COPALA : COPALA: It used to be a bustling town for mining silver and gold, but now the stars shine quietly on this 400-Year-Old City Mexican hamlet in which the only hotel charges $8.

A rooster crows and a donkey brays as dawn breaks in the ancient village of Copala.

In the pale light of morning a handful of peasants shuffle through the tiny plaza that faces the church of Copala and the little five-room Hotel Posada San Jose whose proprietors, Jesus and Chalvina Morales, listen as the donkey at their door brays once more.

Visitors to Copala gather at Daniel’s, a restaurant at the entrance of town with a musician named Don Juan. Or else in the cantina of the Morales’ hotel. After 400 years little has changed in Copala. Caught in the cleavage of the Sierra Madre range near Mazatlan, the once-flourishing mining town remains isolated and at peace.

In Copala no one hurries. There is nowhere to go. Donkeys and pigs and chickens move lethargically through narrow cobbled streets. Still, Copala is considered a prize by visitors who stumble upon it--what with no telephones and no TV to remind them of the outside world.

In the cantina at Hotel Posada San Jose, the late Wallace Beery is pictured as Pancho Villa. The same wall is hung with photos of other early film stars, including Clark Gable.

In Copala if one is thirsty, this is the only cantina near the plaza. Just as Posada San Jose is the only hotel in town. The fact of the matter is, there is little action in Copala, with the exception, of course, of Daniel’s and the musician named Don Juan, who we will get to later.

So how does one earn a living in an old mining town that’s full of chickens and pigs and little else? To begin with, by mining pesos from the pockets of tourists, which is precisely what Morales is doing in this village that once produced millions of pesos worth of silver and gold. This was before the mass exodus of miners who left behind a population of barely 400 souls.

While Morales and this other fellow, Daniel, are doing well, in the beginning neither man had barely a peso. It took time and patience.

Arriving from Mazatlan, strangers stop off in Copala to recharge the batteries by setting up housekeeping in Morales’ hotel, which is nearly as old as the town itself. They dine in the patio with its potted plants and a menu that lists eggs ranchero and tamales and a Mexican plate piled high with homemade tortillas, tacos and enchiladas. At Morales’ the beer is cold and the service is without fault. Still, weekdays the hotel is mostly empty, as is the entire town.

Generally, those who arrive by bus or taxi return before dark to Mazatlan, which is a pity since Copala provides the harmony that eludes that glitzy resort with its high-rise hotels and discos and noisy cantinas.

One comes to Copala for communion. Not communion in a church, but out of doors. When was the last time you saw the Milky Way or listened to the silence?

In Copala the stars are brighter than any place else in Mexico. They shine on a village where the wind whispers like the mournful voice of a ghost, of which Copala has many. They are the ghosts of departed miners who came here by the thousands in search of riches. Fortunes in precious metals were surrendered by the soil, and the church bells tolled while the faithful gathered in a square that is mostly deserted.

When I awoke this morning a pig was waddling down the cobbled street just outside my window. Like the chickens, the pigs run loose so that the motorists who visit Copala must drive cautiously. For like the chickens and the burros, the pigs have the right of way.

Without question the village is a retreat for the weary. In Copala the Sybarite would go mad. Even the cantina in Morales’ hotel closes early, shut tight by 5 o’clock. Scrawled in chalk on a blackboard over the bar are the words, “Please don’t get drunk--we care for you.”

It is tempting, though, considering that tequila sells for 40 cents and Margaritas cost only half a buck. Upstairs, guests relax in spotless rooms with pitched ceilings, firm mattresses and tiled baths. All this for $8 a night, tax and service included, which makes Morales’ small inn one of the most reasonable shelters in all of Mexico. Besides this, Morales will knock off 10% for the guest who remains a week. Or 20% if somebody stays on for 30 days, which figures out to barely $200 for an entire month. All this in a town with no stereos, no stress, no police. And not a single stoplight.

Well, that’s not entirely true. There is one policeman. Only he’s a retired American, Gene George, who used to work traffic in Los Angeles. He bought his hacienda for $1,000, gutted it, added rooms, fireplaces, baths, waterfalls and Copala’s only swimming pool. It’s a dream. The waterfalls spill everywhere--in the baths as well as the swimming pool. Just hit the switch, amigo. The flood gates open.

Members of a small American colony occupy other casas near the plaza. George’s neighbor, artist Paul Modlin of Pine Town, Ariz., has spent 18 winters painting in Copala.

Besides the peacefulness, Copala is possibly the cleanest village in the Sierra Madres. Bougainvillea cascades down the walls of colonial homes and other blooms spill off red tile roofs. Until several years ago, residents burned kerosene. Then ex-President Lopez Portillo ordered electricity delivered to Copala as a memorial to his grandfather who is buried in the village cemetery. The people of Copala responded by painting their homes to honor Portillo, who attended the dedication.

Still, Copala appears like a village caught in a time warp from the days of the Spaniards who founded the town. Wrought-iron lamps line the square beyond the church that faces Morales’ cheerful little hotel, and occasionally a musician drops by the plaza to play for Morales’ guests while they swing in hammocks on the terrace, lulled to sleep by the melodies.

Keeps Down the Traffic

Because the streets of Copala are cobbled, it is tough on tires. But who cares? It discourages traffic. Besides, with so few cars, the town is smog-free. It is also free of noise pollution.

Roosters gather outside Morales’ hotel, crowing imperiously. They and the dogs and the burros and the pigs and the cats get on famously. It is said that there is a pig for every person in Copala, which means the motorist must drive carefully. Otherwise there will be fresh bacon tomorrow morning and one less pig in traffic.

No one complains that Morales’ restaurant is closed for dinner. His guests dine instead on the terrace on snacks bought from the grocery around the corner. Enrique and Rosendo Acosta stock everything from soft drinks and cornflakes to beans and bananas, along with hair curlers, light bulbs, flit guns and safety pins. Like Hasakawa’s general store on the island of Maui, it’s crowded from floor to ceiling with nearly every knickknack and necessity to keep Copala percolating. Got a headache? Try Acosta’s. Lose a button off your blouse? Drop by Acosta’s.

Copala is the colonial town Puerto Vallarta once was. Only without an ocean. To reach Copala it is necessary to rent a car in Mazatlan or else come by bus or taxi. Although Copala is barely 40 miles east of Mazatlan, it is an expensive taxi ride. Drivers charge as much as $100. The bus is much cheaper. You can ride round trip for about $16.

An Easy Commute

Before the road was paved it took up to three days to drive between Copala and Mazatlan. The road was filled with potholes and during the rainy season it was a nightmare. There was a river to cross as well. Cars and trucks were ferried on a makeshift raft so that traffic was tied up for hours. Motorists bought tamales from street vendors and slept in their cars. Now Copala is an easy commute by way of Concordia.

At Copala, buses and cabs crowd the parking lot at Daniel’s, the popular restaurant operated by an ex-oil field roustabout from Huntington Beach, Dan Garrison, whose striking resemblance to the late Errol Flynn makes him a celebrity of sorts.

Garrison’s restaurant, launched in the living room of his late mother’s home, covers an entire hilltop. When the first tour bus arrived, the thrice-divorced Garrison sent a lad scurrying to the plaza to ring the church bells. Only five buses stopped at Daniel’s that first year. Today as many arrive in a single hour, unloading passengers who come for food and drink and to hear the little musician, Don Juan, play lively Mexican melodies on his harp-guitar.

On busy days, when the parking lot is crowded, Garrison calls on his 80-year-old sidekick, Tony Standish, to direct traffic. It gets that hectic.

One of a handful of Americans living in Copala, Standish arrived in Mexico by way of Arizona. After suffering a heart attack, his doctors told him he had only six months to live. Now 30 years and eight wives later, he bounces around Dan Garrison’s compound like an Olympic miler--directing traffic and playing lifeguard at the restaurant’s new swimming pool.

A Different Flavor

From Copala, the tour buses take in other mining towns and deposit passengers at Villa Blanca, a slice of Bavaria high in the Sierra Madres. Surrounded by ponderosa pine, Villa Blanca is a 12-room inn that specializes not in tacos and tamales, but bratwurst and brockwurst. This along with loads of sauerkraut.

A room with a private bath and three substantial meals at Villa Blanca figures out to $39 a day. When the weather is pleasant, guests dine on the terrace. Otherwise they are joined inside by proprietor Rolf Richter, a 59-year-old expatriate from Hanover, West Germany, who did his two-story mansion up to resemble one of those chalets outside Oberammergau. Scenes of Bavaria grace the walls of each guest room. German melodies are piped through the hallways. With a stein of beer and a little imagination, one is transformed in an instant to the motherland.

In a tiny chapel near Villa Blanca, truckers stop to pray before steering their rigs down the steep highway leading to Copala and the plaza where lamps glow with the approach of darkness.

On this particular evening, Jesus Morales relaxes on the steps of his hotel. A few stragglers remain in the plaza, tuned in to the sounds of the night--the crickets, the burros, a dog howling at the moon.

For a brochure and map of Copala and Mazatlan, send a self-addressed envelope containing two U.S. 22-cent stamps to Carlos Irvine c/o Tropical Tours, P.O. Box 872, Mazatlan, Sinaloa, Mexico.