Butterflies

In memory of Yael

For me, travel is a magical adventure. I prepare a little, I plan only in broad strokes, and mostly, I let the people and events I meet along the way determine the actual itinerary. I think that is why Adventure and sometimes Magic feel welcome to join my travels.

We were on our way to the state of Michoacan to visit a Monarch Butterfly Reserve. Lonely planet names three of the four reserves, and claims that the one near the city of Zitacuaro "by far" the best location. Traversing Mexico City traffic took more time and more energy than I anticipated, and it became clear that we would not reach Zitacuaro that night. I remembered that Valle de Bravo, one of Mexico's Magic Pueblos is along our route. It was easy to substitute a large industrial city with a small colonial town. We arrived in Valle de Bravo just as the sun was setting over the mountains. The town is nestled among tall, forested mountains, and its steep cobbled streets lead down to a pretty lake. The Zocalo at the town center is an elegant example of colonial architecture. This was a charming place, and I thanked the traffic jam that brought us here.

The familiar image of the Monarch Butterfly jumped at me out of a brochure lying on the hotel's front desk. Apparently, there is a butterfly reserve near town. I was skeptical. First, we were in the State of Mexico, not in Michoacan, which is "Home of the Monarch Butterfly". Second, if Lonely Planet did not mention this place, it could not be very good. However, I felt that unlike my younger son who avoids restaurants unless they have a Zagat rating, I could afford to make mistakes. I reasoned that this could be the fourth reserve, the one not named in Lonely Planet, and that half an hour drive is worth the try. I decided to postpone our departure for Zitacuaro by one day.

We left early in the morning. As we ascended the scenic road leading to the reserve (Elevation: 3000 meters), an orange blur passed by the windshield. Then another one and then many more Monarch Butterflies were in the air. I slowed to a crawl, not wishing to harm any of the pretty creatures. A short distance further, we met the local guides and their horses. We hired a guide, declined the horses, and entered the dense forest. As we ascended the steep dusty trail, the butterflies diminished in numbers, and then disappeared. It did not make sense.

"Where are the butterflies?" I asked the guide.

"They have a different way down" she answered shortly, in a typical Indian style.

Seeing the question mark on my face, she continued.

Each day, she explained, as the sun warms the forest, the butterflies fly down from their habitat in the fir trees to a water source below. They all return up the mountain just before dark.

As we neared the rim of a narrow wooded canyon, we were confronted with a dreamlike vision. Beams of sunlight, made visible by the dust in the air, shone through the tall dense forest. Like floodlights, the sunbeams directed our attention towards the main characters of the scene. Thousands, if not millions of golden butterflies, formed a fluttering, undulating river flowing just below the canyon rim. The silent river shimmered orange and gold in the sunlight. After absorbing the view, we resumed climbing the winding trail. As we turned one corner, another miracle happened. The trail, and the butterfly river merged, and we found ourselves immersed in the three-dimensional flying river. The three of us fell silent, appreciating the wonderful encounter. I was transfixed, I stretched my arms, and large, beautiful, airy creatures flew around me. They flew close, but did not make contact, and unperturbed they continued on their way. I lost track of time. The butterflies looked so light, calm, and free. If there are spirits, I thought, that is what they would look like. I had to force myself to start walking again.

Luckily, we were first on the mountain. On our way down, we encountered a large group, some on foot some on horses. Their laughter and chatter may not have disturbed the butterflies, but it would have certainly broken my spell.

On the road home, we encountered the butterflies again. I drove only slightly faster than walking speed, extended my arm out of the window, and keeping pace with the butterflies surrounding my hand I wished them good bye and good luck in their travels.

P.S.

This encounter occurred on the morning of Tuesday, March 3.