A three-hour hike and a beautiful canyon – La Barranca de Huentitan – lie just on the edge of the city—if you can brave the rocky incline.
We took the 66 bus up Belisario Dominguez, my friend and I clattering our way along the spindly hair of a street in the back of a lumbering, bilious steel oaf. The late morning sun melted through the windows of the sticky transport. The handful of sleepy patrons on that side shifted a little. Hundreds of squat, unmemorable buildings crawled by both rows of scenery—crayons rolling slowly down a belt.
On the other side of the Periferico, the sky yawned. We were drawing close—the street maybe just wider, the trees maybe just taller, the houses maybe just emptier. At the end of the line our metal carriage coughed us out. Vendors hawked to the left of the street. Decrepit shops not more than garage ports with a few display cases advertised necessities for the hiker: a few abarotes with their color-filled plastic packets, a dim sportswear shop with hasty, crooked exhibits of track pants and t-shirts. On the right, a row of buses, resting, beasts of burden catching a moment to chatter amongst themselves before venturing back out on their solitary slogs through the streets, soaking up the unfocused and resigned frustrations of a city. Beyond those a bit, an old fence, old broken car carcasses.
This is the Mexico that gringos picture, holding blankets close around their shoulders and gazing over hermetic living rooms. Dirty Mexico. Poor Mexico. Where the pavement ends. The dirt road running into a wild frontier of western vistas. Here, the Barranca de Huentitan was just the place to vindicate those suspicions.
Manicured red brick masonry led away from the end of the road and made the first tepid dip downhill. Buildings still lined this part of the hike – more opportunities for shops. As my friend and I made our first turn on the decent, a clear voice called, “Hey güero! You going all the way down today?”“Yes, we are.”
“Good luck!” His delivery was perfectly Mexican-American, the young man resting shirtless, crowded on the only bench with some others.
Not long thereafter, the buildings broke off and we had our first view through the withered tree branches of the canyon, the expanse, like the Earth stretching furiously after a long sleep. Several ridges on the other side of the open gulf peered back green and brown, and trenches running away blued with distance. A stream gleamed some 1,700 feet below.
The brick stairs led us to a square, open chapel looking out over the rough hewn landscape. The chapel, built in 1983, has served as the site of matrimonial pledges for many in its time. For the elderly or the out of shape, this will be far enough. Have a seat at the overlook and snap some shots against the dramatic backdrop.
For the intrepid and equipped, this is where the hike begins. From here, the red brick path turns drastically, replaced by large, jagged, half-buried rocks reaching up at haphazard angles to twist all but the most circumspect of steps and jab at the bottoms of feet. The path falls into the ravine fast, especially around some of the bends as it snakes its way down at an average grade of 12.4 percent. Before long, we were both mentally tired of the vigilance required for wandering down this sadist’s design—all the more reason to take it easy over this fairly unforgiving micro-terrain.
Several switchback turns later, we came across a donkey tied to a tree. The creature ran its lips along its teeth and spectated the parade of young folks, families, and even mustached old men trekking this part of the trail. We quickly left him behind, waiting blankly for some one of them to lead him away from that spot.
A bit farther on, the path brushes past a set of train tracks that run nearly straight up the slope at rollercoaster angles. These were once used to ferry workers who lived in the cluster of red roofed buildings called Pueblo de Juntas along the river at the bottom to the Federal Commission of Electricity (CFE) power facility at the top in plump, blue funicular cars. Above, a man was climbing the infinite rungs to the first ridge. Below, several others did the same. We contemplated continuing our own journey on the old rails in order to avoid more foot pain, but decided against it and turned back to the over-size cobblestones.
Thankfully, the difficulty takes a break not too long thereafter when the path changes again, this time to a long dirt stretch that stays fairly level and spills out into another overlook. This one marks the approximate halfway point of the descent, and serves as a turnaround for many adventurers, but we kept on, imagining by this time that we could hear the sound of the river urging us forward.
At the bottom, barbed wire crossed off the final few meters of the path, and a large sign warned of construction, though there was no evidence of anything being built. Instead, a few families picnicked, their tinny radio pouring the ancient voice of brass over bowls of pozole. The river audibly called this time, and we rested and refueled, looking up at the seats of giants and wondering just how far we must have wandered from the ornery metropolis.
Thanks to the rocks and the concentration required on the descent, it takes almost the same time as the climb back to the top, though the two challenges differ quite a bit. While the brain can relax a bit on the ascent, feet plodding quickly along footholds in the terrain, my friend had to stop speaking after a short time for want of breath. By this time, the Mexican sun was baking the afternoon into the foliage and gnats gathered if we stopped to rest too long.
The 90 minutes back up passed memorably, and if at times uncomfortably, not torturously. Making the turn by the chapel back onto the red bricks at the top of a long dip into the close, ponderous mirror of nature, I took a last look out over that small swab of Mexico’s vast, naked beauty. Then, I climbed back up into the city.
Coming up Belisario Dominguez by car, in order to cross the Periferico you must turn right onto it and take the first retorno tunnel, swing back around to turn right again onto the continuation of Belisario Dominguez. From there, just follow the road to the end. There should be a parking lot open for a nominal fee. A few bus routes also terminate right there (66, 603-A). The Huentitan Canyon was declared a Protected Natural Area in 1997. Entrance to the trail is free.