We've been changing climates more than underwear. That's actually referring to socks since I used all my tighty whiteys for fire starters (about 20 years ago now). In the last week er so we have gone from arid desert and climbed our way into some soppy rainforest. Jungle fits the description better. Slithery, crawly jungle where every thing oozes and drips. The birds make as much noise as a constant mariachi band. Every square inch of everywhere is alive and writhing and things biting you becomes as regular as blinking.
In the heart of said such beautiful place there is a place called Las Pozas. It hangs on the edge of Xilitla in the Huasteca. A rich, eccentric Englishmen and friends set to work about 40 years ago creating large concrete structures. A big playground for artists and concrete masons. If you would like to look into this further his name was: Edward James (we called him Eddy Jim)
After a few days of hiking, swimming and Joan Wilder rides we climbed on towards the next climate. Into the clouds we went, like hobbled wild horses and gravity governed tumbleweeds. We could not see the mountains that loomed above us but we just knew they were there. The incline was steep and misty rain soaked us to the bone. Oh man... A huge thanx goes out to the guy who, on the night after leaving Xilitla, in a bucketing down pour did not even hesitate to take us in when we stopped in front of his little cliff side hacienda.
Grinding and winding, sopping and smiling, we spent the next bit enjoying the pig farts out of each other and our surroundings. We were in a fantastic cloud forest and in the fat of the Sierra Gorda. The rain showers came and went, blue patches peaked out and the Gorditas were cheap and greasy.
Then suddenly one day our road stopped going up. A fast screaming decent pursued and bang... back in the desert we rolled, blinking and feeling like new born sheep.
Were in the San Miguel de Allende (the touristyist place we've been yet) Up next: Laguna de Chapala