It's an old silver mining boom town founded in 1779 that used to be one of the larger and more prosperous towns in central Mexico, reaching a high population of 40,000 in the 19th Century. The name supposedly comes from the fact that 14 Spanish troops ("Royals" hence "Real") met their end here fighting the local Indians. I also read that the name came from 14 poplar trees that once grew here.. Whatever, it's an evocative name.
In the early 20th Century, before the commencement of the Mexican Revolution and World War I, the price of silver cratered, and the population of the town fell precipitously, and the population fell to 250 and then became a ghost town.
Since the 1970's the place has been experiencing a revival. It's no longer a ghost town, but rather a bustling little village with a few dozen cratered out old buildings still at the edges of the place.
I decided to come here because the church is one of the great shrines of Mexico. It's dedicated to the "Purisma Concepcion" or as we usually say in English the the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary. That is to say that it is dedicated to the grace that preserved Mary from all sin (as an incorrupt vessel, the Ark of the Universal Covenant) from the moment of her conception. There's also a very famous (amongst Mexicans) early 18th Century statue of Saint Francis of Assisi here that attracts pilgrims. The month surrounding the Feast of Saint Francis on October 4th is a huge carnival here, where some 150,000 people come from all over Mexico to camp out and venerate the icon and celebrate. They eat and party, and have processions every day where they carry the statue about and fire of cannons, sing songs, play mariachi music and other groovy fun things like that.
I've stolen this image (because I've been sparing my camera battery, I didn't take any pictures of the fiesta myself) and some of the information here from this site, the official website of the village.
I showed up the very end of this carnival on October 12th. The place was still crammed with those sort of trailers and mobile homes that we'd associate with a State Fair carnies in the States, or gypsies in Europe. A bunch of old 1970's and 80's vehicles in every corner and along every street of the place that looked like they've been wrapped together with twine and tinfoil. But things were definitely winding down, which was fine by me. I got to see the end of the festivities, but now have a much more tranquil and attractive (the street vendors really junked the place up and cluttered things) village to enjoy.
The bus climbs up in the mountains following 24 km of cobblestone road - that's right, 24 km of cobblestone, that's a lot of cobbled stone folks - shuttering and shimmying the entire way. The bus feels like it's going to shake itself apart. Most of the bus windows have hairline cracks in them, the windshield is shot all through with them. They probably don't bother to replace it because if they did the new one wouldn't be free of cracks for long.
When I got here, the bus dropped me off in a parking lot with only a few houses about. I was confused, and tried to ask the driver in my broken Spanish "like where the heck's the pueblo?" I was really confused. At first I thought I'd missed my stop, and been taken to some little village in the middle of nowhere. I asked the bus driver where Real de Catorce was and he waved his hand and spewed a bunch of unintelligible Spanish and laughed at me. He said he was driving back to Matahuela (the place you switch buses for anywhere of significance from here) at 8 am the next morning.
It's one of the great privileges of being in Mexico, playing el Gringo Estupido. It makes everyone laugh, including me.
There was a little American busybody voice in my head that was goading me to lose my temper at him. I told that asshole to shut up, and just laughed too. In the middle of nowhere, and no hotel or restaurant or stores were immediately evident. I felt a little insecure, too, because the stupid gringo voice in my head was spouting paranoia..
Great. This is where I congratulated myself for my having packed my sleeping bag, sleeping bag liner, 5' x 10' green tarp and Army issue camo gortex bivy sack. I'd been on the fence on all that stuff, but as soon as I got here I was glad for the sleeping bag and liner, because they are great adjuncts to hotel bedding. They keep me all nice and toasty warm..
Now, though, that bivy and tarp were going to truly save my sorry silly chilly ass. I'd been accusing myself of over-packing. Not so, not so. The bivy sack is never a bad idea, not when you're tramping like I am.. You never know when you'll need or want to sleep rough.
I walked 100 meters out along the road away from the houses and the noise of the people. It had been dug out of the mountainside, rock wall uphill, and the hillside dropped away precipitously downhill. I found a little place where there was a little flat ground not far (maybe 10') from the road hidden on the hillside in the shrubbery and darkness, put down my bags and made myself snug.
I pulled my Lonely Planet Mexico Guide. This is the first time I've gone traveling with a travel guide in about 15 years, because I've always preferred to go off the beaten path, and flee the Baedeker bearing masses. Just snobbery, really. I've decided that I'd stop acting such a twit, and bought a guide my last night in San Antonio.
I found the three pages about Real de Catorce (which I had not yet read) and bending over it with my reading glasses and flashes I read..
That the bus drops you off in a parking lot on the east side of a 2.3 km long tunnel that had been dug through the mountain in 1903. There you need to take a mini-bus to the town on the western side of the tunnel. The town is on the other side of that tunnel, which I had not seen on the other side of the houses.
There. 25 $ (U.S.) spent on the Lonely Planet Guide there and then justified in spades.
I'd missed the mini-bus. Har. Har. Good times. I ended up having to hoof it with my bags through the tunnel.
Real de Catorce, and the 2,300 meters of tunnel to it, are 2,750 meters (9,000 feet, 1.7 miles) above sea level in the Sierra Madres.
Long time readers of my blog will remember that when I was in Switzerland I discovered that even relatively low high altitudes (like that experienced ski randonee'ing up San Gotthard's and Bernard's Passes which are only 2,000 and 2,500 meters above sea level) make me sick..
I kicked that tunnel out anyway folks. I impressed myself. The tunnel is flat, and well lit. Twenty minutes and one brief break later, I was in the village.
I again used my guidebook to find a cheap - 150 peso, which is roughly 12 US$ - room. Clean. With wireless internet. No hot water, but for 12 bucks, I'm not complaining. It's more comfortable than sleeping on the mountainside.
Besides, it has a terrace. This is the view:
This is the extremely impressive and (for the village as it is today, less thousands of pilgrims) large and very baroque parish church:
I also took a tighter more detailed shot of the sanctuary.
This is during Thursday afternoon adoration. The famous statue of Saint Francis is in the glass case on the left of the sanctuary. There's a cool statue of the Immaculate (Most Pure (Purisima) Conception - which is to say the Blessed Virgin) directly above the tabernacle behind the altar. The monstrance containing the Blessed Sacrament is on the altar, but it's a small one, and in this shot it's hard to see. I didn't want to take too many pictures while we were all at prayer, because it's rude, so this is all I've got:
This is the view from my hotel balcony looking away from the church and tunnel toward the West (note sunset behind the hills) from the balcony of my hotel:
You see that the town is nestled in a cusp at the top of these mountains. The mine shafts are all about in the hills here, and there are a large cock fighting and bullfighting rings.
The upshot is that I've been hanging about here, eating at the couple good restaurants in town, and relishing the place quite a bit. Now that all the Mexican campesino pilgrims and their trucks, stalls and campers have gone, the locals, some European residents (there are Swiss and French who have bought property here, and own some of the businesses in town) a few dozen Mexican hippies and at least one couple of Italian hippies with a dog, and a few older - and obviously prosperous and retired - American tourists are left.
The hippies are here for the peyote, which this place is famous for. The evening I arrived I was propositioned by a local just as I got through the tunnel and had thrown down my bags to rest and celebrate, asking me if I wanted to buy some. Right, Ese. The last thing I need is to take a peyote trip here, in the middle of the desert, alone. I thanked him, and told him I'll stick to the cerveza.
Which like the food, is pretty good here in the middle of Mexico. God Bless Mexico and her people. it's good to be here among them..
San Francisco y la Purisima Concepcion, Rosa Mystica, Ruegue por Nosotros.
And so with that, I think I've typed on too long. Time to stop.
Goodnight everyone: Buenas Noches, todos.
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