Copyright 2007-2008 TlaxcalaHotels.com - All rights Reserved
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
Finding Cacaxtla - An Adventure Through the State of Tlaxcala, Mexico
By Fumiko Nobouka
By Fumiko Nobouka
It is widely known that a foreigner generally goes out of their way to learn more about a country, especially if they're living there. I was young and single, with quite a bit of time on my hands and the shoestring budget that corresponded to a student. Traveling was what everyone did, reviews passing from word of mouth. Someone could say, "I want to visit the Pyramids of Such-and-Such." "Where are they located?" you could say. "In the tiny town of Blah, on the outskirts of Blah Blah Blah:" "Oh," you could say, "it's not too far away. I'll go this weekend." But when I left the Spanish school to go into the university, I promptly was out of that constant flow of travel ideas. So I started forging my own paths and decided upon the little-known state of Tlaxcala and even lesser known archeological site of Cacaxtla. The idea of going to the non-commercial site of Cacaxtla meant smaller crowds and that immediately appealed to me.
I left early that morning, the bus ride taking a good four hours from Mexico City. And as I read the "How to Get There" section in my guidebook, I felt I knew everything there was to know, logistically speaking. In Mexico, however, you have to understand that not everything can be taken at face value. In the bus terminal in Tlaxcala, I approached a woman and asked her how to get to the ruins of Cacaxtla (the guidebook, you see, wasn't quite clear and the information could have changed). She asked around to her cronies and then she told me that I would have to take the bus to Apizaco. For some reason, the map I had checked did not have this city marked so I went and bought passage for this town. Half an hour later, I arrived and asked how I could get to Cacaxtla.
"Take the bus leaving from the bus terminal in Tlaxcala."
The realization made me pale a bit. I was thinking how a person could confidently tell all that information to a foreigner and not feel the least bit of remorse. So arriving in Tlaxcala again, I went to the same woman to see if she could rectify her mistake. She asked around to another set of cronies and I was then told that to get to Cacaxtla, I had to take the bus (also called a "micro" or "pesero") to a town called Nativitas.
"Tell the bus driver where you want to get off," she told me.
The realization made me pale a bit. I was thinking how a person could confidently tell all that information to a foreigner and not feel the least bit of remorse. So arriving in Tlaxcala again, I went to the same woman to see if she could rectify her mistake. She asked around to another set of cronies and I was then told that to get to Cacaxtla, I had to take the bus (also called a "micro" or "pesero") to a town called Nativitas.
"Tell the bus driver where you want to get off," she told me.
After boarding the rickety bus, the pesero wove in and out of city streets, garlanded with colorful cut paper hangings, strung across the street, creating canopies as we passed underneath. Picking up fare at every other corner, we edged the perimeter of what I deigned to be the city of Tlaxcala and plugged along a stretch of highway.
Where the hell was this place supposed to be? After traveling a good 45 minutes, the bus stopped and the driver told me that this was my stop. I peered out and saw houses on either side of the strip of highway that delved through the landscape.
I saw nothing that looked older than 20th century.
Outside, I stopped a man and asked him how to get to Cacaxtla.
"Walk up this hill and when you get to the top, you'll see a white house. Go behind the white house and you'll find a highway. Take the highway to the left and there you are."
So I walked up the hill and saw the white house, which did have a highway behind it that sloped down into a low valley. I followed it till I came to a curve and stopped dead in my tracks: there the ruins stood, at about a distance of a half of a mile, covered with a large metallic awning. What made me stop was that the highway which took me to this point dipped into the valley towards the ruins and then hung a sharp left in the other direction. There was no indication that the highway returned towards the ruins. At that next curve, however, there was a fence and it opened out onto a small valley which separated me from the ruins.
I stood there in contemplation. With my aforementioned tour, I had lost a lot of time and now it was 4 in the afternoon. I didn't know if I would be coming back to Tlaxcala anytime soon and I was so close.
My feet crossed the perimeter marked off by the gate as I descended into the valley. I followed paths where I could and, urged on by the slowly setting sun as well as the faint fear that perhaps something exotic like a rattler or a chupacabra would come to bite, I swept on, glad I had put on my high-laced boots.
Where the hell was this place supposed to be? After traveling a good 45 minutes, the bus stopped and the driver told me that this was my stop. I peered out and saw houses on either side of the strip of highway that delved through the landscape.
I saw nothing that looked older than 20th century.
Outside, I stopped a man and asked him how to get to Cacaxtla.
"Walk up this hill and when you get to the top, you'll see a white house. Go behind the white house and you'll find a highway. Take the highway to the left and there you are."
So I walked up the hill and saw the white house, which did have a highway behind it that sloped down into a low valley. I followed it till I came to a curve and stopped dead in my tracks: there the ruins stood, at about a distance of a half of a mile, covered with a large metallic awning. What made me stop was that the highway which took me to this point dipped into the valley towards the ruins and then hung a sharp left in the other direction. There was no indication that the highway returned towards the ruins. At that next curve, however, there was a fence and it opened out onto a small valley which separated me from the ruins.
I stood there in contemplation. With my aforementioned tour, I had lost a lot of time and now it was 4 in the afternoon. I didn't know if I would be coming back to Tlaxcala anytime soon and I was so close.
My feet crossed the perimeter marked off by the gate as I descended into the valley. I followed paths where I could and, urged on by the slowly setting sun as well as the faint fear that perhaps something exotic like a rattler or a chupacabra would come to bite, I swept on, glad I had put on my high-laced boots.
I reached a narrow path that cut perpendicular across mine and which pointed directly to the now very close ruins of Cacaxtla. At the entrance, I was told that I had only half an hour, seeing as that the ruins closed at 5. I rushed in, walked around those many murals and could appreciate how amazing that after so many years, I could still see how vivid the colors were. And as a thick pane of glass separated us, I walked over the dancing figures of ancient Tlaxcaltecans, fighting a battle colored in blues and reds.
As quickly as I had walked in, I walked out and was presented with another dilemma: the path stretched before me lead away from the ruins and past little locales where they sold food and knick knacks. To my right was the small path I arrived on. If I followed the paved road, would it take me back to the white house? I turned to my right and practically ran through the valley.
As quickly as I had walked in, I walked out and was presented with another dilemma: the path stretched before me lead away from the ruins and past little locales where they sold food and knick knacks. To my right was the small path I arrived on. If I followed the paved road, would it take me back to the white house? I turned to my right and practically ran through the valley.
Back on the highway, I climbed up the road, found the white house, went down the hill, crossed the first highway and stood to wait for the bus to take me back to Tlaxcala city. Half an hour later, a bus crept towards me and it just so happened that it was the same driver. His son was the young boy who had told me where to get off.
"Did you find it alright?" he had asked.
"I found it," I had replied.
Taking into consideration that the bus ride back to Mexico City was about 4 hours long, I would be arriving at about 11 at night. There was no time to wander around downtown Tlaxcala. That next Monday morning, I was properly yelled at by friends who thought I was mad. How could you go by yourself? What if you had gotten hurt? Valid comments of worry but how can you explain to someone who has never taken a chance on life that I had a distant nagging deep from the cockels of the heart that said, "You only live once. What the hell are you doing, sitting on your ass?"
My point exactly.
"Did you find it alright?" he had asked.
"I found it," I had replied.
Taking into consideration that the bus ride back to Mexico City was about 4 hours long, I would be arriving at about 11 at night. There was no time to wander around downtown Tlaxcala. That next Monday morning, I was properly yelled at by friends who thought I was mad. How could you go by yourself? What if you had gotten hurt? Valid comments of worry but how can you explain to someone who has never taken a chance on life that I had a distant nagging deep from the cockels of the heart that said, "You only live once. What the hell are you doing, sitting on your ass?"
My point exactly.
We would like to thank Fumiko Nobouka for here charming and informative anecdote on her wonderful adventure on her way to Cacaxtla!
If you have a story about your trip to Cacaxtla or anywhere in Tlaxcala for that matter, then put pen to paper and send us your editorials to info@tlaxcalahotels.com, long or short they will all be published.
If you have a story about your trip to Cacaxtla or anywhere in Tlaxcala for that matter, then put pen to paper and send us your editorials to info@tlaxcalahotels.com, long or short they will all be published.