SO MANY JOYFUL DAYS

MISSION CONCA, SIERRA GORDA: MARCH 10
The bridge a few kilometres short of Conca crosses a gorge below the junction of two rivers. One river is fed by thermal springs. Thick trunked trees shade the beaches on the far bank. A shed shared by half a dozen entrepreneurs serves barbecue meats and chicken. I park the bike the near end of a line of pick-ups and order chicken and a cold beer.
Three black on white geese waddle by - followed by two laggards. Canned Mexican weep-music wails from speakers. Two families unload from Texas-registered used cars. Men roll their pants up. Women hike their skirts. Small kids are stripped to swim suits. The current draws patterns as they wade in the river.
A man in his mid-thirties fetches my beer and sits at the table. He wears an embroidered denim shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots.
He says, Yes, the money for the new construction I've noticed comes from the North. Many men from the Sierra Gorda work in the North.
One of the geese takes flight and lands midstream.
I remark the two Texas-registered cars. Every man working in the North returns with a used car or a used truck. Halt illegal immigration and the US market in used cars would collapse.
The riverbank cowboy brings my barbecue chicken and seats himself again. I remark that prior to the road, burros were the sole transport. They still are off the road, he tells me. Some burros travel by pickup to where they are required – four-legged burros and two-legged burros.
Two more geese take to the water and a white butterfly zigzags on the breeze. Chicken is tasty, beer is cold, enjoyable conversation. Another good day...

SARAH J DUNCAN

MISSION CONCA, SIERRA GORDA: MARCH 10
Mission Conca is another delight. The simplicity of the interior is in contrast to the exuberance of the facade. The interior of the dome is a delight. The scaffolding is disappointing. I wish that my daughter-in-law, Sarah, were here. Sarah is an architectural photographer(www.sarahjduncan.com). She is a great person with whom to share buildings and landscapes. She has an eye both for the detail and the broad picture. I would learn from her.
Instead, I chat with a Mexican family on holiday. They have seen me on television. We pose for a photograph.

GREAT HOSTS, GREAT BED

JALPAN, SIERRA GORDA: MARCH 9
Jalpan has charm. The pace is leisurely. The Mission square is beautiful. The few streets are narrow and lined with painted houses in the Colonial style. I have moved hotels. I am one street back from the Mission square at the Posasda Los Angeles on Calle Mariano Matamoros. I have been writing all day at a table in the hotel restaurant. The table faces open double doors to the street. It is a quiet cobbled street with few passers-by. The occasional salesman of vegetables or fruit is the main distraction and coffee is unlimited.
The hotel is new. The owners are new to the hotel business. The result is quirky. The wife and late-teenage daughter designed the decor. It is fun and pretty, lots of painted tiles. Hand basins are decorative – open the faucet and water pours from a matching pitcher. Hot water jets from a power shower and towels are big and thick. Yes, great...And best of all is the friendliness of atmosphere. These are very kind and pleasant people.

A DIFFICULT LIFE

JALPAN, SIERRA GORDA: MARCH 8
I had supper last night at a taco restaurant. A salesman from Queretaro shared my table. He has four grown children. One is a law student in Queretaro. The other three are engineering graduates and have emigrated to the US.
He is a salesman of gifts and is away from home much of the month. His work paid for his children's education. Now he has lost them.
It must be hard.
Yes, it is hard. They change. Even when they visit, it is not the same.
“Perhaps it is the traveling,” he says. “I was away so much.”

PLAIN AND PRETTY

MISSIONS, SIERRA GORDA: MARCH 7
The village by the lake is too tempting. I leave Tilaco and ride up the pass. A side road snakes down through the hills. The village is small, houses scattered. I ride slowly and am greeted by each person as I pass. The chapel is at the far end of the village. It was built by villagers and completed in 1904. It is plain as a Methodist chapel. Trees shade the facade. A pickup is parked outside. The driver sports a diamond ear-stud. I ask if he has worked in the the North. Yes, for five years. Will he return to the North? There is no reason to return. He saved well. He bought the pickup and is building a house.
Inside the church four villagers are wood-paneling the wall behind the altar. A woman brings glasses of fresh lemonade. I ride back through the village and round the lake. Everyone bids me good-evening and goodbye. I am having a very good day.

DISCOMMUNICATION

MISSION TALACO, SIERRA GORDA: MARCH 7
Two painters are at work at the mission. I ask one why redecoration is undertaken every seven years. He doesn't understand. I am a foreigner. I must be speaking an unknown language. I repeat my question slowly. Two young women are taking photographs. The painter asks them to translate. We conduct an odd conversation. I speak in Spanish to the young women. They speak to the painter in Spanish. He answers them in Spanish. They relay his answer in Spanish.
The crux of the conversation? They paint the church every seven years because they paint the church every seven years.
The interior is tranquil. I sit a while, pray a little.

FRANCISCAN MISSIONS

MISSION TALACO, SIERRA GORDA: MARCH 7
Mission Tilaco is 14 Ks down a side road that twists up over a pass. A lake gleams down in the valley, freshly ploughed fields, a sprinkle of white houses and an ocher church tower. The tower is too plain to be a mission. Turn the next corner and Tilaco is below on the side of the next valley. The valley channels the wind, cooling in summer, now chill. A line of pencil thin Cypress trees twitch beneath the wind and the wind whips the heads of palm trees. Dragged all in the same direction, the gleaming fronds recall poster art from 30s Germany and the Soviet Union: blond Valkyries victorious and standing erect in the turrets of their tanks to accept the applause of the conquered. Yeah, yeah...
Warm this morning and Jalpan is in a lower valley: idiot that I am, I left my leather jacket at the hotel.

PEDAL BIKES AND SAINT

MISSIONS OF SIERRA GORDA, MEXICO: MARCH 7
The BMW BOYS have electric start. They are gone before I kick the Honda alive and lift the side stand. In most Latin American countries, I have passed bicycle races accompanied by police out-riders. Mexico has religious processions. I am close to Landa de Matamoros and pass a procession heading towards Japlan. They have around sixteen kilometers to walk.
Landa Matamoros is on what passes for a main road here in the sierra. The church is beautiful. I sit under the dome and make my death prayer. Students of photography from Mexico University throng the exterior. One aims her camera at me. I do likewise.