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Moments back in time in Copala
By Nancy V. Sont
After a long winding drive through the rising Sierra Madre mountains, past spectacular  views, past women selling bread on a slow moving corner where there was room to pull off, we arrived in Copala and parked across from Daniel's restaurant. We were very lucky not to meet the people from the two weekly cruise ships that visit the tiny town.
A child on a burro arrived and asked my daughter Scarlett if she wanted a ride. She wanted to take their photos but the second set of batteries was now dead as well as the first.
She immediately made acquaintance with the child on the burro. Because the place is a ghost town now that the silver mine is closed, there are no jobs. Many men have left to find work. The children do the rest of the income earning.
Victor, our guide, assured Scarlett that she would have plenty of chance to talk to them; they would certainly follow us around the village.
As we piled back into the van to go further into town, children on burros called his name aloud to her so she would know who to ask for. She did not understand why, this being her first trip to Mexico.
We parked near the center of the village alongside the Zocalo. However, the town was so rustic Scarlett and I got out to walk.
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Photo by Scarlett V. Laschinsky |
Two more children met us, offering us some small bark carvings of the town. I was amazed and intrigued, "Haciste lo?" I asked eagerly in Spanish, to which he nodded.
"Como?" I asked further. He pulled a tiny slot screwdriver out of this pocket to show me, motioning the way to carve by putting it into the tiny rectangular window hole.
"What a magical carving to sell," I thought as the child leaned over the carving, a piece of spine from a local tree.
A man with a weather worn face smiled broadly as we decided how much to pay. The price was 'whatever you'd like.' They each gave us a free one. Our driver said that was to 'hook us in'. They would say, 'no you take it for free!' The recipient would inevitably want to give it back, but the child would stand firm. The recipient would then dig deep to compensate them. I asked again, "How much?"
He looked up at his older brother with questioning faith, to which the brother replied, "Cinco pesos."
The brother put the piece on his arm to show that the four-inch carving was part of a pricker from a tree.
"There's a very big one in the church, the on looking man commented, spreading his arms wide. I marveled, looking around to see where the cathedral was.
After selling us their wares, boys disappeared and I realized I had better start exploring. The stone road was only another block long as it climbed the steep hillside beside the tourist shop. The houses consisted of small farmyards shaded with thick-forested trees. A pig oink'ed and wandered along the yard then onto the road, followed by a few squealing piglets.
A teenager and her boyfriend walked along, finally catching up with me. I surprised them by speaking Spanish. They were quite friendly and willing to talk. The girl was 18, he was 22. She had lived there all her life.
Since it was a ghost town, there were houses available and a group of Americans that lived there. A Cuban lived on the hill in a Caribbean style home on the top of the mountainside. They only came for a few months of the year. Over the rattling of the chickens came a TV voice. I noticed an electrical pole that stood beside me. No cars were near the small driveway-less houses that bordered the road.
The dirt between the neatly placed ancient stones had eroded, leaving the road a bumpy carpet. In the summer rainy season, it would be such a different place.
Amazed at what I was seeing, how close to the land the people lived, and in such humble conditions, I went back for Jane and Scarlett. Jane didn't agree it would be nice to live in such wooden ramshackle houses.
The pathway meandered up and down between the scattered dwellings, some with cement walkways and tile roofs, others with wooden slat walls and tin tops.
Two children played alongside the road on a cliff.
"Are there any birds here?" I asked in Spanish.
"Yes," answered the 10-year old girl.
"What color are they?" I prompted.
"Red, green orange, yellow, blue, black, white." the girl responded, referring to the big bird, the toucan that lived in the tree around the bend.
Her family heard us as she talked, laughing with her friend, she slipped down the six foot high bank, landing on her feet. The laughter brought the attention of her mother who waved in response to me. It felt so relaxing to be here. I felt totally at home, accepted eventhough I was a tourist.
 Around another bend we found what looked like a huge bee hive attached to the side of a tree. It must have been 18: wide and 30" long. It was huge. A small green bird made it, the woman who lived alongside it said as she came down the hill with shopping bags of groceries. It was amazing to see her wearing a business suit and carrying groceries, far from any city. I didn't find out until I was on a guided tour in another area that the 'beehive' was actually a termite nest. No one had told the people that lived there, they'd just seen the little bird using it.
An elderly lady wearing a pink and blue housedress emerged from a pathway. She had grown up here, lived right there in that small square pink house that was nestled into the hillside.
"How old is this road? I asked.
"Older than I can remember," she answered, the same answer as to how long she'd lived in the pink house raising her two sons.
We talked as we climbed the steep road back to the village. The church rose in front of us and we stopped for a few photos. Was that bird I heard caged or loose? I wondered aloud as we met the same teen I'd met earlier. No, this canary was caged.
Daniels' restaurant was about to close when we arrived, but he didn't mind staying open to serve us the best chicken dinner I'd ever eaten. He served it on two burners which he placed onto the table. The sun was setting beyond the open balcony as we sat and ate. The sierras rose majestically around us, covered with dark greenery. A distant truck's engine came in and out of earshot as it made its way along the curving roads on the mountain side.
Surely this was a heavenly place, I thought as I watched the sunset. Maybe I could share it with those that would also love it. I took out my notebook and pen and leaned back in my chair.
Nancy V. Sont - NVS Editorial Services
Website: http://www.travelwriters.com/nancyvsont
E-mail: nancysont@hotmail.com
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