Mariposa, mi Amigos!

  Morelia, Mexico
Monday, December 31, 2007

I think I am allergic to Morelia; my nose will not stop running.

Luis Miguel, Our Guide

We met Luis Miguel at the front of another hotel off the plaza at 8:30 AM. I had contacted him previous via email (posted in my last entry) before leaving for Mexico, to which he was very cordial in his responses. He recognized my name when we met, and introduced himself to all of us with a handshake. The group that gathered was half Spanish speaking, half English speaking, and 11 of us English speakers (a couple of Denmark, a family of three from Columbia, and the 6 in my party), rode in a large van (small bus), with Luis as a driver.

Old Hacienda

Luis was very good. As we drove through the expansive valleys of Michuacan, he explained that these were all once shallow lakes that were drained by the Spanish for farming through a canal system. He also pointed out pockets of steam on the mountain sides and in the fields, evidence of geothermal activity. Apparently, there are turkish baths offered in the area, where according to Luis, "You'll stink like sulfur for days, but you will feel better."

Looking down on El Rosario

He related to us a bit of indigenous folklore, concerning a tall mountain we were driving towards, saying it was at this point that the prophecy was passed to a woman that the rulers of the land would be born in another land. On that same mountain there are colonies of butterflies (which Luis said he would make trips to on special request), leading anthropologists to believe that the pre-Columbian people were aware of the butterflies, but their civilization was so completely destroyed during the Spanish conquests that the knowledge was lost until scientists "rediscovered" those sites in the 1970's.

Luis had a curious habit of shouting out "Amigos! Parenthesis!" He might had an afterthought afterwards, but rarely would he close the parenthesis. Another Luisism was very academic, where he would say "Amigas, Amigos, a question..." which would be followed by an intellectual inquiry into what was the science behind he way things were. He is the Mexican, Dr. Bill Karasov.

Visitor Center

I learned quite a bit about the countryside, but it got particularly interesting when we got off the highways and went through the small towns. Some houses looked like they were barely standing up, stray dogs on the streets, chickens and other livestock wandering around without fences. Here a man washing his clothes in a "warm" spring, there a couple washing their car in a cold spring. It made me introspective concerning the conflicting notions of people who say it is a "simpler and freer life without the hassles of money" and the idea that that might be romanticizing poverty. Whatever it is, it looks like a lot of hard work. It feels arrogant to me to say "It is fine that I have washing machines and running water, but for these people it would only burden them." Something to be explored, I suppose, and the only way to truly find out is talk to the people themselves. For that, I need to know Spanish, so for the moment I am left to wonder.

Enough introspection. Luis turned the van onto a cobblestone and brick road with a very steep incline. I am growing increasingly glad we didn't try driving this ourselves. We drove into El Rosario, where the people of the town own the mountain, and hence the sanctuary. We parked and were allowed to use the bathrooms before starting the hike.

A note about the bathrooms (and I promise not to talk about them too much in the blog), but the going price for using them is 3 pesos. At this particular bathroom you paid a woman at the front, and she rationed you some toilet paper and gave you a ticket. No seats on the toilets (as is common of most of the public rest rooms) and here, there is no running water either. Therefore, there are buckets by the tanks that you use to fill the toilets with water in order to flush. I can't tell you how much water I spilled on my feet, and wish to think less about what might have been in it.

El Rosario stalls

Admission was included in the tour, and the hike up the mountain started on a dirt road flanked by primitive stalls. Some had a cast iron griddle over a wood fire, and tables set up within them. Others had some crafts for sale.

Road to El Rosario

The climb seemed to go on for quite some time (about an hour and a half to the top). Altitude, and probably not being in the best shape didn't help (and my nose was continuing to run incessantly). Here and there Luis would stop to give us portions of the natural history of the butterflies, such as the four generations that it takes in one year, and the theory behind how the monarchs find their roosts again the following year. The farther up we'd go, the more butterflies we'd see. At first it was just two or three, then 5, to ten clustered.

"This is Nothing yet"

Each time we'd stop, Luis would scoff and say "That is nothing!" I was huffing and puffing by this point, and really glad I didn't smoke. The Danish woman had to stop less than half way up, unable to continue. I'd seen her smoking just prior to the trip. Then, at the crest of the hill, the trees stopped, and there was an arch. Beyond the arch I could see clear blue sky, and hundreds of butterflies zipping through the air.

"Heaven is on earth, friends!"

Luis called out "Heaven is on earth, friends." My legs didn't feel so tired any more and I caught my wind to hurry up the last couple of steps. Everywhere you looked there were monarchs flying. I couldn't speak. Puddles formed by due in the grass attracted countless numbers to form an orange blanket on the ground. I took video and pictures, and was thinking that I'd seen it all when Luis said, "This is wonderful, yes? But this is not it, yet, friends." More?

Pooling butterflies and me.

Reluctant to leave the field, but eager to see the core of the colony, we continued up the mountain. Luis stopped at the edge of path and pointed through the trees to a spot about 100 meters away that looked like dead leaves hanging from the branches. That was the edge of teh colony core, but he said that was as close as we could get to it, given the concern the biologists had. It was awesome to see, but a bit disappointing to see how far off the trail it was. I'd imagined them closer. But then Luis points down a little worn path, barely noticeable, that goes off the trail and said there is a smaller colony that they are allowed to get close to.

More of the "small" colony

About 100 meters down the the trail, over a small stream, there it was. Giant trees laden in thousands upon thousands of butterflies. I admit I teared up. My hands were shaking. I'd dreamt of this since I was a little girl and first heard of these roosts, and here I was, finally. As the sun came out, Luis shouted, "Look, friends! Look up! Soemthing special is about to happen!" All at once, thousands of butterflies took flight.

Thousands taking to the Air

How do I describe the effect the sound of their wings the air like distant rain, the gold and orange in the sky, the feeling of soft wings bueffering against your skin, having a half dozen or so land on you at once? Awe inspiring doesn't start to scratch the surface. One of the best moments of my life gets close.

Filling the Sky

We stayed with the butterflies for what felt like an hour, and then reluctantly started back. I thanked Luis profusely, but he replied saying it wasn't him, it was the butterflies. I thanked him anyways.

Filling the Sky

After what was a relatively quick but painful climb down, we reached the dirt road and the stalls again. I was talking to the Danish man when suddenly there were seven to eight little boys following us, walking beside us and singing in unison. Luis had told us about this, warning that they did it to beg for coins, and often would take the coins to buy candy out of the supervision of their parents, which could cause serious problems in the future for them. Some, he conceded, might genuinely need the money, but it was difficult to say. I wanted to give them some coins, but decided that it might be best if I didn't.

Lunch Time

We met in an open air stall with a table and plastic chairs as well as a griddle. Luis brought us around grilled blue corn quesadillas to whet our appetites. This was rustic mountain food: a fire, a pan, and a cook. I had mole chicken, which was delicious, but didn't have the side of nopale which is prickly pear cactus strips I had hoped for. Luckily, Nicole shared. Yummy. Lunch was included with our tour, but the coke I had was not. It cost 10 pesos, and I went to pay the woman, but realized I didn't know how to say I wanted to pay for the coke I drank. Suddenly, I realized I was just saying it English, but louder. Ugh. Luis came to my rescue, but did I ever feel like a gringa. I was sure it wasn't going to be the last time.

We loaded back into the van, and began the three hour trek back to Morelia. Luis made a surprise stop though, exclaiming "Mandatory Bread!" We'd stopped at small bakery selling sweets and had ovens in the back with rows of fresh warm bread, a loaf costing just thirteen pesos. Sweet and wonderful. It was 7:10 by the time we got home, and made a meal out of the bread.

At a quarter to twelve, we went to the square to join in the New Years celebrations, only to find out there weren't any (as I suspected there wouldn't be). We bought some giant sparklers, six for ten pesos, lit them and shouted "Prospero Anjo!" to a TV crew. This was clearly the wrong thing to say as everyone else was saying "Felize Anjo!" Still gringos.