Thursday, October 27.
I say goodbye to Durango and head for Zacatecas. The fifth state I have been in. The ride is cold, and the scenery could have been any of a dozen places in the mountain West. The flora is different, though.
I arrive in the city of Zacatecas, an old colonial mining city built up and down the hills that contained the ore. Imagine Central City, Blackhawk, or Deadwood, but with the population of Pasadena. It is crowded. Weaving in, around, and down a street so steep that it puts anything San Francisco has to shame, I arrive in the Centro.
Talk about exercise here. Every street is up or down.
With steps, alleyways, one way rabbit warrens going every which way. But it is pretty, and the people take pride in it. At least the Centro. Hidden in little out of the way niches are parks, gardens, statues, and other public art.
I would like to explore it more, but I press on.
I say goodbye to Durango and head for Zacatecas. The fifth state I have been in. The ride is cold, and the scenery could have been any of a dozen places in the mountain West. The flora is different, though.
I arrive in the city of Zacatecas, an old colonial mining city built up and down the hills that contained the ore. Imagine Central City, Blackhawk, or Deadwood, but with the population of Pasadena. It is crowded. Weaving in, around, and down a street so steep that it puts anything San Francisco has to shame, I arrive in the Centro.
Talk about exercise here. Every street is up or down.
I would like to explore it more, but I press on.
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