I accepted the housesit in Mexico City because I had always wanted to visit the National Museum of Anthropology and Teotihuacan. Secure in the opportunity to do those things, I started to look for other ‘can’t miss’ things to see and do in the area. As I said in an earlier post I was rather nervous about the city, but the more I read about the Distrito Federal, the more excited I became about the sheer depth of experience that was on offer.
When I realised that I was going to be within driving district of the Monarch Butterfly Biosphere Reserve, I knew I had to get there if I possibly could. Once Karen and Simon signed on, a day tour with a personal driver/guide seemed the obvious way to go. Once again, Trip Advisor provided assistance in finding a well reviewed tour company.
Even the news that I would either have to walk several kilometres up a steep grade, or rent a horse to do the walking and climbing failed to discourage me
.
After all, I grew up next to a horse farm where my sister and I made friends with the boy next door and often got to take rides through the fields and woods. Okay, I hadn’t been on a horse for over 50 years, but it’s like riding a bicycle, right?
Truthfully, my biggest worry was whether I’d be able to mount. My knees are bad and I’m no longer a slim 13 year old, to put it very mildly.
For those that may not be aware, each autumn, Monarch butterflies from southern Canada and parts of the United States fly up to 7,700 kms (4800 miles) to Mexico.
There are a number of mysteries about this. For one thing, it’s a one way trip. The average Monarch butterfly lives for about two months. The northward journey will be undertaken over the lifespans of four generations of butterflies. The butterflies that ‘return’ to Mexico in the fall have never been there. So how do they know where to go? Theories range from ultraviolet light to a built in compass oriented to the sun.
No one has yet found an explanation for how these butterflies who have never even been to Mexico, find not only Mexico, but the very same trees used by previous generations.
The places where Monarchs overwinter provide another example of ‘discovery’ by descendants of Europeans of sites that were well known to local inhabitants for centuries. In this case it was a Canadian, Fred Urquhart, who, in the 1970s, tagged butterflies and thereby was able to plot their route and document the Monarchs’ migration. I’m sure the people who live here were shaking their heads at the exciting announcement that it had been ‘discovered’ that Monarch butterflies migrate to these particular spots.
The Purépecha people among others, once occupied the lands where the Monarchs go. Monarchs are mentioned in local legends. The arrival of the butterflies signified that it was time to harvest the corn. In modern times, the arrival of the Monarchs is closely tied to celebrations of the Day of the Dead.
The actual area set aside as a World Biosphere site is over 200 square miles. It contains a number of different ‘sanctuaries’ where the public can go to see the butterflies. The El Rosario is probably the best known. Click on the link to get an idea of what we were expecting to see.
We booked our tour to Piedra Herrada, because it was the closest sanctuary to the city.
I was assured that the people who manage the horses would give me whatever assistance I needed in mounting.
Hopes high, we started out early in the day, and had a perfectly lovely drive into the mountains. We stopped to take a break at Plaza de Alas.
While we were admiring the scenery, a white horse trotted by.
A pinto followed, complete with saddle. They seemed to know where they were going. In any case, no human attendants appeared to collect them.
The main attraction at this stop was a large installation of Jorge Marin ‘wings’.
We came across his wonderful works of public art in many places around Mexico City. There is a set of wings in the median dividing the Paseo de la Reforma in front of the National Museum of Anthropology.
There is an evocative version made from guns and parts of guns in front of the Museum of Memory and Tolerance.
Marin does winged and masked figures called “Watchmen” and they appear in unexpected places as well.
We arrived at the butterfly sanctuary and called for horses.
My unfortunate steed was called Alicia.
I was given assistance in mounting, but no reins. The people in charge of the horses took responsibility for leading them up the path. The horses were quite small. I think Simon could have touched the ground with his feet.
The first part of the path was fairly level and stones gave some purchase in the churned up mud.
That ended quite quickly. The path that rose through the forest became very steep very quickly. There had been heavy rains the day before and the mud became increasingly deep and treacherously slippery.
I felt bad for the horses, who were all puffing before too long, and scrambling for footing. The people who lead the horses up and down that mountain all day must be in terrific cardiac shape.
We were constantly meeting horses making the descent and being pushed into the bushes lining the path. After a while, the people making the ascent on foot were also sharing the muddy, slippery path with the horses. Since the path is several kilometres long, it takes a while. A lot of the climbers had, like me, clearly not anticipated the conditions. People with sturdy, waterproof boots or shoes were in the minority.
I had been cautioned that the horses could not go to the top. They would rest amongst the trees while we attempted the last part of the long steep climb.
I had pictured a paved sloping walkway, or at the least, a stony path. I had not expected a mere trail that was almost vertical, and nothing but mud. The altitude is something like 9,000 feet, so it is not easy to catch your breath.
After a few minutes I snatched up a stout stick to help my climb. Even with that, it was very slow. I told Karen and Simon to go on ahead. I wanted them to have as much time with the butterflies as possible. Our guide offered to stay to help me.
I persisted as long as I could. The path only became more muddy and more vertical. At one very difficult point I asked if we were nearly there.
When I was told that we hadn’t even covered half the distance, I decided that I had had enough.
Even if I made it to the top, I was afraid I would screw up my knees so badly I would be back on crutches, facing four more months of travel with a bum knee.
Fernando, the guide, offered to stay with me. I think honestly that he would have been grateful to have a reason not to go on. I was worried though that Karen and Simon would be waiting for us, so I made him do the climb, while I took a seat on a nearby stone.
I admit to feeling somewhat better about my own condition when I saw that everyone who came up the path was puffing very hard, and going very slowly, even the fit young people.
Within a few minutes, Fernando returned to say that he had only climbed high enough to get a cell phone signal. Then he had called another guide from his tour company who he knew was with a group further ahead of us. That guide was able to spot Karen and Simon and relay the message that I was waiting below. His fellow guide told Fernando that the sanctuary employees were limiting the amount of time people could spend at the actual place where the butterflies were, to only about 15 minutes.
Fernando and I descended back to the place where the horses were waiting. I made friends with one who amiably rested his head on my shoulder.
Karen and Simon appeared not too much later. They had been disappointed in their expectations of seeing millions of butterflies flying around in numbers so large that you could hear the noise of their wings. (We had read online about that happening.) The heavy rain and cloudy skies were prompting them to cluster on tree branches.
Only a few were flying. There had also been hordes of people. The park staff were pushing them to keep moving smartly along in a circle, following the same path they had ascended on. So there had also been disappointingly little opportunity to take photos.
The descent on horseback was even worse than the climb. My horse very sensibly refused at one point where the bank was almost vertical and covered in slimy slippery mud. The young guy in charge of Alicia did get her to move, but she slipped and lost her footing and I really thought we were going down. She recovered however, and we got through the worst of it without incident.
I wished I had remembered to bring some sugar or an apple for my trusty mount, but I didn’t, so I could only give her a pat and say a fond farewell.
Were we sorry we went?
Not at all. It would have been worth it just for the drive through the mountains. We know that nature cannot be made to perform on demand. And the climb up and down a muddy mountain on horseback, while far from comfortable, was at least a bit of an adventure.