Never Underestimate the Sierra Madre Oriental

Oaxaca – El Camarón Yautepec, State of Oaxaca, Mexico

The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead 

When the skies of November turn gloomy

Gordon Lightfoot, The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

Another relevant song: One Things Leads to Another – by The Fixx.

This is the story of how we arrived – twenty minutes before dark – at the Hotel America – in a $15 room with no hot water (I mean no hot water – like no water comes out of the spigot when you use the hot handle), no toilet seat, and a bare bulb – in a sad and dusty town on the edge of the mountains. (More on the town later . . .)

How did we get here? Well, first off we slept in a little this morning and enjoyed some French Toast at the Airbnb before stopping by the best bakery – by far – that we have seen since at least Austin, Texas. Was probably 9 by the time we really hit the road.  

Our plan was to go to the town of Union Zapata – about 40K (24 miles) from Oaxaca – and at that point decide whether to go on a 19 mile detour to see a “frozen” waterfall and swim a little, or go on to the Hotel San Jose – which was another 50K down the road. 

When we arrived in Union Zapata to have lunch Diana announced that she had read a review that said the Hotel San Jose was closed. Neither of us really wanted to do the 19 mile detour – especially since it was about a 2,000 foot climb to get there. So our choices were limited . . .

Diana’s solution? She found another place – the Hotel America – that was 97 kilometers, or about 60 miles – further on. It didn’t have great reviews, but we seemed to be in a hotel void. It was either that or basically stop for the day. We’re really not stop-at-24-miles type of people . . .

Her logic to going on? The riding had been pretty easy up until lunch – if that easy riding continued, riding another 60 miles should not be a problem. Also, we were still at elevation and the temperature was perfect. And by biting off a bunch today we could potentially get to the beach on the Pacific side tomorrow – and Diana saw a number of airbnbs by the beach that we could stay at. 

It all seemed to make sense to me. We looked at the route on google maps a little – and we could see some squiggly lines – which probably meant elevation changes – but we just assumed that those would be roads descending toward the ocean. Should just make the ride that much more pleasant . . .

Like I say, one thing led to another . . .

So off we went. And, of course, as soon as we left Union Zapata we started to ascend. We are now going past a TON of agave, and probably 50+ mezcal places. The whole ride today was kind of the mezcal equivalent to Sonoma or Napa Valley. (Only in the uniquely Mexico way no one was at these places. No sampling. No buying. No buying. No people. I don’t know how they all stay in business.)

Oh, on the topic of agave, don’t let me forget . . . We stopped to buy some water and I made the mistake of putting my foot somewhat close to an agave plant – or something in the agave family anyway. I think the plant lunged at my leg and pricked it with it’s wicked barb. I don’t think I’ve ever bled so quickly before. Within five seconds I had blood all down my leg and the place where I was pricked swelled up a bit. 

But Dr. Liu did not seem fazed- I don’t think I even received an acknowledgement of my great wound. . . so we rode on . . .

First one small pass. Then another – much larger and higher pass. Now we’re back up to over 6,400 feet!

The views were – all of a sudden – amazing – and the descent lasted about 20 kilometers – 12+ miles. The only problem? As we’re descending I’m thinking: “Yes, it’s beautiful – mountains stretching as far as the eye can see . . . But how are we going to get out of all these mountains . . .?”

After stopping numerous times for pictures, we eventually make it down to the bottom and there’s a river valley were following. I’m hoping that we keep following this river valley right out of the mountains . . . But, of course, that would be too simple . . . 

So now we’re on yet another huge ascent. 

What happened to our easy flat or downhill day? We’re in way too deep to go back now. All we can do is go forward and hope things level out eventually. 

We finally reach the top and it’s even more beautiful

– but we’re starting to verge on later afternoon and, once again, all I see is more mountains.

When do we get to the part when we just kind of coast to the beach? 

Concerning . . .

On the way down we run into a guy coming the other direction. Diana doesn’t stop; she just wants to get to the hotel at this point. I stop though. Pierre. He’s from France. Speaks perfect English. Started in Ushuaia (Argentina) two years ago. I gave him one of our new info cards (that we had made in Mexico City – thanks to Gwen D – who is amazing) – and we parted ways. Hopefully Pierre will connect with us soon . . .

More ups and downs. When are these mountains ever going to end? I mean, they are beautiful and all – but my gosh! And now it’s getting toward 5 (it gets dark at 6). And the crazy views – and the mountains – never seem to end.

We finally make it to the rather grungy town where the Hotel America is supposed to be. 

Google croaks: “Turn left.”

Not looking very hotel-like – but whatever.

”Turn right and then left.”

Hmm. Looking even less hotel-like. The road is now dirt, the homes look super grungy, and this just doesn’t look like a place that you would build a hotel . . .

But it’s 5:35 or so – so this is no time to worry about appearances . . .

Fortunately, someone shouts something to me about the Hotel America. I look around and a nice family is telling me that the hotel is not here – it is back by the main road someplace. (I think they are used to people sent astray by Google . . .)

We turn around, head back to the main road, and start asking people. Eventually we find the place. Well, the reviews were right. What it’s lacking in charm it makes up for in grunge – the town’s essential theme . . . But, at this point – after 85 miles and another 5,000 feet of elevation gain (along with plenty of descent) we’ll take anything . . .

So this was going to be the end of this post – but events have dictated that we continue . . .

After our (cold) showers we walk up the road and eventually find one – and only one – taco place. We walk in and there is a couple eating some big quessadilla-looking things. They look good in the sense that they’re big and we’re hungry after a lot of riding . . .

We both point to their table and tell them we want what they had. Diana even specifically spells it out on Google Translate:

“Please give us what they have.”

”No. No puedo.” 

After a bunch of back and forth the lady brings out two tiny and super insubstantial quesadillas. Not at all what we want. Like enough to feed one two-year-old. Not quite enough to feed our 85-miles-later stomachs . . .

We try to express this. And we keep saying we want what the people at the other table have. 

No progress.

Finally, a guy at the next table volunteers to help us. Edwardo. 

Edwardo knows a little English and he tells them what we want: what the other people have. 

“No. No puedo.”

So we get tacos – which is all they seem willing or able to make. Fine.

Eventually Edwardo invites his friend over to the table as well. We hold a halting conversation. Edwardo makes mezcal and, it turns out, Edwardo and his brother own the Hotel America. 

And then, just as we’re finishing our tacos, the lady brings out one of the big quessadilla things for Edwardo’s friend.

”What? That’s what we wanted?!”

Turns out it’s a tlayuda. I guess you have to use this exact name or they won’t give it to you. 

It was like “No soup for you!”

I guess we know for next time . . .

After dinner Edwardo and his friend insist on taking us back to the hotel. Edwardo’s friend and I are in the back of the truck – hanging on to the railings like real Mexicans . . .

Only Edwardo drives right by the hotel. Instead, he brings us to the place where he makes mezcal. When we arrive there are about a dozen people already there. Sitting in the dark and drinking beer and mezcal.

We meet them all and eventually Edwardo insists that we drink some mezcal. 

Afterwards Edwardo shows us how he makes mezcal. There are about eight big – like really big – barrel things. Edwardo shows us the mezcal in various stages of fermentation. I guess you start by putting the agave plants – or the part of the agave plant that look something like a giant pineapple – through a big apple press type machine. After that it sits in the barrels – in kind of a big gooey looking vat. It’s all open air – and they add grass and stuff to the mixture and stir it occasionally. It was interesting, but I really have no idea what he was talking about . . .

But what’s crazy is that he sells his mezcal around the world. Pretty sure the people who buy his mezcal for Surdyks have no idea what this operation looks like. It’s not exactly germ free. Dogs running around. All outside. But maybe the alcohol just kills all the bacteria anyway I guess . . .

Now I’m concerned that this party is going to be going on all night – and I’m afraid we won’t be able to extract ourselves. But Diana is great in situations like this – and somehow gets Edwardo to bring us back to the hotel before things get too out of hand.

So that was our day. We’re not in the big cities or tourist areas anymore, that’s for sure…

Crazy. 

In the end it wasn’t the Edmund Fitzgerald, but it felt like maybe these mountains would never release their craggy clutches on us.

P.S. – After we arrived back at the hotel Edwardo wanted to buy a round of beers. When we didn’t want beer he offered mezcal. Only a very insistent Diana got us out of the evening. We’re now locked in our very hot hotel room . . . (No ac here.) Finally done with this day . . .