Journey to Xilitla

One early morning, I hopped a bus to Queretero then another to Xilitla, where I intended to see Las Pozas. Primera Plus, a luxury bus, took us over five hours of twisty mountain roads over the Sierra Madres. First we passed through dry flat land where the towns were supported by concrete plants and the dust was deadly. After passing a very pointed rock of considerable size, our bus got into miles and miles of curves, the kind that makes Dramamine a very good friend. The plants went from scrub and palm to tall, reach-for-the-sky cactus and nopales, high mountains where tiny towns, few and far between, clung to rocky overlooks. As we descended, the valleys got wider and a little greener, mostly pine and cedar, and the towns got a little bigger. I noticed people were cultivating agave, the base for pulque, and wondered if they had bootleggers, too. Finally, getting greener all along, we pulled into Xilitla, a small town built on the side of a rocky mountain, yet in the rainforest. On my return trip I took a second class bus that stopped for everyone that flagged it down, a big mistake.



La Pena de Bernal.

Since the guidebooks tend to ignore this town, I had no map, no directions, only the name of Guzman Hotel. I found the plaza, asked a policeman, and got escorted to the front desk. He stood around patiently while I checked in, discussed room options and paid. Then I realized that nothing has changed, you still grease the palms of the police so I slipped him twenty-five pesos. He stood a moment longer, then shook my hand and left. A street market dominates the street I'm staying on and spreads out into the plaza. There is no pastel Iglesia, or cathedral, marking the center of Xilitla, but a very plain, grey convent from some past era, now a place of worship. A funny little flower-motif statue sits in the middle of the plaza and squared off trees form an outside border. There is color in the houses up here and they are low, typical of Mexico. As the terrain gets steep, the buildings drop down the slope in a strange array of rectangles, no matching rooflines and balconies, no zoning laws here. I love it.

Imelda's cafe is right next to my hotel and there I stopped for dinner. There is no English spoken here, in fact there is almost none spoken in all of Xilitla. I stepped into a tiny dining area with three small tables, eight chairs. Four is full, five is a crowd. This is where the town's vet, accountant, and other such dignitaries take their noon meal. Imelda greeted me at the door and seated me with someone halfway through his meal. When her Spanish resulted in a blank look, she picked up the phone and dialed an interpreter, maybe the only permanent American in town. He is from West Virginia and works for a non-profit dealing somehow with energy. I ate every day at Imelda's having huevos con chorizo (eggs and sausage) with avocado and tomato on the side served with fresh warm tortillas. I bought sopas for dinners in the mercado.

Sopas, five pesos each.



Decor in Imelda's Cafe.

I spent one day wandering, hiking the highway out of town where buildings shared space with large grey rocks. I was amazed, even impressed, at the way people carved a home and life around them. The outskirts of town are odd in that new, larger housing co-exists with tiny little homesteads complete with plantings, fruit trees, flowers, and chickens. The main highway coming into town forms a horseshoe and in the center, way down there, are more and more dwellings. It isn't just the poor folk, though. My English speaking friend told me there was housing for teachers down there, a privilege of their honored profession. Around town, men hang around on the corners and I take that to be a sign that employment opportunities are limited. 

An older man nodding out in front of his little house.

His house.

It is hot in Xilitla. It doesn't take much to make me sweat profusely. In the mornings the tiled floor of my room feels wet underfoot. My clothes are all damp from the moisture. On the upside, the birds are so loud and plentiful they wake me up too early in the morning and the flowers are beautiful and strange. I found myself thinking I could stay forever.