A Trip to the Mountains

“The mountains are calling and I must go.”

-- John Muir

Even before we arrived in the city of Oaxaca de Juárez, we had known about the mountainous terrain that surrounds it. On a decent topo map you can see that the city lies at the convergence of three valleys separated by distinct ranges that include the Sierra Norte, Sierra Sur and Sierra Mixteca. They rise abruptly from the valley floors, rugged yet inviting. 

More than ten years previously, our daughter Julia ventured into these hills to do research for her college thesis about the politics of corn in Oaxaca. As part of her research she set out for the mountains to talk with campesinos about the many ancestral varieties of maíz they cultivate there—a stunt which, at the time, struck us as staggeringly bold and daring. (It still does.)  

Upon our own arrival in Mexico we learned that—all credit given to Julia’s adventurous spirit—excursions by tourists into the mountains are now somewhat routine and easily arranged. Many tour agencies in Oaxaca offer group or individual trips into the sierra, ranging from ordinary day hikes to sweat-lodge experiences and mountain-top rituals at daybreak.

A suspension bridge to the lookout above the town of Benito Juárez in the Sierra Norte.

We also became aware of an organization called Hoofing It in Oaxaca, which operates under the auspices of the Oaxaca Lending Library—a valuable clearinghouse for information and activities sought out by newcomers, repeat visitors and permanent residents alike. Every year, Hoofing It sponsors a series of organized excursions during the fall and winter months into the mountains and surrounding towns. 

Through Hoofing It we booked a number of day trips and overnights into the Sierra Norte—a range of velvety mountains to the northeast of the city through which snakes a windy network of dirt, gravel, and in a few cases, paved roads. Nestled in its sinuous folds are dozens of small towns and villages that still bear their original (typically Zapotec) names, combined with those of various Catholic saints or other post-conquest figures: Santa Catarina Ixtepeji, San Andrés Yatuni, Ixtlán de Juárez, etc. Most of them boast no more than a few hundred inhabitants, and often less.

For centuries these hamlets have relied upon traditional agricultural techniques and resource exploitation (timber and minerals) for their livelihoods, but lately they’ve gotten wind of another idea that’s proving to be both less exhausting and more lucrative: eco-tourism.

Setting out from the city in a Sprinter van or pickup truck, within a half-hour or so you’re winding your way slowly up from the valley floor, passing through several distinct ecological zones, until, reaching the higher ridges, you’re surrounded by a forested wonderland thick with pine, oak and madrona. Many of these larger trees are smothered in bromeliads, pineapple-like epiphytes from which spring extravagant flowers of pink, red and orange. Although the terrain seems dry, mountain streams provide a year-round supply of cold water perfectly suited to a nascent trout-farming industry, with occasional roadside restaurants touting fresh-caught fish for lunch and dinner.

In the bromeliad forest at 9,000’.

Given the frequent haze, smoke and heat of Oaxaca’s valleys, upon arrival in the sierra one immediately notices the air: cooler, clearer and, especially, thinner. Many of these towns are located at elevations somewhere between 8,500’ and 10,000’ above sea level (as compared to Oaxaca City’s 5,000’). The sun blazes overhead in a deep blue sky and can, in no time at all, inflict a dangerous dose of UV on unprotected skin. There is very little level terrain here, and you can quickly find yourself gasping for breath just walking up and down the narrow streets. The hiking trails, though, are typically soft with pine needles and astoundingly quiet, often passing through densely shaded forests that provide shelter from the merciless sun. Walking them is a profoundly restorative experience.

Among the people of the Sierra Norte, feelings of an intimate connection to the land run deep, and sometimes fierce. In 1956, without consulting local authorities, a presidential decree granted a 25-year timber concession in the Sierra Norte to a Canadian paper company. Roads were built through the region to accommodate wholesale logging efforts and serious deforestation took place. In the 80s, after years of persistent, tenacious resistance to the plundering of their land, and with considerable expert legal and political help from within and outside of Oaxaca, the indigenous towns succeeded in getting the decree rescinded, finally restoring local control over their resources. 

At around this same time, three different municipalities in one area of the Sierra Norte banded together in a regional compact called Pueblos Mancomunados—a consortium of towns, villages and shared territory created to foster and maintain a consistent, quality experience for eco-visitors to the area. Throughout the Pueblos Mancomunados, access fees are charged for use of the network of forest trails that link the villages, and local guides must accompany anyone seeking to use the communal trails. Ordinances are in place mandating sustainable forestry practices in the area, as well as other conservation measures.  

Walking a mountain road in the Pueblos Mancomunados.

Thanks to this conversion to eco-tourism, in recent decades many mountainous areas have been reforested, with local residents being trained in the natural history of the area. A variety of activities are available for visiting aventureros, including hiking, horseback riding, mountain biking, zip-lining and overnight stays in rustic cabins in the woods. As a result, towns that until recently faced rampant population decline due to the relative attractiveness of city jobs are now retaining some of their residents, especially younger ones, who can make pretty good money at home as guides, drivers, restaurateurs and in other supportive occupations.

A Different Way of Governance. Both within and outside of the Pueblos Mancomunados, a form of self-government known as Usos y Costumbres has been preserved among many of the indigenous towns: an arrangement in which every citizen is expected to play some operational role in support of the community. We have visited several of these towns, and although there are differences in the way the system plays out in each of the 417 different municipalities in Oaxaca that practice this form of government,* in broad strokes it works like this:

Usos y Costumbres (Uses & Customs, or for brevity’s sake, U & C) entails a hierarchical system of community service responsibilities, known as cargos, the highest authority being the Assembly of Citizens. These cargos, from the lowly street-sweeper all the way up to the Mayor, lie in one of two areas of responsibility: Municipal and Communal. While most of these cargos are unpaid positions, some of the higher-level managerial roles can be salaried jobs, depending on the town.

Whether Municipal or Communal, every cargo is occupied by citizens of the town for periods lasting from 1-1/2 to 3 years. After a break they will take on a different role, often at a higher level of responsibility. As the years pass each person will slowly move up in the hierarchy, gaining knowledge and experience, eventually serving on an Advisory Council of Elders. 

In many towns throughout the Sierra Norte, there is communal tenure of the land. All property is held in common, with decisions on the use of natural resources to be made by different parts of the Communal authority. These resources—such as the forest, water, minerals and rocks—are managed through public companies, and all proceeds from these activities, including those from eco-tourism, flow back into the public coffers for reinvestment and the benefit of the community.

The Usos y Costumbres town of Capulálpam de Méndez in the Sierra Norte.

In addition to the Municipal and Communal cargos that one must satisfy, residents of a U & C town must also fulfill occasional public-service projects which benefit the entire community. These projects, called tequios, may take the form of trash clean-up along a mountain road, or planting new trees in a patch of previously harvested timberland. Everyone, excepting the old and infirm, must participate in a tequio of some kind; this includes citizens who are living elsewhere but still claim residency. If you are unable to show up for your tequio, you must either find someone else who can cover for you or pay a cash amount to the town. 

In either case, it’s the price one pays to live in relative freedom from outside interference in one of the most beautiful places on earth. To paraphrase one resident, “We grew up with this ideology of community service without remuneration. We have lived communally since we were little, and it is our way of life.”

These various U & C systems are recognized not only by the state of Oaxaca, but are enshrined in the Mexican Constitution itself, which “recognizes and guarantees the right of indigenous peoples and communities to self-determination and, consequently, autonomy to … decide their internal forms of coexistence and social, economic, political and cultural organization.” Imagine that!

Citizens of these towns continue to participate in state and national elections, but they are completely on their own when it comes to determining how they organize themselves at home. Most seem to consider it a fair deal, given that it is a bulwark against the encroachment of “modern” social trends such as foreign investment, rampant development and unchecked resource extraction. It is hard to imagine any instance of such an idealized form of communal self-government existing anywhere in the U.S., where it would no doubt be labeled as “communist” and persecuted out of existence. But it seems to work perfectly well for the little towns of the Sierra Norte.

(* This description is based on the Usos y Costumbres charter in use in the town of Capulálpam de Mendes. Many thanks to Eunice Hernandez Toro for providing this information!)

After a half-year in the tropics, staying overnight in the mountains of Oaxaca can provide a stern reminder that truly chilly weather still exists somewhere. The cabins rentable in the Sierra Norte are sturdy but not well-insulated, and overnight temperatures at 10,000’ can drop close to freezing. In many areas the cabañas come with a supply of firewood; in the evening a local man will cheerfully light a fire in the hearth just as you’re reaching for your wool cap and mittens. With luck, you’ve been assigned a cabin with a chimney that drafts well; otherwise, you’re in for a long, smoky night with only your long-johns and a flask of mezcal for warmth. But by day the briskly cool air, however thin, is deeply invigorating, and the sound of birdsong in the surrounding forest offers a welcome contrast to rampaging buses, car horns and drum-and-bugle corps rehearsals in the nearby city park. 

Cooking up breakfast on a chilly morning in the comedor near Cuajimoloyas.

Near San Antonio Cuajimoloyas, the eco-camp is just far enough outside of town that they have built a tiny, wood-frame comedor (eatery) there for residents of the cabins to take their meals. Run entirely by two Zapotec women over a wood stove, this cozy, one-room restaurant offered up some of the best food I have eaten in Oaxaca—and when I complimented them on how delicious it was, they kept bringing me more, and still more, until long after I stopped asking.

As the hot season approaches, it seems that the best time of year for hiking, regrettably, is coming to an end. But long after we have departed from Oaxaca, a part of me will remain in the sierra, perched on a rock overlooking the deep green valleys and ridges, breathing in the cool mountain air and admiring the resilient, colorful towns perched precariously on the distant hillsides.