Mexico, Part III; In search of sea turtles

Note the check marks, and the big red Xs.

I napped on the bus, kinda curled up over two seats.  In the moments I was awake I noted the landscape change, prickly pear cacti and agave gave way to stereotypical Saguaro cacti and palm trees.
The bus ride was along an unsettled stretch of highway - as in, no settlements along the way, and perhaps an unsettled feeling as this area borders a "Red Zone" of traveller's advisory where drug cartels seemed to have fortified themselves.  My couchsurfer guide circled that area on the map and scribbled it out in red; although there is heightened military presence and federal+community police performing frequent road checks, there's still "bad people" that could target even a scruffy bum for profit or amusement.  I'd like to take this opportunity to note that I don't believe in bad people, just bad behaviors.
But then again, perhaps I'm just very lucky.
The bus dropped me off in a tiny bus depot in Lazaro Cardenas.  The woman at the ticket sales counter said the next bus to follow the coast-hugging road wouldn't leave the depot till late that night, giving me a full day in a hot city that I had no intention of lingering in.  This is the a manufacturing town and largest western port in Mexico, so I suppose it's similar to Vancouver with its own history and charms, but it's not what I'm there to see.  I'd already wasted enough time wandering in circles around Morelia so I spurred myself along the main road leaving town.  While walking would be slower, I'd at least have some satisfaction in making progress pointed in the right direction, and I might luck into a ride - hopefully not with a "bad person" - leaving the city and driving nonstop all the way to Faro de Bucerias where I was headed to.
There was no breeze despite being on the coast.  Hot and dry, long straight stretch of highway, and the traffic was at a crawl.  I was passed by an unusual abundance of taxis so no regular traffic would pick me up for a lift.  Eventually a taxi called out to me and I hopped in, he waved the fare.  His English was minimal, but he explained that this was a funeral procession for a taxi driver and that these were all friends and coworkers heading to the cemetery, he'd give me a lift as far as he was going along that road.  A slow drive, but a welcome reprieve from the hot dusty highway I could sit and not walk.  Where he dropped me off I wasn't waiting long and got a lift from two other nice fellas who made it their mission to speedily intercept the bus heading to Faro de Bucerias, which we did.  I paid my fare, somewhere under $300 Mxn..? and settled in for the ride.  This road had no landmarks and I had no idea how far along Faro de Bucerias would be, but the driver assured me he'd let me know when we'd reached my stop.  I asked at several stops some semblance of "Are we there yet?" and tried not to annoy the driver.  I am still mistrustful of the "Si, si", especially if I'm left in the middle of nowhere on the border of The Red Zone.
Afternoon turned into dusk and then night.  I didn't want to be travelling this area at night.
Then I fell asleep.

Faro de Bucerias
I awoke to two young fellas standing above my seat, most passengers had left, and the driver peering back at me.  I shook off the creepy vibe.  The driver indicated that this was my stop and these fellas would take me to town.  [nervous laugh] okaaaay...
The bus left us in the dark, no streetlights or much ambient light in the night sky to distinguish ground from sky, just a faint glow of light above the jungle between highway and beach.  A pickup truck came down the road and we three got a lift in the back - in this time and place seatbelts are an unnecessary luxury.  So are rear-view mirrors, but rest assured if a vehicle has a rear-view mirror it'll have a rosary hanging from it.
The truck let us off at the main square/pavillion, where lo and behold there was a sort of carnival going on.  It was a surreal welcome, all loud and bright after hours of dark highway, and I somehow thought of Disney's Pinocchio - we'll have some fun and be turned into donkeys here, never to be found again! I had no compulsion for toys or games in booths, or the rides or bouncy castle for kids, so I had a pop with the two that brought me and they guided me to the small beachside... lodging accommodations, I suppose.  Rental cabins on the beach really.  It was dark and late, and the receptionist/owner was nowhere to be found.  The guides checked the carnival grounds - at least they know who they're looking for - and I sat awhile on the steps and spoke with an older man there, another guest who was staying with his son.  One of my guides returned and couldn't produce anyone that I could pay for a room, and with the night half over anyway the older man then offered I could stay in their cabin for the night.  The young guide returned back to the carnival, which was the reason he'd come from a neighbouring town that night.  
With my strange luck I am frequently blessed to find "dads" and "brothers" along my travels.  They mean no harm, and these two larger men shared a bed and let me have the other to myself, though I was tired enough to simply take a chair or the floor even.  I communicated with the son via a translating program on his tablet.
Bed felt so very very good.  I fell asleep to the surf pounding the shore just a few feet away.

Main intersection, quiet morning after the carnival. Aside from the strip of beach huts, this is pretty much the whole town.

Typical building here.  Ever have an 'exquisite' hot dog?

The next morning the father+son were off for a morning jog and wished me well, I gathered my bags and scouted the town in daylight.  The one Internet place that seemed closed indefinitely, I lingered patiently awhile and eventually I approached some curious onlookers and somehow communicated if there was another place for Internet.  They put me in the back of the truck with the wife+kid and drove me several hundred feet around the corner - not many streets to get lost in here - to a blue house/business with a few computers set up and a woman who looked half confused/irritated to have a customer in the morning.  At least someone back home will know where I am now.  I barely know where I am.  I browsed the local grocery store but I had no cooking facilities anyway.  No restaurants.  No postcards.
I returned to the beach and snacked on the last of the packed food from Ciudad Hidalgo that did not suffer well in this heat without refrigeration.  Despite having been wrapped in both foil and plastic bags the lamb tacos from the birthday picnic had tiny red ants on them.  The ants left the vegetarian quesadillas alone, so that was my brunch.  I gave the lamb tacos to a friendly dog on the beach who was appreciative regardless of ants.

I compared prices with two businesses of beach huts and settled on one for the night.  I even got a cheaper deal for having three beds and only needing one.  Now that my accommodations are settled I can plop my bags down and walk the beach unencumbered.  Both turtle egg laying and hatching happen at night but I was far too tired to have searched the sands the night before.  This afternoon will rest easy and be up late looking for turtles.  The beach hut businesses had thatched awnings and hammocks for customers.  And I got a cheap Corona that was... absolutely perfect.  This must be what people back home though of when I mentioned a trip to Mexico!

View to the left.

View to the right.

       

Eventually I freed myself from this terrible relaxation and walked the beach, right then left.  The sand was coarse and unbearably hot, so I left my boots and padded around sock-footed, hence my footprints have no distinct toes.

This structure is for sale! Wanna live on a rock?

I resisted the temptation to bring _every_ pretty shell home.

The beach hut businesses are mixed with private residences, so their grilled/barbecued fish dinner smelled delicious, but I couldn't assume to have or purchase any.  I didn't plan on being near to coast, but now that I am, I will have seafood!
I managed to communicate that I was here to see the turtles.  The beach hut owners shook their heads and said "Tortugas salidas." Uh oh.  I've seen that word "salida" on exit signs at airports and bus stations.  The turtles have exited.  They repeated Colola several times, while waving vaguely indicating south the way I'd come.
Very well, onto Colola in the morning.
That night I walked the beach with a wee flashlight looking for turtles anyway.  I instead found a black dog that was eager to walk in front of me and proceed to sit on my foot (doggy sign of acceptance) so I'll stop moving and pay attention, lavish with his affection and begging for mine.  I find friends in the far reaches of tiny towns.

Colola
I walked away from town and to the gas station/bus stop at the main highway.  Three schoolgirls were in uniform waiting as well.  They stood apart from me now, likely curious or horrified at my appearance; it's too hot and flat beach terrain to warrant wearing heavy hiking boots and socks, but I'd rather be over-prepared than hiking up butterfly mountains in sandals.  Bathing suit bottoms and a wrap skirt, tank top, Tilley hat (yay Canada!), and ratty bags stuffed full with Bunny dangling off my purse.  I do not look like a schoolgirl.
So I was ready to wait for a bus, until the attendants at the gas station mentioned Colola was only 20 minutes drive away.  A truck pulled beside us and the schoolgirls chattered with the driver and passenger, I heard Colola and piped up, then got the nod to join the back.  The girls sat primly near the front, between us along the floor were scattered flats of 2L bottles of Coke.  I just heaped myself in the back ungracefully and draped myself over my bags to make sure nothing flew out if we hit a bump at top speeds.  Keep smiling, hang on!
The truck almost whizzed past Colola until we brought it to their attention.  I can see how it could be overlooked.  There appears to be... nothing here.  As in, less than Faro de Bucerias, and I hadn't thought that was possible.  There are houses here, some operate small stores out one end but just dry/canned goods, maybe diapers and basic pharmacy/first aid products, occasionally a vending machine with cold pop.  No postcards, no Internet, no touristy trickets.  I suppose the locals have everything they need to survive, or it's assumed all have vehicles and can drive to a neighbouring town for additional purchases and services. Around the middle of town was a beach hut place, I considered staying there and got a tour around their plush rooms.  Price seemed right... but then I heard from some locals on their porch about the official "turtle camp" further along, so I pressed further along and found the bare-bones camp.

I got my choice of bunks in the bunkhouse.

My roommates.

What can I say? The town is barely on the map, let alone the turtle camp.  I'm not sure if all or some are paid or volunteer.  I can't find a website for them, despite many informative billboards and signage intending to educate the public about turtles.  There was barely anyone there when I arrived, a young couple which spoke little English who seemed to oversee the place and seemingly no other visitors.  They wrote on my paper the prices with some words I didn't understand and they couldn't explain further.  Both were cheap enough I could afford, so fair enough, let's give it a try.  I put my bags down and wandered around for a bit along the beach that looked like a crater-pocked sand trap for golfers, and returned to nap so I'd be well-rested for nocturnal activities.  The walls of the bunkhouse were slats of wood with gaps for light and ventilation that let in the wildlife; four fat toads were quietly keeping cool in the corner.
Around dusk I walked the beach again, eager to find turtles.  I was to back at camp by 8pm for whatever presentation or orientation (most of which I wouldn't have understood anyway).

Then I found my first turtle.  A big momma turtle coming ashore to lay her eggs.  All speckled, ain't she a beauty? I needed to figure out the flash on my camera while trying to be as unobtrusive as possible so I don't piss her off.  If she's uncomfortable she'll turn around with great effort and head out to sea, try again tomorrow night.  My first dealings with a live sea turtle, I tried to get as close to her as I could, knowing that you'd not try that with our native wildlife with tooth and claw back in Canada.  I'll stay away from the business end of her beak.
Back to the camp, I joined two men minding the fenced-in compound that held man-made nests.  Equally spaced and measured, marked with stakes with notes on date of burial, species of turtle, number of eggs etc.  Wire mesh cylinders keep birds from disturbing nests and plucking up new hatchlings.  The fence keeps wild dogs and related predators out.  And the night watchman keeps poachers from taking turtle eggs to sell as folk-remedy aphrodisiacs - supposedly they help men maintain an erection.  The watchmen poked around these December nests and expect some activity tonight.  With a little digging to help the young'uns, we soon had baby turtles! In the time it took me to handle the first three and get a photo, more had risen to the surface and were scrambling against their mesh cylinder like a furious hornet's nest, called to the punishing pound of the waves on the shore and the light of the moon (or our pseudo-moon LED lantern).

     
Their unbridled energy and instincts to keep moving were unfazed by any mesh barrier or by being handled by a big scary human.  They didn't bite, just flap their tiny flippers that smack against my fingers as soft as floppy egg noodles.  It was amazing to believe that someday they'll harden into horn-edged broad oars.  It was humbling to think that they will most likely outlive me, if they're safe, healthy, and lucky.
I personally escorted two of these to the sea, gently from my hands just to be inevitably tumbled by the waves.  Good luck little ones.
Next was on a tour to see the mothers digging nests and laying eggs.  People appeared from wherever they'd been during the day, we went down the beach together and found mamas making their way up on the sand, stopping where they saw fit, and laying their eggs.  They're in a sort of trance as they lay eggs, oblivious to us around them and we could even touch them.  They occasionally had a serene sigh as they were breathing, but were otherwise silent, and it was a very peaceful atmosphere.   I could've sat there with them all night.
When the turtles began covering their nests over with sand our hands were in there immediately scooping up the new turtle eggs, counting and recording.  They look like soft ping-pong balls with a small dimple.  We brought them back to the fenced-in compound and a man dug a hole with a post hole digger to the right depth, where we carefully placed the eggs.  Mesh cylinder in place, wooden stake numbered and dated.
I note here that we can't save them all.  Some must fare their luck without our assistance, eggs and hatchlings will be eaten as part of some other animals' natural diet.  Already the birds were circling.  It's easy to want them to just switch to fish or something less cute, but nature is not sentimental.  I saw over a dozen turtles laying on that beach just that night, but we only relocated four nests.

While we were just gone for perhaps an hour, two more nests had hatched and a tour bus full of people arrived. These were perhaps the people staying in the nice beach hut place I'd considered earlier, while enviously eyeing their swimming pool.  They got to release a baby turtle and watch the mothers lay, so I followed them for another turn - there were over 100 hatchlings, plenty to go around.
The people came and went, I didn't speak to them.  They had their turtle experience and would go back to bed, whereas I intended to not miss a moment of any of this.  This is what I'd come to see! When they left it was just the night watchman and I, patiently waiting to see if more nests hatched.  His English was fine, we chat about turtles and Mexico and his work here and my travels so far.  His buddy brought us coffee.  I was aware the camp had a stove, but only being here one night wouldn't have much point in getting groceries.  I'm not much of a night owl, and perhaps I was exhausted from the heat or travel, but I stayed awake as long as I could before surrendering to my lone bunk for a brief rest, then returned to keep him company.  In the time I'd been gone another nest had indeed hatched, and I got to release the whole batch of 71 to the sea.  Aside from the lack of development there is (or should be) regulations in effect to cut out the light pollution on the beach so the turtles can be guided by moonlight and not confused.  There was a crisp bright half moon and more stars than I'd seen in a long time.  The moonlight illuminated the Tortuga Negra as slow-moving black lumps but lost the distinction in the terrain, and I stumbled into every old turtle nest depression like foxholes while the watchman laughed and moved nimbly avoiding them.  He must be used to it.
There was also a phosphorescence in the sand where the broken waves kept it wet.  I noticed my footprints radiating out a few feet ahead of me, glowing, and even more emphatically when I sharply kicked my toe into the sand.  I'd never seen this on land before, what a treat!

The next morning - view to the left...

...and to the right.

I went to bed after that and must've really fell asleep, as when I awoke it was daylight.  And nary a soul around.  The camp, beach, and even the fenced-in lot were vacant, no sign of where they'd gone or when they'd be coming back.  Another surreal night, almost as if I had simply imagined it all.  I could've simply walked away with no one there to pay, but for such a great time and worthy cause I gladly left my money on the picnic table under a rock, along with a note of sincere thanks.  I'd stay for longer - a whole season even, if I could figure out how their volunteering works - but was told that I'm somewhat close to Zihuatenejo, the Mexican town mentioned in "The Shawshank Redemption", one of my favorite movies. 
I have a few days left, I'm sure I can get there...

Mexico, Part II: a brief interlude.

I wasn't on the road for very long before I came to the defining intersection that most drivers taking that turn would be headed for my destination.  I just remember a eucalyptus tree there as big as an average apple tree back home.  I got a ride from two fellas that gave me some brightly colored wafers (my breakfast), really I wasn't sure at first if it was food or a stiff card/paper product for arts+crafts.  Food should not be that neon red!

Cuidad Hildago

I'll have one of these glazed ceramic sinks someday.

Through small towns in the hot sun we whizzed by, and they dropped me off right in the town square of Cuidad Hildago.  I was now there two days ahead of schedule that had already been amended from my original plans.  I emailed my couchsurfer contact there to notify him of my whereabouts and to check his availability, and set about finding accommodation for the night.  He was very helpful and did some scouting around to offer some inexpensive options, which I found easily by showing the written address to people on the street.  Nice neat room to leave my packs in, and I returned to town unencumbered to explore and rendezvous with my couchsurfer to join his family for dinner.

Park at city center.  Briefly quiet pictured here, but well used.

Cross has obsidian disc, sacred symbol of the native god.

The streets are narrow and were crowded that afternoon, cluttered with shops full of crap we can find at the Richmond night market, some designer brands of clothing I don´t need.  Found no postcards though.  Plenty of street food stalls in the main square, and slender black birds with an intricate vocalizing.  For some reason the air/atmosphere reminds me of Florida.  Still a city, but doesn't really smell dirty, just exotic and summery.  I met up with my couchsurfing guide and he introduced me to Mexican "pasta", which is their ice cream.  The original flavour is softly spiced with cinnamon+vanilla, subtle and fragrant.  Fantastic, and I will endeavour to find some in Vancouver if I can.

Roadside tortilla buffet for lunch.

Big bunny, small pyramid!

With my couchsurfer's family at his parents home, we had take-out burritos and tacos from the best place in town. We ate quite late and the burrito was large, that was the most I'd eaten in a while.  He couldn't host me as him+his wife+three children all live in a one-bedroom home while their new (and spacious) home is being built, but his parents offered to let me stay with them for a few days.   His sister drove me around to see some limestone caves and an archaeological site in San Felipe, featuring a pyramid with a great view of the town below, mostly pontsettia nurseries.  I was told San Felipe is the top producer of pontsettias.
 

We returned to his parent's house and I got the chance to help make homemade quesadillas - vegetarian, for a meatless Friday in Lent; pumpkin blossoms, diced prickly pear cactus, and those mushrooms again.
The next morning I was dropped off at Los Azufres, an area of hot springs and geysers.  I went geocaching along here looking for somewhere to leave my Monarch migration-themed trackable, but no cache was large enough for it.  I skipped soaking in the hot springs.  They were piped into campground pools or spa facilities and intended for the patrons, which was fine but I simply chose not.  Along the forest creek I did notice an outflow with some steam rising from it I might've soaked my feet in, but didn't investigate further as many creeks I saw were polluted or otherwise questionable.  I had a nice hike in the forest.
The next day was my couchsurfers' daughter's 4th birthday party in the dry pine forests near their relatives' home in the country.  I do not post photos of other people (especially children) here without their expressed permission, so I will just describe that it was an easy laid-back time with dogs running around and little girls in their princess outfits flitting among the adults, serving tripe and a whole previously cooked lamb to be hacked up for our tortillas, a huge homemade birthday cake, and not one but two pinatas.   
I spoke with what people I could, and as it came to light that I wanted to someday see a sea turtle egg-laying beach, someone advised me that the sea turtles are still laying in February and if I hurry I might be in time to catch them! Well then! I had one week left to race to the west coast beaches and back to Mexico City for my flight back to Canada, I hadn't planned on even seeing the beaches during this trip, but I didn't want to put it off until returning to Mexico "maybe someday..", and spend the rest of my trip there spinning my wheels playing it safe till I leave, wondering what could've been.  At least I have to try.  Thus I leave tomorrow. 
But for that afternoon I was just quietly content and grateful to be included into someone's family.  It's a brief interlude in the semi-alertness I carry often while traveling; transportation becomes schedules, meals are alternating between base necessity or a luxury, and opportunities become appointments carved in stone so as not to be missed.  Most require planning and an ever-vigilant eye on how to optimize one's resources.  It's exhausting but worth it.
The next morning, with some leftover quesadillas and lamb tacos in tow, I caught a bus to Morelia (102 Mxn).

Morelia
The quick and direct bus dropped me off on the eastern edge of town, where I knew there to be a geocache in an ecological reserve in the middle of the industrial district.  I figured this would be as close as I can get to drop it off near the butterfly reserves, and it followed the same sort of nature theme, so still seemed appropriate.  The sun was already hot above, I slugged along the perimeter of the park before finding the entrance, wound my way through trails and forged my own through tall grass just following that stupid GPS arrow.  Almost finished my day's worth of water in one sitting.  No other people around, no wildlife in sight.  And no geocaching day would be complete without crashing through thorn bushes - today would be hawthorn, or a reasonable facsimile indigenous to Mexico and worthy of ecological protection.  Found the cache after almost giving up, it was _almost_ too small to accommodate my trackable but I crammed it in anyway.  It is done.

What a nice cathedral!

Bunny amidst the ferocity of passionate mural in the Justice Building!

Left the park, and a long hot walk smelling of hot garages, rubber tires, exhaust and oil into the old town, which I was recommended was a very pretty town.  It is the state capital, main transportation hub for long-distance buses, and a university town.  It was founded by Spanish nobility and religious orders, and the landmark buildings (and newer ones built to continue the style) are made of peachy-pink limestone.  I flopped out in a shady park to recover an hour or so.  Didn't find any more postcards, and the post office was closed.  Into the evening I passed by Teatro Ocampo, and poked my head in to see if I could get some photos of the interior for a faraway fella studying theater.  As luck would have it I was in time to catch the second half of a festival performance of a solo Spanish-style guitar backed by the orchestra.  What a lovely treat I stumbled into!

Bricks were from a church decommisioned to make way for the construction of the main highway.

The show was until 10:30pm and I figured on catching the earliest bus out of Morelia heading south to the coast, so there was no point in getting a bed for so briefly, I chose to simply wander the town till morning.  The university students kept the city center abuzz till midnight or so, then the bars closed and I wandered back to where the bus had dropped me off.  This part of town was dark and the street dogs were actually a bit intimidating, even the little yippie ones, and I thought of the rabies vaccine I'd declined before coming here.
I thought that was the bus station, as I'd seen several buses there when I first came... Oops.  I spent a few hours in a greasy spoon diner, indulged in a single beer (my first since arriving in Mexico) because a fella back home had said "Have a beer for me!", though I wasn't really into it.  As even that shop closed at 3am, the manager informed me then that the bus stop was for drop-off only, and to get a bus to the coast I needed to get to the main bus depot, of course on the opposite side of town.

Cruel cathedral is taunting me...

So back into town again, and carry on through, and ask whoever is still on the street at that hour for directions to the bus depot.  And of course the roads toward the edges are angled and/or curved into a ring road, which despite my best efforts at requesting the ticket center where one can purchase tickets for buses that leave the city, I'd be directed around to the center of town.  Upon my third pass of the city center I was really starting to hate seeing that same damned cathedral.  Further irritation were these "combi" shuttle vans that BEEP sharply as they pass me by, as if offering their services, yet not slowing enough to inquire as to their route or destination or price or even climb aboard.  I'm sure there's a trick to flagging them down, but I haven't figured it out beyond perhaps hurling myself directly into their path and hoping they don't run me over completely.  The locals seemed shocked that I would choose to _walk_ to the bus depot, which would've taken me a fraction of the time it did if I weren't retreading the same ground constantly.
With ebbing patience I finally made a breakthrough with hotel concierge that gave me a crude map and marked the crucial X on the "central camionera".  A tired grouchy walk up there, walked in through the bus exit with some guard trying to tell me otherwise - sorry pal, I gave up caring hours ago, find me the ticket counter now.  Purchased a seat for 370 Mxn to leave town finally after 10am-ish.
So long, pretty Morelia, it's been a slice...

Mexico, Part I: In search of butterflies

And so the story begins.

Off to a confident start, I've done this before - the ride to the airport (we stopped to pick up trackables at a geocache along the way), I had no baggage to check, airport security was fine with my carry-on pack+purse, found correct boarding gate, and now we wait.  Excited yet relaxed.

Yes I tried sleeping here, briefly.

On what was to be a theme throughout the trip, much of my direction and decisions were based on hearsay.  I arrived in Benito Juarez airport (MEX) at 10:55pm, and because I had heard that Mexico City was unsafe at night I opted to 'sleep' in the well-lit and thoroughly security-patrolled airport and get moving at dawn.  Aside from the criminal element, I was also considering the sprawling size, my unfamiliarity with the city and the lack of a tourist office or any English-speaking person to assist me at that hour at night.

Any angel will do, even slightly creepy ones.

The airport seems rather basic and minimalist; clean bright tile floors and fluorescent lights.  Much like a shopping mall.  Functional and well maintained, but not inducive to sleeping.  And cold - Mexico City is on a mountain plateau.  I wandered around aimlessly, tried to email from a small cafe with ipad tablets with Spanish settings and staff that spoke no English.  Took me over an hour to send a bitter email back home.  Don't ever get me an ipad tablet, I need a REAL keyboard.  After that I found a dark hall behind an art exhibition where the other travellers/bums had already discovered and "slept".  I lay there awhile just to be quiet in the dark.  After what seemed like a long night I got a taxi (this is a good time to note the currency change, so $270 pesos) to the western-bound bus station, Poniente.  Fast driving till we're stuck in morning commuter traffic coming into the city, good thing I wasn't paying by the minute like taxis back home.
I arrived at the bus station and was overwhelmed with choices on carrier lines, luxury coaches, and buses heading to all points west.  I was hungry and finally bought food - a torta, = sandwich on a Portuguese bun, I chose chorizo and trusted the lady to load it up with whatever mostly unidentified spreads, sauces, veggies - there was mayonnaise, black bean spread, guacamole, and spicy beans.  'Twas good, but then I was starving and would've been fine with likely anything..
Onto buses and carefully selecting a bus; I read their exotic destination names and saw prices, and I aimed to go to Zitacuaro for no other reason than to be the first to find a particular geocache, and then spend the next few days heading to Angangueo for a Monarch butterfly festival I heard about...? So I approached a service desk and asked for Zitacuaro.  A man there nodded "Si, si", and the confused young woman at the till seemed to agree or at least trust this man to translate.  Through whatever vocabulary I could find I thought I made clear my plans and direction, and they sold me a ticket ($184 Mxn) that read Destination: Angangueo.  Hmmm, interesting.  Perhaps they're taking the southern Route 15 around the Biosphere Reserve and only the final destination is printed, and I'm supposed to just hop off at Zitacuaro along the way.  I waved the ticket at them both with "Zitacuaro??", to which I got more "Si, si".  Alright, good enough for me...

Angangueo
...Apparently not, as the bus took the north road around teeny towns I know not, and the road deteriorated from highway to side road to tiny trickle as it climbed up the mountain and deposited me directly to Angangueo, a week ahead of schedule and altogether missing Zitacuaro.  The bus driver was clearly not privy to what the man at the bus station counter had promised, and would be taking the bus back to Mexico City directly the way we'd come, and then not till very late at night.  And of course spoke no English for any further troubleshooting or assistance.
It is at this point I fell into the common traveller's fallacy of Why Don't You Speak My Language In Your Country?! which was thankfully brief.  I huffed around the town a bit grouchy and still tired, looking for a hostel/cheap hotel that the locals couldn't agree whether it was up this street or down this street.  As this is a hilly town, I wanted to keep my aimless walking to a minimum till I can at least put my packs down.  I walked down the street (not many options of street here, it's a long skinny town nestled between steep slopes), and a fella called out to me to come see his rooms (400 Mxn) and eat at his restaurant.  His friend across the street also had rooms available, and for a better price (250 Mxn).

Hotel manager controls the hot water.

My brick bunker.

The lodging I was aiming for cost more than both of them combined, so I picked the cheapest one. Owner spoke no English but seemed nice enough, still trying to communicate and be helpful.  He offered to drive me to and from the El Rosario butterfly reserve the next day, and wait while I hiked to see the butterflies at the top, all for another 250 Mxn.  Seemed like a good deal if it saved me hiking another several kilometers just to get to the base.  I was still exhausted and had a headache, I went to the fella's restaurant across the street and ordered a single quesadilla - something cheap on the menu I could pronounce - and some hot water, which generally makes me feel settled.  They brought cold water.  I tried to clarify _hot_ water, and they brought back lukewarm water.  Thanks for trying though.  I returned to my room, had a brief not-hot shower and went to sleep through another cold night, but at least I had a bed+blankets.
The next morning we drove up to El Rosario along a winding cobblestone road.  Upon seeing the village community based at the parking lot I understood why there was not an official website and only minimal information and customer reviews online about this operation; there seemed to be no main office, just an entrance and ticket booth (45 Mxn), and some guides either on foot or horseback (80 Mxn).  I opted for the horse just for the novelty since I haven't been horseback riding in ages, and was surprised that they just sat me atop a horse and it's led up the hill by a guide on foot, huffing and puffing to keep ahead of his own animal.  I asked if we would pass by the geocache there, and got "Si".  Would we have time to dismount and get it? "Si".  What's your horse's name? "Si".  This is beyond annoying now, and I just shake my head and laugh, nevermind.  We didn't get the geocache.

Those dark masses weighing down the boughs are all butterflies.

We found the butterflies.
I walked down without a horse to take my time and savour what I'd come all this way for, but a walking guide (also no English) was still with me so I felt kinda that I was keeping him waiting as well as my driver.  It felt like someone _watching_ me have a religious experience, it somehow deflates the magic.  We're still just paying customers through the turnstyle.

Strange that the goals and quests you have built up in your head are never what they seem when you achieve them.  I guess I better just do everything alone - most seem eager here to help but will agree "si" to everything not knowing what they're agreeing to.
Overall that afternoon felt a bit sterile and rushed and lacked... something.  However, I was proud of myself for fulfilling the trek to my destination.  I wanted to be here, and here I am.

The next morning my driver offered to take me for the same price to a different butterfly reserve in the other direction, Sierra Chincua (45 Mxn).  I had heard that this was less developed/popular, and thought I'd give it a go since I'm there.  This time I didn't opt for the horse ride (the walking guide seems obligatory), I climbed up and it reminded me that I'm not much of a hill climber.  The heat and altitude are very taxing.  One of the guides walked his horse beside me, almost taunting me or waiting for me to change my mind.  Clearly he doesn't know how stubborn I can be on my self-imposed hardships.  This is my pilgrimmage, dammit!

Butterflies on boughs and tree trunks.

We found more butterflies.
The viewing space was right in the midst of them, and if a butterfly landed on the viewing path the guides just pick them up and CHUCK THEM off to the side so they won't get trampled... While we weren't allowed to handle the butterflies at El Rosario, I handled them with a little more sensitivity to help get them off the path.  The audience here was quieter, this site was better, I'm glad I went.

That salsa was impressively hot!

At the base the villagers had a yummy-smelling fire-
oven kitchen, I got a quesadilla of special grey/blue mushrooms that affect the corn.  I just learned in English this is "corn smut".  I assure you it tastes better than it looks and sounds!
On our way out my driver stopped to bless a fella at what looked like a bus shelter.  He is some sort of priest, with a laminated ID badge that makes him look like a roadie on tour, and he carries a special little tub of dirt for drawing crosses on peoples' foreheads.  I'm in Mexico during Lent.

If you fall in it's your own fault.

Thanks Mary!

That afternoon I wandered through town.  Brightly colored yet crumbling buildings.  Sidewalks are a patchwork of stairs, landings, driveways that are a hike in itself, not discounting the gaping holes - unmanned and unmarked, they trust the general population can watch where they're going.  Good thing we're not all staring down at our smartphones while we walk.  The streets were mostly empty in the heat of the day, I'm the only stupid gringo wandering around in the sun.  I saw a large white structure on a hillside, and upon investigation found it was a sort of outdoor temple/shrine to Mary.  No doors, no one around, just accessible to anyone so I had a seat and a nice chat with Mary for awhile. 
That night I got REAL hot water for my shower, first priority was to fill my water bottle and wineskin with water I figure had been boiled/heated enough to be safe - ever-mindful of the tired advice Don't Drink The Water.  Had a lovely long hot shower, and steamed up my room enough to keep me warm till I fell asleep.  Stray dogs bark from evening till midnight, a confused rooster crows at 1am nowhere near morning, and songbirds start at dawn.  Around 8am vehicles with LOUDSPEAKERS mounted on them drive down the street advertising gas to heat homes, or tacos, or the upcoming political campaign.  Mexico is very noisy, even in the picturesque mountain town, it takes some getting used to.

Great to see ya, Mary!

The next morning I'm on my way out on foot, leaving Angangueo.  I'd seen butterflies in two different spots, and had no reason to stay further.  I've had an invitation to attend a couchsurfer's daughter's 4th birthday near Ciudad Hildago to the northwest, that's in a few days and I allotted two days to walk/hitchike there along Route 34, as I now have little faith in their buses.  Leisurely pace, hot sun, curious onlookers smiled politely with ¨hola¨ or ¨buenos dias¨, which I can handle and which is more than we afford people passing on the street in Vancouver.  I found another Mary alter along the road which gave reason to pause, and a pointsetta bush taller than I am. 
I've seen the butterflies I'd come all this way to see, within the first three days of my 16-day time in Mexico.  Now what? Stay tuned for Part II.