- note to self, Sierra Norte, Oaxaca, Mexico. 9.3.09
Today may rival the worst travel day of my life (hitherto Spain to Morocco via Ceuta '07).
Well, I could count my mistakes, including all of those noted above, but it's better to accept it as calculated recreational hazards. I have to take the bad with the good. And today was bad.
<--- not a bad place to get lost, right??It started with the tour guide at Benito Juarez, the village where I would begin my 3 day trek through the Pueblos Mancomunados of Sierra Norte in Oaxaca. Well meaning, he assured me that the trail to Cuajimoloyas could easily be done solo. Otherwise I could wait for a guide, who would arrive in another hour or so. I figured, if anyone says it can be done solo, I can certainly do it. How bad could 5 miles be? And it would not have been if I had not spent the first 2 hours looking for the trailhead. There were, in fact, other trailheads, but the wrong ones, and I followed them to dead ends. One time I wandered off and while trying to figure out my next move, I practically fell into this huge bed of ivy, or something, that stung the whole side of my lower leg. Minutes later it was covered in tiny welts, and the skin felt very tingly (I later found out that this plant, likely the one called malamujer is used medicinally by the Zapotecs as a topical analgesic).
By the time I got to the real trailhead, after backtracking 3 or 4 times from the steep slopes of the others, I was already exhausted, and only then had 5 miles to go. There were markings, but they were sparse, and then nonexistent about 3 miles in. Until then I had asked everyone I had seen occasionally walking along if I was on the right path, and they would kindly indicate the way.
And then there was no one, not a sign of soul or trail marker. Just me in some of the most beautiful countryside I've ever seen, fatigued, and down to a couple pieces of bread and water. I wasn't sure how far I had to go, or even if I was going the right way. Though the path was clear, it had no signs, so it could have been going nowhere for all I knew. Every step was like a shockwave through my legs, the ground pushing up and my backpack pushing down, and my heart was pounding. Almost every few hundred feet I had to stop and rest. To top it off, I heard thunder behind me, so when I stopped to rest, I forced my way forward.
I don't know what would have happened if I had really lost my way, or if I had exhausted myself before I got to Cuajimoloyas (Coalamojitos? I thought at one time while brain functions started lapsing). I figured I would, at that point, just sit (or lay) down and whistle as loud as I could til someone found me (I actually did whistle a couple times as I walked and got really scared from the thunder). Until then, the only option was to keep walking. I almost broke down a couple times, but I (suprisingly) kept myself relatively together and harshly reminded myself how much precious energy that would waste. Breaking down would pretty much mean giving up, because I believe and believed that if I sat down to cry, I might have passed out immediatley after.
So I saved it til I got to my cozy cabaña in
Cuajimoloyas, tipped over the edge by the local who showed me to the room. The last leg of this trail was a steep, beautiful, painful, upward climb. From a few hundred feet I could see a big building and indications of a paved road. I had never been so happy to lay eyes on civilization. The tourist office was just a hundred yards away from the path along the road, where I met an older man who didn't look much like a tour office attendant but indicated that I follow him. Once he opened the door and handed me the key, he charged me for the room and "el guia," or what I thought was a collection for himself or for the reserved guide who never came with me today. I didn't protest or inquire, all my wits lost and completely thrown off by the idea of anyone trying to swindle me for the first time on this trip. I found out later that he was a temporary stand-in for the actual tour office attendant, charging me for the guide which I had reserved for tomorrow, which was just protocol that he was told to do.In the meantime I just cried, exploded, and swore I would leave this accursed place as soon as possible. So I made my way to the office for an explanation and a bus schedule, and found the real tour attendant. He explained everything and thus restored my faith in humanity. Of course, I only thought later to request if he would ask the older man to forgive my presumption, though I don't believe I made that much a show of it. Then again, I was pretty compromised, so I just thought it in a sort of pseudo-prayer. In any case, I changed the next day's plans of a 10 mile trek to Latuvia for a flatter, gentler 5 mile hike to Llano Grande.
I could look at today as a grand failure, but I choose not to. I hadn't really hiked solo before, and I learned more about my limits. I think of it as the motorcycle accident they describe in the
Motorcycle Saftey Manual, where they tell you that there is not one singular cause of an accident, but rather many, and your job is to minimize the risks. If you tweaked any of the conditions described above, the day might not have turned out to be such a disaster. No single one is my fault, but they are all variables that I will know for sure to keep in mind for next time. The part I regret most is that I missed savoring the spectacular views. I had the wherewithal (or madness) to take some pictures, holding on to the expectation that I would make it out of there and be able to enjoy the views at least virtually once it was all over.(The last flower pic here is actually from before I was near-mortally lost, but one of my favorite pics from the day.)
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