Up early, out late, a seemingly constant dream state…And so goes the theme song of San Miguel de Allende and the surreal side of Mexico as a whole. The idea of time here as many are aware does not follow the norm. Instead of a 24 hour day we can easily have a 68 hour day or 27 second day…which leaves us somewhere between the third and forth dimension, caught in the vortex that draws and captures so many of us here.

Those who come to visit, tend to love or hate this seemingly docile colonial town in high desert Mexico. Captured by its quaint beauty, they push forward all other plans to prolong the enchantment. Others are exposed immediately to the darker side of this energy and are repelled by a fowl air of pomp and overindulgence. Hearsay is the mode of communication, usually blurring the lines between this push and pull of equal and opposite circumstances. It is said that it all depends on the direction of the wind on a certain day to touch and take us away…or keep us here, for we must stay.

Regardless of the first experience, and once able to break the envelope, all that have been touched begin to feel the itch and must one day return to become enveloped in the magic.

There seems to be plenty of this to be spread around all over the country, probably because of the openness to the creative juices that were spawned from such alchemical foundations here in Mexico. This melding of powerful cultures bought a life and vitality that is rooted in the soul of the land. This concept brings me to the thought that while we all swirl around in our little world in San Miguel, years can pass by, without even knowing there are other things, there are other places, lives are being lived in other countries all over the world. I suppose what I am trying to get at is that, albeit small, the chemistry is large and there are plenty of activities that keep us immersed in our little world.

But everything has its breaking point and we must reduce the heat before the pot boils over. It seems peaceful on the surface, but it does take its toll, even too much fun can bring down the house if not kept in check. So then the idea to step outside and take a break arises. But of course this concept must build, for the chains of habit are not easily broken. The idea is first conjured in the mind, then proposed to all parties, mulled over, and reconsidered a thousand times as schedules are constantly fluctuated up to the moment of departure. Then only if the wind complies on that fateful day is it possible to leave the grasp of San Miguel.
But miracles do happen and I want to tell of a recent step out, a journey to revitalize the soul and refresh the mind, clearing new channels of thought and understanding, making possible a return to the microcosm of San Miguel seem like the first visit, a fresh cycle, as if you were discovering it all over again.

“Keys, keys……..where the fuck are my keys!” All the pre-trip planning and prior preparation in the world does not leave space for the limbo of frustration caused by haphazardly placed keys. In the mad rush to get all parties synchronized on the morning of departure; from switching out unnecessary items, to last minute decisions to take that unnecessary luxury, the relay from house to car becomes a heated race. With the collective headspace already on the road the keys became quickly consumed by hurriedly packed equipment. So a nine am start becomes faster than a street dog consumes the unguarded tamale.

So finally on the open road, and a literal sigh of relief. The liberation and sense of excitement provided by that first step out under the wide-open sky is fantastic. A destination is set, but that hint at adventure intertwined in the experience yet to be revealed, is the real allure.

The seed had been planted almost two years prior by Ben’s semi-out of focus pictures of slotted canyons with 1000 ft. walls, turquoise blue pools and waterfalls. His story told of a desert oasis tucked in the lee of the mountains. A thermal river spawning a paradoxal paradise of tropical plants. The infusion of warm and cool spring water erupting from the womb of the Mexican Mother earth creating a harmonic balance, the true source of vitality.

So needless to say all involved were amped by the idea of a week of camping amongst such splendor. Ben, our guide, a young but seasoned San Miguel veteran, had the loose directions tucked in the back of his mind from a few years earlier. Me, pulling out of two years of disciplined institutional study here in town, was overdue to return to a passion put on hold, the exploration of wild and exotic energy centered on the planet. The third member of our crew, a relative rookie to the scene was Juan. After getting his ears wet in town with a crash course in Mexican logistical speedbumbs, he was equally ready for a break from the constant swimming upstream, ready to stop and go with the flow.

The early ambient was set to release some of the built up trip tensions and excitement over the fact that the plans were now a manifest reality. Beats and rhymes, a beautifully simplistic, though somewhat aggressive at times, mix of cut up rhythmus, announced the ego and reveled in its glory. “Woohoo, we’re going!” The appropriate heightened poetic state that began the trip soon mellowed into conjuring traces of melodic vibes and melancholic, lyrical trances so appropriate to the modern day gypsy experience. Music no doubt was an essential factor of the trip. We carried with us intentions of reaching new planes of communication and personal meditation. Packed among the excessively strapped and overloaded backpacks were our percussive tools. Venturing to such an artery in the earth, we knew we must tap into the heartbeat of the land through these root-based instruments. Three didgeridoos, three pairs of claves, two dijimbes, a dumbek, and a set of bongos. We came prepared to ring in the solar new year, and welcome the change and new cycle of spring.

A few hours in the car winding amongst the ever-expanding sky and increasing army of magueyes, the heart of the Mexican Landscape began to engulf us in its rhythm, bringing us into its own sphere. Climbing up and down the dusty mountain roads, twisting amongst the loose rock we slowly left all cities behind. The occasional pueblo of scattered houses was the only trace of human activity amongst this indigenous communal land. We had entered the Ejido. Set up by Benito Juarez in the late 1800s, these large swaths of rural land have maintained indigenous ownership and management. Keeping with the principles of their tribal community these areas have continued a relatively healthy natural state amongst the expanse of urban sprawl and trash.

Finally topping out of the preliminary canyons, we meandered along the spine of a knife-edge ridge, catching the first glimpse of our destination, and a breath taking view of the mountains we had just entered. Towering monolithic rock walls clinging with desert chaparral and the occasional organ pipe cactus, frame a crystal blue snake at the bottom of the canyon. Glimmering in the sun, seemingly hovering above the surface with its azure blue waters the river beckoned us to descend into its warmth. It was an even more satisfying welcome than anticipated. Just then we were greeted by some local kids out for an afternoon cruise on their bikes. With no defenses ever learned, we were approached with an openness that one does not find in the city. Jumping between them and the car I had a keen eye peeled for that elusive can of spray. But instead of adding to the graffiti art on my car from the kids of my neighborhood, he held out his hand and instigated a genuinely pleasant “Hola, como estan?” Incredible, back in the car, feeling silly for our reaction, we reflected on the fact that this type of hospitality and kindness is directly proportional to being raised in a place so beautiful and open. From that point on we were constantly humbled by our hosts from the Ejido west of the river.

The descent was treacherous and my mind began to doubt the cars ability to ascend back out when all was said and done. My only condolence was that we would eat a healthy portion of our weight and our rejuvenated spirits would make us light and lift us back out. Now Ben had said that we would have to hike with all the gear, cross the river and ascend a daunting hill to reach the golden camp sight. We made sure to go mid-week for the very reason of assuring the very best locale to set up our temporary home. We were assured a view from above the canyon, with our own cascading hot pools flanking the sight. All was true except that out navigator was unclear about our direction of arrival. It was not part of his previously recollected experience. As it turns out, we came in from the opposite side from his prior trip and parked literally 200m from the desired sight. So much for the adventuresome hike, schlepping all our instruments and unneeded pleasantries to the spot we’d call home for the next week.

Now if there was such a thing as the fountain of youth this is the closest I have touched. And as an avid seeker of the healing thermal waters that is saying something. I have soaked my tired bones after many a heartfelt slog in the plethora of natural hotubs sprinkled throughout the Sierra Nevada Mountains of my homeland of California. Not to mention similar spots in foreign lands as far reaching as New Zealand and Indonesia. Nature’s gems, these places are addictive for their powers to rejuvenate the mind, body and soul.

This fact was enormously evident within the first minute after setting my pack on the dirt. I, who had driven the whole way in my boardshorts with the anticipation of surrendering to the waters immediately, had my shirt and shoes off and was splashing and blowing bubbles before the others had set there packs down. Shortly after we were all swimming, laughing and playing like little boys, absolutely taken back by the magic surrounding us. Banana trees leaning delicately over cascading pools of 95-degree water. Beautiful natural rock formations covered in moss with several varieties of ferns sprouting from every minor crevasse in the rock.

A clear tone was set from that evening on and we became transported back to the dawn of man, captured by a place that transcends time and space. The mission was to lose our selves a bit, leave our day-to-day reality and connect with something that’s essence is at the root of everything. The success in the first few days was astonishing as we were transported by the light and music, becoming one with the elements surrounding us.

Granted, with ecstasy comes some pit falls, and of course our idealistic image had to be tainted somewhat or the experience would not have been real. For there would be no comparative perspective to confirm the grandeur of it all. It would have existed only as a recollected dream. Due to the Vernal Equinox falling on that particular weekend, hoards of urbanites arrived creating nature’s version of a football tailgate party and a complete reversal of atmosphere. But we took it in stride, being so enamored by the place, nothing could have really dampened the spirits. After minor verbal out lashes, about cooler-toting drunks, and matching families of aquasocks, we decided if ya can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. So we embraced the chaos, crossed over to the more commercial Ejido on the other side of the river, purchased our caguamas and jammed some rippin rhythmus alongside some psycho trance, piped out of a battery fueled juke box. It was a mixed bag, but I reckon we freaked some people out with the fusion of turbo didgeridoo, and accelerated afro break beats. I mean hell, our energy was way up, so we let it go to match the synthetic vibration.

Swimming in the caves and little rapids became the most fun activity, but that weekend it was like waiting in line at the waterslide park, so to get away from the masses we trekked up to the back side of the 200m cliff face towering above the river. Once again we were separated from all else, transported by the wind into a window frozen in time. The going was steep and sprinkled with natures little spikes, we respectfully climbed our way over teeth-like rock and between cactus, to come upon a pinnacle revealing a 360 degree view of our environment. This seemed to cap the week’s adventures and put the purpose of the trip back into perspective as we knew our day’s here were numbered.

Between daily excursions we would return to our sacred center, hover around the flickering fire light, and be taken away in the conversation of our created melodies. This broke up the otherwise continuous soak and occasional breaks to cook up some of the tasty morsels we brought. From time to time we were excused of the cooking duties as the weekend provided many options from the temporary puestos that were looking to capitalize on the vacationers. We had literal room service on certain occasions. “Some huaraches, and pulque please, and I’ll be in the hot springs.” So needless to say we did not really rough it, but that was not the point of the trip. Rather it was to relax and refuel.

So with that accomplished, we packed up our things an enjoyed one more quite morning after all the crowds had gone back to the city. We wanted one last soak, in the mother cave, under the raging spout of hot water, to massage everything out and go back to our lives. But then came another sour bite, like that out of season strawberry. The change in that very weekend was evident. Some outside influence had gotten hold of this magnificent place and convinced the Ejido that they should not just maintain this beautiful wonder of nature, but look to exploit it for money. And so goes the inevitable change and sad corruption of our most magnificent wonders of this world through the illusion of false horizons. New rules, higher prices, we even saw the painting of new signs and sponsors on the shops, when a day before there had been none. So we left, were turned back and told we would have to pay to go into the cave again despite our predetermined payment to camp and enjoy the area all week. Oh well, a minor discussion about the extremely limited backup to any offered reasoning as to why we would actually have to pay on this particular occasion led no where. So we were off to our favorite swimming hole for a few more passes at the rapid and some dives and flips to release the tension once again.

Car packed, feeling fresh and clean we began to mosey back up the steep canyon. The going was loose and I had to test the engine a bit to make it out, but we managed with only one stop to push. Back on the ridge we took one last stop to let the car cool off and bid a final farewell. Even amongst the changes there was not a tainted thought about this place that had healed our soul and gave us new life. A final thanks gave way to the sense to move along, and the pull of San Miguel could be felt once again. We were slowly released from the energy of the canyon and given a helpful push to work our way back into the intricacies of San Miguel.