This day was my last in the little town, so I bought a Ferrari. In Real de Catorce of all places. A black one.
As with backpacking, moto travel is a minimalist sport. Smaller and lighter is better. I’ve tried various small travel camera systems over the years and this trip was my first to use the tiny Lumix GM5 and GF7 cameras and lenses. They feature 16 mp sensors and proven image quality. For lenses I am using the 12-32 and 35-100 kit zooms - very tiny, very sharp and an Olympus 45mm 1.8 for a fast 90mm equivalent.
The GM5 is minuscule, the size of a deck of cards with a tiny electronic viewfinder and the GF7 is a bit cheaper and with a tilt screen. The entire kit - 2 bodies, 3 lenses, charger, 4 batteries and related stuff all fit in a 3.5 x 5 x 8” case. Yep.
But back to Ferraris… local leather craftsman Simone Ferrari, who came from Bologna, Italy to Real 25 years ago, had designed a simple, discreet black leather pouch for me based on the camera size and had made it in a few hours for a reasonable price.
Simone Ferrari and partner Jemma
One amazing thing about Real De Catorce is how many interesting people visit this town. Each trip I’ve made has been filled with interesting encounters, especially considering how few travelers come.
I’d bumped into Maria each day, a traveler from Portugal who was living in Real. She told me that on the weekends the town filled up with local farmers selling produce, craftsmen and artisans selling wares and the population swells a bit with tourists. All my previous trips to Real had been midweek, having heard that the tunnel is closed on weekends to vehicle traffic.
This afternoon, a Friday, I could tell locals were preparing for the weekend as several shops and cafes were open that I’d never seen open before. In addition there were more street vendors than usual.
What you do in Real is walk, talk, smile and take it in, with the occasional time on a bench to watch the others doing the same thing. So that’s what I did. I explored a few other hotels out of curiosity and marked a few for the future, though the Mina Real where I’ve typically stayed is superb.
As the day progressed I bumped into 3 Norteńos, whom I’d met at breakfast, returning from their attempted hike to the old ghost town. They’d asked about it that morning and I suggested they take the horses rather than walk, but they feared riding horses. Sure enough, they had turned back before reaching the top but still had enjoyed it. I suggested they hike to the Cerro Quemado the next day, though further, it would be a bit easier than the steep rocky approach to the Pueblo Fantasma.
Perusing the shops, I found one where the owner made the well known Huichol beaded sculptures, painstakingly glueing tiny colored beads onto sculpted figures.
It was late in the day when my breakfast finally wore off, the smell of gorditas wafting down the street drawing me back to the little place across from the church for a meal. I ordered dos gorditas y una Coca and grabbed a tiny table outside to people watch.
My Coca came out in the grasp of a very young boy whose hands were covered in oil and grease from the food. He struggled to get the cap off with the opener, a task made more difficult by the oil on his hands. I said “Gracias el jefe” which made him smile very big. He then began a burst of Spanish to which I replied “No hablo español”. He paused and looked at me for a bit then reached for my camera. I showed it to him, then took a pic or two or three.
He was enamored with seeing himself on the screen and we became best buddies. He then picked up my phone and deftly began swiping through the apps like a pro, I’m sure looking for games, while speaking to me in Spanish. When a mother's call came from within the cafe, he quickly dropped the phone and squirted back inside.
The streets had a bit more activity than normal and as the day wound down I wandered a little longer.
I had thoroughly enjoyed my time in Real, wanting to stretch it out, but my time of leaving was coming the next morning. I spent as much time on the streets as I could until I finally gave in and headed for the hotel. On the street outside, the blind man I’d seen almost every day felt his way past with his walking stick. I greeted him with “Buenos tardes” as I had each time. He smiled and nodded his appreciation.
As darkness fell, I sat in the room and looked at photos of the day and thought about the week.
If I could sum up Real in a word or two, it would be the sound of children’s laughter. It’s a noisy place, but not in a bad way, just that there are many sounds - an ambient backdrop of roosters, donkeys, horse hooves, rattling trucks with bad mufflers, birds singing, Mexican music, off-key random trumpet blasts, voices, short whistles and the sound of children. But mostly the sounds of children, their laughter, screams, giggles and excitement. The town is full of children and they seem to be very happy. That is a good thing for my soul, to know there is a place filled with happy children.