We took two little trips recently. Once again I cannot resist putting up some pictures, though they don't do justice to our surroundings. As usual, we drove for miles on small roads with little, sometimes no, automobile or truck traffic, with large expanses of forest and fields and villages strung along them, mountains rolling up on all sides of us. People looked at us warily and smiled when we smiled at them. I'm sure they probably laughed after we'd passed by since we are surely a strange site up in the hills where foreigners don't often go: an elderly American couple with their four dogs sitting like passengers in a somewhat ramshackle old Toyota Rav 4.
We took one trip about a week ago up to Cerro Boludo -- for those of you who have an idea of where we are, we drove to Xico, crossed the river and then drove on the road that goes past the fancy resort called Aguas Benditas and on past Coapexpan where our water comes from and then through Monte Grande up to Cerro Boludo. You can eventually get to Perote this way. Then yesterday we took a second trip winding from Teocelo through Ixhuacan de los Reyes and up to a little tiny town at the end of the road called El Futuro Miguel Hidalgo.
On the first trip, we drove through Cero Boludo and parked on the edge of a gentle escarpment just out of site of the town. I think I wrote about Cero Boludo once. I know I did. I posted some pictures of several baby pigs. The men we talked to that time brought us some delicious cherries they picked for us. This trip, the dogs almost seemed to remember where we were. They hopped out and right off started trotting back towards the town. BUT that's not where we wanted to go. They are pretty good at deciding they'd rather be with us, so they were quick to turn and follow us.
This trip was a particular challenge for Giaco because we had to cross streams via logs. Giaco tried and failed and panicked. Jim ended up carrying him, or more like it, lugging him across both bridges all four times we had to cross them.
This is the first bridge Giaco wouldn't cross. It was the tamer of the two. I think Jim managed to get him to at least partly walk across it by himself.
I don't have any pictures of Giaco's bridge struggles. I was too scared for him to take pictures, and besides, it would have hurt his pride if he thought people saw him in such awkward, panic-induced positions.
We wended our way past a smattering of houses, children playing, a couple of people on horseback. Some domestic animals.
Here's a piglet we saw:
And some geese:
A bit further up the road, we passed this herd of goats. The dogs with the herd were very quick to circle the goats to move them away from us, but they didn't bother our dogs, nor did ours bother them. The goatherd was a skinny guy, not really happy to see us at first, but then he talked to us and answered questions about where the roads went.
We came to a farm that straddled the road. The house was quite large and very pretty, painted white with pink trim and gorgeous flowers growing. This was an area where driving is impossible. Horses are essential transport here. At least one of the owner's horses was tethered to the side of his house. The house had electricity. I imagined the meter reader walking there or riding a horse to do his job. You can see plants hanging to dry under the eaves. A lot of people seem to have them now. I don't know what they are. I will ask.
Here is a blossom from a plant near his house:
Most unfortunately, Cosi chased a chicken in back of a shed here and caught it and killed it. I've never seen that happen. When I realized she had it tightly gripped in her teeth, I ran sqawking myself as loud as the chicken was doing, trying to stop her, but Cosi eluded me, flattening herself and dodging and weaving and I swear looking back at me squinty-eyed and telepathically communicating, no way are you going to get me. I was too late, but we sure didn't let her keep the chicken which lay pathetically on its side, moving ever so slightly. Much to my great dismay, RITA, good ole obedient (mostly) Rita was very much an equal in the hunt. SHE let go as soon as I screeched, but didn't let me near her. Instead, she ran around looking guilty, her mouth full of soft white feathers.
After the horse left the barn, so to speak, we closed the door, and put leashes on the dogs. And looked for the owner, who turned out to be a pleasant mild-mannered man who came out and smiled and charged us 80 pesos. Enough, I am sure, to cover the cost. I mentioned to Jim that maybe we should have asked for the chicken. By coincidence I had just read a column by Randy Cohen, The Ethicist of the NY Times saying that those who paid for the damages should get the goods. But didn't seem like a good idea to go back and ask for it, and besides, I wasn't about pluck the feathers and chop its head off,or whatever. Still too much a city girl.
It can be pretty consequential when your dog kills a chicken around here. Paul the English gardener had to put a dog to sleep because it wouldn't desist, and our neighbors across the street who get along a bit better now didn't speak for quite a long time because one was sure the other's dog had killed her chicken.
Anyway, slightly shaken, we turned to return the way we'd come. Here is a picture of the goats we'd seen going up, this time looking at them from the curve in the road above them.
And to end, just a few plant pictures:
A plant whose seeds stick straight up