From Creel, Chihuahua...

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Hola hola a todos y todas, si, bueno, so, many a mile between here and el D.F...Left via el Terminal Norte, with a minor detour out to Teotihuacan, where the got big things, things that are made out of stone, and their old...piramids! thats it! One of them is the third biggest, or should I say fattest in the world! Youpee! What a difference though, from the jungled remains of Palenque. Maybe it was the lack of greenyness, maybe the multitudes of turistos, or may just my grumbly tummy and uncomfy bowel movements, but I had a much better time wandering around down in Chiapas.

And then the fine town of Chihuahua. The Wranglers(tm), the boots, the hats, and the pickup trucks tell ya yous in cowboy country. Also, blond-brown hair and blue eyes start to show up on people who are most surely Mexican, a little odd after so much time down south. I went to Pancho Villa's hacienda, now home of the museum of the Mexican Revolution. Its curiously staffed entirely by military personel, in green fatigues and combat boots. Wierd. The highlight was a poster that went up in the Southern states about a hundred years ago: "Come South of the Border: Ride with Pancho Villa for Gold and Glory: Weekly payments in Gold for Miners, Ranchers, and (something else)". Besides that, underwhelming.

From Chihuahua (the city has the same name as the state) to Creel was a most delightful train ride. I was up bright and early, and watched the sun rise from my window seat. I watched deserts roll up into hills, and hills fall apart in cliffs and canyons, and nearly beat up a tree with my head when I leaned out a window.

Creel? I've mostly been trying to relax meself between the speedy travels. I hiked out to a nearby lake yesterday. Its been a while since I stretched out my legs in a natural setting. The altitude is such that the forests are pine and thin, the valleys are dry this time of year, the rocks are shaped all kinds of wierd stuffs by the dustwind. The mosses remind me of muskoka.

And a bit more of Mexico City:
I'll limit my beaurocratic complaint to this: The Office of Migration does not provide the forms necessary to nenew a tourist card, nor do they accept the payment necessary to renew a tourist card, but they can direct you down the street to the paper store and the bank, and invite your swift return. It was real fun.

And a story of Marco:
When I was in D.F. on the way down south, Marco was working for an advertising agency, and not enjoying it. He quit while I was travelling, so he could focus on his true ambitions. He's now volunteering his services as a Production Assistant with a group of filmakers, gaining experience and making connections that will help him much more than cheering for Sony and Telmex. Cheers for Marco! (And Marco, tell your Mom, I say Adios y muchos gracias, si).

Next stop: Tee ah Wha Na!!!

Lates..

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Photos

El Piramid del Sol
Third fattest, worldwide...

Rocks
And a valley, near Creel

Marco y yo
chillin' in sepia

Lago Arareko
Near Creel