who's your mama?

Speaking of  essays that have been sitting incomplete in my inbox -- .

Last summer I saw a newspaper headlining a controversy in Guadalajara. About a statue. Of Our Lady of Guadalupe. The article offered up a double scoop of Mexican history.

Like most big cities, Guadalajara wants to be known for its artistic elan -- especially, its public art. In that spirit, the city paid 5.2 million pesos (about $275,000 (US)) for a statue entitled "Syncretism," and then installed it in the median of a major street.

That seems a bargain for a 30 foot statue. But the price itself is not an issue. Well, not entirely. It is the subject matter.

There is a bromide here in Mexico that the only two persons who cannot be insulted are the president and Our Lady of Guadalupe. If it was ever true of the president, it certainly is not today. Insulting any Mexican president is a national sport. And some of my friends have medaled in the event.

But, insulting Our Lady of Guadalupe is worse than insulting your own mother. She is the patron saint of Mexico. And she wears that honor with pride. For those of you who do not know much about Our Lady, here is a Classics Illustrated version of her story.

In 1531, an Aztec Indian named Juan Diego (not to be confused with Zorro) saw an apparition on the hill where the Spanish had destroyed an Aztec temple dedicated to a goddess known as Our Revered Mother -- Tonantzin or Coatlicue. The woman in the apparition claimed to be the Virgin Mary and requested a church to be built in her honor.

So, Juan Diego did as he was told and went to see the archbishop, who did not believe him. The apparition appeared three more times to Juan Diego.

The fourth time, the apparition told him to gather flowers from the hill. To find blooming flowers in December was rare. But the flowers he gathered were even more rare. They were Castilian roses -- not native to Mexico.

He gathered the flowers in his cloak and rushed to the archbishop. When Juan Diego opened his cloak, the archbishop was amazed to find his favorite flowers -- Castilian roses. But he was even more amazed when the roses fell from the cloak revealing mirabile dictu an image of Our Lady of Guadalupe.

The archbishop built the church which was later dedicated as a basilica. And Guadalupe was well on her way to becoming the very essence of the Mexican spirit.

It is that spirit that got wrapped around the axle of True Catholic Believers in Guadalajara. The controversial statue depicts Our Lady emerging from an image of the Aztec goddess Tonantzin or Coatlicue.

And if there is any doubt that the artist intended to convey the idea that the Coatlicue myth gave rise to the Guadalupe myth, he underscored the point with the sculpture's title. "Syncretism." A theological term meaning "the importation of an object of reverence in one belief system into another." 

The artist's point is not original. For centuries, people have pointed out the similarities between the two women. The Aztecs worshipped a mother goddess at the same site where the apparitions appeared. Catholics worship a revered mother who described herself as "the mother of the very true deity."

A newspaper supporting the protesters breathlessly (and somewhat inaccurately) reported: "The erection of the nine-meter-tall image has provoked massive public protests in the thousands, by Catholics who denounce it for confusing the country’s most important Christian symbol with the very religion of human sacrifice that it helped to defeat 500 years ago."

Historians tell us that the Aztecs continued to worship Coatlicue at the site of her ruined temple. Because of the similarities, it was easy for the church to substitute the similar attributes from Coatlicue to Guadalupe.

It would not be the only example of the Catholic church substituting saints for local gods in the finest tradition of hostile corporate takeovers. The most obvious example is Christmas. If the gospels are accurate, Jesus's birth was unlikely to be in December. The presence of all those shepherds is a start.

The Romans celebrated a huge festival (Saturnalia) to honor the lengthening of the days in December -- on 25 December. A lot of the pagan traditions for the day were adopted, and the whole shebang was re-christened "Christmas."

Some holidays the church just appropriated without any attempt to hide the pilfering. "Easter" still bears the name of the pagan English goddess for which it was named. Very similar to all of those Norse gods who clutter the names of the week in northern Europe and the Roman gods who perform the same service for Latin-language calendars.

But I could rattle on and on, and it will not change the fact that Mexicans will defend the honor of Our Lady of Guadalupe as a matter of faith. And they have done that in Guadalajara.

Tens of thousands protesters have shown up to vent their religious spleens. At the statue. At the fact their tax money was used to insult their dearest beliefs. At the archbishop who was too weak to do anything about the travesty.

I would say they were up in arms. But that phrase has a very particular meaning in this context.

Following the Revolution, Plutarco Elias Calles became president. One of the goals of the Revolution was to finish the job of taming the Catholic church that was begun by Benito Juarez's Reform War.

Calles took that mission to an extreme by enacting anti-clerical laws that not only stole the church's property, but treated the clergy as if they were not citizens of the republic.

The more religious areas of Mexico rose in open revolt during the three years of the Cristero war. Jalisco and Guadalajara were in the forefront of defending the church against the central government -- a government that eventually repealed the more offensives portions of the anti-clerical laws. The city government may be getting off lucky with this current perceived insult.

But all of that is for big city folk. Here, in our little fishing villages by the sea, we are in the middle of celebrating the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe on 12 December. Like most religious festivals, one day cannot contain the zeal.

Since the beginning of the month, celebrants have been firing off cohetes -- those sky rockets that could easily substitute for the cannons in the Overture of 1812 without any of Tchaikovsky's even more annoying music. Starting at 5 or so in the morning.

And then there is the daily evening religious procession. Rather simple. "Indian" dancers. A float. More cohetes. And a bushel of deep-hearted devotion.

The historian in me defends the sculptor in Guadalajara. But my faith fully understands that deep devotion.

chalk up another one

Yesterday was the Big One.  Mexico's Feasts of Feasts.  Honoring its national patron saint -- Our Lady of Guadalupe.

According to the legend, 12 December is the day Juan Diego, the Mexican peasant (or Aztec prince -- depending on which version you prefer to believe), opened his cloak before Bishop Zumárraga, expecting the rose petals he had gathered to fall to the foor.  They did.    

But, as they say on late night television: Wait!  There's more.  In this case, an image of the Virgin Mary appeared on his cloak.  That passion play was almost 500 years ago.  In 1531.

The Virgin became Our Lady of Guadalupe -- and that image has been present at several of Mexico's most important historical events.  Marching off to war in favor of independence from Spain is just one example.

The Mary cult is strong in Mexico.  Even though it is not a national holiday (after all, Mexico is constitutionally a secular republic), if you wanted to transact any governmental business yesterday, you would have been doing it on your own.

Some parts of the country go all out to celebrate the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe.  And there were some religious celebrants yesterday.

But these school kids represent what most people were doing in town.  And it had little to do with Our Lady of the Painted Cape.  When I asked a Mexican friend why the students were drawing in the town square, he mumbled something about art and kids and a gallery.  I long ago learned the answer translated to: "I haven't the foggiest idea."

There they were, though.  Less interested in the Mexican caped hero than they were in American cartoon icons.

Yesterday was also a day to celebrate someone else's birthday.  This time, for Gary -- the owner of Rooster's and Papa Gallo in Melaque.  His staff surprised him with a cake.  They also surprised him with the Mexican tradition of pushing his face into the cake while he blew out the candle.

At least, he had the foresight to take off his glasses.

I then rounded the day out with dinner on the beach at Papa Gallo.  I had a superb lamb dinner there earlier in the week -- the best lamb I have tasted in the area.  But the draw last night was rabbit.

I love it.  And Cedric, the French chef, knew how to prepare it perfectly.  In a traditional red wine sauce with mushrooms.  What I would have called hunter style.

Unfortunately, I cleaned my plate before I thought of getting a shot.  What I did manage to capture, though, is JC, the restaurant manager, in the act of preparing a new offering -- Spanish coffee.  This is him doing his impression of Mrs. O' Leary's cow.

Somewhere Mexicans are celebrating their patron saint.  And, though it is tempting to say: not here, that is not entirely accurate.

I live in a community not overly-burdened by tradition.  But that is not the same as being ignorant of history.  And my neighbors will soon prove that when they celebrate their patron saint -- the British-Roman missionary who became the patron saint of Ireland (and the namesake of our largest village): San Patricio.  How is that for international inclusiveness?

As I drove home last night, the San Patricio square was filled with crowds watching what I thought would be a religious celebration.  Nope.  It was a group of flamenco dancers -- celebrating Mexico's defeated former imperial masters.  Our Festival of the Sea is in full swing.

And the theme through the day?  Life is simply too good here not to celebrate.

our lady of the big bang

A woman has been keeping me up almost every night this past week.


Well, her acolytes have.


Sunday was the feast day of Our Lady of Guadalupe (Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe).  I have concluded Elijah must have been talking to her supporters when he suggested their god must be asleep.  Or deaf.


For the past week my slumber has been periodically -- but regularly -- shattered by sky rockets designed for one purpose.  To impersonate a mortar shell bursting in air.  No rocket's red glare here.  Just percussion grenades.


I am certain there is a purpose for this week of nocturnal banging about.   But I do not know what it is.


Nor do my neighbors.  They simply respond: "It is for Our Lady."  If that is it, I would suggest substituting roses and chocolates.  They seem to work better for me.


That lady, of course, is the patron saint of Mexico -- a Spanish import with a decidedly Mexican twist.


The original Guadalupe lady is a black Madonna who, legend has it, was instrumental in driving the Moors from the Iberian peninsula.  Mexico, not to be outdone, found its own lady in the 1530s -- less than a generation after her cousin booted the Muslims back to North Africa.

 I am certain you know the tale.  An apparition of the Virgin Mary appeared to an Indian peasant (or prince, depending on which version of the myth you subscribe to) -- the now sainted Juan Diego (no relation to Zorro, as far as I can tell).


The apparition told Juan Diego to instruct the local bishop to build a chapel for the adoration of -- the apparition.  The bishop, auditioning for the role of Herod in Jesus Christ Superstar, told Juan Diego to tell the apparition to perform a miracle.  The peasant-prince then returned with a cloak filled with roses -- and mirable dictu -- the image of the Virgin impregnated on his cape.


I have no desire to get sucked into the debate over the authenticity of the myth.  You can color me skeptical -- if for other reason than all of the scientific studies showing clear evidence of at least three paintings superimposed on the super cape. 


But I live in a world where everything is not subject to the scientific method.  Faith is a big part of every life.  What is clear is that my neighbors adore her.

There have been nightly processions this past week -- with dancers in native dress, bands, believers, and a singer who proved that all Mexicans are not musicians.  Not to exclude the ever-present sky rockets that punctuate every third off-tune verse.


It was the equivalent of the Macy's Thanksgiving parade.  Christmas has officially arrived in Melaque.


But I left out the quintessentially Mexican element in this tale.


The place where the Virgin requested a shrine for her own adoration is coincidentally located where a temple dedicated to the Aztec goddess Tonantzin stood before the Spanish leveled it.  Even after the destruction of the temple, Christian Indians would come to the site to worship their old goddess.


We do not know a lot about Tonantzin.  Almost everyone agrees she was a prototype earth goddess -- a bringer of life.


Some interpret her role as the mother of all the Aztec gods -- and a virgin to boot.  If the Spanish friars knew that part of her mythical past, there was an obvious solution for a cultural win-win.


The Spanish had a problem.  How could they get their recent converts to stop worshiping pagan gods?


Juan Diego's tale offered it all.  Build the new chapel at the site of the old temple and substitute Mary for Tonantzin.  And let the Indians worship.  What did it matter if they were still worshiping Tonantzin?  If it looked as if they were worshiping Mary.


It was a very Catholic solution.  The church did the same thing in Europe -- incorporating the winter and spring pagan festivals.  Giving us Christmas and Easter (not even bothering to change the pagan name of the latter).

And, in the process, Mexican culture began to grow as a combination of its Indian past and its European overlay.



Call it religious fusion, a hostile takeover, or a clever marketing scheme, the myth of Our Lady now forms the cultural cement of Mexico -- an icon even more ubiquitous than Coca-Cola.


And now that I have said nice things about her, I just hope she lets me get back to sleep.

one and a half ladies

Mexico does not do things by halves.

Well, there is the question of construction.  But let's set that aside for the moment and talk about what Mexico does best.  Celebrations.

I regularly eat at The Red Lobster in Villa Obregon.  Not the cheesy chain of chewy seafood that blights The States.  This is a family-run place. 

And it is always a pleasure to eat there.  The food is consistently good.  But it is the family that makes the place a joy to share my custom.

On Monday, I was invited to attend the sixth birthday of Jennifer.  The daughter of my favorite waitress.

I felt my stomach knot up.  Children's birthday parties are on my list of "things to do when I have been drugged and hog-tied."  But it was not an honor I could decline.

My first difficulty was finding a gift.  For boys, I can buy.  For girls, I am at a loss.  But a very nice store clerk convinced me that I should give him 220 pesos and he gave me, in exchange, a boxed doll with enough ball gown changes to broaden Dame Edna's smile.

Jennifer loved it.  And I loved the party.  It was not a children's birthday party.  It was a birthday party for a child with only adults present.  My idea of a perfect get-together.

Just as we were gathering, the nightly parade for Our Lady of Guadalupe passed by.  Jennifer was enthralled that the event had come to her on her birthday.

One gift Mexico has given me is a broader view of faith.  My Protestant upbringing caused me to look at such celebrations as the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe with a bit of skepticism.  As if the worshipers were somehow directing their worship to an object rather than to God.

My blogger pal Joanna over at Writing in Merida has written about the emotional impact the celebration has had on her.  "It is very moving to witness the affirmation of their devotion and the basic faith that sustains them through many hardships."

She then noted: "[A]ny belief that comforts and consoles is a very positive and good thing."

I am not certain I would have agreed with her four years ago.  I do now.  Both Mexico and my friends, the Moodies, have helped open my eyes to what is going on around me.

Jesus taught us two great commandments.  To love God with all our heart, soul, and mind.  And to love our neighbor as our self.
 

I now see the love and devotion accorded to Our Lady of Guadalupe as another way of showing God our absolute love.  Just as Jesus taught.

For too long, I failed to see that connection.  And it was getting in my way of loving my neighbors’ faithfulness.

Mexico has many lessons for all of us.  This has been a very important one for me.

Even when it comes in the guise of a six year old girl's birthday party.

i love a parade

And that is good -- because Mexico is a champion at putting them on.

People with purpose walking through our streets is quite common. The most notable, of course, are the religious processions celebrating the feast days of a long line of saints. We just finished celebrating the feast day of Our Lady of Guadalupe -- the patron saint of Mexico.

But we also have plenty of secular celebrations. The parades celebrating Independence Day and Revolution Day include school kids dressed as Pancho Villa, Miguel Hidalgo, and Venustiano Carranza -- sometimes bleeding over into each other's day.

If measured by participation as marchers and spectators, the Independence and Revolution parades are the star attractions of our little community. Yesterday, the town put on a much smaller parade for Christmas. But, like all small town productions the world over, it had its own quirky feel of fun.

No one has been able to tell me the genesis of this parade. Who started it and why. Christmas parades are simply not traditional in Mexico. There are plenty of Mexican traditions surrounding Christmas. Parades are not one of them. Of course, Our Lady of Guadalupe was also an import.

The reason I love parades is that it is a target-rich environment for photographers. There is always a vibrancy at the staging area when the marchers are burning adrenaline faster than my brother can eat pie.

The problem is catching people unaware. Most of these marchers are veterans, and they love the camera. Candid shots are next to impossible.

I really do not recall how large the parade was in previous years. But this year's event had just a handful of entrants.

What parade would be complete without women on bikes leading it?

Or an automated Santa float complete with sleigh and reindeer? Followed by a mob of his rambunctious elves.

Those elves have been the center piece of each Christmas parade I have watched. Dancing. Smiling. Showing off. They provided about 90% of the energy of the whole parade.

But they were not alone. What Mexican parade would be complete without a group that looked as if it was consciously trolling for one of those cease and desist letters from Disney? The group was fun. And that says a lot about Disney's legal department.

And there were northerners. Because the vast majority of northern tourists, expatriates, and immigrants here are Canadian, this portion of the parade had a distinctive maple leaf feel to it.

Starting with the Barrachas y Barrachos -- a group that raises money each year for a number of causes. And, yes, that is really their name.

Followed by my acquaintances Larry and Carri in their jeep.

This candy distribute was a perfect example of the parade's spirit.

And what parade would be complete without commercial entrants? Such as, Cruz, where I take my oft-dented Escape for repair.

Someone is going to accuse me of staging this photograph. I wish I had thought of it as I was shooting. But, I didn't. The float is from Primera Plus/Coordinados -- a long-distance bus company. Shot right in front of their premises.

I heard someone disparagingly refer to Barra de Navidad the other day as a one-horse town. Well, the parade was a one-horse parade. Bikes and horses.

And who came to see this home-town production? The mix was about 50-50 Mexican and northerners. My church-buddies Dennis and Darlene were representative of the people who watched the fun roll by.

I was talking with a northern tourist just before the parade. I apologized for cutting our conversation short, telling her I needed to go get some shots. She started a lecture about northerners ruining Mexican traditions. I know that drill, and I am a bit sympathetic to the argument.

But Mexico's culture is like every culture the world over. People pick up things they like from, other cultures and make it their own. Americans adopted Christmas trees and trick-or-treating from other cultures. Mexico has done the same thing with other things. Cultures are sponges.

What I do know is that Mexicans enjoy the fun that comes with life. And that is the lesson we can all take away from yesterday's parade. We can be curmudgeons and Scrooge our fellow men -- or we can enjoy the moments as they come.

I am with the elves. As they marched off into the dark last night, I thanked them for sharing their spirit with me. Especially, knowing they will be back next year.

Feliz Navidad.

coming of age in chilchota

Travel can disorient as often as it educates.

I was sitting in the patio this morning thinking about my last two trips, and I asked myself very odd question: What countries did I just visit?

The question is odd because I have not been outside of the Mexican border for three months. But I do understand the genesis of the question. The parts of Mexico I have visited this past month and the little tourist village where I live are so different from one another that they could be separate nations.

That is one reason I write these odds and ends pieces. They help me put my experiences into context.

I say "experience" because that is an important word in evaluating this my trip to Zamora and Chilchota.

So, was the trip a success? If I used my northern calculator, I might say "no." After all, I went with two goals in mind: (1) to discuss the theory that the Purépecha and Inca cultures might be related because of commonalities in their language, and (2) to learn techniques for cooking one of my favorite Michoacán delicacies -- huitlacoche.
Salvador Diaz Espinoza, the man with the get-that-UNESCO- endorsement mission, would have been the person with whom to discuss the language connection. (That is him on the right in the photograph at the top.) But, as you already know, circumstances conspired to prevent that conversation.

The same happened with the huitlacoche. My culinary curiosity was piqued by master chef Juan Manuel Cervantes when he described a couple of dishes he would cook for us with the corn smut known as Mexican truffle. That was to be the next day.

That day never came because of the tragic shooting visited upon the Purépecha community.

When we started the trip, Linda, the organizer, made clear we were not on a tour; we were looking for experiences. Based on that expectation, our trip was a rousing success. Both with the Purépecha and in Zamora.

Let's talk about the Purépecha today -- and Zamora tomorrow. As usual, some bits and pieces; odds and ends.

In Spanish, "nana" and "tata" are names of familiarity for "grandmother" and "grandfather." But they mean more than that. In a society where age as honored as a source of wisdom, they are terms of honor.

When the nanas greeted us on our arrival, they treated us as honored guests, showering us with confetti, and dancing us up the hill to their meeting place.

The shaman's wife carried a bowl of incense during our greeting ceremony. I now know why it had the scent of orange and pine. And it turns out other aromas, as well.

While she stood by his side with her incense, tata José, the shaman, offered up a prayer. He wears what is currently-accepted as the traditional wear of a shaman.

I posted a photograph earlier of the women in our group holding pigeons. As part of the ceremony, they each gave a pigeon to one of the nanas, who then released it.

I wish I knew the significance of the birds. But I could not hear the narrative. I am guessing that it was similar to the gifting-the-bird in other cultures.

And here is a bit of cultural contrast. My French-Canadian pal, Nicole, is standing next to the youngest nana.

The Catholic church is the T. Boone Pickens of religion; it is a master of hostile takeovers. In Europe, it simply incorporated elements of pagan worship into its own rites. That process helped ease the pagans into being good Catholics. The word "Easter" is the perfect example. 

The priests did the same in Mexico. Our Lady of Guadalupe, Mexico's patron saint, simply slipped into the garb of the Aztec goddess Tonantzin. The people went right on worshiping her in the same place they had for centuries. There is now a basilica there.

The Purépecha meeting place has its own apparition of Our Lady of Guadalupe -- in the trunk of an old oak tree.

   
It would take a grader blade to spread the irony. We were welcomed with pre-Hispanic customs only to discover this tree contained the image of a restructured goddess worshiped by the Aztec, who were never able to defeat the Purépecha warrior-state. What the Aztec could not do, the church did. History likes its little jokes at our expense.

The rest of our visit was in the village of Chilcota. During the trip, I did not have time to maintain my daily 15-mile walking regimen. But that was partially remedied with this 260-stair climb (at a high altitude for us sea-level dwellers) for a panoramic view of the village.

Just a block away, we visited the bakery I mentioned earlier where breads are baked in a traditional manner.

Kim asked earlier how a cuisine can be protected by UNESCO. I dodged the question. But he may find an answer in the UNESCO certificate awarded to the bakery in 2010.

I have never been fond of any baked goods in Mexico. To be fair, I do not care for baked goods in general. And nothing in the shop changed my opinion. Others in our group liked them.

These bread rings were far more photogenic than satisfying.

Our master chef, Juan Manuel Cervantes, explained the importance of the bakery to Mexican culture. For him, bread and atole are the perfect mixing of Spanish and Mesoamerican culture, and should be enjoyed together.
The baker's widow welcomed us to her patio behind the bake house to enjoy the combination -- bread for dipping in strawberry atole.

On our second day, we spent the afternoon in a series of homes where we watched (and participated in) the manufacture of pottery and other arts and crafts. Cheryl tries her hand here at creating an edge on the piece of clay she has worked.

I always enjoy visiting Michoacán. Even though I live in a rural area, the state of Michoacán seems to be a bit more removed from the timeline we experience on the Pacific coast. The combination of this young man on his alfalfa-laden horse and accompanied by his three dogs was a perfect picture of how a life of simplicity has great pleasures.

  
And that paragraph contains one of the traps tourists often fall into. We tend to romanticize what we see in the countryside and try to amberise it without realizing Mexico has been changing from the day the first human put foot here. And it is going to go on changing. Playing Canut can only erode one's own contentment.

That is why I like this photograph of a Michoacán landscape. I was a bit irritated where the cell tower had been placed. Photographers tend to grumble about such things.

But it was in the right place. Because it is a reminder that Mexico is modernizing. And just as a lot of the Purépecha culture we know today has been filtered through the good works of Don Vasco to allow us to experience the version that survives today, it will continue to change along with the evolution of Mexico.
And it is good to experience it all.

Tomorrow, I will share some thoughts on Zamora.

lupe meets lupe

"Why would an eye clinic have an armed guard acting as a doorman?"

It was the first question that popped into my head when we arrived at the clinic on Monday.  The guard is the picture of graciousness.  But no one gets in and out of the locked door without his helping hand.

But why is he there?  I had images of Marty Feldman look-alikes reprising his role in Young Frankenstein.  Perhaps, making forced withdrawals from the eye bank.

I learned the reason why.  And I will tell you as soon as I tell you about Lupe's appointment.  The therapy is going well, but Lupe's doctor is still concerned that a full-size eye may not fit.  But the therapy and prayers continue.  (And more about that in a bit, as well.)

While Lupe was in her therapy session, Alex and I decided to take a walk around the neighborhood where the clinic is located -- Benito Juárez.

At first glance, the streets look like a mixed residential and commercial area.  With the emphasis on commercial.  In addition, to the eye, ear, and architect clinic, there is an eccentric mix of businesses.

A barber shop right out of Mayberry RFD.

A whimsical prop for a beauty shop.

A brightly painted building inviting us to indulge in the pleasures of la iguana -- though neither of us could figure out what those pleasures might be.

And lots of restaurants.  From sushi to traditional Mexican to French.  Including this eye searing pink ice cream parlor.  Maybe that is why there is an eye clinic in the neighborhood.

Even the territorial headquarters of the Salvation Army.

Or this formal wear rental shop that has obviously seen better days.

But it was the proprietress who gave me the lead to find my tailor.  I stopped by to thank her.

It struck me as odd that a formal wear shop would be tucked in with the other businesses.  As if it were a bit out of place.

But a turn down the next corner showed us why the shop is there.  This is a solid middle class neighborhood.  From what I have been told, there are areas in the borough that are upper middle class.

The houses here show a pride of ownership.  With plenty of designer touches.

If I had to live in a big city, this would be the place to live.

And Mexicans concur.  Of Mexico City's boroughs, Benito Juárez is reputed to have the highest socioeconomic index in Mexico.

That brings us back to the guard at the door.  Where wealth congregates, so do thieves.  The borough suffers from a disproportionate number of robberies and assaults.  Hardly a statistic to warm the heart of the Chamber of Commerce.

But yesterday was not a day to dwell on crime.  And we won't do that here, either.

I had promised a treat for Lupe and Alex -- a trip to the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe.  Both Lupe and Alex were emotionally stunned by the complex.

You all know the story how the image of Mary was miraculously painted on an Indian peasant's cloak.  No matter what your take is on the icon's creation, it holds an immense hold on Mexicans.
Enrique Peña Nieto may think he governs Mexico.  He is just borrowing it; it belongs to Guadalupe.  The patron saint of Mexico.  The people have repeatedly risen up against politicians who have tried to divest that relationship.

The icon was formerly housed in a Baroque church that began suffering the fate of several stone churches built on dry lake beds.  It started sinking.

You may not be able to see it in this photograph, but the left side of the church has sunk several feet.

The icon is now stored in a new basilica.  A huge stadium of a church that is as rich in texture as it is in space.

All of that is for this --

The Lady herself.  Stripped of any emotional or religious context, it is not much.  And, if approached with that mindset, the piece can be underwhelming.

For Lupe, it brought tears to her eyes and prayers to her lips.  I am not here to gainsay anyone's relationship with God.

There are additional buildings to visit.  My favorite is the Capilla del Pocito.

An oval-shaped chapel built over the spot where the fourth apparition was revealed -- the painted cloak.

The three of us could have spent a full day there, but we had hired a driver for only a limited time -- and I stretched it to allow Lupe to soak in as much of whatever it was she sought.

Then we were off to dinner -- at Don Cuervas's favorite Italian restaurant in Mexico City: Macelleria Roma.  You got to see the outside yesterday.  We got to experience the place in our insides.

The Don did not steer us wrong.  I dropped my carbohydrate limitation to enjoy the feted bread served with a plate of olive oil nestling a pool of butter perfectly spiced.  It was worth busting my limit.

I had eggplant parmesan.  Alex had ravioli.  Lupe had spaghetti carbonara.  And we all shared a dish of some of the best creamed spinach I have ever eaten.

All in all, it was a full day for all us.