The very last excursion of our Latin American journey took us to Sumidero Canyon, the proud symbol of the state of Chiapas. We spurned the tour agencies and went by ourselves, but we probably should have just done the tour: the canyon is hugely popular with Mexican tourists, and there’s no way to get into the canyon without joining a tour boat anyways. So we didn’t save any money, but we did enjoy the temporary solace of independently exploring what little there is to see in the supporting town of Chiapa de Corzo. It may not have been the town that was uninteresting, but more the heat: San Cristobal de las Casas is a good thousand meters higher in the mountains, and Chiapa de Corzo is part of the sweltering lowland jungles we’ve strictly avoided. Humid and hot, no wind. Nastiness.
We wasted no time in finding the embarcadero. It is crowded with tourist stalls and boat touts, with a handful of competing companies shouting but none willing to cut prices. With tickets in hand we were herded together with a large group of Mexican road-trippers and Belgian tourists, handed life preservers, and led to a speedy tour boat. Lisa and I somehow nabbed two good seats towards the bow; a lot of the Belgians were crowded in the stern with lesser views. The waters around Chiapa de Corzo are calm and flat. We pass a few villages on the outskirts of town where kids are swimming and fishing. The surrounding landscapes are pleasant, nothing special, but nonetheless it feels good to be on the water, moving fast, with wind to cool us down. There’s a checkpoint for all boats which we pass through, holding our wrists to the air, showing our official wristbands giving us permission to enter.
The cliffs arrive gradually, getting better as we go. Huge. Green and shaggy. Everyone aboard pans their heads in amazement, mouths agape. Audible ooo’s and ahh’s. How had I never heard of this place? On occasion, our captain would swerve the boat towards shore and cut the motor, drifting close to overgrown swamps and flooded woods, where we spot the eyes and long tails of crocodiles lurking near shore. It would be great to be able to swim here, but I can understand why no one brought their swim trunks. Further on, we pass underneath one of the highest points, the Peñón de Tepetchia, a cliff from which the local indigenous tribes had once thrown themselves by the thousands to their deaths here below, rather than face capture or execution at the hands of the Spanish. Yikes.
Further in, we make token stops at a small grotto and a rock formation that’s said to look like a Christmas tree, both underwhelming compared to the surrounding cliffs themselves. The canyon walls spill open as we navigate into the reservoir at the Chicoasen hydroelectric dam, with lush hilly farmland at shores. The boat stops and so does the breeze, and we’re all reminded how disturbingly hot it is today. Smartly, children and women motor over from the village of Osumacinta selling cold waters and beers. When they’ve made their sale, we begin the journey back – a surprising 20 miles from the dam to the embarcadero. We stop to stalk a few more crocodiles and soon after see local kids swimming and bathing either unaware or unafraid of the beasts around the corner.
In the tyranny of the midday sun, we’re glad to get back to shore to find shade. Food options in town looked crummy, so we picked up some ice cream and ate by the colonial brick fountain before hopping a local bus up to the highway. Here’s where the organized tour would have come in handy, because flagging a mountain-bound bus with available seats from the side of the highway wasn’t as easy as it was in our non-Mexico days. If they’ve got two spare seats, two people get on board and two only. No one sitting on stools in the aisles, no enormous Mayan women on your lap, no babies in the luggage racks. Sadly, we’re reminded that the days of the chicken bus are well behind us. Luckily it isn’t terribly long before we find a bus with exactly two seats available; the heat and grumpiness was creeping up on us both. But now it’s just an air conditioned ride into the hills, back to San Cris for another two nights to face the impossible: we are flying home.
Tags: chiapa de corzo, chiapas, mexico, san cristobal de las casas, sumidero canyon
