Once upon a time, and a long ago time it was, I took a wonderful trip to the Grutas de Juxtlahuaca in Guerrero, Mexico
It was in celebration of the successful completion of my first big commercial waterfall project in 1981 that I invited my Mom to accompany me on a trip to Acapulco. The Peso had been devaluated a few days before so everything was virtually free. We stayed in a luxury hotel for three bux a night and lived exclusively on artichokes. That was all well and good but a bit boring so after some daze on the beach I rented a VW and headed inland. Somewhere around Chilpancingo I somehow learned of the existence of the Grutas de Juxtlahuaca and headed there on a scenic but horribly bumpy cobblestone road. The ride alone utterly destroyed my poor mother, so when we got to the quaint village with it’s plaza full of palm trees and playing children she announced that she would be happy to sit there as long as necessary drinking beer in the square while I explored the cave. The friendly owner of the cave made the necessary arrangements for a guide and Coleman lanterns for me and a nice Mexican family that also wanted a tour. The only problem was that I insisted on using my carbide lamp which they considered to be an untrustworthy newfangled invention. The middle class Mexican family consisted of Dad, a big rancher with a sombrero and cowboy boots, his wife, and their absolutely stunning daughter, a tall thin girl, pale of skin, with luminous dark eyes and long black hair. We were instructed to wear swimming suits, but only the lovely daughter had one, a very skimpy bikini which served her well. With them was her twenty something fiancé, a completely unworthy little wimp. We all piled into the rancher’s 4x4 and off we went. The cave gate alone was worth the price of admission. It was apparently designed by Picasso during his psychedelic period and made of auto parts and grillwork ripped off from Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia cathedral all welded together. Inside there were wonders to behold such as an image of Quetzalcoatl himself, a large painting of a sacred jaguar and a crystal covered human skull laying in a pool of cave pearls. The beautiful nearly naked girl was fearless and led the way despite the protestations of our guide, a young man almost as wimpy as the fiancé who was whimpering and trailing behind the elderly Señora. After about an hour in the cave we arrived at a pool of water blocking the passage. The guide explained that beyond there lay a chamber filled with snowy anthodites but that it was impossible to get there without swimming. Mom and Dad were growing very tired and the fiancé could only gurgle, so they and the guide stayed behind while the beautiful girl and I forged ahead into the water. The chamber of anthodites was truly a magical place. The needle fine crystals completely covered the walls, but would melt with even the touch of a breath. I cannot imagine that they still exist today. The panicked guide swam in to tell us that the parents were in bad shape and the fiancé had begun to cry, so we made our way out. It was grim. Mom could barely walk so Dad had to help her, but he was having heart palpitations and stumbling badly in his soggy cowboy boots. The wretched fiancé had become an object of complete scorn, especially by Dad who made it very clear that under no circumstances would such a wimp ever marry his beautiful daughter. That crushed him even further so the guide had to help him out. That left me to help the pretty girl who became extremely flirtatious, pretending to need help when she didn’t need any help whatsoever. “Jew brave Jankee please to help push my bottom while I climb por favor!” I loved it! There was a final treat as we exited the cave, a fine big Lyre snake was twined through the gate snagging bats as they flew into the darkening sky. Dad was just about done, so on the ride back he lost control of his truck as we crossed a small bridge. Luckily for us a crowd of cowboys saw the accident. One look at the Senorita was all it took and they rushed to our aid. They hitched the truck to their horses and soon we were back on the bridge. Back in town I looked for my Mom but she was no where to be found. We had been gone for hours and I was alarmed. She spoke no Spanish and had never been out of the country in her life. Not to worry, the friendly family that owned the cave had adopted her. She sat in their beautiful private garden hung with Acalypha blossoms sipping tequila while being attended like a Queen as children played at her feet. She announced in a tipsy voice that she would never leave. My mother was happier than she had ever been in her entire life, and it makes my heart glad to remember it. Still, I cannot help but wonder whatever became of that brave hearted raven haired beauty? Sleazel
