Cañon del Sumidero, in the Mexican state of Chiapas, makes
for a lovely day trip. Seen either from above via scenic lookout points, or
below on the river snaking along the canyon floor, the canyon is roughly a
kilometer deep in places.
Rock walls tower overhead, striped with striations telltale of age, cacti
springing forth from any small foothold. Green waters lazily slip through the
canyon’s gaping throat making its way downriver, passing from brutal sun to
chilling shade. Hawks circle overhead; vultures hobble on rocky shores; ducks float and dive; herons stand tall and erect.
The canyon is reminiscent of the American Southwest, a
calling card from home, bringing forth a vague nostalgia. Only nowhere in
Colorado or New Mexico do crocodiles lounge on the riverbanks. Nor do monkeys
swing in our trees, luxuriously out of reach.
