Valley of Cold Fire

Speaking in a soft singsong from the doorway of his simple wooden hut, the town elder recalled the day when a strange hillock, spewing fire and smoke, broke through the furrows of Dionisio Pulido’s cornfield. “People began to cry, but it was the adults crying, and then the little ones as well,” said Jorge Gomez Amado of that dark Saturday in 1943 when a new volcano was born. “That night, no one slept.”

Today, more than 50 years later, Paricutin, a black volcano towering more than 1,200 feet above a plain of petrified lava and ashen sand, has become an out-of-the-way tourist destination. For those who already have braved Mexico City’s smog and traffic, or grown weary of glitzy beach resorts, Paricutin offers a glimpse at a mysterious and more traditional part of Mexico.

Located near Morelia, in central western Mexico, the volcano Paricutin, named after one of the towns it destroyed, lies in some of Mexico’s most beautiful countryside. The valley of Itzicuaro was the heart of the pre-colonial Tarascan Indian empire. Even the Aztecs never succeeded in conquering the Tarascans, or, as they are known today, the Purepecha.

In a country where many Indians have lost their language and customs, the town of Angahuan clings fiercely to both. In the town square, a tumble of wood and brick houses built around a 16th century church plaza, a handful of horses often can be found tied up next to new Dodge vans. Inside the church, villagers dance to their saints in a slow two-step shuffle. Others kneel and make the painful course from the entrance to the altar on their knees.

Women here still dress in brightly colored skirts, embroidered blouses and little white aprons, a style imposed on Indians in the 16th century by Spanish colonizers. Everyone in this village, which is the jumping off point for exploring Paricutin, speaks Purepecha; not everyone speaks Spanish. Those catering to tourists speak a smattering of English.

The main attraction for tourists is a day trip, on foot or horseback, to the volcano and to the ruins of San Juan Parangaricutiro, an entire town that was buried under lava. If you are fortunate, as I was, villagers also may share some of their stories during your stay. This turned out to be the unexpected highlight of my time there--first on a one-day excursion to the volcano last fall; then last spring, on a several-day journey in which I retraced the exodus of villagers who fled the volcano to new settlements.

As we puttered into Angahuan in an ancient Fiat on my first visit to Paricutin, a horseman appeared out of a cobbled side street. “Did you want to see the volcano?” he asked.

After a quick bargaining session, he rode ahead to lead the way. Soon another horseman magically appeared out of the town’s windy alleyways; eventually, an entire cavalcade led us to a vista point.

As we stood overlooking the beautiful mountain-ringed Itzicuaro valley, we were offered two choices: a five-hour, round-trip horseback ride to the volcano itself, or a one-hour, round-trip journey to a lonely church tower surrounded by twisted lava formations. The latter was to the only remains of the village of San Juan Parangaricutiro, which was swallowed up in lava flows more than 66 feet deep.

There were two small children and five adults in our group, all with varying levels of incompetence in horsemanship. Nevertheless, we opted for the more ambitious journey. Our guide, Caeyetano Perucho Acosta, got us all onto horses, with the two children mounted in front of their parents, and we set off down a winding, pine-covered slope.

Few travelers take the time to go all the way to the volcano. However, before it gave a last shudder and fell silent in March 1952, it was an international draw. Diego Rivera, the famed Mexican muralist, visited the site and painted a tableau of the smoking cone; the painting is now housed in Mexico City’s Museum of Modern Art. Scientists from all over the world camped out on its hillsides, recording its every lava shower and ash flow. And adventurers from the United States reported on its natural fireworks in the New York Herald Tribune and in post-World War II movie newsreels.

The volcano attracted so much attention, at least in part, because of its geological importance. Paricutin is only the second new volcano born on the North American continent in historical time, Jim Luhr, director of the Smithsonian Institute’s Global Volcanism Program told me. The first, the volcano Jorullo, erupted nearby in 1759.

Paricutin erupted for nine years, burying the town of San Salvador Paricutin and destroying all but the church steeple of neighboring San Juan Parangaricutiro. Before it cooled, the volcano blanketed a 10-square-mile area with boiling lava. Its ash destroyed cropland and silenced all forest life in a 120-square-mile area. Perched on a ridge above the valley, the village of Angahuan survived.

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Today, you can see the signs of recovery. Birds chirp in the forest. New avocado groves dot the black sand, and, as I learned on my first visit, riding hard on horseback around the flanks of the volcano, bulls graze on small patches of grassland.

We came to Angahuan from Morelia, a long drive if you take a wrong turn or two along the way. Angahuan was deeply affected by the eruption, almost as much as the towns the volcano buried, Valente Soto Bravo, a respected local educator, told me.

Over a breakfast of chorizo and eggs at the village’s only hotel, a cooperativelyrun lodge overlooking the volcanic valley, Soto told me that in the valley of Itzicuaro, time is divided into eras before and after the eruption. He translated an Indian song into Spanish for me as we admired the commanding view.

How is it that Paricutin destroyed what was so beautiful, orchards that gave so many fruits? the song laments. San Juan [Parangaricutiro] was so beautiful. Now all that can be seen of it is its church tower from afar.

It was on my return journey, several months later, that I turned off the main trail to see the ruins of the village of San Juan Parangaricutiro. There, I scrambled over outlandish-sized lava boulders and climbed onto the archways of what was once the second story of a cavernous church sanctuary. In one corner stood a tiny altar to the Virgin Mary. Standing in the archway, I could see the steeple jutting above this alien landscape.

I could only imagine the moment when the lava began lapping on the village’s borders. Everyone fled, carrying food and possessions. The village priest led them on a two-day exodus to a new settlement, carrying the sanctuary’s venerated statue of Jesus Christ.

On that same journey, I met Jorge Gomez Amado, the man who described the crying villagers. I’d been told Gomez was a great storyteller, so I walked along the village’s winding dirt alleys and cobbled streets searching for his home. After asking directions from a shopkeeper, a horseman and a young woman hidden behind her dark shawl, I finally found it.

He invited me in and gave me a chair next to his wooden porch. Speaking in halting Spanish, his voice shaking with age, Gomez shared a story about the volcano that he first heard from a friend. The volcano, he said, as he cradled my tape recorder in a worn red handkerchief, started because of a bet that the devil tried to make with Jesus.

The devil came to visit Christ in the sanctuary of San Juan, or more precisely, the revered statue of Christ, which is famous for its healing powers and miracles. The devil asked for the secret to Christ’s popularity. Christ listened, according to Gomez, but said nothing.

And so the devil wagered that he could make airplanes, helicopters and busloads of people come to him instead. The earth erupted for nine long years, and Christ was driven away. People flocked to see the devil’s work: the volcano. But Christ has now retaken his prominent position, Gomez said, and on the Friday before Easter, people from the towns buried by the volcano return with the statue of Christ to the silenced mouth of the volcano.

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On the valley floor, our horseback ride took us past stark and strange lava formations and through fields of black sand bare of vegetation. With the sun blazing, half of our party (mom, dad and two kids) decided to wait at the volcano’s base beneath the shade of a fruit tree. As the rest of us continued, we saw another group in the distance trying to climb the steep volcano, which is made of volcanic sand.

Our guide, Perucho, explained that the group had come to the area from the nearby city of Uruapan with a tour guide who didn’t know the correct route. As we got close, we could see the group making Sisyphean progress up the slope. The moral of the story and of many apocryphal jokes told locally about lost tourists: Hire a local guide. It’s easy to get lost among the various paths on the valley floor, and it’s worthwhile to avoid the torturous climb up the wrong slope of the mountain.

We tied up our horses and Perucho took us to the side of the volcano. There, he showed us small vents that still give off sulfurous steam. In about 45 minutes, we climbed up the rocky side of the volcano to its giant crater. From there, we had a beautiful view of the valley, some spectacular cloud formations and the crater’s foreboding center.

Then came the most fun part of our excursion. Starting at the top of the precipitously steep face of the volcano, we began to slide-step rapidly down the black sand. It was something like skiing, with all of us laughing and shouting as we slid down the mountain. In five minutes, we had reached the bottom where we mounted our horses for our ride back to the lodge.

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GUIDEBOOK: Under the Volcano

Getting there: Mexicana (nonstop) and Aeromexico (connecting service) airlines fly from LAX to Morelia, Mexico, the jumping off point for exploring this region of Mexico. Advance-purchase, round-trip fares start at $435.

Getting around: Take Highway 14 about 175 miles west to Uruapan. From there, take the highway to Los Reyes (it will fork off to the west after about seven miles).

The drive to Angahuan, 20 miles along a well-paved but twisty road, can take 30 to 45 minutes from Los Reyes. First-class buses are also available from Morelia’s central bus station to Uruapan. From there, you can hire a taxi to Angahuan (about $10) or take the local bus to Los Reyes and ask the driver to let you off at Angahuan. It’s a 15-minute walk from the highway to the center of town.

Volcano tours: Guided horseback rides to the volcano from Angahuan cost about $10 per person, or $5 to go only to the church tower and ruins of San Juan Parangaricutiro.

Where to stay: In Angahuan, El Parador, also known as the Albercas, (no address or telephone but for information, call the public phone in Angahuan, tel. 011-52-452-50383, and ask for information on El Parador. Cabins (with fireplaces) that sleep six are located near the valley overlook. Rates: about $40 per cabin. In Uruapan, the Hotel Real de Uruapan (tel. 011-52-452-34500) has attractive rooms with color TVs and hot showers. Rates: $16 to $25 per double. Nuevo Hotel Alameda (tel. 011-52-452-34100) is closer to the main square, but less charming. Rates: $20 for a double.

Where to eat: In Angahuan, the hotel El Parador restaurant serves simple but good regional food; $5 for an average meal for two. Sanitary conditions vary widely elsewhere in town. In Uruapan, a multitude of cafes and restaurants at the mercado de antojitos (or appetizers market) off the main plaza offer delicious local specialties.

For more information: Mexican Government Tourism Office, 1801 Century Park East, Suite 1080, Los Angeles, CA 90067; tel. (310) 203-8191, fax (310) 203-8316.