Chiapas 2022

Day 1. California to Tuxtla to San Cristobal de las Casas

I have Spring Break at the university, so taking a couple of days from the previous week I have managed to put together a 10-day tour of Chiapas and Guatemala, following on the footsteps of my Lil’ Sis. Unfortunately I didn’t sleep so well the night before (a case of mild indigestion by a delicious, spicy Vietnamese sausage), so by the time I got in my seat at Sacramento, at 12:15 am, I was ready to sleep, and snore, and snore some more. I finally landed in Tuxtla Gutierrez, the capital of the state of Chiapas, and promptly rented a car to start climbing the mountains atop of which San Cristobal is perched. It reminded me a lot on the climb to Orgosolo, in Sardinia.

I took the toll road, and was probably 15 km from San Cris, when the traffic came to a stop and cars started going back. A gentleman in the car adjacent to mine stated categorically: “Another of those roadblocks!” “Is it a police roadblock?”, I asked. “No, it is the people, looking for money or for some other cause. We seem to have one every week. The only thing to do is to turn back and take the old road.”, which he proceeded to do without delay. I was curious, so I drove past the stopped cargo vehicles until I reached the roadblock. There were maybe 50 farmers there, who had rolled rocks unto the pavement, and was just standing there. A half a kilometer up the road there was another roadblock, but with a lot more people. So I said hello to my side of the crowd, and they were all too happy to tell me that they were obstructing the road to pressure the Town Mayor to solve a dispute they had with another farmers group about the wastewater effluent of San Cris. My farmers have been farming for the last 50 or 60 years, using wastewater for irrigating their fruit trees, immediately after the water exited the tunnel that conveyed it from the city. The problem was that this other group of farmers, hereafter referred to as the bad guys, cut a channel to divert the water prior to it entering the tunnel into a sinkhole, where the wastewater was doing no one any good. The bad guys wanted the good guys to give them 1,000,000 pesos if they wanted the water back. Besides it being an absurdly large amount, the good guys were incensed at the attempt at extortion, and knew that if they paid the same thing would happen next year. So they wanted the Mayor or the Governor to intervene, and this was their way to pressure the politicos. They had announced through social networks their intent to blockade the highway at high noon, and at the very same time a delegation was starting a meeting with the Mayor. It was then 2 pm, and they were determined to keep up the blockade for days if need be. I have to say that I sympathized with their concern (plus they were very charming a polite to me, even if from time to time they would break into amused conversation in Tzotzil), and I enjoyed spending an hour with them, learning about the sources of water in the area, and about the lore of the mountains.

Ultimately, however, I figured that I had to turn around and take “la libre” around the mountain and into San Cris. So with many honks and waving hands I headed back to undo maybe 40 km I had already covered. And then I saw a minibus, of the type used as a taxi between San Cris and Tuxtla coming out of a dirt track. I rolled down my window and asked if that track went to San Cris and I was assured that it did, but there were many intersections where I could get lost. Hey “No Goats, No Glory” as DJ would say, so I turned my car into the mountain and started quite the wild ride. There were a lot of intersections, but I was lucky that for the most part I met someone who would point me in the right direction. Until one of them didn’t, and I ended in someone’s back yard. The very short man that greeted me gave me his instructions on how to get back to the good track, and then asked if I wanted to give him a ride to San Cris. “Of course, amigo!)” I said with relief, and from then on I had my own guide to the mountain paradise. It was quite the Mr. Toad's Wild Ride but the views were fantastic and it felt like a real adventure.

Once we got into town I stopped at an Oxxo (the Mexican version of a 7-Eleven), bought my friend a soda and bought a SIM card for my phone. Like magic, I now had cell phone access to Google Maps, and after tipping and saying goodbye to my new amigo, I had no problem navigating to my modest but very comfortable hotel.

By then I was getting hungry, and was delighted to find that next door to the hotel is a Cocina Economica, where a most magnificent cook presides. I dined like a king on Asado de Puerco en Adobo, Acelgas Rellenas en Salsa de Tomatillo, rice and black beans. Delicious and almost worth a second night of indigestion.

I spent the afternoon walking through the streets of the very quaint downtown, getting money out of the ATM, buying a few essentials, and booking a trip tomorrow to the Lagunas de Montebello. I am in Heaven 😊

Day 2. Cascadas de El Chiflón y Lagunas de Montebello

Yesterday I forgot to mention that while I was shooting the breeze with the good farmers I looked at the blocks they had used to close the road. They were all limestones. So I explained to them that I was a geologist, that I studied rocks, and then asked them if there were any fossils in the area. They looked at me like I was an alien talking about things that they couldn’t grasp. They listened very politely, but it was clear they had nothing to say so I just dropped it. I think I have created an aura of mystique.

So most of the rocks here in Chiapas are limestones, which means they have all sorts of karst topography, including caves, sinkholes, and that eerie topography that we normally attribute to the Pearl River in China or Danang Bay in Vietnam. Weathering of the limestones also leads to the development of thick, clayey red soils. I wonder of any of them would qualify as a laterite?

From San Cris we travelled east, toward the Mexico-Guatemala border, through high pines and dry scrub bush, to the luscious Llanos de San Bartolo-Pijajic, which are a lower elevation and are a very productive sugar cane region, and finally into the jungle, where we stopped to hike up the series of waterfalls known as El Chiflón. Because of the high load of bicarbonate ions the water has a very peculiar turquoise color, which makes for an amazing water landscape.

Our next stop was in the Lagunas de Montebello, a group of 48.5 water table lakes, some of which occupy sinkholes (the remaining 0.5 lake belongs to Guatemala). Because they are water table lakes, when drought sets the stage of all lakes drops in unison, and viceversa during the rainy season. The first lake we stopped at was called Pajoj, and we had lunch there (a delicious dish with melted cheese, zucchini flowers, chorizo, mushrooms and beans).

In Pajoj we took a raft to a small  island in the middle of the lake, to admire the fine collection of orchids that the farmers had collected there for the enjoyment of the tourists. But then it started raining, so we hurried to our raft and started to row with energy. It reminded me of a famous wood carving about the gods of the Mayan underworld rowing the condemned souls to the Mayan hell.

We stopped at a couple other lakes, which were very beautiful indeed, but in visiting them the day wore away and pretty soon it was time for the 3-hour ride home. I took the unwise decision to fortify myself with a handful of roasted organic corn nuts powdered with organic chili powder, which fell like a bomb on my tender intestinal system, so from there on my belly was gurgling and bubbling. Pretty soon my tummy was hurting and threatened to explode. I managed to keep it in check until we got to San Cris, but then I felt I was going to lose it, so I asked the driver to stop and let me out in a hurry, just in time for me to puke my guts out unto the drainage ditch. Oh boy, I was feeling really sick and had a rough night with little sleep.

Day 3. San Cristobal to Yaxchilán

Nothing like having the galloping runs prior to starting a long car ride to my next destination. Our driver yesterday, Hugo, had recommended avoiding the route San Cris-Palenque-Yachilan, because the first leg of that route was very slow on account of hundreds of speed bumps (more like small walls really) that have been built by various religious sects. What? This is a very poor area of Mexico, and the farmers are rather prone to follow anyone who brings along a handful of dollars to distribute, which is exactly what the American Pentecostals, Seventh Day Adventists, Jehova’s Witnesses, Mormons, and a dozen others have done. The first order of business when they arrive to an area is to build a temple by the side of the road, around which grows a community of followers (very often a squatters in public lands), who of course need a speed bump to protect their children from crazy drivers (the bump is also used to collect funds from motorists in another sort of blockade).

So I had decided to go the route of San Cris-Comitán-Yaxchilán, which is twice as long but equally fast, because the roads are so much better. It is also a very scenic route that gives you a beautiful glimpse over the Selva Lacandona. I would have enjoyed it so much more were it nor for the fact that a poor night sleep is not a good preparation for an 8-hour car ride, which turned into 9 hours because every 100 km I had to stop by the side of the road and take a 15-minute nap.

I arrived in Yaxchilán at 3:30 pm, checked into the Escudo Jaguar eco-lodge (the name is a bit dark, but that is because Escudo Negro was the meme of the ruler of ancient Yaxchilán), and was glad to go for a walk along the Usumacinta River, which here forms the boundary between Mexico and Guatemala. I was surprised to see the river flowing the wrong way! To the north instead of to the south! Alas, it has been a good 60 years since I studied the geography of Mexico, and at the time failed to register the fact that the Usumacinta drains into the Gulf of Mexico and not the Pacific.

There I was, musing about the foibles of rivers, when a young man approached me, asking if I spoke English. He was a mochilero in his late 20’s, and upon me answering in the affirmative poured on me his tale of grief: He had just crossed from Guatemala and on requesting his entry permit had found that he had to pay 638 pesos (about US $30) for a visitor’s permit, and he had no credit card. No credit card?! What mossy rock had he been living under?  Alas, Millennials don’t carry credit cards and instead rely on their cell phones to pay everything. “Well”, I said, “Let’s go talk to the Migratory agent to see what can be done about it.” So we did, and I learned that (1) a new fee had been introduced on January 1, leveeing a permit fee for visits in excess of seven days (and up to 180 days), (2) that the fee had to be pay by credit card to avoid corruption (the permit is issued by computer, and for every permit issued there has to be a corresponding credit charge), and (3) that my buddy had entered Mexico in 2020 and had never checked out, so as far as the migratory authorities were concerned he had already been for two years in Mexico (How many of us have not surrendered our entry permit upon leaving a country?! Now I know that computers have long memories), and that now he had to first pay a fine of US $30 to exit Mexico before he could pay another US $30 to enter again! It was all a bit of a comedy, except for the kid, so I paid both charges using my credit card, which he promptly reimbursed me via PayPal, and the little comedy act came to an end. I was probably the only English-speaker in the whole small Mayan town, so there is no doubt that divine Providence came to the rescue of this poor kid.

Breakfast-lunch-and dinner were rolled into one in the form of a bowl of vegetable soup, and I hit the bed early in hopes that moderation today will result in wellbeing tomorrow.

Day 4. Yaxchilán

I was haunted by the spirits of the Mayans, and clearly heard the roaring of Escudo Jaguar as he roamed around my cabin, waiting to drag me away to the cesspool where all those who die of gastrointestinal disease are to rot for eternity. So I woke with a start, only to find out that the noisy jaguar was a crazy howling monkey who had taken residence in a nearby tree. I was also pleasantly surprised to find out that moderation had indeed worked, and that my belly was now at peace with the world.

I had a hearty breakfast and, as usual, was the first tourist at the dock seeking a boat ride to the archaeologic site of Yaxchilán, which can only be reached by boat. I paid way too much for the privilege (in retrospect I should have waited for a couple of hours for the “normal” tourists to arrive, so I could share the cost of the ride with others), but in recompense I had the site all for myself for the first couple of hours. Yaxchilán is located on the shores of the Usumacinta, in a peninsula formed by an almost strangled meander of the river that encircles a small mountain maybe 500 m high. The city is arranged in three levels, with the lowermost being the Main Complex, and two other higher levels referred to as the West and South Acropolises. I took the first detour to the West Acropolis, which in my humble opinion is small but most impressive. It consists of three buildings which in Classical Maya style were set on top of pyramidal mounds and were topped by an ornate crest. Very narrow rooms, however, so I wonder where the rulers of the town kept their king-size beds.

Yaxchilán was first occupied in 600 AD, flourished under the rule of Escudo Jaguar from 700 to 760 AD (yes, he lived a long life as ruler), underwent an interregnum from 760 to 770 AD under the Mother Queen, and finally was governed by Pájaro Jaguar from 770 to 800 AD. Like many of the Classic Mayan sites it was abandoned around 850 AD. As an interesting political ploy, there is a beautiful stella showing Escudo Jaguar passing the kingdom to Pájaro Jaguar, no doubt a ploy by the Mother Queen to legitimize the ascension of her son to the throne.

The Southern Acropolis is another palace complex, where the crests of the buildings have been carefully reconstructed (probably as a fancy of the archaeologists), and from it one can see fabulous “aerial” views of the Main Complex, a good 50 meters below. You can see that the elite liked to keep an eye on the coming and goings of merchants, athletes, and general populace in the plazas below.

The Main Complex is surrounded by temples, markets, and other public use structures, including ball game courts. The Mesoamerican ball game is the stuff of legends, and I am not sure anyone knows the details on how it was played, but clearly it was like futból in modern Latin America, where every kind, youngster, and adult play it in simple to highly formalized ways, and where the great players were idolized as minor gods. Because of the steep and long staircase joining the Main Complex with the Southern Acropolis, the local guides like to thrill the visitors with the vision of the heads of the loosing team being chopped off way on top and allowed to bounce down the 500 steps unto the feet of the entranced fans below (I can think of a couple of Giants fans who would like to see the same ceremony enacted with the visiting team in the AT&T stadium!).

My walk on the steps of the ancient inhabitants of Yaxchilán was accompanied by the constant howls and grunts of the howling male monkeys, who I understand keep the racket going to attract females and scare away competitors for their harems. Although the comparison with some strutting young men of my acquaintance seems unavoidable, I suspect that said howlers spend more time and energy howling than procreating. Sometimes natural selection takes some unexpected twists.

I should say something about the wonderful river ride. The boats are very long, and well suited to carry at least a dozen tourists, or sacs of corn or cement, or even a cow, and the boatmen know every twist and turn so they go full-throttle through bends that would have me slowing down to a crawl. There are no rapids in the stretch from the ecolodge to Yaxchilán, but if I were willing to pay for it, José Luís, my captain, was ready to run the rapids down to the Guatemalan site of Piedras Negras! I was not ready for that kind of money, so instead enjoyed the sight of a crocodile and some majestic trees (but precious few birds).

Back in my ecolodge I took it easy, which is never easy for me, and read the best part of the Arthur C. Clark novel Rendezvous with Rama while soaking in the pool. There was a convenient shade, which is always good to protect my sensitive skin, and although the novel starts slowly it becomes engrossing and extremely thought-provoking if you are into Sci-Fi.

Day 5. Bonampak

One of my fondest memories of growing up in Mexico City are the many trips that I made, solo, to the National Museum of Anthropology (one of the grand museums of the world, and worth spending at least a couple of days in Mexico City before heading for Teotihuacan or the Mayan world), and of those visits one of my favorite parts was to visit the life-size reconstruction of the palace of Bonampak, unique among Mayan archaeology for the delicious preservation of the colorful murals that adorned its walls. Unfortunately Bonampak was in the heart of the Selva Lacandona, in the deep heart of the Mayan jungle, and was accessible only by light plane and a full day march into the jungle. Much to my regret, I never visited it in my adventurous youth.

50 years later a paved road has been constructed between Comitán and Palenque that wisely passes close to both Bonampak and Yachilán. One of the goals of my current trip, therefore, was to make the pilgrimage to this shrine of Mayan archaeology. I started around 9 am with an easy 40 km drive through the glorious jungle, enjoying the unusually fresh morning air and the play of the sun through the leaves of an infinite shades of green. Now and then a majestic mahogany tree (aka as caoba in Spanish) rose straight up to the high canopy, maybe a meter across, and clearly taking the role of King of the Jungle. My friend Walt has reminded me that San Cris and the Sierra Lacandona were setting where B Traven placed many of his fascinating tales about the native peoples of Mexico, and in particular a series of stories about the exploitation of the Lacandones in the illegal harvesting of the mahogany trees. B Traven was a Polish German who immigrated to the United States and then to Mexico, where among others he wrote the most fascinating stories about the indigenous inhabitants of his adoptive land. I strongly recommend his books.

The visitor must brace for the payment of several small fees to enter the protected ecological zone, and the archaeologic site itself, but the one that slightly miffed me was the overpriced taxi you have to take to carry you 10 km from the small town of Lacanjá to the site. Unfortunately unlike the entrance fees, you are pretty much in the hands of the taxi driver on what he will charge. The only saving grace I found was that, once converted to dollars, the taxi fee does not seem that outrageous. And tourists must contribute to the local economy so I am now over it.

I will have to say something more about Lacanjá, but let me wait until I get back from Bonampak. The site is small, with a Main Plaza and the one Acropolis rising over a small hill along the long side of the plaza. It is a pleasant complex, and there are several stellae that are in much better state of preservation than those in Yaxchilán. I have taken several photographs, and another of my retirement projects will be to try ink line drawings of them. After a goodly amount of circling along the Main Plaza I finally started climbing the steep steps of the Acropolis toward the temple that I had visited in my imagination so many times in years past. I entered wit reverence and found a polychromatic explosion that at first it was difficult to process. The first feeling was of awe at the knowledge that these murals had been painted 1,250 years ago, and that by some miracle had managed to survive the weather of the jungle until they were first discovered in the 1950’s. Slowly the shapes took place, and I could se that the power of the murals were the groupings of people in them: Priests, male slaves, society ladies, soldiers in battle, conquered enemies, and rulers twice as large as anyone else, formed an apparently chaotic assembly of Mayan people, out to tell the story of the final hegemony of Bonampak over the surrounding lands (apparently in close alliance with the Lord of Yaxchilán).

Of course I had to take pictures, and much to my amazement found out that the digital images were even better than my eyes to identify nuances in the colors, and to enhance the different groups. Of course the temples are Classic Maya, extremely narrow, tall, and with a steep pyramidal point to them, so taking photos is not at all easy. I need to get some professional photographic book, for my library!

Another beautiful piece of art are the dintels of the doors. You know, the dintel where you tall friends bump their heads when entering a low room. In Maya architecture they were another surface suitable for carving, and generally are not as weathered because rain cannot reach them.

After a thoroughly enjoyable visit I was driven by the taxi back to my car (for once he didn’t get a tip because I am sure he overcharged me), and then had to go into Lacanjá to fuel up and to pay a visit to the ecolodge I never stayed at. The “gas station” was someone’s drive, where a very serious young man sold me 20 liters of gas at 23 pesos per liter (the going rate at the gas station would be 21 pesos per liter, so I thought this was a very reasonable markup), which he dispensed from very clean plastic containers without spilling a drop (he got a tip!).

Before I started the trip I had booked my three-night stay via Booking.com at an ecolodge in the Selva Lacandona, close to Yaxchilán, with the idea of contributing to the local economy and at the same time enjoying a unique ecologic and cultural experience. But when I was leaving San Cris to find my way in via the Booking.com app I found out that the place was in Ocosoingo, in the heart of the mountains and a million miles away from Yaxchilán (maybe 100 km as the crow flies, but in these steep mountain ranges it might as well be in the end of the world). Much taken aback I cancelled the reservation, angry with the duplicity of Mexican ecolodges. Imagine then my surprise that the ecolodge I had booked was in Lacanjá, barely 10 km from Bonampak, and that Booking.com had screwed up with the location (or maybe it was Google Maps). I felt obliged to go to the ecolodge and apologize; the administrator was very polite and listened attentively, but it was clear he had no idea of what I was referring to, so I left it at that and will reserve my frustration for nastygrams to Booking.com and Google Maps!

Day 6. Palenque

An easy, nearly bumpless ride of a couple of hours brought me to the little town of Palenque, where I had a delicious breakfast of assorted tacos. I was just savoring my good meal when I spotted, across the street, a posada with an open, welcoming car port, and 5 minutes later I had secured my lodging for the night. I was now ready to go explore the archaeologic zone of Palenque.

50 years ago my Dad and Mom had brought us in this fabulous, epic trip to southern Mexico, and one of the stops had been Palenque. I remember it distinctively because when we got there we found a dense cover of fog, so you could barely see a few feet ahead as you cut through the dew soaked vapors that enveloped us. The different pyramids and temples appeared out of nowhere, as ghosts from a time gone by. Finally the sun warmed the clouds and we, standing in the middle of the Main Plaza, saw the whole complex emerge from the clouds, as if it were materializing out of the swirling tendrils of vapor. It was one of the most magical views I had ever beheld. I was 18, Armando 20, and Norma 8, and we had a great time climbing to the top of the pyramids, to stare in awe at the fabulous bass reliefs of a cruciform corn plant, or the lapidary stone of the great ruler Pakal, who ruled Palenque from 615 to 683 AD, and thus preceded Escudo Jaguar in Yaxchilán.

Unique about Mexican pyramids, who were nothing else that mounds of rubble to elevate the temples, the main pyramid of Palenque was a royal tomb, and within it was the stone sarcophagus of Pakal, his fabulous burial goods, and a cover stone that is enormous in size and represents him … well, there has been much speculation about what it is we are seeing here. The traditional version is that it is Pakal going back to Mother Earth, lying recumbent on his back, and from his chest rises a sacred ceiba tree to signify the cycle of renewal and rebirth that characterizes nature. Another version, inspired on the Sci-Fi craze of the 1960’s, believes that what we are seeing is Pakal on board of his spaceship, adjusting the controls and blasting into outer space!

Faby asked me if she had ever been in Palenque, and I am going to say that yes, we went there maybe 20 years ago, and again went over every nook and cranny to admire the many pyramids and temples, and to visit the Palace, with its also unique observation tower, which rises like a type of pagoda two or three stories above the surrounding structures.

So fast forward to 2022, and the site has been prepared for large numbers of visitors, with interpretive paths, wide parking lots, a museum that happened to be close for the day when I was there, and a suitably large number of vendors of food and souvenirs. But the major improvement of all was that you can no longer climb the pyramids. This might be a bummer for kids and younger adults, but from my standpoint makes for a more majestic view of the site and its innumerable vantage points. I have always been good at minimizing the number of tourists in my photos, and this time round it was so much easy because I didn’t have to wait for five or ten minutes to wait for the “parasites” to move away from my viewfinder. OK, so I am a grouchy curmudgeon but I still think this is a most beautiful example of Classic Maya architecture, and I was glad to enjoy it in all its glory.

On the way back from the site I took a delightful trail through the jungle, past many minor pyramid complexes and babbling creeks. The jungle was very pleasant, and I got lost in the immensity of the variety of trees and shrubs. I wish I had the time to learn about these majestic trees. Unfortunately the path brought me down to the paved road a good 1.5 km from where I had left my car, but embracing local customs I flagged down a colectivo and for US $0.50 saved myself a long slug uphill.

In the afternoon I went for a walk through the town of Palenque, and very much enjoyed looking into the little craft shops. At one of them I bought myself a very cool Panama hat painted cerulean blue and decorated with beautiful flowers (I am into hats, and thus one will be one of the pride pieces in my collection!). I also overate once again, but how is one to avoid indulgence in the most delicious country on Earth?

Day 7. The Long Way to Chiapa de Corzo.

It finally came the time to take the long drive back to Chiapa de Corzo, where I was planning on spending the night before taking the flight to Guatemala. I had been discouraged to go back via San Cristobal because of the menace of many speedbumps, so instead took the long detour from Palenque to Villahermosa, and from there to Chiapa. I stopped early on the trip to have a bowl of lamb stew (consomé de barbacoa de borrego), and then I plunged into Villahermosa (a double lie because it is not a villa but a full size city, and it is definitely not hermosa). But it is the city of el Peje, which is the name Mexicans give to the current president, and so it is seeing much construction and modernization.

Speaking of the current president, Andrés Manuel López Obrador or AMLO, he is a populist who is well loved by the lower class and despised by the middle and upper class. His latest initiative is that the six-year term of the President should have a referendum halfway through, at 3 years in office; this referendum will take place in mid-April, and he is confident it will be in his favor, after which he will be unstoppable in his plan to “transform” Mexico. Not clear what would happen if he were to lose the referendum, but I think the idea of a halfway checkpoint is not such a bad one for Mexican politics.

After the double-lie city, I had the option of continuing in the toll road, or talking the free road. I have learnt from Ronnie to be a necio and do things the hard way, so I took the free road and headed for the mountains. And what mountains they are! I would offer to show you a photo, but the road was so winding and narrow that I rarely found a place to stop, and when I did I was surrounded by think jungle without a hope for reaching a vista point. I climbed and climbed from jungle to pine tree forest, back down into jungle, and back up into pine trees. I must have made 500 sharp turns to the right and a corresponding 500 sharp turns to the left, and finally, after spending 5 hours to run 200 km I made it into Chiapa de Corzo. I had one more thing I wanted to see: El Caňón del Sumidero.

This is the gorge of the Grijalva River, which was inundated by the tail water of the Chicoasén Dam in 1994, changing it from an almost impassable white-water rafting trek into a flat water trip that is now one of the most important tourist attractions of the area. Of course, having upon me the curse of The Lonely Tourist, I had to wait until a large enough group assembled, which by 3:30 pm seemed increasingly unlikely. I was rescued by a big trip of French tourists, the guide of which graciously allowed me to take a seat in their boat, and so we sped into the canyon, and pretty soon we were being crushed among limestone cliffs that were 500 m high, then 750 m high, and at last 1,000 m high! The walls were covered by epiphytes and strange-looking Dr. Seuss trees, as well as with representatives of the “bosque de caducifolias”, a bizarre ecosystem in which the trees, to avoid dehydration during the hot times of the year completely drop their leaves and to you and me look completely dead. But they are not, for as soon as the rains start the leaves pop back up and the trees come back to life, like a Phoenix.