La Sierra Mixe, part III

A few hours before we stopped for gas at a lady’s house deep in the mountains, Juan Carlos handed me his Mexican army ID that showed he had been an infantryman. “They told us that our job was to destroy hidden fields of marijuana and opium poppy near the coast. But then they sent us to Guerrero, Michoacán, Jalisco, and Sinaloa. We were on the front lines for three years.”

He’s 29 years old, has a four year old son and a girlfriend, and drives the 4-hour sinuous mountain route sometimes twice a day, usually working seven days a week from 4:30 a.m. to 7 p.m.

Juan Carlos looked back to the highway, passing a poultry truck close enough to touch with my hand at 145 km/h while an oncoming car flashed headlights and blew its horn. “You have to drive with extra caution on this highway,” he said, “It can be very dangerous.”

Before he joined the army, Juan Carlos danced for his Sierra Mixe village, in the Guelaguetza, an annual celebration of indigenous culture that brings tens of thousands to the city of Oaxaca. He performed La Danza de la Pluma and El Jarabe Mixe, representing a region known for its boisterous brass bands. 

Now he winds through the mountains, knowing each waterfall, each pothole, each rockfall, each patch of fog, each place where a landslide swept a family over the mountainside. He can recommend the best tacos and tamales with yellow molé, and likes to stop to buy a bottle of fiery mezcal for his friend.