Travel Journal: A Most Mexican Day in Veracruz

We just returned to our home in Coyoacán (Mexico City) from a trip to the Mexican states of Puebla and Veracruz. We were in Papantla, Veracruz, to visit the archaeological site, El Tajín, built by the Totonaca people.

The original plan was to break the six-hour return bus trip from little-known Papantla by stopping at Tlaxcala, a tiny state often compared to Rhode Island. The state capital is also named Tlaxcala. But we were told that buses don't run between Papantla and Tlaxcala. Think of Mexico City as the hub of a wheel, with Puebla, Veracruz and Tlaxcala as spokes radiating out from Mexico City.

To 'get there from here', travelers go first to Mexico City and transfer to a bus for Tlaxcala. We had just about decided to return home a day early when the waiter at dinner asked if we'd visited the cascadas (waterfalls). 

Our ears perked up. "Cascadas?" we asked. "Yes," the waiter replied, "they're not far from here. Transporte (bus service) is available."

The Plot Thickens

When we asked at the front desk about how to get to the waterfalls, the receptionist told us we could arrange with the hotel's guide to take us, or we could take transportation — either a second class bus, which was walking distance from the hotel, or first class from the bus station across town.

So we set off to the first class bus station. "No," we were quickly told, "our buses do not go to the falls. You have to go to the other, second-class station."

Okay, we said philosophically. We are quite accustomed to receiving information that just does not jibe with reality. While we're here, let's buy our tickets back to Mexico City, which we did.

We were glad to see a taxi pulling into the stand in front of the station and quickly arranged to be taken to the other station. The taxista spoke very quickly; at first, it was difficult for us to understand his Spanish.

As it turns out, the second class bus station is more or less a dirt lot or barnyard, with chickens pecking away at the ground. Several small, well-used buses were parked rather randomly.

When we learned that the next bus was more than an hour later, we asked the taxista what it would cost to take us to the Cascadas de Insurgentes Socialistas—yes, you read correctly, Waterfalls of the Insurgent Socialists!

His price was reasonable, so we set off.

The Adventure Begins

As we struck out into the countryside, we began getting acquainted with our driver, who was definitely a personaje (real character)! Here's the short version of our conversation.

In response to Reed's query about his accent, he replied that yes, he is norteño from Tamaulipas state in the north, but has lived in Papantla for many years. Reed said that his accent is like that of Julián LeBarón, whom he has met, from Chihuahua state. Reed likened it to the Spanish equivalent of an Irish brogue.

Then Javier (by now we were on a first name basis) told us that some years ago, he had served as lieutenant in the local government "second to the Mayor."

We mentioned that this trip was our annual trip to celebrate our anniversary—this year it is our Fortieth. He replied that he was also married in February—on February 20, but he has been married for forty-three years. We laughed companionably, because as it happens February 20 is also our wedding date.

Javier told us he is a veterinarian, but had to stop practicing two years ago because of injuries to his back sustained from a bad fall from a horse. Reed laughed and said he also has a bad back stemming from a similar fall many years ago. "¡Qué coincidencia¡" marveled Javier.

By now the road had ceased to be familiar, and we began to drive deep into the countryside of Veracruz. Small pueblos generously punctuated with topes (speed bumps), campesinos going about their business, many pickup trucks, puestos (vendor stands) selling absolutely everything and, from the back of a pickup truck, oranges being loaded into huge baskets that probably held 25 kilos (50 lbs) each.

This is farm country. Citrus orchards abound—orange, lemon, grapefruit, but local species as well. Huge orchards, many of the trees in full bloom. The fragrance was heady!

Then we began to climb. A concrete bridge across the Río Joloápan runs parallel to an abandoned metal suspension bridge that looks like a miniature Golden Gate Bridge. Javier complained that the government wouldn't maintain the older bridge, so they built the concrete bridge, which requires less maintenance.

We continued to climb. The vistas opening up before us left us speechless. This is Western country—big skies and long, long views across the countryside. As we climbed, milpas (cornfields) became increasingly common. As in Chiapas, the people grow corn on the sides of hills that are nearly vertical.

Huge pastures with cattle grazing—healthy, fat cattle. Some fincas (farms) were beautifully maintained; others looked as if house and outbuildings had been abandoned, but cattle still grazed in the lush, green pastures—inviting speculation that corporate interests have purchased the land and let the farmsteads fall to ruin. We couldn't take pictures, because the humidity in the air laid a white haze over it all.

"Here's To Nature and Friendship"

As we drove, Javier tooted his horn in greeting at a tiendita (little store) in one pueblo, a restaurant in another—always with comments about the owners, clearly his friends. Finally, we reached yet another small pueblo, and Javier stopped first at one casa, then another...asking how to find a friend.

Los dos amigos, Javier and his friend Eusenio  

I began to wonder if Javier knew where he was going, because when Eusenio joined us—bringing along two welcome bottles of ice-cold water—he began directing Javier. Shortly, we turned off the main road onto dirt roads. In places, the road was nearly impassible. I have no idea how a small-bus would travel this route.

We passed more and more huertas (orchards) and came to understand that they belonged to Eusenio. We passed vaqueros (cowboys) on horseback. I asked Javier what they're doing—tending cattle, was his patient reply.

And the trees! I had a strong kinesthetic response to the encinos, which are a type of oak tree. Another oak, the live oak, dots the 'golden hills' of Northern California. A huge live oak was visible from my childhood bedroom window. The intricate branch system and dark green leaves enchanted me then and now. Some things are etched indelibly in our senses and hence in our hearts.

Eusenio was wonderful in identifying trees for me, and I was not shy about expressing my deep pleasure with all we were seeing. More than once, one or the other of us commented on the beauty of la naturaleza.

Then we came upon the largest ceiba tree Reed and I'd yet seen — although Javier told us they get much larger, with trunks that are meters wide. The ceiba tree is sacred to the Mayas as the Tree of Life. With its beautifully intricate branch system, it's easy to see why.

Ceiba tree, state of Veracruz, sacred to the Maya, who believed its roots reached into the Underworld, and its branches supported the Heavens (I took this photo, just pointing my little camera out the car window!)

At one point, Javier stopped and Eusenio bounded out of the car into an orchard to pick limones (limes) and fremos—tangerine-like fruit but with a darker, grey-brown skin, and incredibly sweet.

Finally, we arrived at the waterfalls. First we walked halfway across the bridge so we could see the falls from above. Then we followed a trail that runs along the riverbank. The wildflowers were amazing.

Daisy-like short wildflower, Veracruz state 

Ever wonder where ageratum comes from?

A clump of ageratum grows wild in the damp soil of the riverbank.

The sun was hot as we picked our way down to a vantage point in deep shade under a tree. Javier and I leaned against a tree trunk conveniently fallen about waist-high as Eusenio and Reed continued along the path so Reed could take more photos.

Rio Joloápan, state of Veracruz, México. Photo: Reed Brundage.

The Rio Joloápan is shallow, but wide, perhaps 100-150 feet across.

Insurgent Socialists Falls on Rio Joloápan, state of Veracruz, México. Photo: Reed Brundage

It was the first of March, two or three months before the rainy season, which begins in late May or June. But the flow is good, even now during the 'dry' season. Reed noticed that the rocky ground (pedregal) looked like the pedregal that we know as volcanic lava flows in Mexico City, but we didn't see volcanoes. It remains a mystery.

This UTube video (48 sec) shows the falls from above, including close-ups of the pock-marked pedregal—definitely not the granite I'm accustomed to.

We picked our way back up to the car and began the return trip. I noticed wells at each house. Eusenio said that depending on location, water is found one to five meters below the surface of the ground. There is a lot of water in Veracruz.

The Totonaca people venerated the god of hurricanes—a multi-dimensional deity of thunder, storms, water. The people were vulnerable to storms coming off the Gulf of Mexico, which brought either bountiful harvests or complete devastation from winds and floods.

We stopped again by Eusenio's house, and he returned bearing a six-pack of cerveza (beer). Not realizing that the beer was already in the car, I declined when Reed asked if I wanted one. When I realized the guys were all enjoying a cold beer, I told them I'd misunderstood and said, of course, I'd like one, too.

Their enthusiastic fulfillment of my request suggested that in my initial refusal, I'd nearly committed a cultural blunder. So, as Eusenio handed me the cold beer, I raised mine offering, "Saludos".

Enthusiastically, Javier and Eusenio finished the toast—"...a la naturaleza y la amistad". We drank to nature and to friendship. Words fail. How to convey the camaraderie that we experienced with these gentle men as together we celebrated the glories of the natural world and the ties of our common humanity.

Apparently, the beers were intended as prelude to visiting a second falls, but when we arrived, the road was impassible, so we returned once again to Eusenio's house. As we bid Eusenio adios, I was reminded of the words of our Purhépcha friend in Pátzcuaro, "Todos somos seres humanos" (We are all human beings).

The Road Back

As we made our way back to Papantla, Javier began to talk more about where we'd been. It turns out that as a government veterinarian, he'd been responsible for 5,000 head of cattle located in 70 pueblos. His territory was exactly the land we'd been exploring.

Javier had taken us to land he knew like the back of his hand, and he had introduced us to his friend. Reed and I are human. We'd each taken a deep breath as we headed deep into the back country of Veracruz. We took a second deep breath when the beers appeared. But we are learning to trust the essential goodness of the Mexican people, which has never let us down.

The day was, for us, restorative on inexpressible levels. It was magical. It was, as Mexicans say of their country, México—querido y lindo (Mexico—beloved and beautiful).

Still Curious?

Images of this area: http://mexico.pueblosamerica.com/foto/insurgentes-socialistas

Video showing pedregal:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=endscreen&NR=1&v=ejQPTXjf5TI

Video from farther downstream:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pu1y5ykPzsM