The final installment from Kirk Stephan as he unco
Taking the advice of a local trucker, I head directly north towards Oaxaca on highway 131… he’s probably still laughing his head off.
There had been an earthquake in those mountains a few months back and the few pieces left of the road kept falling down the mountain! Mumbling curses, at first, as I covered a bare 10 kilometers per hour in first and second gear, I finally relaxed in to the outrageous view. High mountain valleys scored with crystal-clear streams swam past my vision. For the first time I was able to enjoy these scenes since I was creeping along so slowly. That 2-day stretch (170 kilometers) turned out to be my favorite; camping by one of the streams that night I saw no people, only 4 goats, as I slept deeply to the tune of the water-melodies…
One of the exciting features of this earthquaked highway is that there are two spots on it that keep quaking! Sand and rock continually fall from above and below, sliding out from under and on down the mountain. So, at these two places, the highway department keeps in attendance two bulldozers, six trucks and 50 men to keep the traffic moving. Every two hours the traffic is halted; about 40 to 50 busses, trucks and cars stop, line up, and wait on each end, for the 3 hours it takes to bull-doze a one-lane path across to the other side of the 50 yard stretch.
The wait would have been nerve-wracking if the dozen or so lovely Oaxacan indian women hadn’t come by selling their wares. This is a “new” commerce for them since the earthquake and so they go happily up and down the lines of cars offering the mangoes and jicama that grow here as well as the ubiquitous Coca-Cola that doesn’t. It turned into great fun as I hadn’t previously had a chance to talk with country ladies. I was charmed and surprised to find out they were fairly well informed of things in this mad modern world. They asked me: “…do the Japanese or the Chinese use chop-sticks more?” and: “How many months of work does it take to have a real vacation?”
I loved those stretches of “road” even though traversing them after the three hour wait was more-than-exciting since the road kept crumbling from underneath the vehicle which was in front of me! Rocks and sand also kept falling down the mountain from above…
Oaxaca was a welcome respite from my camping scene with its food variety and tidy guest houses. There’s a whole street with only small chocolate factories on it. I bought a big glob of this ancient Mexican “invention”, with almond powder in it.
The highways northward from here were serpentine but with happily-smooth coverings of blacktop.
I made a horrible mistake that night. I was so contentedly used to camping that I failed to realize how near I was getting to the huge city of Puebla. I knew I was close to SOME towns or other by seeing the diminishing farmland turn into occasional factory. So when the huge pine-forested park appeared on my right I dove for it. Occasional hikers went by but it seemed quite peaceful with only birdsounds for background. I thought I was 30 40 miles from the city but I was actually right in it. This was their version of Central Park…
So when I stupidly left one door unlocked that night, they got me. As I slept he, or they, reached in, grabbed my best looking suitcase from under my bed, took it to the other side of my van, and went through it. Happily I didn’t wake up, startle him, and force him to do something worse!
Fortunately I hadn’t really much of value left at this point so I wasn’t devastated. He DID annoy hell out of me by swiping a paperback novel I’d nearly, but not quite finished, a whole book of addresses, my mosquito coils, and both photos of my sweetheart in Cuba…
But after Puebla, it was all fast-moving, expensive, toll-roads. In fact I was surprised to be back in Queretero a half day on from there.
It IS a bit of a task driving around this incredible country; breakdowns in horrendous heat conditions are probably my main bugaboo. The rewards, however are SO fine: Consciousness of completely different ways of being and living. Thrills of enchantment when staring up to, or down from, distant purple heights. Basking in warm shade by babbling waters. All the while my compatriots cringing from the snowy blizzards outside their grey walls…
I can’t complain!
Any comments to: kirkstephan@hotmail.com
Read all three parts of Highway Tales: Final Report
Part One
Part Two
Part Three