Mexico. Part 3.

Our schedule had been packed, splitting time between climbing, slideshows, dinners and transit, and so far we’d just been go go go being escorted around, slinking quickly from place to place. We’d been put on a short leash and had no down time, but the next venue, Alejandro assured us, would be more relaxed. We would be close enough to walk to the crag, and could come and go as we pleased, stay at the cliff longer and get all the burns in on the projects as we’d like, which ultimately, was all most climbers wanted.

JILO

Part of the great thing about climbing, for me at least, is the places it will take you. Travel and climbing are so closely intertwined choosing which I like better is like asking which came first, the chicken or the egg. They give you the same sense of freedom and discovery, putting you both in your element and out of your comfort zone.

I had time to think about this, as we took a packed 7-hour bus ride to our second venue, Jilotepec. We made our way through the small town and then up into the hills, arriving at dark to a huge grassy field and at the top of the crest, a huge white concrete house. The bus pulled up and stopped and we all schlepped our bags inside, feeling a little out of place having come from the luxury of Taxco’s magnificent Montetaxco to the stark contrast of the barren white house.

Just inside the door, was a huge shrine set up for dia le los muertos. Surrounding a huge face were many ofrendas (“offerings”) of pan de muerto (“bread of the dead”) and rows of sugar skulls. Each skull had a label on each forehead and every athlete’s name engraved on the front. It was a little eerie to have your name on a skull in a monument for the dead, and we all moved farther into the house with a strange feeling. The house was bare and athletes meandered from room to room to post up their belongings and roll out pads and sleeping bags. We ate good Mexican food, drank Sol and passed out early in the dying light.

The first thing you approach at Jilotepec (“Jilo” pronounced “he-low”) is the Gorillaz de heuvoes, a huge, black egg-looking feature, at least 50 maybe 60 meters in height, tipping over a grassy field. This is where the ultimate routes were and some unsent projects. The routes to the left, were epically long, meandering through small huecos and pockets for sometimes up to 40 meters. There were other walls as well where more vertical and technical climbing lines the cliffs on a conglomerate-type rock.

The base of the huevoes was flat and grassy, perfect for spectating. Occasionally police would appear at the base of the cliff in uniform with their guns slung across their chest. It was somewhat unsettling–was this just how it was? Was this an extra precaution for us? Should we worry? Was there a real threat? A cultural difference of what looks normal and not? How should we react to such things, these differences? With fear? With suspicion? With a sense of safety?

The second climbing day at Jilo (Nove. 2, Day of the Dead), Emily Harrington, who having just flown in from China, arrived. Psyched to be with people she knew after more than 24 hours of travel, she showed us photos of her trip on her laptop. There were people in the house running around getting ready for the performance that would take place in front of the house were many climbers had already set up their tents for the weekend.

When the performance started, we jetted out, leaving everything as is, which was a stupid move on our part. But things seemed fine with the drums beating low and deep, reverberating through our chests. But back in the house, we discovered an unlucky encounter with some mischievous kids who stole Emily’s  computer and some money. It had nothing to do with our safety and security in the country, as we all knew, but fact that it happened when our senses were heightened only exacerbated our concern for safety and the serotypes of our presumed danger–only deepening the trenches between us and them and cutting, like a scar, a line of separation.

“Traveling to Mexico right now is kinda like being an alpinist,” said John Evans, marketing manager of Petzl who paused and looked over at me, as we stood in the gathering area of the house. “It’s relatively safe, but there’s always the possibility of something going wrong.” He was right, but isn’t that with anywhere you travel?

It was all starting to mount–the white house, the schedule, the stolen goods. Everyone was a little on edge, and after the incident, many of us moved to a hotel in the nearby town.

We were all now separated a little. The days had gotten cold, and we huddled in our down coats to stay warm. There was still psych and sending, but fatigue was setting in, and the packed schedule was beginning to wear on us.

The next few days were made up of climbing at Jilo where climbers were dispatching the ultimate routes in the 5.13+ and 5.14- range as if they were 5.7 warm-ups. The next rest day started with a 6am wake-up call then a two-hour bus ride where we took tequila and mezcal shots before breakfast and spent the afternoon trolling the Teotihaucan pyramids and playing a round of soccer, and later we stopped at a small area to watch an Aztec dance and visit a sweat lodge. Nearly 20 of us piled into a hobbit-sized caldron for the Temazcal ceremony, where we were shoulder to shoulder in our bathing suits and underwear.

The entrance was covered with a sheet, and in the black darkness, a small Mexican man shoveled scalding rocks into a pile in the middle of the hut pouring water over them. It was a bit uncomfortable with so many people. I was sitting between Michael and Enzo, and in the mix of adding more and more people I got squeezed out so that I was sitting cross-legged a foot away from the hot rocks. My ass started to go numb on the stone floor, and my lower back ached a bit.

The steam rose and for a while all we could feel was hot, moist air circulating through the caldron.  We baked in there over an hour, saying oh Mateo, each time another scalding rock came through the entrance. I was getting more and more uncomfortable the hotter it got, and the only thing going through my mind was images of the bamboo rugs catching fire and all 20 of us trying to escape through the tiny exit the size of a dog door.

As we all sat there sweating, half panting, packed in arm to arm, we were all asked to say something.  It was, come to think of it, kinda cheesy, but each and every one of mentioned the trip, and how great it was to be in a new country with new people enjoying the things that we love and new experiences.

When, from outside, we were told we needed to leave to be on time to catch the bus, we shuffled out the tiny door one by one into the cold, fading light of the evening, steaming and grinning in the breeze that hit us as we ran around for our clothes. Extending out in the distance in front of me were the topless pyramids and the (now familiar) landscape of Mexico.

The last two days proved to be the best. The routes Cruz Diablo (5.14c), Bell Tunnich (5.13+/14-) and Las Chicas Superpoderosas (5.14c) saw their first ascents and the clinics, taught by Petzl and Sportiva athletes, were well-attended. The Mexican climbers were psyched to be out there (Venga! A muerte!) with so many other people doing what they love, and the last night all the climbers and athletes gathered together to booze and party.

When it was all said and done, the RocTrip embodied something more than just a climbing event. It represented our passion for climbing. It crosses cultures, and differences. So much of climbing is about getting our of your comfort zone, whether on the rock or in the form of that places it will take you. The traveling, the new rock, new people, new cultures, new food and new experiences are the things that transform you, and the biggest challenge is transcending the differences you encounter approaching new ones without apprehension or judgment. It is knowing that in the end, it is all the same: rock is rock, people are people, passions are passions.

Thanks to everyone that made the trip happen, the Petzl crew, all the people that I met along the way, and all my friends I go to hang with while there!