August 21, 2024, Mexico. I woke up after the most restful sleep of the trip thus far. I searched for a latte place and found a grocery store that made espressos. Cool store, but machine latte. Not my favorite. I ran into the boisterous family from Guadalajara, who were eating at a lovely restaurant. I kept searching and finally found Cafeteria Churrería Ferran, right around the corner from the hotel. They made churros and coffee, neither a favorite, but a quaint place to sit. I made friends with the woman who worked there. I saw a huge graceful moth on an adobe wall outside the place, and showed her. She was very appreciative.

A few doors down from the cafe was the city hall. I tentatively stuck my head in, when a very friendly young man welcomed me and told me about the building. He motioned for me to the courtyard where he showed me the old jail (Calaboza o Celda Municipal). We talked for some time, and I mentioned my background in environmental studies. He said there was a very large mining claim that a Canadian corporation was reopening a few miles up the road. He suggested we could take a look at it the next day and suggested we rendezvous the next afternoon.

At dusk, a group of very loud young men invaded the hotel. They drove up on souped up UTVs (Utility Task Vehicle), off-road vehicle with a side-by-side seating configuration. They (the vehicles and the men driving them) became the bane of my existence. My room opened out to the street. There was a large space under the door, and their cigarette smoke and drunken shouts kept me up all night long. It was torture. I went out at 11:30 and asked if they could keep it down, letting them know my room was the other side of the bench they were hanging out on. They said they would, then blew me off.

August 22. I woke up bleary eyed and exhausted, not having slept a wink. Well maybe for an hour around 7am. I waited till 9 and headed to the churro place, and chatted with my new friend. I walked down the road out of town to Villa Cocoa, a chocolatier whose chocolate bars won first, second, and third place in international competition. I bought one of each of the winners. Sadly, I never got to try them. I squirreled them away, only to lose them to miller moths when I got home.

I admired the view looking out over the fields, and headed down the road a ways. Then back to town, where I met my friend and we drove in his rickety car, more like a rickshaw than an automobile. I was pretty sure I’d have to jump out and push. After a long circuitous climb (about 20 minutes to go 4 miles), we saw the giant machinery and operations that were getting underway. They were reopening the silver mine, but this time drilling tons of holes in the mountains. I wondered whether it might collapse.

They had gotten permission from the neighboring village, an ejido, a type of land reform system established after the 1910 Mexican revolution. We drove out to the ejido, and my friend knew a group of 3 guys on horseback. We chatted with them, and he asked them about the mine. Apparently the village had given permission in exchange for a sum of money. I wondered how much. Probably a pittance in the eyes of the Canadian corporation.

We left the men and headed back to town on another road. I had visions of pushing his car back to town. Somehow we made it down the hill, and we stopped at a beautiful large stretch of land. He knew the owner, and called out to see if he was home. No one answered. It would have been interesting to have met the landowner. Tired, we made our way back into town. I thanked him for his time and all that I learned that day, and headed to bed. The UTVers shouted into the wee hours. I would have expected nothing less. I found out a few days later that these young men represent the wealthy elite class of Mexico, and are used to doing what they will and getting away with murder.