Coming over the mountain into Tehuacan, Fran realized there was oil all over his shoe. Inspection on the shoulder revealed a damaged valve cover gasket (whatever that is, but it was a lovely shade of pink). Two cops stopped to check on us and the younger watched Fran put in a spare and clean up the oil splashes. He was very good-looking (the cop) and his patent black leather shoes mirrored his sunglasses and vice versa. We shook hands and they followed us for a few miles to make sure all was well. It’s the first time we ever had to stop on the roadside and thankfully it turned out not to be a big deal. The big deal would’ve been if we couldn’t get off the roadside.
The only time I ever heard of Veracruz was the Warren Zevon song of the same name. After laying low in Tehuacan we headed in that direction. Joel in Chuhuahua came up trumps once again with contacts for Veracruz and Campeche so we drew the map line through those towns and hoped for the best. It was looking like we might be picked-up by the biker club circuit again. Never look a gift caballo in the mouth when it comes to local knowledge.
Rafael told us not to stop between towns in Veracruz. On travel days we always aim to get to our destination as fast as possible but it was good to know, even if it did put gnawing seeds of doubt in my brain. The road out of Tehuacan was Arizona-like with a standing army of tall cacti all the way up the mountain sides. They slowly made way for spiky Joshua trees but the more we climbed, the more pastoral it became. Volcanoes were becoming run-of-the-mill by now (!) so when this latest appeared we admired its white cap without too much excitement. However, with lush foothills and emerald fields in the foreground, the whole picture could have been Switzerland. It was so pretty I forgot all about our orange alert. It’s hard to worry about lurking cartels when driving through countryside reminiscent of Lederhosen and Strudel. Breaking Bad meets Heidi.
Click to enlarge.
We met a lovely guy called Abel in Cordoba. He had a motorcycle radio show and picked us up in-between his driver training at the police station and his son’s boxing class. (Every time we stopped at a red light, the traffic cops would give him a small wave and a half smile.) With its beautiful plaza and coffee museum, I was just wishing we were staying more than one night when he said they have on average 3 major incidents per day, mainly armed robbery. Great, Code Orange started to glow like MiWadi again. After watching some local dancers on a makeshift stage at the square, they were followed by a small group of protesters. There was quite the police presence in town but it seems they turn a blind eye to the big stuff and the locals are getting weary.
We had a simple but delicious dinner in the town of Fortin. A small restaurant opposite the park fried-up sizzling tortas and tostadas. Meals like this are expanding my waistline and shrinking my arteries. Our manners shrunk too and we disgraced ourselves by dropping food everywhere. These little places never seem to have knives and forks while the napkins would barely cover an elf. Abel’s food stayed right where it should so I guess you have to start when you’re a niño. The next morning Able interviewed us for his show on the top level of a parking lot. Two listeners showed-up before we were finished and all 3 escorted us out of town and pointed us in the direction of Acayucan.
Pancho el Navegante
Ever since Fran started calling himself ‘Pancho the Navigator', we’ve been getting lost (Pancho being the nickname for Francisco). It’s usually when looking for an apartment in a new town but this time it was the hotel. It was sweltering hot and Google was sending us down unpaved lanes with potholes and stray dogs yawning in the shade. In the end we had to be rescued. Our Acayucan contact was Octavio and his wife Yessi appeared like a knight in a shining sedan, but not before we had two cases of mistaken identity. I suppose it would have been wise to ask who was coming but when your brain is evaporating, the little grey cells disappear fast too. When we finally got to the hotel, Google was still showing it 3.5 km away.
Octavio and Yessi worked in the family funeraria (mortuary) and our first meeting was delayed due to unexpected work (the grim reaper does not for a dinner date wait). Plans for the next two days were finalized via text and so began a whirlwind of social activity. My WhatsApp began pinging with invitations for drinks, family visits and rides into the countryside. I almost wore my fingers out copying and pasting into Google Translate and then repeating the process backwards with my responses. Fran left me in charge and therefore, totally exhausted. Worse, all these guys thought they were ‘talking’ to him. The deception went both ways though when one turned out to be the wife, secretly swapped over because she spoke English. This was our first introduction to Jessica and Cuyo.
The next two days were a total immersion into Mexican life. Seven of us drove out to Lake Catemaco (Cuyo’s dad joined us), the 80 km of Veracruz side roads littered with topas (speed bumps) and ancient trucks overloaded with sugar cane. The first view of the lake was breathtaking with its rainforest hills sloping down to the blue water. We arrived on Fisherman’s Day and the town was having a procession along the pier. The area has a tradition of sorcery, but mostly practiced by men who are known as Brujos. We bought peanuts from the street vendors and took a boat out on the lake, stopping at one of the islands to feed the monkeys. Going ashore at the Nanciyaga Ecological Reserve was like stepping into a jungle paradise. I kept expecting to be lead to Marlon Brando in Apocalypse Now. There were replica Olmec stone carvings (the originals are in various museums) and parrots overhead were a constant loud chatter. We drank cool mineral water from a spring, from ladles made of giant woven leaves. At the trail’s end were crocodiles, turtles and large iguanas. It was easy to see why Mel Gibson chose this place to film Apocalypto.
For lunch the boat pulled in at a small beach and we ate Mojarra fish while little boys swam and poured water on each other from empty coconuts. Not so much fun were the Tegogolos on my plate (large, fresh water snails). I thought they were seafood but the taste wasn’t right. They were very chewy but when in Veracruz….
For three days we were swept along on a tidal wave of good humor and generosity and I didn’t have to worry about getting lost. Everywhere we went, we had an escort. We met Octavio’s family and got to know Jessica’s and Cuyo’s neighborhood. In the late evening light, all the kids were outside playing. They stared at the bike with solemn faces but before long Fran was driving them around the neighborhood, and their mums too. Afterwards, eating mango slices sprinkled with chili pepper, one dad offered his sons in exchange for the bike. We nearly took him up on it. Their tiny size would melt your heart.
At the barbecue on the last day, Cuyo’s brother Chino arrived on a black shiny bike in a blaze of earth-thumping, Irish traditional music. Fanning myself to the tune of Black Velvet Band, I decided we had entered some sort of Celt-Mex Twilight Zone. His bike was hopping with fiddles and flutes, drawing the transfixed little kids once from their yards. The leader of the pack, 12 year-old Benjamin, summed it up perfectly in his remarkable English, “It’s incredible Yvonne, really incredible. Isn’t it just crazy?”
Going ‘home’ for the last time, we drove the bikes thru town with the Chieftains blaring and the Acayucan residents staring. At 11 PM the heat and humidity were still intense. We had a final drink on the plaza whisked up by two nice ladies. Popo is a cold cup of chocolate with about ¾ foam and ¼ chocolate and other ingredients. A week ago we’d never heard of this place or these people, now we couldn’t imagine not knowing them. This is what Colin Thubron meant by ‘peopling an empty map’ but as with all great joys, it also comes with a bitter-sweet sadness. Worst of all, with our minders now gone, I’m going to have to go back to relying on Pancho.