December 31 New Year's Eve in Creel

After a morning hike to the Laguna Arrereco, where we found the government establishing a restricted reserve for Tarahumaras, we spent the remainder of the day going to get turistas from the trains that arrived to great fanfare. "Margaritas!," the kids would yell, and then they would lead the confused foreigners to me. I would explain that the kids wanted them to stay at Margarita's Casa de Huéspedes and that there were no ice-cold margaritas in town. There was not even ice. In the kitchen, which served as the front room of the unusually-organized guest house, women were busy preparing for the New Year's Eve feast and slapping the hands of those trying to thieve an early sample. Many extra tables and chairs were crowded into the kitchen, halls and patios, and all the guests were served simultaneously. The meal included pineapple upside-down cake, pastries, beef stew, tortillas, ham omelets with pablano peppers and Queso Menonita, and potatoes, with abundant tequila punch simmering on the stove. After most of the guests headed outside to walk off the enormous meal, Margarita's daughter, Denise and her little cousins challenged us to the ultimate championship game of Go Fish, since we would be leaving the following day. The littlest cousin, Diana, asked me for an eight, "Tienes ocho?" "No, no eights," I replied. Denise then cleverly asked Diana, "Tienes ocho?" "You cheat!" Diana screamed, as she threw her cards down. One player was out. I studied the certificates posted proudly on the wall touting Denise as the best student in her class. One indicated she attended grade school in Michigan for a year, where she learned English and rose to the top to become the most outstanding student. Denise studied my silver Ganesha charm carefully, and when curiosity finally surpassed her focus on the game, she asked, "Donde esta la elefante?" "In India," I replied. Denise gasp, "Uhh! Un India en la barranca!" "No, in the country India... en la tierra India... en el país de la India," I replied. I pictured a Tarahumara woman leading an elephant down a near-vertical slope into the deep canyon, hitching the shy monster to a corn stalk by a tiny casita. After some discussion of geography, I sketched Africa and Asia with the Indian Subcontinent between them on the sleeve of my long-john undershirt. Local people mused at our hikers' fashion sense -- t-shirts and shorts pulled over thermal underwear with organic hand warmers tucked into the tops of our hiking boots, and big elf-like knit hats. I waved the silver pendant in front of Denise to hypnotize her. Intent on beating me at the game, her black eyes enthusiastically followed the lucky charm back and forth. I looked at her cinnamon face and her straight black hair, and said, "You are la India." "No la India!" she demanded. We debated, "Sí!" "No!" "Sí!" "No!" "Sí!" "No!" "Sí!" She abruptly ended the dispute with her hands over her ears, eyes closed tightly and a superior argument, "No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No!

Mexico's valiant Aztec image is revered, but Mexico's real Indians remain true to the land and their traditional values. They are poor compared to those who have set up shop on the main street of every town in Mexico. They are the blood of Mexican people and they are unobtrusive to the world, yet it is an insult to be called an Indio in Mexico. For payback, I was called a "Gringo Lost in the Canyon" and a "Lost Dog from Texas." Many dogs on the street are treated as badly as Indians, so we were even. In the spirit of the competition, Diana declared each of us had "cactus brain," by the best translation in our Spanish dictionary. We continued to play cards, as some of Margarita's guests ended the year in Creel with their heads on the table, tranquilized by the tequila punch.

The peaceful evening was soon dismissed as the cooks excitedly counted down the last ten seconds of the year. They threw beans and flour in the air, yelling "Prospero Nuevo Año!" With precious resources raining down, Denise lifted a big bag of firecrackers and exclaimed, "Vamos!" She immediately began exploding the little blasting caps outside the kitchen. She jumped up and down as each blast chipped the pavement surrounding the town square. I asked, "Do you know where these came from?" "My mom bought them at the store over there," she answered. "No, do you know where they were invented?" She shrugged. "In China," I said, as I pointed to the world map sketched on the sleeve of my underwear. "In Cheena?!" The Chinese Golden Dragon Acrobats were her favorite act on national TV variety shows. Another firecracker exploded as Denise yelled, "Viva La Cheena!" "Have you met any Chinese people in La Barranca?" I asked. "No, but when I meet them, I will like them," she responded. "Do you want to go to China?" She responded with a long, emphatic "No-o-o-o!" "Of course," I thought, "Why would she ever leave the canyons of the Sierra Madre." The world is coming here and the turistas are fascinating to these children in their sheltered environment. Firecrackers kept exploding all over town and the smell of gunpowder permeated the air. To escape wild gangs of armed children, burros ran in circles around the town square, stirring up clouds of dust, as bossy dogs gave chase. Denise cried out, "La Policias! La Policias!" We ran around the corner. "Oh great," I thought, "I'm in a foreign country running from the cops." The police failed to control the chaos, but Mass got underway by about 12:30am and the town, turistas and all, crowded into the church. Denise stood near the back with her firecrackers in one hand and matches in the other. At the conclusion of the service, Denise detonated a firecracker with only one foot outside the big church doors. Mariachis played the night away in the pavilion across from the train station and a woman on the town square continued to serve tacos to hungry revelers all night. NEXT PAGE