a living, breathing Monarch cloud, no end in sight.
We gave many thanks, ate a bolillo stuffed with rice, and headed back down the mountain, knowing we had to get a ride back to Morelia before dark. And we barely did. Just as the sun went down and we were standing outside of a Pemex gas station, a man in a fancy car pulled up. "By chance are you going to Morelia? Could you give us a ride?" The man looked at us suspiciously at first, but to our surprise said yes! I fell asleep in the back seat while Abraham happily talked with the man the entire ride back. "You saved our life!" But the man was modest, and clearly happy to have helped us.
And so, our adventure in Michoacan ended. It had elements of magic to it that I can't explain. I really felt that every person we ran into was intended for us, a true blessing and guardian for us, especially given the difficult situation in the state right now. There was also the strangeness of seeing 3 dead horses in separate places. I never felt that they were any type of omen, though, but more of a sad indicator of the area's condition. And there were other things, small details that I have to consider more. We were lucky, though, that's for sure.
