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Diary of a Horseback Trip Day 8:
Everyone knew what to expect today. We planned for lunch in Urique but it would be hot. There simply was no way to escape the fact this would be another hot day. But by timing our arrival for mid-day, we could languish over lunch and wait out the worst of the heat in town. Considering how the traditional Mexican siesta occurred from 1 to 3 pm, this had been thought of a long time ago by previous generations. Nobody since has had a better idea and it still works today.
After a late breakfast,
we slowly packed up. Eveline's rug was stowed while Próspero and José nailed
another loose shoe. Waving goodbye to Próspero, reluctantly we set out. Reaching the
ankle-deep Urique River, we splashed across and headed toward Guapalaina. Soon
it was behind us and once again we settled into the Plaza Restaurant for a
leisurely mid-day meal. The thieving jaybird was not around. I wondered about
how much money it owed the restaurant.
After lunch we followed the track upstream from town to the long suspension bridge. During low water, vehicles can cross the riverbed and proceed to Guadalupe-Coronado upstream. Once the rains come, the crossing becomes impassable and everyone uses the footbridge. A short distance upstream, we tied our mounts under the trees and changed into shorts. Having watched Dama sweat and roll around in the dirt, I led her toward the river. Somewhat uncertainly, she followed me into the water. With a little persuasion, both of us were soon swimming in a deep pool. The water was a welcome break from the heat - it was 42C out - hot! I was refreshed, and in spite of her reservations, so was Dama. Nevertheless, after the swim, she still rolled about in the sand. Ourselves dried and the horses saddled, we set off in the afternoon light climbing away from the Rio Urique for the last time. As we climbed away from the lowland desert scrub, we passed a couple of ranchitos and some of the tallest mango trees I have ever seen. Massive, full, and luxuriantly green, their fruit would ripen into a wonderful crop.
In a side canyon drainage, we came on another footbridge. It was unnecessary in this dry time but high water marks on the rocks were evidence of those times when the bridge was the only way across. Numerous broken boards suggested more than one person had experienced a flirting brush with disaster. Indeed, an American tourist had fallen through a few months earlier. Whether by fate or pure luck, she landed in the only patch of sand anywhere and emerged injured instead of dead.
The trail followed a fairly straight line and continued climbing. By now it was late afternoon and the intensity of the mid-day's heat was gone. In the distance, the cliffs above the community of Naranjo slowly came into view. Soon the outlines of the houses became visible and we were opening the gate into the home of Meletón and Ambrosia Mancines. Old acquaintances, they have developed a space under their citrus trees for camping. Trips through Naranjo invariably stop here for the evening. The camping area overlooks the small canyon by Naranjo. That night we shared our dinner with them and received freshly-made tortillas in return. There was talk that evening of a fiesta in the community's church and that a violin player would be there. That and other important matters were passed around as the light faded and the chickens climbed the trees to their safe roosting places out on the ends of thin branches. Watching the roosters, I knew only too well what was coming tomorrow morning. I would sleep soundly tonight, but not through the morning calls of the Naranjo roosters!
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de Urique, S.A. de C. V. unless otherwise noted. All rights reserved. |
