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Doug & Islay's Great Escape
We arrived into mexico city rather late and hired a registered taxi to get to our hostel. Taxi's in this country don't seem to use or value seatbelts yet still proceed at manic, erratic speeds. As a passenger you don't really have choice as the belts are hidden behind the back seats so you just have to hope for the best. Gemma has a holographic card with Saint Christopher who looks over you when you travel, seems to be the preferred safety precaution. In the taxi coming out of Guanajuato as we speed up along the (what I though was a dual carriage way) the taxi driver, much to my horror, crossed himself before overtaking on a bend (not a dual carriageway). Gemma said it was because he passed a shrine, I'm not so sure.
Coming into Mexico City, towards the centre, the roads were exceptionaly empty apart from street vendors catering for the occasional hungry pedestrian and mariachi players lurking on street corners dressed in the full black and silver uniform, jostling for business. It seems a little sad and almost sordid, these music men, standing on street corners touting for tricks more fitting to ladies of the night. Who are their clients and where do they go, down a back alley way or to a seedy hotel room to be serenaded in secret like it's something dirty?
Our very clean, large and airy hostel was very central and offered tours, sadly not to the butterfly sanctuary but they suggested we get up the next morning and speak to the guide who could help us get there. And that we did. She said either, she could take us for £60 each or we could try to get there by public transport, this would cost about £30 between us. We opted to do it ourselves with the added bonus we could leave our bag in the hostel for free. We headed out and to the metro, aware of the reputation it had for pick-pocketing I held my bag tight, I had attached a carabina to the opening and stap as an added line of defense. Gemma said that quite often you get your bottom squeezed by fellow male commuters and I was a little disappointed when we disembarked the second tube, (personal belonging all intact but my hand had frozen into a claw) at the bus station without even a brush past! Once we had established that the, rather jokey, bus driver would stop at the butterfly sanctuary we got comfortable, ready for the two and half hour journey. As the Disney film Tangled played in the background (in spanish) we headed out of the massive city and up into the pine forests in the west of Mexico state.
The mountain region looked like a mix of alpine farm land and rolling English countryside all ascending into pine forests similar to the Scottish Highlands apart from the cacti growing sporadically among the trees. Eventually the bus stopped in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere. When I thought of a 'sanctuary' I had envisioned some kind of wooden cabin at the entrance maybe telling you about the butterflies, giving you dos and don'ts and demanding money for the privilege. All there was, was a sign hidden in some trees and a selection of people and horses lurking at the road side. Gem chatted to them (people not horses) and before I really knew what was going on I was sitting on one (horse not person), well pony really, it's legs were as long as mine. Gem got the larger one but apparently it had never done the trail before so need a lighter rider! Our two guides went on foot and we headed up a forest path, through pines and pretty flora. Gem's inexperienced horse kept tripping as it navigated it's way up the rocky path. Both horses seemed to suffer from digestive issues and let rip every few metres, probably with the effort of hauling us, me partiulary, up the hill! The 'entrance' to the sanctaury consisted of a bloke standing beside the path, we paid and continued up into the forest. We then left the horses with one of the guides and continued up on foot, above we started to see swarms of butterflies flying around the trees. We stopped to take some photos but the guide ushered us on. We then came across one on the ground, marveling at it's beauty and it's proxsimity both of us started taking photos. Our guide once again ushered us on, and justly so. Watching our feet as we climbed up, more and more butterflies seemed to appear on the path. The sound of wind blowing in the trees began but as we looked up and around we realised it was the sound of a million beating wings. The foliage was alive with movement, everywhere you looked were fluttering wings, some fast some slow. You could even hear individual butterflies flapping their wings. It was utterly mesmerising. Above us the canopy was saturated with red and grey (the underside of the wings), on initial sight it looked liked leaves but you soon realised it was clumps of butterflies. As we stood butterflies fluttered past and several landed on us momentalily creating beautiful brooches then moving off to blend into the sea of red. So much for my prediction of 7 butterflies! These Monarch butterflies migrate thousands of miles south from Canada and the USA to mate, sadly males die here, some having passed on their gentic codes and others without. This has to be one of the most magical and breathtaking things I have seen and I feel so privalidged to have been able to experience it. The sun began to dissapear and roles of thunder pealed in the distance so our guide began to usher us, reluctanly, down from this amazing place. Once again we mounted our steeds and decended the hill only stopping to retreive Gemma's shell bracklet that spontaniously burst as she road along. (that will really confuse archilogists in the future when they find a stray shell on the top of a mountain far far from the sea!) As we came back to our starting point one of the horse below whinied and Gem's whined back in response. It was as if one inquired "How was it?" and Gem's said "Bloody awful, I kept tripping." We then lurked by the road side for about 20mins, with no sign of a bus only several very noisy trucks, our guides kindly stayed with us saying they wouldn't leave us on our own. Eventually a taxi passed going to Toluca where we could get bus back to Mexico City. In mexico taxi's in rural areas are called 'collectivos'. This is because they will collect lots of people going in the same direction. On our way to Toluca we collected a (very small) older lady and two boys. The taxi driver was amusing as on appoaching the boys he sized them up and said that they were thin, thus pronouncing them able to fit in the front seat together. They were neither partiulary thin and defininalty did not fit partiulary well in the front seat. Fourntuanly they were only travelling a few kilometres and with a bit of awkwrd shuffleing paid and got out. We then managed to get a bus back to Mexico City, contrary to what the taxi driver said it seemed to stop at every bus stop in Toluca and then Mexico City. There was then a hurried metro trip across the city to collect our bags and an even more fraught, hot and hurried journey to the other side to get the bus to Tlaxcala which left at 10pm, and was the final one back. Thankfully we manged to get it and eventually arrived back at Gemma's house where a sleepy Luis greeted us. Exhausted by our trip we went straight to bed both looking forward to seeing the wee girls in the morning.
Our very clean, large and airy hostel was very central and offered tours, sadly not to the butterfly sanctuary but they suggested we get up the next morning and speak to the guide who could help us get there. And that we did. She said either, she could take us for £60 each or we could try to get there by public transport, this would cost about £30 between us. We opted to do it ourselves with the added bonus we could leave our bag in the hostel for free. We headed out and to the metro, aware of the reputation it had for pick-pocketing I held my bag tight, I had attached a carabina to the opening and stap as an added line of defense. Gemma said that quite often you get your bottom squeezed by fellow male commuters and I was a little disappointed when we disembarked the second tube, (personal belonging all intact but my hand had frozen into a claw) at the bus station without even a brush past! Once we had established that the, rather jokey, bus driver would stop at the butterfly sanctuary we got comfortable, ready for the two and half hour journey. As the Disney film Tangled played in the background (in spanish) we headed out of the massive city and up into the pine forests in the west of Mexico state.
The mountain region looked like a mix of alpine farm land and rolling English countryside all ascending into pine forests similar to the Scottish Highlands apart from the cacti growing sporadically among the trees. Eventually the bus stopped in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere. When I thought of a 'sanctuary' I had envisioned some kind of wooden cabin at the entrance maybe telling you about the butterflies, giving you dos and don'ts and demanding money for the privilege. All there was, was a sign hidden in some trees and a selection of people and horses lurking at the road side. Gem chatted to them (people not horses) and before I really knew what was going on I was sitting on one (horse not person), well pony really, it's legs were as long as mine. Gem got the larger one but apparently it had never done the trail before so need a lighter rider! Our two guides went on foot and we headed up a forest path, through pines and pretty flora. Gem's inexperienced horse kept tripping as it navigated it's way up the rocky path. Both horses seemed to suffer from digestive issues and let rip every few metres, probably with the effort of hauling us, me partiulary, up the hill! The 'entrance' to the sanctaury consisted of a bloke standing beside the path, we paid and continued up into the forest. We then left the horses with one of the guides and continued up on foot, above we started to see swarms of butterflies flying around the trees. We stopped to take some photos but the guide ushered us on. We then came across one on the ground, marveling at it's beauty and it's proxsimity both of us started taking photos. Our guide once again ushered us on, and justly so. Watching our feet as we climbed up, more and more butterflies seemed to appear on the path. The sound of wind blowing in the trees began but as we looked up and around we realised it was the sound of a million beating wings. The foliage was alive with movement, everywhere you looked were fluttering wings, some fast some slow. You could even hear individual butterflies flapping their wings. It was utterly mesmerising. Above us the canopy was saturated with red and grey (the underside of the wings), on initial sight it looked liked leaves but you soon realised it was clumps of butterflies. As we stood butterflies fluttered past and several landed on us momentalily creating beautiful brooches then moving off to blend into the sea of red. So much for my prediction of 7 butterflies! These Monarch butterflies migrate thousands of miles south from Canada and the USA to mate, sadly males die here, some having passed on their gentic codes and others without. This has to be one of the most magical and breathtaking things I have seen and I feel so privalidged to have been able to experience it. The sun began to dissapear and roles of thunder pealed in the distance so our guide began to usher us, reluctanly, down from this amazing place. Once again we mounted our steeds and decended the hill only stopping to retreive Gemma's shell bracklet that spontaniously burst as she road along. (that will really confuse archilogists in the future when they find a stray shell on the top of a mountain far far from the sea!) As we came back to our starting point one of the horse below whinied and Gem's whined back in response. It was as if one inquired "How was it?" and Gem's said "Bloody awful, I kept tripping." We then lurked by the road side for about 20mins, with no sign of a bus only several very noisy trucks, our guides kindly stayed with us saying they wouldn't leave us on our own. Eventually a taxi passed going to Toluca where we could get bus back to Mexico City. In mexico taxi's in rural areas are called 'collectivos'. This is because they will collect lots of people going in the same direction. On our way to Toluca we collected a (very small) older lady and two boys. The taxi driver was amusing as on appoaching the boys he sized them up and said that they were thin, thus pronouncing them able to fit in the front seat together. They were neither partiulary thin and defininalty did not fit partiulary well in the front seat. Fourntuanly they were only travelling a few kilometres and with a bit of awkwrd shuffleing paid and got out. We then managed to get a bus back to Mexico City, contrary to what the taxi driver said it seemed to stop at every bus stop in Toluca and then Mexico City. There was then a hurried metro trip across the city to collect our bags and an even more fraught, hot and hurried journey to the other side to get the bus to Tlaxcala which left at 10pm, and was the final one back. Thankfully we manged to get it and eventually arrived back at Gemma's house where a sleepy Luis greeted us. Exhausted by our trip we went straight to bed both looking forward to seeing the wee girls in the morning.
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