The following are some of the most effective ways to get in touch with each otherhen I reach the mountaintop chapel, I slump on the dry stone wall, wheezing in the thin air, marvelling at what combination of brawn and piety must have been needed to build such a thing at such a height. It might not be a Sunday, but I can tell that mass at 3,000 metres must be magnificent. Open walls stretch out towards the rolling slopes in the Sierra Norte in southern Mexico. There are virgin pines in every direction. Unseen, the brown-backed solitaire bird sings alone over the valley. Then comes the bark of warring crows and, most exciting of all, the quick peeps of a hummingbird, believed here to ferry messages between the living and dead. At this height, even to a heathen like me, the urge to pay tribute is understandable.
Eric, my guide, who, by the way he tells stories, must have a 3rd lung, is quiet and crosses his arms before the altar. I am astonished by this display of devotion. Down in the small town of Tlacolula de Matamoros, he had shown us a site the Indigenous Zapotecs used to praise the sacred mountain above – before the Spanish came and plonked a church on the same spot. Eric explained that the colonialists intended to erase. It is inevitable that some resistance will occur when conversion occurs at the point of a sabre. Here, Indigenous signs hide in Catholic icons. In holy corners, dark stones have animist engravings. Duality is everywhere. When Mexican Catholics praise the Virgin Guadalupe as the mother of Christ, they also mean to praise Huitzilopochtli the old sun God.
Eric collects pine needles and places them in a clay cup. He then lights the resin amber chunks on the altar, which catch light. As a gift to Mother Earth, Eric leaves a banana and an apple at the door. Then, he returns to his cup and watches, in silence, as the smoke sends his wishes into the heavens.
The mountain is north of Llano Grande. This village, which forms the Pueblos Comunados (united communities), is one of many self-governing villages. Each one has about a hundred people who live in log houses, grow black roses and make tortillas on wood-fired fires. It’s a thousand miles away from the shining streets of Oaxaca City and its buzzing mezcal bar. When the sun goes down, the air here freezes. In the morning when I am woken up by the cockcrow, I can see frost on the ground. It takes discipline to live in the cloud. Lowlander decadence cannot pull out squash, beans and all kinds of corn from the hard ground. Adults must dedicate one year out of every three years to community work. For some people, this means police work. For others, that means forestry. Since the mid-1990s it also means participating in their tourism projects.
Eric’s company, Zapotrek, is one of a handful of trusted operators based in Oaxaca City that have developed partnerships with the mountain people. Booking guarantees access to the community represented by a chaperone local for the duration. Florencio is a smiling Florencio who comes with three dogs and a laser-like eye for the flora. He also has a voracious appetite for wasp larvae. He does not seem in a rush to complete the year-long community service. We spend two days pacing along soft, beautiful forest paths. We ascend to breathtaking viewpoints. We call out to jaguars in vain and watch wild horses galloping on green plains.
The project appears to be a good one. A gentle flow of visitors get sylvan splendour, while the hosts receive reliable revenue. The money has been divided up equally, and it’s bought better cabins that have hot water. More importantly, the money has allowed more people stay in their communities. Young people are still being dragged by economic gravity to the cities and across the border into the North. Now, there are more reasons to stay in the area. And despite the old distortions – the colonial invasions, repression of religion, prejudice against the Zapotec language – and more recent globalism, an ancient way of life adapts and carries on. Mountaintop wishes may come true.
It’s important. In the coffee shops in Roma Norte and La Condesa you will find familiar faces. You see the same people in the same shoes, with the exact same laptops or the same expression of worry when checking your email. People that would be at home anywhere. But the people of Pueblos mancomunados are difficult to imagine anywhere else. Their lives are a green life, bound to the land. Florencio’s crown looks like it could sprout from his roots.
They tend the forest, the forest tends back to them. Eric explains how there are plants for every situation. Poleo mint to freshen breath Pine resin can be used to make splints. Corn silk tea is used to treat urinary tract infection. Tamales can be made from corn husks. Bitter willow leafs for headaches. When food is in short supply, they make flour from fresh agave hearts. They dig where birch trees and ferns are growing to find water. The undergrowth has a shimmering mosaic. Silver mosses and bromeliads shine on the peeling madrones. Indian paintbrush plants are reddish in the evening light. Woods need to be properly cared for. as they do hereYou can walk into them and enter a pharmacy.
As I come down the mountain, my eyes become wider. I was on an empty jetty, facing the lagoon at Chacahua after a few buses and boat rides. All the hippies and surfers are somewhere else; the fishermen are busy. As the tide goes out, a sandbar appears 10 metres away; I wade to it with the low amber sun marbling in the cool water. As the pool becomes deeper, a flock gulls gather to talk about their day. Demon eyes peer out of the mangrove fringes. A night heron is seen with a food in its mouth. Three pelicans wheeled into the bay, did a loop of survey and divebombed me so closely that I could watch the fish crawl down their throats.
The huge, platinum moon finally arrives. The shallow boats return with swordfish to eat, and the birds cease their bickering. In silhouette, everything is quiet. I walk home along the beach. Each wave crest twinkles with bioluminescence, hushing the village into sleep. I look at the sand to see the footprints stretching to the palm roofed huts. The prints of humans and other animals are mixed together, perhaps the talons or yellow kingbirds of kiskadees. The shoreline is a continuous weave of everything, until it disappears into darkness.
Zapotrek Cycling and hiking trips are available from one day to a full week. A two-day guided hiking trip for two including all meals, taxi pickup and return to Oaxaca City (2 hours each way), and a night’s accommodation in a cabin is £240pp
