Mexico has taught us the lesson over and over this past month. Mexico is not one country; it is a multitude of countries wrapped in one big serape.
The three of us commented several times on our drive yesterday from Atlacomulco to Guadalajara that a traveler could spend a lifetime trying to see everything Mexico has to offer.
The words were still hanging in the air when we encountered a new experience. A political road block.
The people who live in the state of Michoacán are far too familiar with the drill. A group of teaching college teachers and their students board commandeered buses or set off in cars to congregate at some busy intersection where they hold traffic hostage to ideas they cannot otherwise convince people to adopt. And, I suspect, build more political enemies than friends.
This particular "protest" was on the toll road just north of Morelia. The protesters had liberated the toll booth and forced all traffic to stop to honor 15 minutes of "justice."
To reward our participation in their otherwise meaningless act, we were allowed to proceed without paying a toll. In other words, we were asked to show solidarity for the theft of our time and the theft of revenue from the company that runs the toll roads.
This little bit of street theater nonsense was played out at three toll booths along our route. I am not the least bit sympathetic to the vested interests of teachers who are opposing any reform that will require them to -- well, teach -- rather than to agitate.
At the second toll booth, federal police had stopped a driver of an SUV for a traffic violation. In the background, the police ignored the protesters. I would call it ironic. But that would give the absurdity of it all far too much credit.
In contrast, further down the road, I caught this shot of a fisherman on Lake Cuitzeo.
Due to a heavy mist, the lake looked as if it had been painted on a Japanese screen. The lake. The egrets. The reeds. The fisherman. All added to the Oriental motif.
It was certainly a contrast to the protest louts.
But the contrasts did not end there. Our first stop in Guadalajara was Tlaquepaque. Once a town unto itself, it has been absorbed by the Guadalajara Borg. But, like most absorbed towns, it has retained a character of its own.
Part of that is due to its heritage as an artists' village. Admittedly, the image has been diminished a bit by the number of vendor stalls selling popular versions of fine goods.
I am not being critical here. I know plenty of people who have furnished their homes with pottery and glassware from these stalls.
But the artists in town offer much more. And our visit gave me some idea for my new house -- the house with no name.
Take this horse, for example.
The simple (almost Chinese) lines and witty representation would fit in well with Ed Gilliam's paintings in what will soon be my dining pavilion. That is, if I ever buy a dining table, rather than filling the place with art.
And for the living room pavilion, I thought this Sergio Bustamante piece would fit right in.
As some of you know, I am very fond of Octavio Paz's allegorical use of masks to describe the Mexican personality. Matching philosophy and the plastic arts is difficult. But Bustamante has the touch.
Patty came to Tlaquepaque with one primary mission. To hear mariachi music.
We had been told they performed in a large restaurant surrounding a gazebo. They do. But not yesterday. That left us with the unsettling option that the only mariachi we would bag were portrayed in this sculpture.
But life has a way of handing out contradictions. While art browsing, we stumbled upon the sounds of mariachi music coming from a restaurant. So, in we went.
You probably have a favorite place where you eat and find entertainment. There is something in the atmosphere that makes it inviting. Something that cannot be easily analyzed.
The Patio was one of those places. The big surprise was the sex of the mariachis. They were all women -- in an historically man's world. And they were good. Really good.
We did not stop our search, though. We are staying in a hotel in the central area of Guadalajara. The desk clerk told us that the mariachi perform in an alleyway a few blocks away.
Indeed, when we arrived, there were mariachi. Sullingly milling about. Some eating. Some chatting. But none singing.
But, remember, it was a day of contradictions. We settled for snapping photographs of ourselves looking very festive.
And a bit goofy.
Who says I never publish photographs of myself?
At the end of the day, we may not have found everything we were looking for in life. But we certainly learned to live in the moment offered to us. For such a fun day, that was joy enough for us.
Jennifer commented yesterday: "But you're spending less time in each venue than a fully escorted tour group would. If it's Wednesday, this must be Cholula?"
She is correct. But there is a method to our traveling. We wanted to see as much of Mexico as we could on this trip. To do that, we have not indulged in the usual culture vulture routine of stuffing as many sights as possible into each stop.
Instead, we usually pick one or two places that interest the three of us, and we focus our time there. Yesterday it was churches. Or, two churches to be more precise.
The first was in Puebla -- the Church of Santo Domingo. I had searched for it on Monday, but it was closed when I found it. So, the three of us returned yesterday morning.
The church itself is a rather odd combination of styles. It is a former monastery, and the chapels along the nave show that. They are simple. Almost austere.
The chapels at the front of the church and the altar are superb -- with gilded wood carvings. But it was not the church we had come to see. We were interested in a chapel to the left of the main altar.
And not just any chapel. When I rounded the corner, it took my breath away. That is not merely an old metaphor. I literally gasped.
It was the Chapel of the Rosario -- one of Puebla's most popular stops for travelers and believers. My eye was immediately drawn to the rectangular altar at the front of the chapel.
The fact that the place is covered in gold leaf has an immediate impact on the eye. But it is what the gold is covering that makes it such a special place. For instance, this dome. The detail is beautiful.
But the detail is more than merely interesting. The details are the place. And part of that mystery is found in the chapel's name -- rosary.
The small room is filled with more symbolism than a Dan Brown novel. Take these angel heads that encircle both sides of the chapel. Each face is each separated by a tile with a round shape.
On its face, it all looks quite lovely. Customized figures topping a base of talavera tile.
But, like most art, there is a fuller meaning beneath the surface. Each of the linear tiles represents a bead of the rosary.
Similarly, the figures in the dome represent the various natures of the holy spirit. If you look carefully at the figures, you will see that they perpetuate the santa sophia myth dressed up as orthodox Catholic theology. At one point, artists were burned for such heresy.
The place is also filed with whimsy -- such as this figure and her colleagues who hide in the picture frames.
The chapel was originally built in the seventeenth century and underwent a major restoration in the 1960s and 1970s.
I have seen many gilded chapels over the years, but this one may top my list. The guide books were correct. It was not a stop to be missed.
Nor was the second church on our Tuesday tour -- Our Lady of the Remedies Church in Cholula.
When our buddy Hernán Cortés showed up in Cholula during his conquest days, he declared it to be the loveliest city in the world -- outside of Spain. He was probably wrong about the qualifier. Cholula was known throughout Mesoamerica for its size and beauty. At its height, the city may have had 100,000 inhabitants.
In the center of the city was the Great Pyramid. (Now, we all know the Mesoamerican structures called pyramids were nothing of the sort. They were foundations for other buildings, such as temples. But that is what we are going to call it.)
At the time, it was (and is) the largest pyramidal structure in the world. Even though the pyramid was disused and partially overgrown with plants when he arrived, it is easy to see why Cortés was so impressed.
He was less impressed with the leaders of Cholula. Believing they were going to attack and kill him and his men, he called the Indian leaders to a meeting, where his soldiers murdered up to six thousand.
The Indians had worshiped their rain goddess on the heights of the pyramid. The Spanish saw an opportunity to usurp that worship by turning the pyramid into a base for a church to the virgin Mary -- in her guise as Our Lady of the Remedies.
And usurp they did. The first sanctuary was built in 1594. But it has been replaced by several successive churches. The current version was built in the 1800s.
Photography is prohibited inside. But here is a peek. Completed with tracer lights on the altar.
To my untrained eye, it looks less like a sanctuary than a Las Vegas wedding chapel.
We did not visit the small portion of the pyramid that has been uncovered and reconstructed. But it was possible to see the base from the church side -- as well as the large complex that surrounded the structure in its heyday.
The best way to see the size of the pyramid is to view it from the town. It is as omnipresent as the Eiffel tower is in Paris.
With a bit of daylight to burn, we headed off on the next leg of our trip. Guanajuato is now off of the non-existent list.
Instead, we headed to Guadalajara, and made it to the unremarkable town of Atlacomulco -- northwest of Mexico City.
I suspect we will stay in Guadalajara a couple of days before we close our travel loop in Barra de Navidad. That is, I will close the loop. Dan and Patty will be heading north after a couple of days of rest.
But, there I go rushing the process. There is still plenty to see in Jalisco.
We have entered the world where Cinco de Mayo is more than just an excuse to drink beer.
Yesterday we drove over from Xalapa to Puebla through countryside that was constantly changing. That is what happens when you climb thousands of feet in altitude.
Puebla is a land that celebrates its history as one of the few instances where Mexican valor defeated foreign forces (in this case, defeating the French in 1862; in The States it is an excuse to celebrate intoxication).
We did not drive out to the forts to review the site of the glorious Mexican victory. We were content to see that bravery immobilized in street signs.
But we did spend a good deal of time wandering around in the main square of the city -- conveniently named the zocalo in honor of of the square in Mexico City.
Puebla has turned out to be one of my favorite cities in Mexico. I suspect that discloses a certain prejudice. The town square could be almost anywhere in Italy or Spain -- with the exception of the distinctive obelisk decorations on the cathedral. More than once I thought I was sitting in a sidewalk cafe in Europe.
Speaking of Europe, I know that Porfirio Diaz and his gang were very fond of French Positivism and French styles, but can anyone tell me why these Welsh dragons keep showing up on lamp posts and gazebos from the early twenthieth century? It makes no sense to me.
Patty, Dan, and I wandered off into one of Pubela's many pottery markets.
The city is famous for its colorful pottery designs it copied from Talavera in Spain and its blue and white pottery it copied from Chinese imports brought across the Pacific on the Manila galleon.
Both are prevalent here. Ironically, some of what passes for local pottery was manufactured in China. That is only fair since local artisans copied the blue and white pottery designs from Chinese originals. Global trade does have a way of evening out the mountains and valleys.
While wandering through one of the shops selling a better quality of pottery, I conjured up an interesting idea for the new house. Even though Talavera pottery is not very compatible with the contemporary lines of my house, I considered commissioning a set of dishes containing the colors of the paintings in my proposed dining area. That just may work out.
I need to investigate a little bit more. But the dealer ensured me that the artisans could produce traditional dinnerware in contemporary colors for twelve. All for a "good price."
It is worth looking into. After all, a return trip to Puebla would certainly be a nice diversion.
After wandering through Puebla, we spent the evening with Patty's niece from Colombia who is doing missionary work in Mexico. It was a perfect evening of family bonding. Cousin to cousin. Aunt to niece.
Tomorrow? Who knows? Puebla? Cholula? Guanajuato? Your dart board is as good as ours.
"Comparison is a sucker's game."
Some people quote Shakespeare; I quote myself. But the adage is no less true because of that.
We all know people who waste a lot of time comparing their lives with some celebrity or old school chum. In the process, they suffer in the comparison and miss out on what they have accomplished.
The same thing can happen to even the most seasoned traveler. We all know people who have peered at Alaska fjords while mumbling: "It's not much better than the river canyon back home."
I have found myself doing that now and then. It is a perfect method to miss the moment. And those moments are what travel is all about.
Yesterday we headed into the mountains to visit Coatepec, Xico, and the Texolo waterfall.
Coatepec was an easy choice. Dan and Patty love coffee, and Coatepec calls itself the coffee capital of Mexico. Add the fact that it is one of Mexico's current 83 Pueblos Mágicos, and it went on our list.
We arrived early enough on Sunday morning that our walk through the city plaza was rather lonely. People were beginning to move, but not many.
The plaza was what one would expect in a medium-sized Mexican town that catered to tourists. The usual buildings were there. A church. A government palace. A gazebo.
To give the town time to put on its Sunday face, we toured the back streets of Coatepec. That meant stopping in a couple of stores that specialized in coffee. Even though I am not very fond of sweets, coffee, or chocolate, I purchased a bag of coffee-chocolate candies -- and actually enjoyed them.
One special aspect of Coatepec is how it has preserved much of its surrounding woodland. Even at busy street corners, tree-topped hills are readily visible.
I had no idea that Coatepec was well-known for its orchids. And, since the vanilla bean is a dried orchid seed pod, it is also well-known for its vanilla. There were rows of vendors selling both on the streets.
Because it was Sunday, there was a lot of activity around the church. Not only for services, but also for food. We must have looked like starving refugees because several people asked us if we were interested in buying lunch at the cook tent in the church yard.
When we returned to the plaza, it had turned into a maelstrom of leiusure activity. Miguel Hidalgo, upon his concrete perch, must have smiled at how the independent Mexico he died to create had turned out.
We turned out of the city and headed to the Texolo waterfall. The main waterfall is around 80 feet high.
Even though the drop is not that great, the canyon the river has carved creates a spectacular backdrop. One of the most disheartening scenes from Clear and Present Danger was shot here.
Above the large waterfall, after a healthy hike, is a smaller fall. It is beautiful in its own right.
I had to wait several minutes to get that shot.
One thing I have learned to appreciate about Mexico is that if you want to go anywhere, you usually have the opportunity to share the fun with a group of your family or friends. Life here is not a solitary pursuit.
This is what the shot looks like just out of the frame.
I had a lot of fun watching my fellow visitors. Apparently, fashion will not play the maidservant to nature for some people.
But she had an easy climb ahead of her in those stiletto platform heels compared with this bride who was trudging up the mountain with her mother and groom in tow. I assume, to take photographs near the upper fall.
And no matter how high you climb in Mexico, there will be a vendor waiting to sell you trinkets just like the trinkets that are available in the Xalapa park.
I did run across something very unusual on our downward hike. Australian nuts offered for sale by a little old Mexican man. Macadamia nuts. They were about the last thing I would expect to see in the mountains of Mexico.
Having had our fill of waterfalls and lunch, we made our pilgrimage to Xico. I am not certain if we would have driven there if is was not the home of John Calypso -- a blogger I have known for several years now.
As you know from his blog, he is not in residence in Xico right now. Instead, he is enjoying the sultry heat of Puerto Escondido.
I had the pleasure of enjoying the cool, overcast day that Xico offered. Our stop was brief. We walked through the church, took a brief look through the Sunday market, and then set out for home.
On the way back, we impulsively took a right turn to visit Teocelo. We knew nothing of the place.
The road dipped into and out of a canyon -- a canyon that looked as if it might be an extension of the Texolo system. It alone was stunning.
As we entered the village, we ran head-on into a religious procession, complete with a barrage of cohetes. In this case, their purpose was to drive off the Dodge Ram that was threatening the sanctity of their crowd.
Our detour let us see parts of the village I suspect most people do not get to see. Unfortunately, my camera was holstered for our Teocelo jaunt.
All in all, it was a superb day. We experienced three communities none of us had seen -- and we had an opportunity to take a long hike to clear away the truck-bound cobwebs that have developed over the past weeks.
Next? Maybe Puebla. It seems like a natural choice.
Note -- The photograph at the top is of a coffee bush surrounded by banana trees. On our drive, we encountered several plantations with that mix.
Jennifer Rose yesterday suggested that my career as a traveler was over if I did not visit San Juan de Ulúa -- the fort in Veracruz's harbor.
I may have overstated her position -- just a bit. But I would have fully understood it had she worded it that way.
Short of a few attractions of a more exotic nature in Veracruz, San Juan de Ulúa may be the city's primary traveler attraction. It certainly had everything that I would expect to find in a fort.
And we will get there. But, first, let me share two pre-fort experiences.
Even with my libertarian leanings, I am quite fond of the military. I took an early morning walk along Veracruz's malecon yesterday and ran into a Navy celebration that was just getting under way.
I have no idea what was being celebrated. But there were sailors, admirals, and band members everywhere in front of the old lighthouse. Something big was about to start.
While shooting the Navy, I heard a bird song (well, more like a croak) coming from a tree next to the Pemex building. Even though I could not get a very clear shot of it, I would never have thought I would find one of these in downtown Veracruz.
A toucan. My first. At least, the first one I have seen in the wild. His finery was even bolder than the sailors'.
I didn't have enough time to dawdle in front of the Navy spectacle. We had a fort to see.
As I said, San Juan de Ulúa is everything a fort should be. Even before the fort existed, the island worked its way into Spanish colonial history. This is the spot where Hernan Cortés -- yes, him again -- met with the ambassadors of Moctezuma II in 1519 in a vain attempt by the Aztec emperor to forestall the inevitability of history's grinding wheel.
Forty-six years later, the Spanish would start constructing the fort, and would continue renovating it until 1825 when an independent Mexico took control of the place from their defeated colonial masters. That is, they took control after the Spanish took pleasure in bombarding Veracruz from the fort in 1823 in a vain attempt to re-claim its former colony.
There, of course, were other rather poignant events. In the 1800s, the Americans seized the fort once and the French twice. Then the Americans returned in 1914.
That last foreign seizure resulted in the end of one of the fort's more unsavory bits of history. The fort had long been used as a prison. Often for political prisoners.
Even Benito Juárez, before he was president, was imprisoned there. A plaque commemorates his incarceration.
But there were plenty of other political prisoners who did not get their own plaques. Porfirio Diaz locked up a lot of his opponents. When the Americans took over the fort in 1914, the cells were so filthy that it took the sailors several weeks to clean the place. The prison was then permanently closed.
I took a quick look around one of the cells. It worked its way back through the wall of the fort like a maze. It was so damp that stalactites had started to form. At one point, though, this place was crammed with men.
The fort also has its own history with pirates -- one of the reasons the place was built in the first place. Veracruz was a frequent target of English and Dutch pirates who plied their trade in Gulf waters. Including Sir Francis Drake.
I started to say that the fort has a certain Disney look. But that would be unfair. It is Disney that has pilfered the design of Spanish forts to further its own entertainment ends. One can almost imagine Captain Jack Sparrow spending his last days at the end of a noose -- or in one of the prison's hell-holes.
The fort has also served as the home of two presidents on the run -- or, at least, presidents under political pressure to stay out of Mexico City. Both Benito Juárez and Venustiano Carranza attempted to rule the country from the fort.
Jennifer was absolutely correct. Visiting Veracruz without visiting the fort is like not visiting Veracruz at all.
But it was time for us to move on -- to Xalapa. The three of us remarked, on the drive up into the mountains, that Mexico's scenery is about as diverse as any country we know. Even on relatively short drives.
We arrived in Xalapa just in time for one of Mexico's continuing rituals -- a political demonstration. There was a crowd in front of the cathedral listening to speeches, carrying uniform signs, and chanting what appeared to be heavy-handed phrases delivered in an almost festive voice.
After all, this is Mexico. Where even political demonstrations attract food vendors.
We never did discover exactly what the demonstration was about. It is easy to speculate, though. Parts of Mexico are very upset about the corruption that pervades the current political establishment. Of course, decrying and reforming are not the same thing.
With the fall of night, the cathedral returned to its primary role as a place of worship. And we reverted to our role as tired travelers.
Tomorrow, we will head out to Xico and Coatepec -- or to the anthropological museum. Life has a way of helping us make choices.
