Note to self: When hiking the high desert at San Miguel de Allende’s el Charco del Ingenio and botanical garden, it’s best to wear a long-sleeved shirt, long pants and definitely no open-toed shoes. Bring a wide-brimmed hat, like the one I bought at the Tuesday Market, and plenty of protection — and I don’t mean sunscreen.
That’s because here, on this 220-acre preserve, sex is in the air. And under water. And on the ground. Here, animal, insect and plant life are encouraged to do as they please. It’s a disgusting display really, yet such a beautiful place.
Stay on the well-marked trails. Otherwise, you’re bound to trip over one of nature’s progeny: a baby sotol palm here or adolescent agave there. Stray near the water, and you’re bound to hear the high-pitched, “red alert!” chirps of the baby duck flotilla.
Perhaps they are American widgeon, one of 12 species to frequent el Charco? I have absolutely no idea. I’m too busy watching a pair of coupling crickets. Should I feel ashamed?
It’s October, and there are plague-like numbers of grasshoppers and crickets everywhere, with dozens hop-flying out of the way of my each and every step.
As an aside, do you know the main difference between a grasshopper and a cricket? It’s the length of a particular appendage. Not that one, you filthy. Crickets tend to have longer antennas. I know you’re disappointed, but not as much as I am disappointed in you.
Meanwhile, some of the critters seem to have given up trying to get out of the way. Instead, they leap directly on to me.
They’ve joined the fire ants, who seem to be the only species not blatantly “doing it” out in the open.
“There’s work to be done!” I can almost hear them say.
Further down the trail, I see a beautiful orange monarch butterfly clinging to the very end of a little twig. As a pass to the other side, to get a better look, I see there is another smaller butterfly, lighter in color, and they’re somehow attached, face to face. OMG, they’re doing it! Missionary style!
I’d show you the photo, but I was so startled that it came out blurry. And I’d probably get arrested anyway. Not by Mexican authorities, but more likely by the Mark Zuckerberg Facebook police force. Or maybe US immigration, who’ve probably got nothing better to do than crack down on cross-border insect porn.
Across the reservoir dam, a sturdy stone structure built in the early 1900s, a less-traveled but clearly visible grass path continues to the remains of a colonial-era hacienda. Adjacent to the ruins is a new structure, a small domed sweat lodge.
Each month, during the full moon, according to the reserve’s website, you can take a “ritual steam bath” here.
Yeah, right — and lord knows what else. Clothing optional? Octogenarians only?
I scurry back across the dam, further down the path toward the rim of a deep canyon. Between its narrow walls is “el Charco del Ingenio,” a beautiful pool fed by a spring. A single blue heron, probably the only other bachelor in this place (besides me), glides by far below.
It’s been almost four hours, but there is one more stop I’d like to make — to “el Mirador,” a scenic overlook of historic San Miguel de Allende.
The view is a bit hazy — and nothing like the uncensored scenery I’d seen earlier in the day. That cornucopia of plant, animal and insect copulation.
There was so much I would never be able to unsee, my innocence lost.
And then I heard it: the salacious call of that desert siren: the golden barrel cactus. I think we all know what happens next.
