Meanwhile Back on El Rancho
Expect the Unexpected
Put on your jeans, pull on your boots, and grab your hat. It’s February 2006 and we’re going to spend the day at Rancho Xotolar in the Bajio mountains southwest of San Miguel de Allende, Mexico.
Rancho What???! Xotolar.
For those of us who are Spanish challenged, Xotolar means “wild sunflowers” and the approximate pronunciation of the word is “cho-toe-lar.”
From its humble beginning in 1945, Rancho Xotolar is no stranger to hardship, having endured many growing pains. Today it is a 1,200-acre working cattle ranch and home to five Morin Ruiz family households. The rich traditions for self-sustainability remain part of everyday life for the families living at the ranch. The buildings, including the houses, are made of stones and mortar with clay tile roofs. Water is drawn from large rectangular dugouts, used for the collection and storage of precious rainwater. Fields of neatly planted corn, beans, squash, sunflowers, and other crops glisten in the strong mountain sunlight. Xotolar even has its own chapel for Sunday services, given its remote proximity from the nearest town.
Tomas Morin arrived to provide “limo” service from San Miguel to Rancho Xotolar. Sure, I’m game for an adventure! I have been in a limo or two, but never one that is a battle-scarred, older model pick-up truck that rattles, squeaks, thumps, and bumps along the roads like this ancient hoopty.
I felt like a passenger in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang!
The drive from San Miguel to Xotolar is much shorter and streamlined these days, thanks to a new road that opened in 2011, providing access to the pre-Columbian pyramids on the land neighboring the ranch. However, in 2006 the drive was long, rough, tumble, and hard slugging. The hoopty-limo clattered and pounded over the primitive rock-strewn road as we inched toward our destination. In some areas, the road had washed away, or it simply did not even exist. It took almost two hours to travel just over twelve miles, as the crow flies. All it took was one trip from San Miguel to el rancho and I was astonished that any vehicle was able to hold up under the rugged terrain. I had a newfound admiration for the stamina of my transportation.
As you can see, Rancho Xotolar circa 2006 was not an extravagant sprawling Mexican hacienda. I was in pursuit of an authentic experience, and I hit the jackpot.
Tomas drove through the ranch and stopped the hoopty-limo in front of a rustic stone lean-to. Mexican saddles hung neatly on the inside walls and several horses were tethered nearby, munching on grass. He introduced me to his brother Felix, my Xotolar host for the day. A quick, “Adios,” and the last I saw of Tomas he was dodging rocks on the road headed back toward San Miguel.
Can anyone tell me why I, an otherwise intelligent gal, assumed English would be spoken on a remote mountain ranch deep in the geographic heart of Mexico? Everyone on the ranch spoke Spanish. Well, imagine that. What language did I think they would speak in Mexico? Swahili? With a Spanish vocabulary of two words, si and gracias, I was in for an immersion by default experience.
Oh well. Verbal communication is highly overrated.
While I stood around looking like a grinning nut, Felix set about the task of saddling my horse, Alazan. Doing my best cowgirl impersonation, I finagled myself into the saddle, took the reins and we were ready to hit the trail. So far, so good. Felix appeared to have the game of talking in sign language down to a well-practiced science. As for Alazan – I learned a bit of horse-talk in my younger years, so he understood me right away.
Felix led the way, Alazan and I followed suit. We meandered around the ranch buildings and across the fields. The horses clip-clopped along a trail through fields of wildflowers. This was exactly what I had in mind! Does it get any better than this?
The trail began to change. Hey! Where did the flowers go? Better yet, where did the trail go? It disappeared under a wall of overgrown underbrush, brambles, and cactuses.
Felix to the rescue! He whipped an obscenely treacherous 18-inch blade machete from a leather sheath attached to his saddle. With a few deftly placed swipes the path was clear.
Thwack! Thwack! Whack! Whack! Thwack!
Yikes! That was one impressive hatchet job!
The horses, obviously bored by the trailblazing work, just snorted, lifted their tails, and pooped while they waited for the signal to move on.
“Andale! Andale!” The horses started walking, so I guess that was their signal.
Point to ponder. If Alazan understood me and he understood Felix as well, was Alazan a bilingual horse?
♫Yay! Yayyayyay! Yayyayyay yayay! ♫ Yayyayyay! Yayyay yayay! ♫ Yayyayyay yayay! ♫ ♫Yay! Yayyayyay! Yayyayyay yayay! ♫ Yayyayyay! Yayyay yayay! ♫ Yayyayyay yayay! ♫
Felix started belting out a Spanish song, obviously enjoying himself immensely as his horse led the way, weaving a path through various species of cactuses and scraggly mesquite bushes.
The ground beneath the horse’s hooves turned from soil to gravel to solid downward-pitched slabs of mountainous rock. The terrain grew steeper. And steeper. Until the horses stopped at the edge of a cavernous precipice - a very rocky, hazardous canyon.
“Andale! Andale!” The horses started walking.
Oh no!!! Please tell me is NOT going down there!!!
I’m on a HORSE, not a mountain goat!!!
First, I did not scream, holler, protest, go hysterical, or lose my mind.
Second, I had to talk some horse sense into myself. How? By telling myself the obvious, “Horses are not suicidal.”
So when my horse clambered and scuffed over the rocks; and when he slipped and stumbled doing a partial head-stand, I grimaced, closed my eyes, and silently repeated my mantra “Horses are not suicidal, horses are not suicidal.”
Third, I hung on to the saddle horn for dear life. I could convince myself that Alazan the horse wanted to live for his evening oats, but it would all be for naught if I fell out of the saddle and went catapulting head-first into oblivion.
I survived the ride down. Eyes closed the whole way.
The Laja River runs through the bottom of the canyon. We hugged the shore of the river, and at times galloped right down the middle of it, until we came to a cluster of houses, not unlike those at Xotolar. Several women were working along the side of the river, doing their laundry with rocks, pails, and washboards.
This was another reminder that modern conveniences were not available to all families living in remote rural areas in Mexico.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch…
After three-plus hours on the trail, Felix and I returned to Xotolar, dusty, tired and hungry. Felix’s sister Maria Luisa had been hard at work in the kitchen all day preparing a traditional Xotolar meal for us.
Time for a pit stop. Sooner or later nature calls. Luisa pointed me in the direction of the ladies’ facilities and I excused myself to go “freshened up”. The ladies’ room didn’t have a door, but a draw curtain afforded privacy. It works. I went inside to do my business.
Now I know I have readers who are too young to have ever used an old-fashioned outhouse. But I know for a fact I’m not the only aged-piece-of-cheese who recalls the years when biffies were a lot more common than they are now. I’m no biffy expert, but this was my first experience with a wooden chair and a bucket.
So tell me. What is the proper potty etiquette here? Do you leave the contents in the bucket, quietly slink away and feign ignorance about who left the mess? Or, do you take the bucket and give it to the hostess? May I remind you, a language obstacle also magnifies the perplexity of this conundrum? What would you have done?
No, I am NOT going to tell you what I did with the contents of the bucket… Unless you tell me what you would do. :)
Of course, there wasn’t running water. We’ve already established that. Water to wash up was in a Talavera pottery bowl on the patio, near the parakeet cages and the masses of blooming flowers. Felix and I went into a common area and Maria Luisa served us a wonderful traditional meal all made from ingredients grown on the ranch.
Let’s just back up and put into perspective what preparation of that meal involved. The ingredients for the meal were all grown, harvested, and prepared right on the ranch.
For example, when queso is served on the table at Xotolar, it starts with milking the cow in the morning. In the photo below Luisa stirs culture into a pail of fresh milk to begin the process. After thickening, the queso is given time to fully process, as seen in the second photo. Finally, several hours later it is ready to serve.
Wow! Just think about what goes into making a meal!
Not only is everything made from scratch but there is NO running water and NO electricity at the ranch.
Just a minute! Plant the garden. Pick the vegetables. Grind the flour. Make the tortillas. Feed the cows. Milk the cows. Feed the chickens. Gather the eggs. Make the cheese. Chop the fruits and vegetables. Haul the water. Make the sauces. Go potty in the bucket. Empty the bucket.
Saddle up Alazan the horse. Grab the laundry. Gallop down to the river. Pound the TAR out of the laundry with a rock. Toss the laundry in the pail. Leap back on Alazan. Giddy-up horsey, Andale! Andale! It’s almost 6:00 AM and we’re already behind schedule. Time to make breakfast. Get the kids up. Sing a song.
♫Yay! Yayyayyay! Yayyayyay yayay! ♫ Yayyayyay! Yayyay yayay! ♫ Yayyayyay yayay! ♫ ♫Yay! Yayyayyay! Yayyayyay yayay! ♫ Yayyayyay! Yayyay yayay! ♫ Yayyayyay yayay! ♫
Oh…. but it gets even MORE challenging. Look at this!
This stone fireplace was where all the cooking was done in 2006. The fireplace served as the oven, the stove, and a source of heat.
The picture is dark because the house was made of thick rock to keep it cool in the summer and warm in the winter.
Many things have changed at Xotolar since 2006. Likewise, some things are the same.
Tomas still transports guests from San Miguel, and Felix still leads the trail rides. I’m sad to report the old hoopty-limo gave up the ghost and has been replaced by a newer model with fewer battle scars and better shocks. Such a shame. I’d grown rather fond of the old ride.
Maria Luisa and her sisters still cook wonderful meals for the visitors from the bounty of the ranch. However, the old stone fireplace has grown cold from lack of use. The women have a modern kitchen, in a new dining hall that also affords visitors a panoramic view of the surrounding area.
A true commitment to modernization, the ranch also boasts electricity, running water, and flush toilets - for both women and men. The “wooden chair and a bucket behind a curtain” ladies’ room has been retired.
Now designated as one of San Miguel de Allende’s top-rated attractions for visiting tourists, Xotolar offers different options, including overnight trail rides, cooking classes, and guided tours to the nearby pyramids.
I’ve watched Xotolar grow and change over the years and I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve visited the ranch. I think the Morin Ruiz family has been able to maintain the charisma that makes Rancho Xotolar fabulously unique, while still implementing subtle changes to modernize its facilities.
For more information about Rancho Xotolar: https://www.xotolarranch.com Give my regards to Tomas, Felix, and Luisa when you go there.
I need to know toilet-bucket etiquette! I'm happy it had a seat :)
Quite an adventure!