Out of This World
In a rain forest in Mexico lies a wilderness fantasy called Las Pozas, where concrete flowers bloom in profusion. Unfinished stairways spiral into the treetops, and waterfalls fill secret pools—all a day’s drive from the Texas border.
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Having acquired the property, James plunged obsessively into orchids. Season after season he coddled them, and then, in the winter of 1962, disaster struck. A freak storm dropped the temperature below freezing, and 18,000 flowers perished in a three-day snowfall that the mystified villagers referred to as a rain of “white ashes.” Says Avery Danziger, a filmmaker who has made a documentary on James’s life: “When it freezes here, it looks like the whole forest has been burned. James was absolutely devastated.” Like Scarlett O’Hara shaking her fist at the sky and swearing she will never be hungry again, James swore that the next orchids he planted would never die. After salvaging what he could of the real flowers, he began to create new ones—in concrete.
Before long, he had become the patron of the village of Xilitla, paying higher wages than anyone in the area. Always a globe-hopper, he would be gone for months at a time, then without warning descend on Las Pozas bursting with new ideas—such as building a fish pond in the form of a giant human eye or erecting a thicket of impossibly delicate bamboo-shaped columns to make a freestanding “curtain.” He would sketch his fantasy on a ruled pad and show it to his master moldmaker. Then, using only machetes, axes, and knives, the master and his assistants would carve the wooden molds into which the concrete would be poured. Some forms might take months to make and require thousands of tiny strips of pine, all meticulously fitted together. But in time, a shape would emerge and another Wonderland blossom or Rapunzel’s tower would take its place in the forest.
Over the years, the sculptures gradually coalesced into a sort of haphazard city, with all kinds of extraneous attractions. Some of the concrete was tinted gaudy colors reminiscent of the ancient Mayan temples. James loved animals and had pens and cages built for deer, ocelots, monkeys, and flamingos. He also had electrical lines brought up the side of the mountain so that he could string colored lights and spotlights everywhere. Kaco remembers the night they were first turned on: “We all came up here, and about ten o’clock they threw the switches—pow! pow! It was fabulous and incredible, but if you looked around in the brush, you could see all these little animals running around, sort of dazzled and disoriented.” Before it was all over, James had spent an estimated $5 million on Las Pozas, easily more than $20 million in today’s dollars.
The early sixties to the early eighties were Las Pozas’ golden years. James poured his imagination and energy into it, but even as the city was unfolding, its creator was growing old. In 1984, while on a trip to Europe, he suffered a serious stroke. A few months later he died and was buried at his family estate in England, West Dean. He was 77. For Las Pozas and the Gastelum family, the event was a dual tragedy. The exasperating man who had been the focus of their lives for decades was gone. Moreover, in a short while the money was gone too. Always utterly impractical about finances, James had left nothing for the upkeep of Las Pozas. Within four years Plutarco Senior and his wife, Marina, also died. An era had ended.
Kaco inherited Las Pozas, but as he candidly admits, “Everything had gone kind of crazy.” He kept the place open for the few intrepid visitors who took the trouble to find it, but for years little else happened. For one thing, his resources were limited and, he says, “I didn’t have the heart to ask people to pay to see it.” Eventually, though, he realized he couldn’t carry the burden alone. Three years ago he started charging eight pesos admission ($1) to help defray the cost of maintenance. But the money—when someone is there to collect it—goes only so far. It pays for the sweeping and pruning needed to keep the forest from reclaiming its land, but not for anything else.
Today Las Pozas is at a crossroads. Every year more water from the heavy seasonal rains seeps in around the tens of thousands of metal reinforcing rods that sprout everywhere from the concrete, rusting them and causing them to swell. Miraculously, most of the structures remain sound, but they will not stay that way indefinitely. Las Pozas needs an infusion of money—for upkeep, restoration, and some kind of administration—and it can’t wait forever. Gastelum has asked Avery Danziger to act as his agent to pursue funding sources, and plans for an architectural and engineering study are being spearheaded by Bud Goldstone, the man who in 1959 was involved in a successful campaign to save Los Angeles’ wonderfully idiosyncratic Watts Towers. That project was funded by, among others, Edward James.
Of all the places I have been, Las Pozas is one of the most fascinating, and I cannot imagine that ultimately it will not be saved—not only to amaze and delight future generations of visitors but also to soothe the restless spirit of Edward James, which I imagine to be hovering somewhere in the vicinity of the Bamboo Palace. I keep remembering the first morning I was there, when my guide, Miguel Resendiz, who had known James well, told me the effect the place has on him: “When I look at what he built, I see his face. I even hear his voice. I think he is still here because I can be at Las Pozas and never get tired of it. When I walk around, I see a new door or a new concrete flower. It is like he is still building here. Edward James died, but the magic didn’t die.”
Getting There: From Reynosa, on the Texas-Mexico border, the drive to Xilitla takes about eight hours. Continental and American fly to Tampico for $219 from Houston or $462 from Dallas, respectively, with advance booking. Rent a car for the three- to four-hour drive to Xilitla or arrange for a van from El Castillo hotel in Xilitla to pick you up (round trip $150). Round-trip bus fare from either Reynosa or Matamoros to Xilitla is $44 on Omnibuses de Oriente (Reynosa 011-52-89-22-17-19; Matamoros 011-52-88-12-07-11). If you’re studying a map, Xilitla is approximately forty miles south of Ciudad Valles.
Accommodations: In Xilitla the place to stay is El Castillo, a wonderfully whimsical bed-and-breakfast inn that was once the family home of Plutarco Gastelum, Sr., James’s manager. The present operators are Avery and Lenore Danziger. All seven rooms are quite attractive, with stucco walls and cool tile floors. Rates for a double are $40 to $80 (phone 011-52-13-65-00-38; fax 011-52-13-65-00-55; or make reservations through El Castillo’s great Web site, www.junglegossip.com. Be sure to get a map of Las Pozas at El Castillo; there often aren’t any at the site.
Directions to El Castillo: From the main highway, Mexico 85, turn right onto Mexico 120. After about fifteen minutes, as you come into Xilitla, you will see a new Pemex station with a Goodyear sign. Curve left, go over some speed bumps, and take the first right, in about one hundred feet. Follow this narrow, curving street (which has houses on the right). Cross three more sets of speed bumps, then turn left on Ocampo at the stone wall. Go up Ocampo one block (it’s a hill) and park at the little store on the right with a sign reading “Amadeus.” Continue upward on foot about fifty feet to the hotel, Number 105, on the left. Shout, or ring the doorbell located inside the gate on the left side at eye level.
When to Go: Spring and fall are good times to visit Las Pozas; the rainy season—mid-May into September, usually—makes the rock steps slick and treacherous. Winter—late December through February—is foggy and cold. In any case, take nonslip shoes and be prepared to climb a lot of stairs. Birding in the area is good year round, but don’t go during Semana Santa, the week before Easter, unless you love hordes of vacationers.
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