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Mexico Travel Diaries - Leg 1
Patzcuaro, Morelia, Guadalajara, Chapala & Ajijic
Patzcuaro
The morning air is cool as I arrive at Mexico City’s western bus terminal. Buses to Morelia, the capital city of the State of Michoacan leave hourly; there is no need to book in advance. I travel with a bus company called ETN, which operate 24-passenger buses fitted out with wide comfortable seats and air conditioning. Queuing to get onto the bus, an attendant hands me a ticket and wraps an identification tag to the strap on my rucksack as he stows it away in the hold. A charming lady welcomes me onboard and hands me a sandwich, offering me a selection of soft drinks or bottled water.
The view out from the window offers an eclectic mix of activity to witness: local shops and corner stores trading briskly, craftsmen and artisans producing and selling their handiwork, car workshops hammering away at side panels, furniture re-sellers touting for business on street corners; fruit and vegetable stalls beside them, selling fresh produce to cars stopping en route to their destination, wherever that may be.
An American couple who live in Washington State during the summer and California in the winter are on the bus. The have come south to Mexico for a change of scenery and to tour some of the country. They began this adventure at the Riviera Maya, on Mexico’s Yucatan Peninsula south of Cancun; later they spent some time wandering around the historic attractions of Mexico City and are now on their way to Morelia, where they’ll spend a few days before travelling to Ajijic on Lake Chapala to meet some friends who live there. They’ll be back at home for Christmas.
On time at 2pm, the bus pulls into Morelia’s new bus station. I have not been here since it opened last year, and am impressed with its modern structure and airport-like look and feel. By quarter past two, I find myself on a rustic, but reasonably comfortable local connection to the indigenous town of Patzcuaro. Air conditioning is achieved by opening the window; the bus takes the old road to Patzcuaro and stops to drop off locals at various hamlets between the two towns.
I arrive at the Hotel/B&B Mansion Iturbe, located on the north side of Patzcuaro’s main square, Plaza de Quiroga. Vasco de Quiroga founded Patzcuaro and insisted (to the irritation of the Spanish) that the Basilica (principal church) should be built here. His statue is the centrepiece of the square. The room at the hotel is authentically colonial; the decoration, the walls, the wood beams and the antique furniture – is all original.
I take a walk around town to get my bearings and later return to the hotel to see if the owner has returned; she has left a message to meet for supper at 8:30pm. Upstairs in my room, I open some windows that lead out on to the balcony which overlooks the street below and the main square to the right. I soak up some of the Saturday afternoon excitement building in the town as it busily prepares itself for tomorrow’s festival – the celebration of the town’s Patron Saint.
Downstairs the hotel has a courtyard, adorned with wrought-iron patio furniture and classic clay Mexican chimenea heaters. As the evening draws in, the air cools and the sweet smell of mesquite wood burning in the three chimeneas fills the air around it.
A Mexican couple share quiet conversation over a drink in a corner of the courtyard. Two American couples and an older woman arrive in the patio area; we introduce ourselves and begin to share stories. One couple is on a tour of the colonial heartland, the older woman, 82 years old, is an independent traveller who still travels around with the energy and enthusiasm of a 22-year-old.
That evening I meet the owner of the Hotel, Margarita, who has arranged for a local newspaper editor and tourism official as well as an American woman, Jennifer Rose who is also staying at the Mansion Iturbe, to join us for the evening. Jennifer has lived in Morelia for 6 years and writes extensively about the State of Michoacan, which she loves dearly. We talk about Patzcuaro’s attractions, local tourism and the importance of Patzcuaro as a base for people to visit the rich variety of indigenous towns and villages surrounding the main town. Tomorrow’s festival begins at 5am with a mass at the Basilica; we agree to attend the event, so retire early for rest.
As we arrive at the basilica at 5am Margarita takes us through a side entrance leading to the front of the church as we sit just behind the Padre giving the sermon. Mariachis arrive to sing Las Mañanitas (Mexico’s birthday song), and together with the choir and a congregation of worshipers packed to the rafters, the service breaks into a symphony of guitars, trumpets, violins and voices celebrating the dawn of the day of the Virgin of Health. The Day of the Patron Saint of Patzcuaro has begun.
Later in the morning I spend time wandering around Patzcuaro's nooks and crannies, exploring hidden corners and enjoying the party atmosphere that has filled the town. I go to La casa de los once patios (the house with eleven patios), an old mansion now turned into an arts and crafts workshop and sales outlet. On one of Patzcuaro’s most famous streets, wistful tunes from a blind man’s accordion echo down the cobbled street leading from the house. Patzcuaro’s second most important Plaza, Plaza de Gertrudis Bocanegra has been overtaken by a market for the festival weekend.
I travel to the edge of the town and find Lake Patzcuaro with its centrepiece attraction, Janitzio island. Janitzio’s main landmark is the enormous Statue of Morelos, hero of the Mexican independence, which can be climbed up on the inside for spectacular views across the landscape.
Later in the evening Margarita leads me, Jennifer and one of the couples I met in the courtyard last night (Don & Carole) up to the Basilica to witness the evening Mass, and to experience the festivities taking place up on the hill where the local park has been converted into a fair ground.
Indigenous peoples from all of the surrounding hamlets and villages have travelled to Patzcuaro to attend this important local festival. Market stalls selling toys, crafts and ornaments abound; makeshift restaurants are created in mobile tents; the smell of fish, meats, vegetables and corn tortillas drifts through the night air. Children queue expectantly waiting for the next carousel and train rides. Recorded music is pumped through speakers of door-like proportions between live performances. The clear night sky is lit up in colors by rockets and fireworks; children and adults wave sparklers and gaze up into the sky to witness the celebratory show of light and sound. All around me, the festival feeling has taken hold.
We return to the town center to catch up on events at Patzcuaro’s main square. Don and Carole spy beeswax candles in a little shop on a side street at a fifth of the price they pay for them back home in California; we go inside and investigate further.
I pass seamless, never-ending rows of trading stalls underneath the portals surrounding the main plaza as the atmosphere around me buzzes as everything from gifts and craftwork to furniture and food are traded vigorously and cheerfully under the soft colonial street lights.
It’s late and I reconvene with Jennifer and Margarita back at the hotel’s courtyard, where the staff replenish the chimeneas with some new wood and serve us a nightcap. The cool night air is softened with the scent of mesquite wood smoke, as we chat about the day’s events. Shortly afterwards, Don and Carole return from their night stroll around the town to join us; their own personal experiences shared among the others as we all pause for a while to add knowledge and experience to our own personal travel journeys.
Morelia
After breakfast, Jennifer offers me a ride back to Morelia as she’s heading home. Don and Carole come with us, as we are going to pay a visit to a small town called Santa Clara del Cobre – the place in Mexico to see copper being crafted and, of course, to buy it. We walk into a couple of shops; behind each is a workshop where the items for sale at the front are crafted from raw pieces of copper. To watch these people work is visual poetry. They don’t use any modern tools or machinery: the coals are heated by hand-powered bellows; the copper is manually hammered into shape, left to cool and the process is repeated – perhaps thousands of times – until the desired shape is achieved. The craftsmen work in teams; often a family unit, ranging from young boys (rarely girls) to old men. This is a true apprenticeship: these children will grow up to be master craftsmen.
Morelia, Michoacan’s capital city and seat of local government - often described as an aristocratic Spanish colonial city, stands in stark contrast to the rest of the State of Michoacan, which is largely indigenous.
I arrive at the Villa Montaña Hotel by early afternoon, one of Morelia's most appealing hotels, not least because of its envious location nestled on the mountain above the city. Its patios proffer stunning views of the city and surrounding landscape. My room, like all of the others at the hotel, has its own fireplace which is perfect for this time of year when the night and early morning air turns sharp.
I spend some time wandering around the hotel, enjoying its calm nature and the views across the crystal blue skies. I arrive at the main terrace overlooking the city of Morelia below, when a man sitting under a canopy nursing a drink asks, “Are you from the States?”.
“Oh, you’re English!” he says, as I open my mouth to introduce myself. Frank has returned with his wife to the Villa Montaña Hotel, 38 years after they first stayed here – when they passed through on their honeymoon. Later on, I meet up again with Frank and his wife Sharon to share a few stories. “When we were here 38 years ago”, explains Frank “we had a room, dinner, breakfast – and had our car washed – for just 19 dollars”. Frank and Sharon had returned to Mexico to attend a friend’s wedding.
I eat lunch at the hotel’s restaurant, and the food is first class. The owner of the hotel is a Frenchman who pays close attention to the detail of his kitchen and its fare, so you can be assured that whatever you eat here will be excellent.
I wake up early the next day and meet for breakfast with Nirvana (that’s her name, not the rock group!) a friend of a friend who has volunteered to show me around her city, Morelia. Afterwards, we take a cab into the historic centre and wander around the Cathedral, the main plaza and Calle Valladolid which is host to many of the old historic buildings, now government offices, banks, and other up-market retail stores.
The city was originally named Valladolid after its Spanish counterpart, but it was renamed following the revolution, to Morelia, after Jose Maria Morelos who was born locally and is a revered hero of the Mexican war of independence. The plazas, arched arcades, portals and colonial mansions give Morelia a distinctly Spanish feel.
The inside of the Cathedral is all you would expect of a building of its importance. We wander around inside and to the areas either side of it: Plaza de Armas and Plaza Melchor Ocampo with its tree-lined passageways and bandstand in the centre. We walk down Calle Valladolid again, and stop at Morelia’s original sweet factory and outlet, opened and run by Luis Torres Villacaña in 1917; now run by his heirs. It also features a small museum that shows how the sweets are made from the processing of the fresh fruit to the finished product.
We also explore the majestic Palacio de Gobierno (Government Palace) which is where the State’s Governor has his office and is the political and administrative seat of power in the State. I enjoy the Palacio Clavijero with the fountain in the middle of the courtyard and the Conservatorio de las Rosas, now a music school which is also home to the Coro de los Niños Cantores de Morelia, a national choir. Only the country's finest voices need apply; this choir sang for the Pope on his visit here earlier in the year. The Conservatory is a series of alleyways and courtyards; we hear students practising and rehearsing in rooms leading off them throughout the building.
The Casa de las Artesanias (house of crafts) offers art and craft works from all over the State of Michoacan. Inside the colonial building you can walk around the balconies and discover shops and stalls offering a huge range of hand made craftwork native to this State. One corridor has a room for each town or hamlet in the State and sells the crafts created in that locale. Paracho is famous for its guitars, San Francisco Uricho and Patzcuaro are known for quality textiles, Santa Fe de la Laguna is known for its clay works…
Later, we jump into a cab and head up the mountain to the recently inaugurated Mirador (vantage point) – host to a huge Mexican flag and viewing terrace. The flag is visible from most places in Morelia, and the terrace provides a stunning panoramic view of the city and the whole area around.
After sunset, I head back into the town center for some night pictures of the historic buildings, lit up brilliantly in soft amber colors. The city center is buzzing with people, entertainment and commerce.
Late in the evening I meet up with some friends, and we head to a bar called unos tras otro (one after another). This place serves its liquor in one-half liter or one liter measures. I order a Barcardi and coke, and by the strength of taste, I guess that about two-fifths of the liquid was alcohol; coke and ice make up the rest. Prices are reasonable by US and and a give-away in comparison to UK bar prices.
I ask my friends, who are about 8-10 years younger than I, what the local night life is like in Morelia. “There are only 3 night clubs” one remarks, “you know exactly who’s going to be there with whom, and where there’ll be sitting”. I ask where they would prefer to be for nightlife… “…in Mexico City, because there’s a huge choice of places, and you can be assured of meeting different people every time you go”. They ask me about night clubs in England, and are shocked to hear that they stop serving alcohol at one or maybe two in the morning, because of the drinking laws. “In Mexico, people don’t show up a night club until midnight at the earliest” they say.
Guadalajara
I take a cab to the bus station at Morelia and board a bus to my next stop on this leg of the journey: Guadalajara, Mexico’s second largest city. The waiting rooms, like the rest of Morelia’s new bus station, are clean, bright and very comfortable.
En route to Guadalajara, the bus pulls into a roadside eatery. The driver gets out and orders take-away tacos for his lunch, jumps back into the bus and we’re off again. The stop delays the journey by no more than four or five minutes, and we arrive in Guadalajara on time.
The taxi I board from Guadalajara’s bus station drives down a residential street south east of Guadalajara city centre to where my Bed & Breakfast is located. It's in a residential area of Tlaquepaque, sandwiched between two ordinary-looking houses. Beyond the door hides a mini colonial centre of courtyards, bright colours, fountains and a heated swimming pool. My room is simple, clean and comfortable.
I wander out of the B&B for two blocks down the street, to a colonial area of the city of Tlaquepaque (“Tla-Keh-Pah-Keh”). The area has become an up-market boutique of arts and crafts with trendy shops and restaurants lining colonial-style (mainly pedestrian) streets and alleyways along with the odd plaza and garden. Most things are closed when I first explore the area, but I find a restaurant open, called Restaurante Bar Tlalipac.
After ordering, a man with a guitar approaches me and offers me a free song, “on the house” – which is a hook to get you to buy more afterwards. I agree, and he gives me a paper list of about 100 songs that he can perform. I ask him about his life as a travelling minstrel and discover that he always works alone; he has never played with a group, apparently. There is no fixed fee; you pay him what you deem is fit. A few pesos a song is adequate.
After breakfast the next day, I walk back to Tlaquepaque to discover that the quiet little colonial neighbourhood has suddenly come to life. Street musicians are already playing their tunes; the boutiques (many specialising in blown glass art) are brimming with activity. Tlaquepaque is open for business.
Later in the morning I take a cab into Guadalajara's city centre, and wander around admiring the main plaza, the Cathedral and other buildings in the city’s historic centre. The Palacio de Gobierno (Government Palace) is host to the local congress and the walls feature incredible murals painted by Jose Clemente Orozco. I spend time gazing up at the murals, before wandering back out behind the Cathedral to the Plaza de la Liberacion (Liberation Plaza). At the far end of this is the Teatro Degollado (theatre), where you can watch ballet performances in the evenings.
Beyond the theatre, I stroll down the Paseo Degollado to Plaza Taptia and beyond that the Central Cultural Cabañas, now a museum which features more of Orozco’s murals including one of his masterpieces, “El Hombre Fuego”.
On my way back through Plaza Tapatia, a see a crowd has gathered around a man with a commanding voice and props featuring a selection of vegetables strewn across the ground in front of him along with a rubber iguana, that looks lifelike, but for the fact that it sits uncomfortably on top of his brown travel bag.
Within a few seconds, I pick up the gist of his reason for being there. “Why are Gringos (Americans) so unhealthy?” he demands of the crowd. "They are unhealthy because they drink coke for breakfast and coke for dinner and coke for supper… and before they go to bed… they drink another coke!”, he exclaims.
The man continues, “How many liters of water does the human body need every day?” Some clever clog in the audience shouts three – “…thank you, madam – yes! Three liters of water every day… now raise your hand if you know someone who hasn’t even had one glass of water today!” – the audience obeys.
This goes on for some time, as he talks about digestion, diet, and the magic healing power of… beetroot juice. “It looks like blood” – he says, chopping a beet into shreds, letting the juice run through his hands. I wonder where all this is heading; so does everyone else which is why we’re all standing here like lemons listening to the man. Suddenly he picks up a rubber iguana that has been quietly waiting for its moment of fame and throws it into the brown bag. “I have 15 leaflets to give away with all the information you need to release the power of water and beetroot!” He exclaims. The punch line exposed, I decide it's time to move on.
I walk into the huge Cathedral, and spend some time looking at the artwork and interior design, before heading out to the front to admire the facade and wander quietly around the paintings that make up an outdoor art exhibition in the Cathedral's front courtyard.
Ajijic and Lake Chapala
After an early breakfast the next morning, I check out of the B&B and head to the old bus station for a local bus to Ajijic, a small town south of Guadalajara, on the shores of Lake Chapala, just a few kilometers west of a town that bears the lake’s name.
David, my host in Ajijic, is waiting for me at the town's 'bus stop' and we jump into his purple Blazer truck en route to La Casa Tres Leones (House of the three Lions) B&B – a unique house which, from the moment you walk through the door, you feel totally relaxed in. I was immediately impressed by the wall-to-wall style. The atmosphere is so friendly, I feel like I’m walking into my own living room at home. The B&B hugs the edge of a hill overlooking the village of Ajijic and beyond that, the lake.
I meet Marianne, who owns and runs the house, drop off my rucksack, unpack my equipment and notebook and head out with David for a tour of the village and lakeside area. Down at the lake, the water level is low. “This has always been a shallow lake” says David, “perhaps 30 feet at the deepest point, with a very gradual incline”. Rio Lerma is the main river that feeds Lake Chapala. The river begins many kilometres away in the State of Guanajuato, where farmers and ranchers siphon off and dam its waters for local use and later passed through the industrialized area of the State of Mexico (bordering the Federal District of Mexico City). By the time the river's water reaches Lake Chapala there is hardly any water left, so the lake relies upon heavy rains during the monsoon season to top it up.
David and I travel back into the village, where he takes me on a visit to LCS, or the Lake Chapala Society: a local society and community of expatriates. The society provides a focus point and community for new and established expats living in the locality. The society was founded in January 1955, and Neill James, a local author and pioneer, willed her estate to the society in 1986. The property is now the headquarters and meeting place for the society which provides a lending library of over 10,000 English books, as well as videos in English. Seminars, talks, clubs games and a plethora of activities are arranged by the society for the benefit of all the members.
We spend some time in the village’s main square before lunching in Chapala, sharing stories, talking about Mexico and the Internet phenomenon.
Late in the afternoon, I stroll down to the village on foot and pass by 3 taxi drivers sitting on a bench in the main square. Seeing my camera and tripod, they ask me to take their picture. Ricardo, Samuel and Carlos have been driving taxis here for over 20 years. “How do people get hold of you if you’re sitting on this bench?” I ask. They point to a yellow both next to the street, inside of which is an ancient finger-dial telephone, and I smile.
Upon my return to the B&B, I have an opportunity to chat with Marianne and Moira, a British lady, retired school teacher, who is now spending 3 months in Mexico, staying at the Tres Leones B&B for the duration. I chat with them about the Mexperience project and tour, and I learn about their background and plans.
Marianne is from Dallas, Texas – where she and her husband ran an architecture and building firm. After many years of having built up a reputable business, they decided that it was time to sell up and retire, so they moved south to Mexico. The property was bought at the last minute; agreed on a handshake, although the process of formalising and closing the sale took 4 months as there was a lot of paperwork to sort out. Marianne’s husband passed away suddenly while the house was being built, and after some thought, Marianne decided that she would complete the house and run it as a B&B.
Moira is a school teacher who taught in New York, and loves to travel. She has Irish connections, and feels that Mexico and Ireland’s culture are very similar; perhaps one of the reasons she likes Mexico so much.
A little later on, Heather arrives; another guest at the house. Heather is also helping Marianne to decorate the house in readiness for Christmas; she has a talent of being able to bring together a seemingly unconnected collection of Christmas adornments to create stunning wreaths and Christmas decorations. Heather decorated the Christmas tree at Tres Leones, which features over 4,000 lights, “but it needs a few more” she says, “Look, there are a couple of dark places that need filling in…" It's a pretty big tree.
The next morning David stops by to share breakfast with us, and afterwards I pack up and walk down to the village for a bus back to Guadalajara. I get to Guadalajara just in time for the bus back to Mexico City that leaves at one o’clock. Seven hours later, my bus arrives at Mexico City's western bus terminal. The unmistakable atmosphere of Mexico's capital engulfs me from the moment I step out out of the air-conditioned bus and into the city's night air. The first leg of the journey is complete.