MORELIA
Our bus pulls out of Terminal Norte in Mexico City and travels for 45 minutes before reaching open countryside, and then another 15 minutes before cresting the rim of the vast Cuenca de México that confines much of the smog of the great city. Smog also tends to drift eastward due to the rotation of the earth, so by traveling west we're soon into clean air and relatively rural countryside on the main highway northward to Queretaro. (There's a more direct route to Morelia under construction, but it's not finished yet.) We're on a direct bus to Morelia so we only glimpse Queretaro from the bypass. And there's no time on this trip for Guanajuato, one of my favorites. It's been thirty years since I've been to nearby San Miguel de Allende and San Luis Potosí, but they'll also have to wait. Six weeks is a good long time for a trip – but still, there's a limit, and choices have to be made. We speed onward toward the broad open irrigated farmlands and hedgerows of Celaya, site of two decisive battles in the Revolution.
By 1915, the Revolution had raged for five long years, and would continue for another five. In the end, it would cost the lives of approximately 1 million Mexicans – about 10% of the population of the country. In April of 1915, two of the main players, Pancho Villa of Chihuahua and Álvaro Obregón of Sonora, met at Celaya in two battles that pitted the strategies of the past against the sheer brutality of modern mechanized warfare. The First World War was raging in Europe at the time, and the introduction of machine guns had quickly made cavalry charges obsolete. The lesson was not lost on Obregón, a careful and intelligent man. But the mercurial Villa still relied on the reckless charges that had worked so well for his glorious División del Norte in the past. Obregón chose Celaya as the battleground because the open fields broken by irrigation ditches favored modern tactics. He deployed his troops and taunted Villa into battle. After inflicting terrible losses on Villa's forces, Obregón taunted him into a second disastrous battle at Celaya using the same tactics, and then another at Léon, where Villa was effectively reduced again to the role of a country bandit in the rugged mountains of western Chihuahua. And the cost of this terrible slaughter was born by those foolish enough to follow him. Frederich Katz, in his thorough and fascinating biography of Villa, has marveled at his consistent ability to "... snatch defeat from the jaws of victory."
While our modern air-conditioned bus, with reclining seats and a movie playing on the flip-down screens, rolled onward through the broad and productive farmlands of Celaya, it was hard to imagine the brutality that had occurred on the land outside our windows less than a hundred years ago. I remember on a visit to Aguascalientes back in the early 1970s, passing a Veterans of the Revolution office on a quiet back street where young boys were playing a game of soccer. And there was a Veterans of the Resistance office I passed once in Nice, France. One wonders how long those memories linger after the last veteran passes away and the doors finally close. Regardless of history's 'important events,' daily life goes on. Children are born, families must be fed, and memories are short. How many places where we now shop for trinkets were once the sites of terrible conflict? Perhaps it's just the way of life that memory is short and we are quick to embrace the next folly.
By now we were getting into Semana Santa, and we decided to make the only reservations we'd have during our whole trip – except for our first night in Cancún. This is the week when most people head for the beach – any beach. But there's a growing middle class in Mexico that wants to see the historical sites they read about as kids, and the heart of that important historical area is exactly where we were headed. There was an article in The News, an English-language Mexico City newspaper, about the importance the Semana Santa holiday week holds for many Mexicans – despite the fact that church attendance is generally down. One of the men interviewed explained that this is the only week of vacation he can actually plan for. He gets two weeks off each year, but the other one is completely up to his boss's discretion. Another article featured the exhortations of a Bishop not to forget the original meaning of the weeklong celebration! And the faithful still showed up in great numbers at several pilgrimage sites. As it turned out, we probably didn't need to worry about reservations, since we weren't headed for the beach or on a pilgrimage. And maybe also because of general worries over the weakening economy. There was another article about that.
The bus turns south at Salamanca, skirting the Laguna de Yuriria and then crossing the broad Laguna de Cuitzeo, with flocks of brilliant white egrets feeding in the shallows. A few are also standing on the backs of cattle, picking off ticks and other critters – just like in National Geographic. As we pulled into the terminal, the fabled city of Morelia looked like most any other dusty Mexican town. But a quick taxi ride brought us to the Centro Historico and its narrow streets lined with ancient colonial buildings. It was late on Thursday afternoon. After a quick rest in the hotel we were off to find the Plaza, which was, of course, filled with people ready to party. Since we were in the opening days of Semana Santa, there were probably more people than on an average Thursday night, but in all my travels through Mexico I don't recall ever seeing a plaza without plenty of people enjoying the evening. That night in Morelia there were parents buying cheap shiny trinkets for the sheer joy of watching their small children be as mesmerized as their parents were when young. There were young couples walking hand in hand past the bandstand. And there were the usual abuelos watching the usual flocks of teenage girls and herds of teenage boys eyeing each other warily. In one area there were three men and a small boy in gnarled masks, costumes and walking canes doing the Danza de los Viejitos, a kind of clackety, rhythmic shuffle with a very catchy beat. Other street musicians played in various corners of the plaza. It was the nightly cultural ballet anyone who has spent time in Mexico is so familiar with.
As dusk descended, well-placed lighting bathed the cathedral, adding another layer of drama, and we settled on a place to dine. Curiously, it was a hotel named the Virrey de Mendosa – same as our modest hotel in Puebla with the unscheduled midnight entertainment. But in Morelia it appeared to be the finest place on the plaza, with a man playing a grand piano in the classical three-story lobby. Dinner was, indeed, one of the best we'd had so far on our trip.
The following morning we headed back to Cafe Europa on the plaza for some of their famous coffee, and we shared a plate of some of the finest whole-grain pancakes I've had anywhere. Any time you're sitting outdoors at a sidewalk cafe (the sidewalk is public property), you'll likely be approached by vendors, musicians, and artists with something to sell. I always try to keep a few ten-peso coins in my pocket to share with them. That's a small amount to the average gringo, but it's a nice chunk of change for many people in Mexico. During breakfast, we were approached by two young lads who offered to sing a song for ten pesos. I told them that would not be possible since I was out of ten-peso coins. All I had was a twenty-peso note, so they'd have to sing two songs. They looked shyly at each other, then asked what songs we'd like to hear. Being from Sonora, we didn't know what songs they might sing around Morelia. They shrugged, stared at the ground and mumbled together for a few moments, like two gawky young teens anywhere else in the world, then did a credible job of singing a couple of songs for us over a fine breakfast.
In the morning paper we noticed a story about how the new X-Men movie had already been pirated, about two weeks before its official release. From the description, we recalled watching it on the bus from Coatzacoalcos to Veracruz. That's the one where they blow up lots of stuff, right? Yeah, that's the one. We felt bad that such important artwork is regularly pirated in the third world.
We began the exploration part of our day visiting various shrines to Morelos (who was born here; he's also on the 50-peso bill), one of the important figures in the battle for Independencia from Spain. Then we walked to the picturesque old aqueduct, and the Museo de Arte Contemporáneo with its good and informative photography exhibit about the four main tribes native to the area – the Otomi, Nahua, Mazahua and P'urhépecha. We had a special interest in the P'urhépecha, a particularly beautiful people, as we'd be seeing more of them when we reached Pátzcuaro in a few more days. From the Museo, we wandered under a tree overhanging the sidewalk. It was notable for a peculiar decorative speckled pattern right at eye level – I had to duck to get under it. After a closer look, we realized it was multi-colored 'chewing gum art' smashed onto the trunk. Several other adjacent trees sported the same 'art.' A young Mexican family also stopped to study the 'art.' The father and I looked at each other as we both realized what we were seeing. We shared a wry smile, a shake of the head, and a roll of the eyes (that said "Yuck!" in any language) before moving on.
We wandered past a colorful wedding in the famously over-gilded Santuario de Guadalupe, then down a broad, stone-paved pedestrian street, admiring the solid architecture of old colonial homes and restaurants along the way. Somehow, the day was already growing late as we slowly made our way back toward the evening's big events – on the plaza, of course. A Russian violinist named Leonid Kurdov was scheduled to play in the street in front of the Cathedral. We assumed it would be a program of fine classical music. But first, there was a ceremony beside the Cathedral to give away two cars, won by people who had paid their prediales, or property taxes. The first year we went to pay our own prediales we were surprised to learn that if we paid early we could save about 20% – and be entered in a lottery to win a car! How's that for a way to get people to pay up?! They can be very creative south of the border! Unsurprisingly, the ceremony ran overtime, but there were some very happy people presented with keys to two new red cars. Then the concert began.
Leonid Kurdov took the stage with his electric violin (!) and a huge backup sound system. He was ready to rock, and so was the audience! Some of the pieces were actually classics – but with a rockin' beat – while others were by The Police, Paul McCartney, Credence Clearwater Revival, etc. It was a good show, and he came back again the next night to play in the bandstand on the plaza.
Then they let the fireworks fly! We had seen a notice at the Virrey de Mendoza that we could have drinks on the Mirador (their third-floor covered deck) for the show, so that's where we headed. The drinks were very pricey, but it was cheap rent for the real estate; and we saw a spectacular show. Afterward, we wandered through the plaza listening to numerous other street performers, then headed back, very tired, to the hotel for a good night's sleep – only to be repeatedly awakened by a wedding party that had booked most of the rooms, and had an apparent need to move large pieces of furniture and slam numerous doors at 2:00 a.m. This latter activity brought back deluded late-night memories of the closing chapter of Franz Kafka's The Castle, where the book dissolves into (even more) lunacy. Whatever. If you can't party late with the local population, best to stay home.
We began our last morning with another fine breakfast at Cafe Europa, then caught a combi (small van transport) (4 pesos each) to find a resort that advertised 'the most spectacular sigth' in town, overlooking the city. We thought it might be interesting to check it out for a future visit. The combi dropped us at the base of a hill by the Zoo. There was a stone stairway up the hill, so up we went through a nicely-forested hillside park. At the top, we paused at a mirador to look over the city with the Cathedral crowning it all. Then we stopped at a little taco shop for a soda before going on to find the resort. As we stepped inside the door and sat at one of the three tables all eyes followed our movement, as if Martians had just entered. Whenever we get very far off the beaten path, we tend to get that reaction as people wonder what to do with two lost gringos. We ordered a soda in Spanish, and we asked a few questions about the area. This usually relaxes people but furthers their confusion about the Spanish-speaking gringos until we mention that we live in Sonora. "Are you Mexican?" is usually the next question. We explain that we're retired gringos, and people are usually happy to give many helpful tips on interesting things to do nearby.
The resort was only one street away from the little restaurant, and the 'sigth' from there was indeed spectacular. After a brief visit we made our way back down the hill, past a group of fitness freaks running up and down the steps. One guy was even 'push-upping' his way to the top backwards! At the bottom, we walked past the very extensive Zoo and about halfway back to the Cathedral before catching a bus through the remaining crowded streets. After another good dinner, and more fun on the plaza, it was time for bed. In the morning we'd make the short trip (about an hour) to Pátzcuaro.
PÁTZCUARO
As we pulled in to the Centro Historico of this very sweet colonial town, it looked like we'd finally gotten to Charm Central in the enchanted heart of Mexico. At a glance, it's easy to see that this is the place where artists go when they paint those tile murals and other art (both good and bad) that has defined the country for generations. Pátzcuaro feels up to the task, like a blanket of color draped loosely, comfortably, over a furrowed hillside, waiting to be caressed onto canvas by a soft brush.
We check into the quiet and pretty Posada de la Salud (300 pesos, ~ US$21), named for the Basilica de Nuestra Señora de la Salud at the plaza across the street – just one of many plazas (and churches) in the town. After our short trip from Morelia, we're ready to explore the area; we set off to get our bearings and find the Plaza Vasco de Quiroga, named for the Bishop who stopped the murder of local natives, and the Plaza Gertrudis Bocanegra, named for a heroine of the War of Independence They're known as 'plaza grande' and 'plaza chica,' by the locals. It's also time for some lunch, so we stop at one of the many street stands at the plaza chica where the ladies are grilling a mix of meat and veggies and piling it high onto a plate. In our enthusiasm we forget to order just one to share, but it's too delicious to leave anything on the plate. Afterward, we waddle onward through the narrow, cobble-stone streets to see if there's any kind of entertainment planned for the evening.
We're in luck because there's a college graduate student recital by a trio called "Scherzo" (which means "jest," by the way) at the ancient Templo del Sagrario. And they were versatile musicians, very good at what they did. They were dressed in black suits and ties, and one played a very good violin while the other two played classical guitar, accordion, harp, and piano. The program ranged through various classical pieces to locally traditional music, including the Danza de los Viejitos that we saw in Morelia. It was a pleasant walk from there, up winding cobblestone streets, back to the Posada for a good night's rest.
Except for a sudden loud rattling noise behind the wall by the shower. It sounded like some kind of machine badly out of alignment and banging against the wall. What is it with us and the noise thing, anyway? Is that just our lot in life? After listening to this insanity for awhile I pulled on my clothes and went down to discuss it with the man at the front counter, who seemed unconcerned. He explained that it was the water heater and – to him – it was the fault of the people in one of the other rooms who decided to take an evening shower. After a short conversation, I could see there was no point in discussing it with him. We were on two completely different cultural bandwidths regarding plumbing maintenance and repair.
I returned to the room reassured that the noise would cease soon after the shower ended, which it did. And we enjoyed a quiet night's sleep after that. Still, it was the worst case of water hammer I'd ever heard, and a few bucks spent on some pipe insulation would have been a good idea to at least quiet the thing down, since replacement seemed to be culturally, and maybe financially, out of the question. For my part, it was just that unnecessary Anglo-Saxon maintenance stuff coming up again, and I can't help it. The Posada was a very nice, charming, cheap, clean and – except for the water heater – quiet place to stay. Oh well.
The next morning we walked past the large crowded Mercado, its walkways draped with so much stuff that it looked almost impenetrable – like something out of "the Casbah." We were immediately drawn into the experience and found ourselves engulfed in the colors, sights and smells of Pátzcuaro. Maybe halfway back into the fray I looked around and saw no easy way out. I could imagine someone with claustrophobia feeling the need to scream. But we pressed on, getting odd looks from people unused to seeing gringos this deep into the Mercado. At one point, a small boy looked at my strange shoes and his glance followed my leg up to see the tall gringo towering over him. He pointed at me and yelled, "¡Mira á ese hombre!" ("Look at that guy!") to his mother who seemed mortified. Mexico is generally a country where children are taught early not to stare or point fingers. I quickly laughed because the whole thing seemed funny, and everybody nearby did likewise. It also seemed like a good time to stop for a container of freshly-cut mango with lime, salt, and a sprinkle of chile.
After the Mercado, we took a combi (5 pesos each) down to see the lake, but decided against going out to the Morelos shrine (described by many people as "ugly") on Isla Janitzio. After a glance at the murky water, we also declined to enjoy the charales and whitefish they take from the lake. Lake Pátzcuaro, like the other lakes in this part of Mexico, lies at the bottom of a great depression left by ancient geological forces. These lakes were probably beautiful and clean at some time in the past, but now they're surrounded by villages and fields, all of which drain downhill, into the lakes. While the lake is still beautiful from a distance, and while the federal government has recently made sizable grants to the states to fund cleanup efforts, we decided to pass on the opportunity to get close and personal with the water at this time.
There are many things that make Pátzcuaro so pretty and, yes, charming. There must be some city ordinance that requires the lower 1 1/2 meters of all exterior building walls in the historic area to be painted that distinctive deep red, and all the signage to be of a certain typestyle in red and black. Almost all the buildings have over-hanging tile roofs, and the narrow, winding, cobblestoned streets are not only pretty, but a very effective method of traffic speed control. We wished we'd allowed more time to simply hang out in Pátzcuaro, and Carolyn felt a powerful urge to just stay and sketch everything in sight. She also figured she'd have 'Pátzcuaro calves' (to go with her 'Xalapa thighs') in a week or two of climbing those charming streets. It's very likely we'll be back for a longer stay someday. But our time was up and we were off to visit the next, and last, big city on our trip – Guadalajara.
GUADALAJARA, TLAQUEPAQUE, AND TONALA
We decided to stay in Tlaquepaque in a quiet (aaaahhhh, finally!) and simple place called La Posada de la Media Luna, just half a block from the interconnecting plazas by the old main church. It seemed to be a good mid-point location to visit both downtown Guadalajara and the crafts center of Tonalá.
I had been to Tlaquepaque about 30 years before and remembered it as having numerous small talleres producing that distinctive dinnerware and other crafts associated with the area. But today those workshops are gone, replaced by high-end tiendas marketing to the tourist crowds – both gringos and Mexicans. There are also many fine restaurants; and after a good walk around, we settled on a place our guidebook called the Casa Vieja – which was nowhere to be found. We figured out it was actually the Plaza Vieja (on the old plaza, of course) and it was worth looking for. We started discussing what to drink, and then realized, "Hey, we're in the heart of tequila country! Bring us two good margaritas, fast!" The dinner was also excellent – we shared a steaming molcajete (three-legged, concave grinding stone) of meat and cheese and a salad – as the sun settled in the west and bathed the colorful courtyard in hues of apricot, orange and cherry.
Then there's Plaza El Parian, an enclosed space with numerous bars around the interior and a bandstand in the middle. It's a good place to have a drink and enjoy the mariachi show. We sat down at a table in front, in the Bar Beto's area and a waiter scampered over to take our order. For lack of a better idea, we were thinking margaritas again. But they had no margaritas (!); he could bring us "casuelas de fruta con tequila." Carolyn thought maybe she'd just have a beer; but guess what? No beer either! So we said sure, whatever -- we'll have two casuelas de fruta con tequila. He brought two ample snifters of tequila and two big bowls of fruit floating in fruit juice. You'd take a slug of tequila, then go for the juice. It was delicious, and so was the music. When we got the bill, it was a little over 300 pesos. We hadn't gotten to the ATM yet so I emptied my pockets to come up with the tab, and a bit more for a tip. But the cost was worth it considering the drinks were large, and included a great how, with folkloric dancers and a fine mariachi band with two good singers.
On Thursday, we took a bus (7 pesos each) over to Tonalá, where the pottery is made, and because Thursday's the day they have the big tianguis (outdoor sale). The crowds are thick and the street stalls seem to go on endlessly. There's so much stuff everywhere, it can be a bit overwhelming. Fine pottery and dinnerware is big here, so there's lots of it to chose from. There's also silver jewelry (marked with the official .925 designation inside), carved stonework, equipali furniture, colorful clothing – there was even a pile of wooden Jesuses on crosses. We bought a couple of good hot dogs, with everything, from one vendor, and later we sat on a busy sidewalk to share a container of chili-sprinkled fruit while we enjoyed the usual wonderful street chaos. Carolyn even succumbed to the moment and bought a set of beautiful Tonalá dishes to be shipped to our house in Kino. We hope. We'll let you know how that works out.
The next day we catch a bus (7 pesos each) to downtown Guadalajara, the second-largest city in the country. We disembark at Avenida 16 de Septiembre and walk the last few blocks to the Plaza, with its crowds of vendors, Mexican tourists, the occasional gringo, and large tables filled with delicious Easter empanadas. Again, there are lots of important and beautiful old buildings from the cathedral (1558), to the Palacio de Gobierno (1774), to the Teatro Degollado (1856), with its gorgeous 5-tiered classical interior decorated in red velvet and gold. I remembered the Teatro Degollado from many years ago and we had hoped to see a performance there just to revel in the wedding cake-like luxury of days gone by. But since it was Semana Santa, there were none of the usual performances available. We'll plan to return someday for the famous Ballet Folclórico.
At one end of the wide pedestrian Plaza Tapatía stands the Instituto Cultural de Cabañas, a fine neoclassical building that encloses 23 separate courtyards and once served as a home for invalids and orphans. It's now a fine arts museum and the chapel is decorated with 58 murals by José Clemente Orozco that are considered to be his finest. There are other art works by Orozco, a Guadalajara native, in various parts of the city. One of the three most important muralists of the Mexican Revolution, Orozco, like David Siquieros, had an even darker vision than Diego Rivera (!?!). It's an interesting experience to see these works high overhead and truly feel their large scale and power.
Later, we sought out the Plaza de los Mariachis, but it was torn up for renovation (as were many other streets in the downtown area) for a major upgrade in advance of the Pan American Games to be held there next year. The city's putting on it's best face and should be well worth visiting for the Games. They're also putting lots of effort into pedestrianizing the downtown core and making it a better place to visit. We sat down at a bar overlooking the Plaza construction fencing and ordered a couple of beers. Shortly, a mariachi came to the table to ask if we'd like a serenade and we said we could only pay for one song (at 100 pesos each). He whistled up the rest of the band and we ended up with three trumpets, three violins, two guitars, a requinta (a small guitar) and a guitarrón (the large bass guitar) surrounding the table. They played "La Negra," one of the signature songs of mariachis. We were literally enclosed by music – surround sound, mariachi style. The band was composed of all these older gentlemen and they were so good, we gladly paid for a second song – and this time it was "Guadalajara," of course. Then we settled back to watch the day pass us by, and chat with Abrán, the owner, who thought I was a movie star (!!!) who happened to wander in to his bar. I think he must have a rich fantasy life. Across the way, there was another bar – a classic scene, with swinging doors and several, uh, ladies making small talk with any, uh, gentleman who happened by. It was right out of an old western movie, and the battery on my damn camera had gone dead. Well, maybe next time.
Guadalajara is justifiably popular among US and Canadian retirees due to its excellent climate, cultural resources, and proximity to many other attractions in the surrounding countryside. We only had time for a few of those attractions and will need to return another day. On our last day in Tlaquepaque, the school kids were having a parade to celebrate, I don't know what, being out of school for a couple of days, I guess. Whatever it was, they sure had their hearts in it! But for us, it was time to head for our last stop: Ajijic on Lake Chapala.
AJIJIC
We decided it would be nice to just kick back and relax for our last three days on the road, so we booked a place called Mis Amores that sounded right for the occasion. And it turned out to be an excellent choice. At 1000 pesos/night (about $74), it was far nicer, and cheaper, than the Comfort Inns and Holiday Inn Expresses I stayed in recently on a trip to Arizona. The room was bigger, with a very comfortable bed, a large array of flowers growing just outside the window, and trees filled with singing birds. Plus, they gave us a very tasty hot breakfast (mushroom and spinach omelet for Carolyn, and french toast covered with cinnamon sugar for me) freshly prepared by very cheerful people. It was a far cry from the corn flakes and dry bagels you get in the States as your 'Free Breakfast.'
One of our guidebooks said that after looking around for a few hours there wasn't really much else to do here. That sounded to us like a great place to spend several days. We walked down to the lake (the level is up a bit, and the basketball courts are awash) and wandered the bumpy cobblestone streets, finding plenty to keep us amused. We had an excellent dinner at the Ajijic Tango, and then wandered over to the church to watch an outdoor Pascuas celebration. Then, back at the plaza, a pair of fire twirlers was entertaining the crowd to pick up a few pesos. After that, the municipal band played for a while.
The next day, we caught a local bus to go see Chapala, about 7 kilometers away, and walked the backstreets looking for anything interesting – like the big municipal park with a very large pool and lots of dressing rooms (admission: 25 pesos). Then we went in search of the famous Quinta Quetzalcoatl, where D. H. Lawrence wrote The Plumed Serpent during his stay in the 1920s. The place is behind tall walls and it sure looks interesting in there, although we didn't feel any of the 'DH vibes' emanating. Maybe it takes longer than a few idle minutes for the fever to catch. We found a local bookstore and bought a copy, and Lawrence's descriptions of life in post-Revolution Mexico are definitely interesting. Also, the Quinta Quetzalcoatl website is worth seeing.
For the very last dinner of our remarkable 6-week trip we choose a place called Restaurant Jardin Plaza in Ajijic, with tables in the open air right on the plaza. As we sit down I see two large and delicious-looking molcahetes brimming with chicken, beef, veggies and, of course, cheese steaming on the table next to ours. The four people sharing them look very happy. It seems like the best way to spend our last evening. That, and a bottle of XA Cabernet Sauvinon. It's Monday night and there's not much happening on the plaza, although there are still plenty of people sitting on benches or walking by, enjoying the night. There's no way we can eat all the goodies in the molcahete, so Jose, our mesero, offers to wrap it for us. We explain that we're flying back to Sonora in the morning and can't take it with us, so he graciously offers to scarf it all down just as soon as we leave. Being thus reassured, we relax and drain the rest of the bottle.
We walk slowly back through the evening and decide to stop for an ice cream to share. The night is quiet and the air temperature is about as close to perfect as anyone could imagine. Out of the corner of my eye I notice a small animal scurry down the street in front of us and behind a piece of debris. As we draw nearer, I see it's a rat as he/she scuttles maybe five more feet and into a drain pipe running under the sidewalk. I'm not surprised to see a rat in this town of many warrens and opportunities, and few cats, and I realize the last time I actually saw one was in downtown Houston on a late afternoon while walking amongst all those pretentiously wealthy skyscrapers, when one darted across a broad street and ducked down a hole in a grassy lawn. The durability and adaptability of life is reassuring, and there's even a bit of wry comfort in knowing that rats and other 'lesser' forms will be around long after the rest of us are gone.
There appear to be many friendly, artistic, and interesting folks in Chapala and Ajijic, especially the one with the "Wag More, Bark Less" bumper-sticker. But we were just passing through and had little time to make lasting friendships. In fact, it was soon time to catch our plane back to Hermosillo.
RANDOM THOUGHTS
So what was our favorite place? That's a question we've been asked several times and we don't really have an answer because there were so many interesting places along the way. OK, are there places we'd like to go back to? Sure! There's Merida, Palenque, Veracruz, Xalapa, Pátzcuaro and Ajijic. And of course, there's Mexico City – a world-class destination. But you know, There's also Montevideo, and Capetown, and Istanbul, and.... As my Dad used to say, "Better save your allowance."
How difficult was the trip? Not very. We each had a rolling bag (from REI) and a small backpack. In Mérida we chose to roll our bags about six blocks to the bus station, and that was our longest trip on foot with baggage. There were always inexpensive taxis available anyplace we stayed that was far from a bus station. Frankly, we did a lot of strolling through cities, getting very little upper-body exercise – and that could be a problem over a longer trip. We'll have to plan better for that in the future.
As for particularly memorable moments, I may always remember watching a young man with Down Syndrome in Mérida, and another in Villahermosa, thoroughly enjoy themselves dancing to street bands and putting on a show. We did a little research and found that a love of dancing is a characteristic of the Syndrome. These young men certainly had fun, and the crowd did too. Ladies in the audience were very willing to dance when asked, and everyone seemed to take it in stride as just part of life. It was very nice to see how joyfully they embraced life.
Another experience was just walking through cathedral-like forests in the semi-wild areas of Palenque, with the quiet broken only by occasional birdcalls, or water spilling down a waterfall. It was the stuff of dreams – or movies.
And there's the jungle-like Parque-Museo La Venta in Villahermosa with huge carved stone Olmec heads displayed in hidden sun-lit clearings along a 1 km. sculpture trail, with coatimundis in the trees, and then walking the shore of the large Laguna de las Ilusiones right next door.
Dancing on the plaza at Veracruz would also qualify as memorable. And seeing the massive walls of the old fort in Campeche. And the fireworks lighting up the ancient cathedral in Morelia.
I'm sure I could think of many more but this is getting long, dear reader, and you've been very patient. So let's just stop it here. Thanks for going along for the ride, PRW
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NOTE: Be sure to visit all the "Odyssey" photo albums with more images from our trip.