The Thin Line

Last day in San Cristobal and time to move on.

Lasting memories that didn´t make the previous entry include a cd shop where the owner offered to burn copies of the discs if I thought the price of originals was too much, pavements with sidewalks several feet above the
road (during the wet season the rainwater runs so deep that several streets effectively turn into rivers), a wonderful exhibition by a local artist whose pictures spilt over the canvas and onto the frames, finally finding a decent cup of coffee in `el museo de cafe` run bv a co-operative of local farmers (there´s going to be a diatribe about the difficulty of finding a decent cup in a later entry), drinking cheap wine in the hostel before going out and a seemingly endless choice of shops offering the same swiss army knives - I cracked and got a small black one - still looking for a use for it a fortnight later.

The next stop was Los Mochis - the gateway to the Copper Canyon. I needed to catch a couple of flights to get there which meant taking a taxi from the hostel to Tuxtla Gutierrez airport. The journey was about 90 minutes and the driver chatted away the whole time - I reckon I understood about 80% of what he was saying. Most of it was complaints about exploitation of the area by big business and the hugepiles of rubbish other drivers had chucked out of their windows and which now lies scattered in piles along otherwise jaw-droppingly scenic routes.

It was Revolution Day so the start of the journey was fairly slow as several groups of school children were marching up and down streets, playing music and celebrating the anniversary. But once out of town the driver had his foot to the gas and we shot along at a blistering and frankly shit-scary pace. Near the end of the pay road we both saw the wreck of a blue car on the right hand side which was being loaded onto a pick-up truck. Both ends had been rammed. On exiting the road the taxi driver asked the pay toll operator what had happened - a crash less than an hour before. The dmotorist was killed instantly. My driver crossed himself - ´hay una linea fina entre la vida y la muerte´ he said.

I had to fly via Mexico City, first with Click Mexicana - Mexico´s first budget airlin - and then with Aeromexico. In fact the former offered a higher level of service than it`s more expensive competitor including free drink and a highly efficient service. Unlike it´s European equivalents it also organised my luggage to be transfered onto the second airline making the whole experience stress free.

I arrived in Los Mochis at about 8pm allowing for an hour´s time difference. I´d booked into Hotel Fenix (001 668 812 26 23) as the Lonely Planet warns travellers off the town´s only budget option. Despite being the most expensive night´s rest so far it wasn´t hugely impressive. Generator noise leaked into my room, the hot water ran out quickly, 55 TV channels but nothing worth watching (though I guess this wasn`t really the hotel`s fault) and a requested alarm call never rang - the reception clerk said he did call, I guess someone else got it. I´d asked for the call as the train left the next morning in the very early hours and I needed to be at the ticket office by 5am to guarantee a good seat. My alarm clock had picked this moment to go on the blitz - typical.

From the little I saw there´s really no reason to stay at Los Mochis except as a stopover before entering the Canyon - though if you do I´d recommend the flautas de cameron (small crispy toasted tortillas filled with tiny cubes of prawn) at El Farallon (corner of caller Flores and calle Obregon).