Friday, February 04, 2011

twelve o' clock high on the road to vallarta


The semi-shiftless Escape and I headed off to Puerto Vallarta early Wednesday morning.


To complete the trip that was cut short last March when I broke my right ankle.


A bookend trip if ever there was one.


But every trip to Puerto Vallarta is a bookend trip.  I start in the hills of La Manzanilla and end up in the hills of Mismaloya -- the Escape's transmission clattering in protest.  Along the way, cattle ranches and the occasional truck crops are tucked into the narrow coastal plain.


Whoever puts on these rural productions never fails to amuse me.  The highway is the sole north-south route on the Pacific coast.  An urban ribbon stretched through Mexican Green Acres.  And, though I have not yet seen Arnold the Pig, the highway always has an interesting mix of slickers and rubes.


You have probably read enough about driving in Mexico to know it is not like a spin through your neighborhood.  Unless, of course, your neighborhood is in Mexico.


I learned early on that defensive driving is not only a bad idea -- it simply increases the odds of having your name added to one of the shrines that add spots of color to our local highways.


Driving here requires the reflexes, mental discipline, and aggression of a fighter pilot.  Potential bogeys lie around every corner.  Literally.


Take a look at the photograph at the top of this blog.  Harmless?  Take another look.


The pickup bed is filled with balls of plastic wrap the size of bean bag chairs.


I should say it is filled with two fewer balls than when the pickup pulled out right in front of me while I was going 70 and it was going -- next to zero.


Earlier in the week I had a discussion with a friend.  He told me he thought the curriculum in most American high schools was too academic -- most of the subjects simply had no practical life application.


Apparently the pickup driver thought the same thing.  Ignoring whatever the laws of physics and aerodynamics might have to say about the topic, he stacked the light plastic balls beyond the top of his cab.


The first one launched my way nearly hit my right front bumper and then crazily careened to the left.  The driver did not notice.  At least that is what I assume -- because he sped up.


Sending the second volley my way -- partially unwinding in the process.  It came to rest in the middle of the southbound lane.  A nice little surprise for the next driver coming around a blind corner.


So, what's the big deal you ask?


I have had to unwind enough unintended lines from sail boat propellers to know what can happen when strings of anything come in contact with a spinning object.  Like an axle or a drive shaft.


But I made it safely to Puerto Vallarta -- with another tale under my belt.


For a bit of shopping and a pleasant visit at the Botanical Gardens (more on that later). 


Plus lunch with fellow bloggers.  And I bet you can guess who.

Thursday, February 03, 2011

shangri-la goes missing


"So.  What's up with Steve?


"He tells us he is going to tour two towns and all we hear about is Guanajuato, Guanajuato, Guanajuato.


"What happened to San Miguel de Allende?"


OK.  No one has asked.  But I keep thinking someone is going to ask if I ever made it to The Promised Land.  And, if I did, what I thought of it.


Yup.  I made it to San Miguel de Allende.


And I have no opinion about the place.


That requires a better explanation.  My entire exposure to San Miguel de Allende was a single afternoon and a night in a hotel room.


It would be like writing a review after visiting a restaurant to merely use the rest room.  And we have had enough of that on this trip.


My little walking tour did nothing more than introduce me to the exterior of several churches, the local market, and a couple of homes with historical significance. 


And, of course, a brief visit to the infamous jardin that serves as the main set for Richard Lander's late (and lamented) Gangs of San Miguel de Allende.  It must have been central casting day when I was there.  (But I will leave that shtick to Richard.)


I can draw no conclusions from that.  I felt no magic.  Nor did I feel the desire to run away.  I simply felt nothing.


On the other hand, I did not have the opportunity to see the San Miguel de Allende of Babs and Billie.


I still need to do that.  Because I obviously missed getting even a taste of why San Miguel de Allende is supposed to be The Place For Steve.


As Calypso would say: STAY TUNED.


There simply has to be some there there.

Wednesday, February 02, 2011

little gto

"Little GTO/You're really looking fine."


At least that is what Jan and Dean told us in the 60s.


And I am here to tell you that my little GTO (Guanajuato) is looking just as fine.


Before someone else does it for me, let me make what I suspect is an obvious point.  It is impossible to evaluate a place in two days.  However, my experience is that first impressions are surprisingly accurate.


With that in mind, there is no reason why I would not be happy escaping the Melaque heat with an extended visit to Guanajuato this summer.  After all, I have already completed the historical background piece.


And how do I know Guanajuato will supply the one thing I will need somewhere around early August -- cooler weather?  After all, I have only seen the weather in January. 


Easy.  From friendly advice and extrapolation.


If it is now jacket weather in Guanajuato when it is shirt-sleeve weather in Melaque, I can assume the temperature difference will remain relative.


My friends, who once lived in Melaque and now live in Guanajuato, have added their endorsement to my summer move -- August weather is marvelous in the mountains.


But I am not just trying to find a spot with cooler summer weather.  I want a place to give my brain and soul some satisfaction.


Culture is everywhere in Guanajuato.  Most of it driven by the town's history.


There are enough churches, buildings, and museums to keep me occupied for years -- let alone a few weeks.  Not to mention the series of festivals that I will probably miss this year.


But, more than that, I like Guanajuato's soul.  Large enough to be be vibrant.  Small enough to retain the feel of a town.


And, as a wealthy town, there are new details of life to be discovered on every walk.  Whimsical knockers.  A new alley.  An unexpected glimpse of dome.


The only concern I encountered is something other people have noted about Guanajuato -- the locals are a bit distant.  Acquaintances do not come easily.


But that is not a big factor to pick a summer escape.  After all, I am looking for a place to cool off, not to build a life partner relationship.


And my little GTO will be just fine for that.


Unless something better comes along.  Like Mustang Sally?

Tuesday, February 01, 2011

the tax man cometh


Death and taxes.


The old cliché tells us both are inevitable.  And, sometimes, they stroll the highway hand in hand.


I have an acquaintance who grew up in Guanajuato.  One of the rites of passage for school boys was a visit to the Museo de las Momias (the Mummy Museum).


When he visited in the 1960s, the mummies were displayed in what he calls a "crypt" -- actually a long tunnel.  But flashlights were required.  The mummies were propped up and wired against the wall within reach.


And some visitors did just that.  One of his classmates broke off a piece as a souvenir.


All of that has changed.  The up close and personal approach has now been replaced with museum-quality lucite cases with subdued lighting.  And informative labels in Spanish and English.


The display starts with a phalanx of mummies arranged like a terra cotta army.  Most looking as if they could be Edvard Munch models.


The first solo display is a French doctor -- Remigio Leroy.  He was also the first mummy to be discovered.


But why was he the first?  That brings us back to taxes and death.  And why so many mummies have been discovered in Guanajuato.

 

Unlike the Egyptians, the people of Guanajuato did not set out to mummify their dead.


In the 1850s, as part of President
Juárez's reforms, all church property was seized by the central government -- including cemeteries.


Being true to its nature, the government decided that even the dead needed to pay taxes.  The family of the deceased was required to pay a burial tax every five years.  If the tax was not paid, the body was exhumed and burned.


The first official grave robbers began their work in 1870.  Because Doctor Leroy had no family to pay his tax, he was among the first to be evicted.  No one expected to find the mummies.  But about 2% of the bodies disinterred were mummified.


No one knew why.  They still don't.  But there were some factors in common.  They were all:

  • Residents of Guanajuato for a minimum of six months
  • Buried above ground in crypts, rather than in the earth
  • Buried in wooden coffins

There are plenty of theories.  But nothing has yet been proven scientifically.


Whatever the reason, the result is startling.  The bodies are recognizable as people.  But recognizable in the same sense as if a German Expressionist had crafted statues out of leather.


The most poignant are the babies.  Not only because of the tragedy we ascribe to the death of any infant, but because of the Mexican custom of dressing babies as angels to convince God that our human nature requires a little disguise.


The museum also has a small collection of photographs showing mothers holding their costumed babies just prior to burial.  As if the child is merely asleep.


The most ghoulish mummy, though, is a woman who had been buried during an epidemic.  To avoid contagion, many bodies were buried almost immediately.  Unfortunately, she was not dead.


When I told my pastor's wife I was going to the Mummy Museum, she said she was interested in hearing my impression of the display -- whether it is appropriate.


I am not certain I have an answer to that question.  Theologically, I know the body is not who the person was.  It is an empty package.


But I also have a visceral bias (undoubtedly based on my culture) that corpses should be treated with respect.  I am not certain I would accept the "empty potato chip bag" metaphor if it was my father being displayed.


(On the other hand, I am the son who takes his father's cremation ashes to church each Father's Day.  I suspect there is little difference.)


And Mexico certainly approaches death with a different attitude.  Its Day and Night of the Dead are but two examples.  The fact that the Mexican government has no qualms about putting the bodies of the martyred insurgents on display in Mexico City is another.


When Ray Bradbury saw the mummies displayed in their pre-museum setting, they had a profound effect on him.  "I had nightmares about dying and having to remain in the halls of the dead with those propped and wired bodies."  And he wrote a story as a result of the experience.


For me, it was an interesting, but not profound, experience.  One I will remember.  One I will probably not repeat.


And I, too, got a story out of it.

Monday, January 31, 2011

visiting frog mountain


I have been fascinated with Guanajuato since reading Doug and Cindi Bower's Guanajuato, Mexico: Your Expat, Study Abroad, and Vacation Survival Manual in the Land of Frogs.


When I saw that a Melaque tour company, Experience Mex-ECO, was offering a two-day tour to Guanajuato, I grabbed a seat on the bus.  Admittedly,I had sopped some of the Bowers' impressions about Guanajuato.  But I promised myself to look at the town with a critical eye.


Let's start with the obvious.  Guanajuato is unlike any other town in Mexico that I have visited or read about.  Our tour guide, a native, described it as "eclectic" and "cosmopolitan."  It isn't.



It is as provincial as any conservative town whose present was built on its historical and actual wealth.


Think Venice.  Better yet, think of one of those mountainous hillside towns in Italy -- perhaps, Sienna.


Geography was both kind and cruel to Guanajuato.  The mountains held gold and silver.  But the mountains forced the Spaniards to build their boom town in a very narrow valley.  A valley that flooded regularly and destroyed buildings and lives.


But the Spaniards were miners.  They knew how to handle excess water.  They dug tunnels under the city to drain off the flood waters.  Big tunnels. 


And when dams were built to control the flooding and automobiles arrived, the drainage tunnels were turned into Guanajuato's main streets.  Leaving the narrow lanes above mainly to pedestrians.


The arrangement gives the town the feel of an Italian Renaissance community.  Narrow lanes.  Lots of people rushing about on foot.  And a resultant atmosphere of purposeful tranquility.


The place has the feel of what it is -- the capital of a once-prosperous state.

 
That prosperity is evident in its public buildings.  One of the best examples is the Juárez Theater. 


President Porfirio Diaz
ordered a theater to be built to honor Mexico's Abraham Lincoln -- Benito Juárez.  The irony of that project is thick enough to cut with a knife.  The dictator honoring the defender of Mexican nationalism -- with a theater that looks as if it had been built in Paris. 


But all of that is political theater.  Guanajuato's churches define its character.


The churches are beautifully designed and extravagantly executed.  In the Basilica de Nuestra Señora de Guanajuato, a seventh century statute of Mary stands atop a pillar of solid silver. 


In almost every church, gold leaf covers vast expanses of ceilings and chapel carvings.  The most extravagent being the gold chapels of Tempelo de San Cayetano.  


All of this honoring a man who repeatedly taught of the soul-rotting power of loving material goods.


It is impossible to ignore churches for their architectural and design aesthetics.  And Guanajuato's are beautiful.  But their intended purpose seems to disappear amongst the tinsel.


Having said that, I could spend days examining the beauty of each building.  And Guanajuato offers a new church neighborhood by neighborhood.  Each one more beautiful than the former.


And then there are the historical buildings.




The Alhóndiga de Granaditas -- where the independence war broke out and the heads of the insurgents were displayed for a decade. 


The houses where Juárez and Maximilian stayed -- separately, of course.  (Hope and Crosby, they weren't). 


The house where Diego Rivera was born -- and is now an art gallery.


Then there is culture.  Anyone seeking a slight touch of Stendhal Syndrome will find it here.


The big event is Festival Internacional Cervantino (International Cervantes Culture Festival) in honor of the creator of Don Quixote.


Cervantes has no obvious connection with Guanajuato.  But Shakespeare had no contact with Ashland, Oregon (one of Guanajuato's sister cities).  So, why not claim Cervantes as your cultural icon -- and then rake in the pesos.


And there are pesos to rake in.  For three weeks every October, the town invites international artists (singers, musicians, dancers, actors) to the festival.  The streets are crammed with visitors willing to part with money to have their cultural itch scratched.


The presence of one of Mexico's premier universities adds another layer of vibrancy to the town.  the cultural offerings that accompany any university is an obvious asset.


But the presence of so many young people in the central area of town makes the place simply seem to be a fun visit.  Along with the attendant discos, jazz clubs, and street cafés.


So, there is the data.  I will add some additional impressions soon.


But first -- the mummies.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

putting it together


"When you get to San Miguel, perfect for you, you will simply have your things shipped over. You will abandon the beach. That is my prediction. Don't get sidetracked in the city of Guanajuato. Good place to visit, but you don't wanna live there."


I heard Felipe's Delphic voice repeating that admonition as I walked the streets of Guanajuato and San Miguel de Allende.


It was an easy warning to heed.  Because I was not going to be seduced by either town.  At least, not on this trip.  Not with a mere two nights in Guanajuato and one night in San Miguel de Allende.


The purpose of the trip was to find a place to seek refuge from Melaque's hellish summers.  I am a bit tired of auditioning for a role in a Hieronymus Bosch triglyph.


But I also wanted to see a bit of the Mexico I know from my histiory stiudies.  Both towns are awash in their pasts.  Guanajuato was (and is) attractive to me for its history alone.


Certainly, other towns have a claim on being an historical barometer -- such as the obvious choice: Mexico City.  But Guanajuato is a bellwether of Mexico's largest post-conquest events.


And to understand the rest of this trip, we need to understand a bit of Guanajuato's (and Mexico's) history.


There are no monumental Indian sites near Guanajuato.  But the Indians were here.  Not to build cities.  They were here searching for the same prize that would attract the Spanish.


Cortés had barely cleaned his sword of Aztec blood before the Spanish discovered gold -- and then silver -- in the 1540s.  The Spanish preferred their precious metals in finished form.  But they were not adverse to digging it out of the ground.  As long as Indian slaves did the work.


Just as the rushes in California and the Klondike would prove, the odor of "get rich quick" attracted all forms of adventures -- some from Spain, some Spanish born in Mexico, some mixed race Mestizos.  And, of course, Indians forced to do the real work.


The work produced results.  Riches almost beyond belief.  Over the years, 300 successful mines were dug.  In the 1700s, one mine, La Valenciana, produced one-third of the world's supply of silver.  The owner of that mine went from no-account to Count of Valenciana, and one of the richest men in Mexico.


As a result, the Spanish crown became wealthier and wealthier because of its colonial jewel -- New Spain.


As so often happens, wealth led to hubris and hubris to paranoia.  King Carlos III, a liberal monarch who improved Mexico's trade policies, began to fear the Jesuits in Mexico and his other possessions. 


They were a powerful independent political force that advocated humane treatment for the Indians and a more Christian administration of law for all.  So, he booted them out in 1767.


The Indians had no power -- other than memory.  And they remembered.


There are always multiple reasons why colonists rise against their mother country.  And most of the classical reasons existed in Mexico in the early 19th century.  


A restrictive class system that prevented the advancement of anyone other than Spanish-born grandees.  High taxation that had already caused an earlier insurrection.  Admiration for the American and French revolutions.  Encouragement from the American government.


The powder keg was already there.  And, Napoleon Bonaparte, of all people, lit it.  After conquering Spain, Napoleon forced the Spanish king and his son to abdicate -- and put his own brother, Joseph Bonaparte, on the Spanish throne.


 That was good enough for a group of Spanish conspirators to put their independence plans into motion.  Anti-monarchists and Borbón advocates joined together and declared Mexican independence in 1810.  Starting a war that would last for another 11 years.


The fighting began in Guanajuato.  When the Miguel Hidalgo, the warrior-priest, and his general, Ignacio Allende, began their march on Guanajuato, they thought they would be leading a well-disciplined armed force.


Instead, the army quickly attracted hordes of Indians who had more reason than anyone to resent the Spanish.  What started as a European-style armed resistance turned into a popular uprising.  (One of many where the Indians provided the muscle and received very little in return.)


What must have seemed like an armed mob descended on Guanajuato.  The Spanish army and the first families (with their loot) scurried into the newly-constructed Alhóndiga de Granaditas -- a fortress designed to store grain.


 It almost worked.  The Spanish held off the lightly-armed insurgents until one of those characters, who always shows up in patriotic narratives, offered his services -- and burned down the door of the granary.  The resulting massacre of the Spanish troops and civilians inside the building inflamed the Spanish.


Within the year, the Spanish had defeated the insurgents and executed the four primary leaders, including Hidalgo and Allende.  After shooting them, the Spanish decapitated all four and hung their heads on each corner of the Alhóndiga de Granaditas -- where they remained until Mexico won its independence a decade later.


But peace did not come to Guanajuato -- or Mexico.  Guanajuato's mines would not return to full operation for decades.


Most of the mines were managed by Spaniards.  And they were expelled at the end of the war.  In addition, a series of internal wars and invasions would keep Guanajuato from doing what it did best -- mine silver.


The Yucatan revolt.  The rebellion of Texas and two other northern provinces.  The Mexican-American War.  Power struggles between Liberals and Conservatives.  All of them kept miners out of mines and in uniforms.


One of Mexico's cherished myths centers around the election of the Liberal Indian Benito Juárez in 1858.  He had a vision of a different Mexico.  But the French had other ideas, and installed a young Habsburg princeling, Maximilian, as Mexico's second emperor in 1864.


But Juárez did not give up.  He set up a temporary capital in Guanajuato until the Conservatives and the French army drove him out.


Maximilian left his mark on Guanajuato with a victory spin through the country -- including a night in Guanajuato.  And he passed through on the way to his defeat and execution (on Juárez's orders) at the battle of the Cerro de las Campanas in 1867.


 But the mines would still not get back to full operation.  The Liberals and Conservatives disputed control of the central government until the proverbial man on the white horse arrived in 1876 -- José de la Cruz Porfirio Díaz Mori.  First, as president.  Then as dictator.


He brought order in the same way that it has too often come to Mexico -- through political repression.  But he gave Mexico one gift for which he should be remembered.  He brought the industrial revolution to Mexico.


For Guanajuato that meant new and better mines.  But, with the new apparatus came outsiders.  Americans, Canadians, and Europeans slowly took over the operation of the mines.


The revolution of 1910 put an end to all that.  When enough Mexicans had killed one another and the fighting died down, the mines were nationalized, the foreigners expelled, and Mexico, once again, had an authoritarian government.  A past it is now only beginning to doff during the past decade.


Guanajuato wears its history easily on its sleeve -- and its collar and cuffs.  Rather like Williamsburg, but without the Rockefellers.


In the next post, I will give you my impression of what all this means today.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

early dog days


While I take a day to organize my thoughts about my trip to the highlands, let me share another bit of dog sentimentality with you.


After reading dog days of winter, my mother dug this portrait out of the family album.


That is me (doing my Winston Churchill impression at age 2 -- almost indistinguishable for my current version) with Jiggs.  Not the Jiggs you know -- Professor Jiggs.  This is Uncle Jiggs.


My first dog.  My first golden retriever.


He was my fabled companion when I would wander away from home in my preschool years.  We learned together that danger is just another way of learning life's pleasures.


But most of those tales are the property of my mother -- and best told by her.


As for me, I have some adventures to tell about Mexico's highlands.  We will see how those early dog-taught lessons were applied.