December 30 To Rio Conchos and back

A little drizzle caused everyone, locals and turistas alike, to stay in for the day. Margarita was busy on the street buying armfuls of fresh produce, with an entourage of local boys lugging sacks of sugar and flour back to the huéspedes. European tourists looked forward to seeing who would arrive on the train later in the day and my traveling friends would pass the time playing "Go Fish" with the kids. I couldn't stand the sleepiness of it all and set out to walk through the Valley of the Monks, to see the headwaters of the Rio Conchos. A Tarahumara man joined me in the steady drizzle and walked along beside me speaking neither Spanish nor English. I warned him, with my insignificant Spanish, that I did not know the Tarahumara language. We agreed that his word "Kuira" and my "Hello" were the same as "Hola," but learned little more outside of our mutual ability to cover many kilometers in short time. Many Indians lived along the path all the way to the river and the man would give each of them a quick forward motion with his hand as if to secure our passage. Not knowing if I had hired him as a guide, I gave the Tarahumara man 20,000 Pesos, about $6.50 U.S. at the time. He seemed pleased and bought us both bottled Cocas for 650 Pesos and then wandered out of town with several Tarahumara women, carrying babies and sacks of crafts slung over their backs, with children running behind and an excited dog that seemed to know a good meal was waiting back home beneath the cliffs. NEXT PAGE