After enjoying modern comforts of France and the USA it was back to adventure land for our trip to Mexico.
Another 14-hour travel day saw us train from New Haven to 125th street in Manhattan from where we caught the M60 bus to La Guardia airport. A couple of flights (via the huge modern airport at Dallas-Fort Worth) saw us reach Chihuahua in northern Mexico in the late evening. The flight attendant had given us the wrong immigration forms but it was no problem - just fill out the correct forms right at the counter, get the passport stamped and come right on in. How different to some of our other border-crossing experiences.
Not long until we got to our hotel which was close enough to the central part of the city for us to have a quick walk to find an ATM machine and an all-night supermarket. Then it was time to sit down and sort through the information pack about the plans for the next few days in and around the Copper Canyon area. We had arranged the next week through Copper Canyon Adventures (CCA) via the internet and were really pleased with the detailed instructions about who to meet and where to go to catch trains and buses etc. We could have made our own reservations but these would have been standard hotels and so we would not have experienced the contact with the local people that was arranged by Les Mahoney of CCA. We could have had a guide with us but had decided that we had just enough Spanish and initiative to get along. It certainly allowed us to absorb the culture, customs and cuisine at a more intimate level.
Chihuahua was an interesting city with lots of history for us to learn. We had just the morning available but
managed to catch most of the major highlights in the central city. Some of the sights included:
A display of Chihuahuas! We never really thought that the Chihuahua dog was Mexican but there they were, statues of them in all forms of dress, making a colourful and amusing sight in the cathedral square.
Many of the shops were not yet open at 9.30 am but lots of people about. The women were dressed in either bright indigenous skirts and blouses or fashionable modern wear while the men were mostly wearing standard cowboy attire of checked shirt, jeans, boots and stetson hats.
So many shops selling boots and hats. Not just any old boots, but cowboy (and girl) boots in all colours and finishes. Most also sold hats and belts. Good prices so it was very tempting but weight and space res
trictions restrained our buying impulses.
The Cathedral was quite busy. People adoring various statues - including a guy playing a piano accordion and singing at full volume. Businessmen and cowboys, local women, young and old - all starting their day with a prayer. Poor Mother Mary did look a bit pathetic in an operatic kind of way!
We went in
to the crypt a little later to view a di
splay of holy paintings. There is something endearing about the emotions the Spanish and Mexican artists manage to show through their subjects.
Particularly appealing were the enthusiasm of Jesus as he leaps out of the tomb and the really pissed off look as he endured circumcision like ‘get it over with - now!’
The Governor’s palace had interesting murals around the courtyard telling the story of the country’s history. Pink soffits on the terraces surrounding an open courtyard.
Independence square with the statue of the angel of freedom dominating. Also some new statues and plaques celebrating the fact that they celebrate their independence. In fact, the decorations were still up from 15th September and apparently the celebrations continue for a full month.
The home of President Juarez during the French invasion in the 1860’s. A true hacienda in vivid colours with tropical plantings in the courtyard. Inspiring extracts from his letters and speeches. Even with our little Spanish we could get the gist. He had decided from the beginning that all correspondence (personal included) and government papers should be preserved so we could see handwritten letters of invitation or congratulation to other countries’ leaders and those to his family on the death of a beloved son.
We also now have a phrase to express resignation, annoyance and amazement: Ay Chihuahua!
Most people who visit the Copper Canyon travel by rail from Chihuahua to the coast or vice versa (and many do the trip in one day) but the trains leave early morning and this would have left us no time to explore Chihuahua, so we caught an afternoon bus across the plains to Creel (260km in 4.5 hours). The journey was interesting as we passed through the area where the Mennonites settled in the 1920’s after moving from Canada where their practice of recognising no law other than the Bible and their own conscience was not accepted. They are now the major supplier of oats in Mexico and also have acres of fruit orchards - currently covered with a sophisticated netting system. We also climbed to over 2500 metres (about 8200 feet) to cross the main divide. Creel itself is at 2400 metres so we didn’t run around the town in the evening - sitting at the bar, lifting a glass was exercise enough.
Creel is a one-street town that was based on forestry and logging but has now become the centre of wilderness adventure activities in the Sierra Madre region. It’s from here to the coast that the train trip is really interesting and it’s from here th
at we catch the bus to remote places like Batopilas at the bottom of the canyon.
The good news was that tourist pricing doesn’t seem to have reached here yet. Dinner - 4 margaritas, 4 beers, two entrees and two mains for equivalent $NZ50!!!
Breakfast next morning was in the family kitchen complete with one year old granddaughter. Fresh fruit and black coffee with yummy Huevos Mexicana with tortillas and optional piqante salsa. Total for two was $NZ12.50 and the added interest of counting the number of knick-knacks and religious items in the room.
Batopilas
Q: How long is 65km?
A: 30 minutes on a French motorway or 4 hours on a Mexican road to Batopilas.
Today was Wednesday so we were on the 9.30am van to Batopilas. It seems like one driver likes to go early so the van leaves at 7.30 on Tues/Thurs/Saturday and 9.30 on Mon/Wed/Friday. It’s an interesting trip - just 140 km but takes 5˝ hours.
We helped load our bags on top and were pleased to see that they actually roped them in place on the roof rack. No plastic covering though so we hoped that yesterday’s thunderstorms didn’t return. (They did but in the evening some hours after we arrived)
Then it was a case of loading the people. The driver studied the assembled multitude and then called people forward and pointed to the seat that he wanted them to occupy. This seemed to make sense as there were seats for 14 passengers and he managed to fit in the 14 adults and 7 children including a 4-day old baby. So we set off but just out of the town limits he spotted a couple of friends on the side of the road and invited them aboard as well! One of them sat on his bag while the other perched sideways on the edge of the driver’s seat for the next 5+ hours.
We have to note that, despite the crush and heat, the children who were all little girls were remarkably well-behaved for the whole time. No cries of “are we there yet?” or “she pinched me!”. In fact we hardly knew that they were there.
The first part was normal traveling and then we reached the turn-off and it was that too! Not only were we meeting the unsealed part of the journey but there were some fairly major road works going on for the first 5km. 
This involved a deviation with 5 fords and a corner that had to be taken in two bites plus the fact that no attempt had been made to smooth the way. We were to discover, however, that there wasn’t a lot of difference between that patch and the surface of the usual track. So, with the continual climbing up one side of a ravine or ridge and inching down the other on this one way track with numerous grooves and minor washouts, we were quite pleased to be seated on the inside edge - even if it did mean missing a couple of photo opportunities. We seemed to be continually catching sight of a road winding somewhere high up or way down low in the distance and then realising that it was our road. We didn’t dare look at our watches as time seemed to be almost at a standstill. 
Cooling consisted of having the front windows open plus the tiny venting edge of the next most ones, but at 20kph there is not a lot of air movement. Luckily no one had bad BO and the only carsick passenger managed to contain it pretty well. We had 3 ’stretch leg’ stops and probably got more stretching and bending exercise getting in and out of the van than we did climbing a few steps for a better view in one instance or walking to and from the long drop toilet in another. You couldn’t move very much in the van as the seating was very intimate and so it was some relief when the air met the damp patches on our clothing as we alighted.
All along the way were glimpses of the river below, amazing rock formations and outlines and the whole landscape is very green with trees and shrubs clinging to the hillside and the tall skinny cacti adding texture to the background.
Batopilas is strung out over about 4km along the river bank. The one-way access bridge is 100 years old. (An amusing introduction is when we have to negotiate the ’speed-bumps’ as we drive towards the town centre! We get slightly hysterical talking about boy racers - a natural reaction at the end of such a long, slow journey!). There is one main street an
d it is full of large American pick-up trucks, dogs, and folk just hanging out.
Colours are on the bright side so the place exudes a welcome and even more so when we walk through the deep yellow and blue exterior walls of the Casa Real de Mineras and into the warm, red and yellow courtyard with fountain and leather seated rocking chairs. Minutes later we are ‘hanging out’ too - complete with beer! Alas, the first beer disappears quickly and Rafael (mine host’s brother) tells us that we will have to go to a bar now as there are no more cold ones! We opt to freshen up with a cold shower and then have a stroll around town. Another thunderstorm is brewing - we had driven through the edges of one on the way into town. The sky is almost navy blue and the claps of thunder get louder and louder so we take refuge in a bar and order a few margaritas - as you do - just as the rain starts. We have brought some reading matter thoughtfully provided by the Casa Real and settle in for a ’study’ session.
We were going to stay there for dinner but the seven large, old bikies, who had been traveling on the road at the some time as us, turned up to be fed. The two guys who had made the margaritas in the kitchen also seemed to be in charge of the cooking and looked a little overwhelmed so, since the rain had stopped, we moved on, deciding to eat there tomorrow night. This may not have been the best decision but then who knew that the ‘hearty’ in the “Hearty beef stew” at Carolina’s Restaurant meant the same as Hearty Beef Broth in Maggi Instant Soup and had the same amount of actual meat. In a way it probably was good for the heart!
Batopilas was a major silver mining site up until the early 1900s. So much silver was mined that, at one stage, one of the Spanish owners of the larger mines welcomed a visiting bishop by lining the road between the entrance of the town and the church with silver ingots. Of course he got told off for the extravagance! The last owner was an American - John Shepherd. Included in our reading material were extracts from his wife’s diary. Her style and descriptions made us envious and vow to do better at conveying our impressions.
An example of her writing follows:
May 1880. At 9am Thursday we enter San Antonio and are driven to “the Menger” the never-to-be-forgotten (or forgiven) Menger. The dirtiest, worst kept hotel that we ever saw, where moist waiters in shirt sleeves “heel and toe” across the floor, scattering gravy, salt, sugar in their flights. An odor of rats and mice overpowers that of stale vegetables and worse meat, until a waft from the open drain in side yard puts them both to shame. The butter is too magnanimous to display its strength before the weak tea and coffee so it melts quietly over the edge of the plate carrying flies and candlebugs to the tablecloth. Concerning the cloth, one is always wishing that the other one would come from the wash.
Some notes from one of the sons on the actual running of the mine highlight the uncertainties of supply and price and the continuous difficulty of transporting the silver to Chihuahua. Trains of mules, often 30 at a time, were the only option. Further problems were caused by bandits and robbers. One group took over the operation for several weeks which was long enough to convince them that mining was not a preferred lifestyle.
We arranged with Rafael to take us for a tour the next day. He is not an official guide but has enough English to make it a bit easier to get information and is very enthusiastic for a large, quite laid back, young Mexican male. Probably most of the enthusiasm is generated by the fact that he has one of those large American pick-ups that he has only just brought down from California. So recently that it doesn’t have the Mexican licence plates yet!
The ride out to the Lost Cathedral at Satevo is hair raising. It’s not that he goes fast but that the road is absolutely horrendous. If we thought the deviation at the start of the Batopilas road was bad - it was a doddle compared to this! Even with 4WD sometimes the road was so narrow that Liz was convinced we wouldn’t make it. There were several moans, a couple of ‘Hey Zeus’ and some mutterings about keeping the eyes closed as we went along.
The church is called ‘Lost’ because there are not available written records as to why it was built in this truly isolated place. Obviously there was a reason and it is renowned both for the style of architecture and the building materials. 
These buildings were usually of adobe but this one was built entirely of bricks and the entire load of bricks were brought from Spain including being carried by mules over 2400metre (8000 ft) hills for the last 150km. If we have given you any idea of the difficulty of reaching this place you will be able to imagine the size of this operation even for this modest sized building.
The government is improving the infrastructure which means that there are brand new power poles right beside the church and power lines cutting across most photos that we took from various vantage points. It’s curious that Batopilas town was the second place in Mexico (after Mexico City) to have electricity but that it is only now coming available for the houses on the outskirts of the town. We also wonder how the folks are going to pay for the power given that most seem to be subsistence farmers.
After getting back from Satevo (just 2.5 hours for the round trip of 14km), we visited the ruins of the Shepherd enterprise. It was a walled compound (hacienda San Miguel) containing various residences, offices, stables and the equipment needed to extract the silver and cast it into ingots.
It was abandoned around 1920 but looked as if it had been deteriorating for centuries. 
We have seen far more ancient houses in better repair but I guess you couldn’t call this an ‘opportunity’ with such a terrible access road! In any other place it would make a great little hotel. There were a couple of houses built within the site of recent years and someone is creating a hotel (more like a motel) in a corner of the site.
We read some more of the history of the town in the afternoon and were surprised to learn that the road was created only in 1978. Until then, access was by mules, horses or on foot so it seems amazing that the town survived for over 60 years after the mine was abandoned. The population dropped from around 4000 and today is around 1000 people.
Up at 4.30am to ca
tch the 5am “bus” back to Creel. This time it was a stretched 4WD with space for 7 passengers but only 3 of us plus the driver and one of his sons. This time there was an entirely different (although just as bouncy) feel as the field of vision
was limited to that of the headlights.
There also seemed to be a lot of traffic - well OK - a couple of small trucks and another couple of cars! But there was also oncoming traffic - it helped that everyone had their lights on so we were able to pick a slightly wider corner and let them through (the goats enjoyed the action).
We made good time even with the driver slowing every now and then to check that his wife and other son were keeping up with us.
No one spoke any English and so we were treated to a non-stop commentary from the female passenger in Spanish. The same thing had happened on the way in. One of the females had talked for most of the 5 hours without stopping for breath to the guy crammed in next to her. Both his and our driver’s comments were limited to a grunt now and then. These monologues were not complaints or whines - just flat out gabbing!! We dearly wanted to know what they were saying - it couldn’t have been politics or sex, nor even gossip, as there were no names mentioned. It didn’t appear to be humorous. In its own peculiar way it was soothing as there were no sudden bursts of laughter, passionate declarations, volume increases let alone questions that might require a more definite response. It was easy to just drift off in the dark with it in the background. We had a giggle, though, at the thought that the males probably had one just like this at home and the responses were the normal pattern.
Had some fun working out how to get the driver to stop the next bus from Creel so we could reclaim Wal’s vest that had been left on board on Monday. We stopped for a cup of coffee in what was really only some hospitable person’s kitchen and then two more travelers arrived. One had a smidgen of English and so we enlisted his help - he was so impressed that we thought his English was good enough for the job that he shouted the coffee! Just to be sure to be sure Liz wrote the request out for the driver and shortly afterwards Wal had a big smile on his face and the vest tucked away safely in his bag.
And finally the train ride starts
From Creel we traveled to Posada Barrancas by train. A huge engine hauled the dining car, bar, and 3 passenger carriages. The train is preceded by a mini railcar which has the task of making sure the track is secure. It was only 2 hours on board in which time the train went around in circles and looped backwards and forwards along the sides of the ravines.
There is a compulsory 15 minute stop at Divisidero where everyone jumps out of the train, runs the gauntlet of the food and souvenir sellers, down a ramp to the edge of the canyon. We thought it was pretty spectacular and were grateful that the high tourist season is not quite here but we were more than happy when we got to our overnight stop a little further down the track and could spend a couple of hours exploring the rim completely by ourselves.
Oh for a decent large camera. It’s times like this that we so miss Wal’s broken one.
Called in to the Mirador Hotel to sit and sip margaritas and cervezas while gazing out over the magnificent canyon and talking about life and all that!!
We are staying in Cabanas Diaz. Unfortunately for Wal there is no resemblance to suggest any relationship with Cameron, but the Diaz family are very friendly.
Basic cabins but clean and with own tiny bathroom. Meals in the main house. They must get really busy as there is seating at tables for 26 people. There is home cooking Mexican style and the wee granddaughter running around giggling and showing off.
Another huge amount of thunder and lightning started at 8pm and the temperature is cool enough for us to have longs, socks and sweaters as opposed to as little as possible at the bottom of the canyon. The thunder is getting closer and is really rattling the windows. And now the rain has arrived - a great downpour.
Next morning was a nice home-cooked breakfast of eggs and chopped ham plus of course the ubiquitous re-fried beans. Oh, and a side of salsa. Nice fresh tomato, onion, and green peppers chopped in small pieces. Just enough chilli to make sure that we were really awake! A variety of sweet corn breads were on offer to fill up any spare spaces. We tried one but they are a bit too sweet for our taste. (They appeared again at lunchtime - as the only food items!)
Today’s train doesn’t depart until 1pm so we were to have had a tour to several other lookouts in the morning but the rain last night has developed into a heavy layer of fog and so we are just hanging out, catching up on blogs and CVs! Part of our conversation last night was the prospect of looking for some work once we are back home and how we would put together a list of our talents, so we are making a start. Who wouldn’t want to employ us! We can do anything and everything, man!
Too much fog. It cleared about 10.30 but too late to get anywhere and back in time for the train
But then the train was late! We were at the station on time and were puzzled by the sound of the arriving train from the wrong direction until the freight train with 3(!) massive diesel engines roared through. They must have found a siding not long after because our train arrived about 20 minutes later.
It didn’t take long for Liz to find the bar car and we tried some quite respectable Mexican wines. A 2005 cabernet sauvignon and an undated blanc de blancs both from L.A. Cetto of Guadalupe on the Baja California peninsula but made with (so we were told) grapes grown somewhere near Tijuana.
Our accommodation tonight is just 20 minutes along a dirt road from Bahuichivo at a place called the Paraiso del Oso . Oso means bear and the place takes its name from the rock form above that has the same profile as Yogi Bear.
Diego, our host, is an American, who has lived here for the last 25 or so years. There is also a ‘volunteer’, Lyn from Montana, who is taking a break from being somebody’s Mom or wife. She is there for 3 months, has reasonable Spanish and it is great to have her guidance to the Cave of the Crosses, a recommended walk for which we just have time before the Happy Hour of ‘industrial strength’ margaritas. The wild flowers, huge boulders, and smooth, volcanic slopes are beautiful in the early evening light.
Keeping up the tradition of finding caves on our travels, the ‘Cueva de los Cruces’ was very much like the places in France which cavemen used as shelters. The remains here are much more recent. When the Spanish Influenza struck in the early 1900s, 53 Tarahumara Indians left their villages and hoped to escape the death sentence by hiding in the cave. Unfortunately one of them was carrying the disease and they all perished.
The Indians believe that once you are dead your body is inconsequential and the site is in no way sacred so, to this day, there are human bones evident all through the cave. Such a sad (and weird) experience to bend down a pick up a human hip bone and the matching femur and to discuss dispassionately the fact that the person had been unusually tall for a Tarahumara. Incidentally this Indian tribe is well known for its long distance runners and one would have thought that long legs would have been a great advantage.
Back to the Happy Hour. A quick shower reveals that there are no bath towels so we are rewarded with TWO margaritas which is a Good Thing, because we are soon in dire need of cheering up as we fire up the computer and discover the disastrous World Cup results. Merde!
There is no electric lighting in bar or dining area so it is a much needed and lovely social relaxation and dinner by kerosene lamp. The thunderstorms here are prone to cut the power and every room is also equipped with a well filled lamp and matches.
Breakfast of eggs of your choice: fried, scrambled, ranchero, mexicano, omeletto, salsicca, etc, etc. All served with re-fried beans which is not a particularly nice look first thing in the morning. On the plus side, there were a couple of pikelets that went down well with a bit of maple syrup.
Our morning adventure was a trip to Cerocahui which is the nearest village just 4km away. We explored the church which was built in the early 1600’s from adobe blocks with some stonework for the dome and altar area.
Some interesting windows featuring St Francis Xavier and some statues including a Madonna in pink but no one could explain the choice of colour.
Across the road was a mission school for girls with boarding facilities for those who would have had to walk 6 hours and bus another 2 to get there. These girls are from Tatahumara indian families where the family situation is often bad. Our host, Diego, is actively involved in rescuing the girls (and sometimes their families) and raising money for the school, uniforms for the girls, and scholarships.
Then on up the hill to the lookout at Miro de Cerro de los Gallegos to get a view down 1800 metres to the Urique river below. 
The fog was still dispersing so we didn’t get up to the top lookout but it was still awe-inspiring.
Got some good photos but we had to be quick to catch the view between banks of fog and clouds.
Diego pointed out his ‘bad luck’ corner where, among other happenings , he had once picked up a gunshot victim and it reminded us of the potentially perilous area we are traveling through. In Batopilas there were signs at bars doors that ‘armed persons would be denied entry’ and we watched as the doorman frisked a couple of patrons. Then we were told that there had been gunfights over marijuana and women! The guards on the train carry frighteningly large M16s as well as pistols and our travel literature gives instructions on ‘how to behave when bandits board the train’!
Back to the Paraiso del Oso for a quick lunch and the bumpy drive back to Bahuichivo to catch the train at 2.20pm.
We almost didn’t make it because we came across a pickup truck on its side on the outskirts of the village. It had only just happened so the (6?) dazed and bloody occupants were still climbing out - and tripping over the multitude of beer cans that had also fallen out. Luckily there was just enough room to drive around it.
This next part of the train journey is the most exciting and interesting part. It is hard to know when to rush out to the platform between cars, (the preferred spot from which to snap), but we take turns.
There are something like 36 tunnels and a number of bridges plus switchbacks and numerous ‘great sights’ so we have to remain alert.
We eventually get out of the mountains and down to around 200 metres above sea level. From there on it is a slightly downhill run for the last 50km across the coastal plains to El Fuerte. We assume that this shouldn’t take long as we expect to speed up now that we are not winding through the mountains but we actually slow down to less than 40km/hr so it takes forever. We were told that the final section of track out to the coast is also in such disrepair that it takes well over 2 hours for the last 80km to Los Mochis.
The only other interesting thing is that, once we got out of the mountains, one of the soldiers comes along and shuts the upper part of each side door - apparently there are folks around here who throw rocks at the train. Maybe it’s not rocks because the windows are double-glazed and one has a sunburst of shattered glass with a small centre hole that certainly looks more like a bullet hole than a rock impact.
We eventually arrive in El Fuerte and are met by Tammy from Copper Canyon Adventures and drive the 10kms into town. (100 years ago the rich people of the town just did not want that noisy railway thing too close to
their homes.)
We are staying at the Hotel Porfirio right in the main street. Now this has a story! Many years ago, the original owner, a Spanish lord, not only hid a pile of gold and silver in a false wall cavity, but also had affairs (at different times) with a couple of maids and, when they got pregnant, killed them and hid their bodies somewhere within the confines of the hacienda! The current owners’ grandfather bought the house, eventually found the treasure (but not the bodies)and left it to the family. We didn’t know about the bodies before we went to bed otherwise we might have been rather reluctant to take to our beds given that they had both concrete headboards and bases which looked spookily rather like graves!
The hotel doesn’t have any restaurant at all so next morning it’s breakfast on the street.
The street stalls around the market open early and we catch a quick bite of tacos with as much guacamole and salsa as we want and wash it down with Coca Cola.
We are picked up by Jose Luis and taken for a float down the river. A ‘float’ is because it is downstream and the only action needed is a gentle stir with an oar now and then. It is so beautiful and peaceful with the only sounds being the ripple of the water as it flows through riverside plants or transforms from perfectly calm to the precursor of a rapid, and the cries of the variety of birds.
We landed and took off for a walk uphill to find the petroglyphs. All the way Jose Luis was using his walking stick to move branches, swish at grass and tap on rocks to make sure that no snake was about to pop out and ruin our day.
The rock carvings are very similar to some we saw in Ireland. They have been dated to 2 million years BC. Our poor guide was not really a guide just an employee doing a favour so we will have to get on the Internet and find out more about the two large footprints which appear to have been made rather than carved when the surface was soft and a bit slippery.
While up on the hill looking at the rocks we had the experience of being surveyed by a flock a buzzards. I commented that I thought buzzards only arrived when they saw something near death to which our guide replied that they check out the aroma. They soon lost interest when they saw us start moving again.
On our return to the town we visited the fort - El Fuerte. 
It isn’t the original, in fact there are no traces of the original, but, as the signs say, this is probably where it should have been. This one was constructed in 2001 around the (conveniently) square water reservoir from the 1920s. 
A great bunch of photos and info boards, some old farm implements and a cannon or two made for a short but interesting visit. That Pancho Villa guy certainly takes up space in any historical show. Probably it’s because he makes a great photographic subject and the media hype was such that there are any number of ‘Reward’ notices and photos of him with his compadres in camp and on horseback.
We decided to have more seafood for lunch and Wal was quite taken by the turtle stew! Could have been rather stringy lamb it was so meaty and he gobbled it all up. Liz settled for cerviche which is the local version of raw fish and was a bit disconcerted to find the minutely chopped fish, onions, tomatoes and peppers swimming in a large bowl of liquid. The taste sensation was there but the presentation was not.
Did a little shopping in this “wild West” town and then decided to hide in the shade of the hotel until our pick up at 6pm for the 2 hour drive to Topolobampo to catch the ferry which supposedly departs about 11pm. Supposedly is right as the time was revised to 2am. At 1.30am we sit zombie like awaiting the latest projected arrival time (yes it isn’t even here yet from the other side) which is now rumoured to be 4am. We have booked a cabin thank goodness so will get a few hours lie-down when we eventually get onboard.
It had taken a long time to load the vehicles which included small trucks with flowers or a couple of beasts and huge long semi trailers. The cabin was comfortable and the ride extremely smooth!
Awoke at 9.30am to a fine and sunny day to realise that the Yucca Inn was as bad in daylight as it had looked in the early hours of this morning when we arrived. We were surprised at the rather attractive gates!
hose lazy days:
und the town and explored many of the shops. 
There are also some wonderful still life samples with a Mexican twist and so beautifully executed.
The main square is being renovated but the fountain plays on merrily day and night. There is a lot of English spoken in town and some beautiful classical music being played in the more expensive shops. Having said that - there is also a lot of Beatles music going on from originals, to covers and the orchestral versions. The fountain was really dancing in coloured lights to it last night.
Filled in the morning before we moved by walking out to the beach and back again. Fascinating to see the resorts lining this beach but practically no one on the sand because the beach is not safe for swimming. In fact, the papers report that the most prevalent deaths are toddlers being taken for a walk on the sand by their grandparents. The beach is steep and the waves, though short, break with great force and occasionally come sweeping up higher than expected.
So… after settling ourselves in at the new accommodation (and enjoying a swim) we set out, necklace in bag. Crossing the art gallery road (first intersection) we discovered the ‘Amber Gallery’. Long story short - this was the original workshop, they had earrings of the colour and size and would do the minor adjustments to make them perfect - change the hooks to posts and take out the small golden bead. We went on down to the smaller shop to check if there was anything better and had a great conversation with the American owner who had been ‘living the dream’ in San Jose del Cabo for 10 years, working with amber and splashing paint on canvases.
We are over the moon at their reactions to our necklace. We knew that we had not seen anything else anywhere near as dark red but didn’t realise that this is because it is rare. We just thought that the traditional ‘amber’ colour was the preferred one. 
