El Tule & Hierve el Agua
There are two natural wonders just outside of the limits of Oaxaca that deserve some extra special attention in my opinion (hence this post). Located just 15 minutes from Oaxaca’s city center is one of the oldest trees in Mexico and also boasts the largest waistband of any tree in the world. El Tule measures about 115 feet tall with a diameter of roughly 38 feet at its widest point. Having an estimated age of about 2,000 years old this gigantic Montezuma Cypress was stretching it’s roots and waving in the wind while the Zapotec civilizations were engineering their ancient cities nearby. Its monumental stature completely dwarfs the little church within the gated compound giving it a toy-like appearance in comparison. El Tule’s larger than life size weaves the story of its age and the generations that it has surpassed. You can almost feel the energy of the gigantic tree possesses when you scan the twisted, gnarled bark that bear the resemblance of animals with a little bit of imagination.
The entrance to El Tule pays for landscaping maintenance, upkeep, and constant watering efforts to keep it alive. Some literature claims that the massive tree is in danger due to nearby farming and irrigation practices that have altered the water table that feeds it. When standing in the shade of Tule’s massive canopy it’s easy to imagine the immensely large volume of water it siphons up through it’s roots. The town itself is very compact and centered around the church’s limits with plenty of local Oaxacan crafts, food, and mezcal tiendas found in the little Mercado and surrounding streets.
On earth day we made a trek for the little town of Mitla, about an hour outside of Oaxaca’s limits, to catch a collectivo for Hierve el Agua. Our adventure started off at the 2nd class bus station in Oaxaca, which consisted of a concrete canopy housing the front end of about 2 dozen banged-up buses in a large, open dirt depot complete with a pile of rubber tires at the entrance. After arriving in Mitla other travelers were tired of waiting for the camionetas the guide books told of and we arranged similar fare in taxi cabs for the hour ride into the mountains. After the first cab filled up with 6 travelers we got into the 2nd cab along with 8 other locals in the back. There were a total of 11 beating hearts in one Toyota corolla for an entire hour. If I could have grabbed a picture of this I certainly would have but the upper half of my body was hanging out of the window for the duration of the ride and it was best to hang on instead.
Hierve el Agua is a natural phenomenon comprised of an artesian spring high up on a bluff in the Oaxacan mountain range. It’s water is saturated with calcium and other minerals that has slowly deposited layers upon layers of calcium carbonate enriched with other minerals, giving the appearance of petrified waterfalls that are frozen in time. The park preserved this unique phenomenon by building two infinity pools where people can swim and soak in the cool, mineral rich waters and explore different vantage points for views of the cascades.
After enjoying all there was to see and do the reality of our transportation problem was at home plate waiting for the next pitch. There were a few small fees we were not privy to for entrance into the park and we had barely enough money to get back on about 2 hours of hot, sweaty 2nd class bus rides. With Elissa and the mountains as my witnesses I put it out into the universe that someone will be returning back to Oaxaca in a rental car and have extra room for us to bum a ride. We walked back to the pools to have another swim and to take a few cannonball photos when we were asked by a man named Matteo to take his photo at the main pool. Matteo was from San Francisco and traveling for pleasure and research for his Mexican restaurant in San Franscisco on a 2 week tour of Oaxaca and the coast. Matteo offered us a ride and off we went. We had great conversations about the experience of traveling, relationships, and taking things as they come into your life. He didn’t have time to visit El Tule yet so a wrong turn serendipitously brought us right back to the little town center on Earth Day. We quickly went and saw the giant arbol again before heading back into town. If you ever are in Bay Area zip on over to Taco Jane’s in Marin (http://tacojanes.com/) and tell Matteo that Dan and Elissa from Oaxaca sent you.
Oaxaca, take 2
The shuttle bus back to Oaxaca was more or less the same nauseatingly twisty stretch of road we’d been on a few weeks prior. It was like a bad joke that was a little funny at first but then remained funny far too long to be comfortable about the truth of the situation. When the bus finally breached the green surface of the mountains and into the valleys at the foot of the Sierra Madres rain was ready to greet us as we sped through flatter terrain adorned with pueblo’s and grassy fields. The soil composition in this area is mostly clay and this short heavy rainstorm turned calles (streets) into rios (rivers). The muddy wake from our van was cresting over the curbs as we passed cars stuck on side streets and people drenched to the bone. Rain is relished in this area during the dry season so I’m sure it was a blessing and welcomed wholeheartedly.
A healthy walk through Oaxaca from our bus shuttle depot brought us through numerous streets filled with puestas breaking down their mobile stores and packing away their goods for the night. We found a decent hostel and strolled around for some of the classic Oaxacan food we’d been dreaming about. It was quickly decided that Oaxaca was a perfect place to call home for a week so we could get serious about learning Spanish. It had everything we wanted and needed in one convenient, beautiful city. The pace of life here felt a little slower than other larger cities in Mexico and we became instantly comfortable. The historical roots run deep in this artisinal wonder and can be found throughout its entirety. Colonial style churches, beautiful old mansions with 12 foot tall wooden doors, and buildings splashed with the classic Mexican color pallet are nested on square block streets. The roads around the city center are immaculately clean and it’s zocalo is brimming with activity just about every day and night. On one Friday night we stumbled upon Mariachi Oaxaca playing in the gazebo to a crowd of hundreds. After wandering right to the front of the stage we were wowed by the supremely talented musicians entertaining the masses showcasing their musical talents and insanely fast-tongued comedic interludes. This whole experience was encapsulated when we were watching an old couple dance comfortably together hand-in-hand for the thousandth time in their lives. Beautiful.
I’ve surmised from talking with people during our travels that Oaxaca is the jewel city of Mexico. Oaxaca seems to be what Mexicans picture as the perfect version of what a city should be. Stores, mercados, and street vendors all offer their version of beautifully sewn clothing, hand-made metal sculptures, painted pottery, and incredibly detailed paintings on brown leather squares. Today’s generation contributes to the modern art scene with amazing graffiti clinging to walls, murals covering entire buildings, and poster’s wheat pasted to walls advertising upcoming shows and events. But step into the Mercado de Artesanias to get a real gauge on the classic handmade works of Mexican heritage and art. It is evident that some of the crafts available are completely geared towards tourists but most of the clothing and textiles found in the markets all have that Oaxacan flavor embedded into every thread. Oaxaca has a large population of indigenous people, mainly Mixtecs and Zapotecs, who continued to work well beyond their golden years using needles and threads instead of canes and rocking chairs. A walk through these markets would afford the view of these small, tough, and weathered senoras making their beautiful art by hand while passing time between potential sales.
But there is also another side of Oaxaca that is often overlooked an unseen by most travelers glued to the city center. Oaxaca is one of the poorest states in Mexico and the fringe of the city consists of very impoverished communities. Tensions from the poor and indigenous communities often flare up into protests near the city center in front of government buildings. A protest involving public teachers blocked the main road one day and on another the road to Mexico City was blocked from a group voicing their opinions on the lack of government interaction with the indigenous communities in the short time we were there.
The overwhelmingly massive and lively food markets of Oaxaca are where we felt at home. We found ourselves ducking into the shadowed entrances on the hunt for fresh produce, enjoying delactable licuados, scanning the carne stands for a freshly cut meat, sampling locally made chocolate, and searching for the best Oaxacan cheese on a daily basis. Our first adventure into Benito Juarez Market involved us getting lost and ending up at the same location time after time. It was as if the market was continually expanding in all directions. Convinced we saw everything we noticed smoke billowing out from the small entrance of the carne asada (grilled meat) corridor. We walked into this smoky cavern during the busiest part of the day, shoulder to shoulder with people ordering freshly barbequed guisados. There were no signs or instructions and it was assumed that you haggle for meals along the endless rows of purveyors searing their meats and vegetables over coal. We were in a completely different world and it smelled absolutely delicious.
Oaxacan markets also had more obscure and adventurous fare including, but not limited to, fried grasshoppers (chapulines). We found it imperative to try things when a free sample is offered, regardless of how crunchy it is. We were given multilple warnings about petty theft and the dangers of the oversized Mercado de Abastos. We wandered throughout it’s mega-mall sized footprint that swallowed up entire blocks with blue tarps, display tables, and a massive amount of people. Goods ranging from shoes, kitchen equipment, live poultry, breads, cheeses, chocolates, and art were abundant in this never ending scene. It’s easy to get lost here and easy to get taken advantage of as a tourist and it’s more than common practice to get your pockets cleaned by teams working together.
I must digress into the cheese and chocolate of Oaxaca. Oaxacan cheese is absolutely and utterly amazing. It’s crafted into a mozzarella-like consistency in long, flat strands that are the rolled up into a knot of delicious, freshly prepared chunk of heaven that will erase your memory of all cheeses consumed prior to it. Queso Oaxaca is found everywhere but the quality and taste can vary quite a bit so never say no to a free sample. The chocolate is also a prized and very delicious treat revered by Oaxacans . They make chocolate here in the most basic form, using natural ingredients like cinnamon, vanilla, and walnut for flavoring with cocoa pods, sugar, and soy lecithin. After scouring the markets we figured that Mayordomo (a chocolate chain store) had the best tasting chocolate and always gave free samples whenever we set foot in the store. Stick around the store to watch them make chocolate in person by grinding the cocoa pods, cinnamon sticks, vanilla, and the other fresh ingredients producing a thick, chocolate paste. They also offered a wide variety of classic mole variations para llevar for you to take a small piece of Mexico home with you.
We also met an awesome couple from Australia on this leg of our trip who were in the final stages of completely our exact journey in reverse. They started in Brazil about 14 months ago and were working their way to Mexico City for a flight to LA to begin their cross country journey across the states (http://tomclaire.blogspot.mx/). They shared stories of their crazy journey and the bumps along the road (including hiking through the Darien Gap) without sugar coating the details of what’s to come. We all went out for some drinks in a really local bar with live music and wound up getting swept onto the dance floor for some free lessons in Mexican slow dancing. My dance was interrupted by a short bar fight that eclipsed when a bottle was smashed over the head of an hombre next to me. The music stopped, he was led out of the bar, and the music started up again momentarily. Ahh Mexico.
It was sad to say goodbye to Oaxaca’s warm embrace but it was time to get moving and see what Chiapas had to offer.
Oaxaca’s Pacific Coast: Puerto Escondido, Zipolite, and Mazunte
Back to Puerto Escondido. Back to electricity, showers, flushing toilets, and contact with the outside world. It was bittersweet to be in Puerto, both good and bad to be back in the urbanized beach town. But I believe that lessons learned from living with surf bums for nine days will stick with us. Surfers tend to have a good deal of experience living on a shoestring budget and useful tips were silently passed on throughout the previous week. A bar of laundry detergent was immediately purchased to keep our handwashing skills honed.
Puerto Escondido translates to “hidden port” and it’s Bahia Principal is protected from the brunt of the mighty Pacific by it’s rocky headlands to the west. This gives the beach a calm and tranquil nature and I’m certain it was pretty damn awesome years ago. Puerto today has a very streamlined tourist feel to it with many savvy “business” men offering boat services for dolphin spotting, whale watching, and deep sea fishing. They speak English well and show you pictures of what they have to offer constantly while you stroll the beach. Being tourists I’m convinced we have dollar signs above our heads that are just out of range on the color spectrum for our eyes to focus on. I ran into Martin, a Mexican who we met the first time around, and noticed his prices increased due to the continuation of Semana Santa. He promised the world on his tours but after speaking with some others around town it became apparent that the tours promise to “look” for whales, dolphins, and turtles, not necessarily see them. I also believe we just missed the “tail” end of the whale spotting season and hiring Martin didn’t sound like a promising venture.
Puerto kind of feels like a beach town in California but has sweltering hot days and a party-town vibe at night. There are dozens of places on the streets offering Micheladas and shops are open late to cater to the crowds. Its neighboring town/strip is Playa Zicatela where the surfers migrate to try and catch some of the classic pipeline waves this beach routinely churns out. Take a walk down the main strip to see how ex-pats have adopted this town as their home and run a wide array of businesses and eateries that can keep you stuck in Puerto for longer than expected. We spent two days here recharging and getting a hold of our parents to let them know that we were still indeed alive after disappearing for nine days. The next leg of our journey was to head east for the pristine Oaxcacan coastline we’ve been hearing about since our feet hit Mexican soil.
An hour long bus ride dropped us off in the chaotically busy and horridly humid town of Pochutla. Pochutla’s existence seems like soley based on its location as a transportation hub between larger cities to the east, west, and north and the beautiful beaches south of it’s last “alto” sign. We had to ask about 5 locals where the camioneta (truck collectivos) were running to the coast before success was reached. Every soul in this town seemed to have weary eyes for travelers and no one seemed to notice we were walking in circles with hulking backpacks through the mid-day heat. After 45 minutes in the back of the truck we stepped off in the blissful little town of Zipolite.
We walked down to the main walking street determined to shop around and avoid the routine of striking a deal the first place we could lay our backpacks down. Zipolite’s main street was comprised of an eclectic bag of eateries from around the world with the most laid back beach atmosphere you could possibly imagine. This was a place for souls to get lost and relax while watching the sun sink and the sands shift. There are plenty of transplants who found this place and made it their mission to call it home. French cafes, Italian bistros, Argentinian barbecues, and of course local fare line both the road and the beach.
After looking confused enough some hombre lead us to the Brisa Marina hotel, coincidentally owned by a Polish transplant named Dan from California. Dan wore aviators, no shirt, and carried around a book along with a thousand stories whenever we saw him. Dan made millions in California during the real estate boom of the early 90′s only to lose his empire moments later. He found Zipolite by chance when his daughter left the LA Times open on his table with an article exposing the town as a place in Mexico where the beaches were gorgeous, hammocks cost a buck for a night, nudity was commonplace, and grass was everywhere. He immediately took us in offering us his humorous stories, knowledge of the town, and booze. He even conducted a paypal transaction for us when we were a little shy on cash. Good people. He immediately forced us to relax and lay in the hammock to take in the sights, the sounds, and smells of his little slice of paradise. I liked Dan.
The water on the beach was a warm and welcoming teal-bluish color with very high salinity. It’s said that Zipolite translates to “beach of the dead” with good reasoning. The undercurrent, convergent waves, and riptides here can be brutal and unforgiving. Flags on the beaches shores indicate the level of warning that swimmers should pay attention to and lifeguards routinely pulled people out of the water. I borrowed a boogy board and chased the big waves further out, naturally. A lifeguard came up to Elissa and asked if I was a good swimmer after noticing my repeated attempts. Su novio nada bien?
We spent hours walking the beach that was lined with a wide array of interesting and unusual accommodations. There were hammocks, tents, parked campers, stilted cabanas, hotels, and all-in-one hotel/restaurant/campground/bar/Jamaican music joints to lay your head down. Boogy boarders here were at a professional level, riding waves like surfers right into the beach. This stretch of sand was like none I’ve ever seen before, a wild-wild west of coastal towns bearing people of all flavors who flock here to stretch out their legs and do, well, whatever. Beaches have a magnetic attraction to most people and it’s easy to see why people get stuck in Zipolite’s field for months. The lodging was very cheap, the food was awesome, and there was plenty to entertain yourself with. This was also hippy land, most easily identified by the presence of bongo drums, devil sticks, bare feet, glazed eyes, and pot food expecting you to to give them your money for their efforts. The nudity kept us amused at first but eventually desensitization set in after continual exposure. They all blended into the background of the softly focused beach portrait our eyes were adoring. We also had the best coconut to date from an old spirit offering only furniture and the delicious fruit. Upon asking for a coco frio he looked up, got off his hammock, and cut the fleshy fruit open right before our eyes. It was worth the 15 pesos for the demonstration alone.
The next and final beach we sought out was Mazunte. It was a close neighbor of Zipolite and took about 10 minutes by truck to reach. We fell victim to staying at a thatched roof hotel/restaurant/bar on the beach due to the heat and discovered that we were back to bucket showers and toilets post payment. But Mazunte’s beach more than made ammends and was indeed gorgeous, carved out of the rocky headlands resembling giant stretched out horseshoes leaving sand behind for feet and bodies to enjoy. The bedrock tongues stuck out past high tide levels, isolating little sections and giving them a “next town over” feel. Mazunte is also home to a turtle reserve compound raising and releasing turtles back into the ocean. We spent hours watching the first part of their lives unfold in their temporary homes. Mazunte’s waves were bone-crushing and broke right onto the sand itself. Body surfing here should be performed with caution and the expecation that you will be tossed around like clothes in an industrial-strength washing machine. This was a prime location for skim boarders because beach shelf was kind of a like a steep ramp that rolled right to the water.
Mazunte’s unreal turquoise waters were best observed along the little hike to Punta Cometa just west of it’s beach. This 30 minute adventure brought you up and down some of the most spectacular cliffs overlooking coves, hidden beaches, and coastal ridgelines bearing giant cacti. I did not bring my camera for our sunset walk and immediately regretted this decision. Elissa and I sat on a rocky ridge that separated the headland from the arm of an ancient bedrock spit and took in another gorgeous Mexican sunset. The night life in Mazunte was relaxed and fun and we spent the evening listening to live reggae and acoustic versions of classic rock tunes. The following morning I took a quick hike back to Punta Cometa but the natural lighting and magic was just not the same. Departure from these dreamy sand havens was tough but we had another intense bus trip through the mountains to endure to get back to Oaxaca. The universe loves balance.
Chacahua
It’s a bit tricky to reminisce about the experience of getting to our first beach destination in Mexico with bandamax blasting from the TV in the hostel. These two places are worlds apart, but I’ll reach into the inner depths of my overly stimulated brain to try and paint a picture to the best of my abilities.
We departed from Puebla in a mad dash to catch a bus and I left another lock behind in the hostel. I’ve been leaving bits and pieces of belongings here and there as a sort of metaphorical breadcrumb trail so we can find our way back someday (justification). The bus to Oaxaca brought us through sweeping mountain views and our first healthy dose of highways that cling onto cliffs with the feeling that they were carved out of the rolling Mexican landscape with a giant chisel. After arriving in Oaxaca we immediately hopped onto a city bus, walked through the bustling zocalo (this almost made us change our plan again), and found the shuttle van depot (literally a hole in the wall with vans). We had 2 minutes before the bus departed, so we figured fate was telling us to get on.
The shuttle from Oaxaca to Puerto Escondido was horrifying to say the least. There were two traveling options to get to the Pacific coast from Oaxaca by rubber and asphalt. One was a gentler, longer route that would chew up about 12 hours of life while the other was about half the time straight through several mountain ranges. You can probably guess the choice we settled on. It was later confirmed that this stretch of road was the toughest terrain in Mexico to cross. The journey started out nice as we found ourselves driving through fields dappled with small pueblas towards a poetically yellow setting sun. That false sense of security immediately disappeared as we started switch-backing up the side of mountains. The driver seemed to a have a strong proclivity for the gas pedal and a disinclination for brakes and would zip around corners in the other lane cutting turns whenever possible. Our journey turned into an erratic version of human pinball in the van. At one point we did not have a straight section of road for almost 2 hours straight. As night approached I found my eyes glued to the windshield watching the headlights illuminate the edge of the road and the sheer darkness of the void just beyond the white line. It seemed like our chariot was going to careen into the abyss at every outside turn only to miraculously recover at the last possible moment while we clenched our seat’s arms waiting for the end. A water bottle dropped out of my bag and it took about 2 minutes to retrieve as it flew across the floor from left to right. We were the only travelers on the shuttle and didn’t know if this was normal or utter madness. Our fears were confirmed when the driver had to pull over to let a passenger off to vomit. The route was dotted with small towns along the way, all offering 24 hour food options and bathrooms. We stopped in a small town for food and ate fresh tacos in a Mexican family’s living room that was completely open to the street. The shuttle at this point had become my worst enemy and I wanted nothing to do with it. For three or so more hours we desperately looked for any signs of flat, gentler landscape ahead. After 7 hours in this maddening van I damn near kissed the ground upon arrival in Puerto Escondido. We spent a total of 12 hours on Mexican highways and welcomed the humid, salty air.
We spent a night in Puerto and saw the blue Mexican Pacific for the first time in the morning. By noon we had our packs on our back, and were sweating profusely trudging up hills towards the shuttle location. A taxi driver heard us talking and stated he was going that way anyway and would give us a great deal to get closer to our little beach haven. We agreed, and wound up running errands with him and his aunt (his other passenger and reason he was in this town in the first place). He kept telling us “10 minutes, no problem, we leave soon”. We waited at the bank, went to a social program office, and got an oil change. Frustrated from an hour and a half of personal personal and the climbing thermometer we were finally heading towards Zipolite. Palm trees were now dominating the landscape and my mind was reeling thinking about our destination. A small fishing boat brought us through a lagoon and dropped us off on land where a collective truck was waiting. We crammed 10 humans and supplies into the back of a pick-up truck and drove down a sandy road for about half an hour until we reached paradise.
Imagine sand roads, thatched roof homes, palm trees, and endless empty beaches with animals dominating the sea and land. There were maybe two or three vehicles in this little village of about 400. Life here seemed to have been frozen in the past because of it’s isolation. Shoes were not necessary, or sandals for that matter, and shirts were optional. We found a cabana we read about in Lonely Planet and for 25 bucks a night. We lived in a dreamy, windowless room on the 2nd floor equipped with 2 beds with mosquito nets, an oversized view of the lagoon, and our very own palm tree that waved it’s fingers at us in the cool ocean breeze. The sun set straight down the lagoon offering an otherworldly feel as we looked at Pelicans and cranes searching for their next meal in the waters teeming with wildlife. It felt like this part of the world hadn’t been spoiled by human activity yet. The lagoon was teeming with birds, fish, and crocodiles and for a decent price you could pay to take a boat out at night to observe the bioluminescent algae.
After 3 days we did some math and came to the conclusion that we would go broke if we stayed in our little hut so we shifted gears and decided to camp. After meeting some surfers we wound up renting an extra tent and wound up camping out under a thatched roof at a family restaurant/cabana compound. The surfer was from Oregon and a disagreement with his parents about school and life in general resulted in him living on his own since he was 15. He became progressively weirder as the week unfolded but kept us entertained for the most part. Camping was free granted you ate at their restaurant. The servings for every meal could easily feed two and were the freshest servings of home-cooked seafood you could ever imagine. We “survived” on whole fish, lobsters, octopus, fresh fruit, smoothies, and eggs all cooked to order. The mother running Restaurant Isahmar spoke island Spanish and barked orders all day long in a voice that held generations of hard work and modest living. Since most of the island lacked running water we bathed using buckets and flushed the ½ toilets (top half missing) with the same tool. I would like to make an author’s note here and say that as the week progressed I became quite skilled with buckets and developed shower techniques that save both water and time. We hand washed all our clothes and slept on the sand with the sound of waves lapping every night. The loudspeaker on the roof of the store next door gave us a healthy dose of Spanish every morning as the boats came in with supplies from the mainland.
For the first few days it was just us and a small group of surfers in this slice of heaven. Days were spent with complete disregard for time paying very close attention to relaxation and letting our minds run out of thoughts until nothing existed. We thought we had successfully dodged Semana Santa in our beautiful bubble. By day four we had noticed that a younger college crowd began to arrive like ants marching to melted candy. They came in groups and all set up tents, which made the solitude of this place a little more interesting at first. As each day passed by we watched our paradise slowly melt away. It was like finding an oasis in the desert and watching it dry up before your eyes. Spring break came in like a tidal wave and by Tuesday and we were in the thick of it. Tents now inundated every thatched roof restaurant in sight and the beach became infested with bodies and bottles of booze. We did our best to escape by crossing the channel to the other side where pristine beaches were still barren to try and avoid the reality of the new situation. Nights were now filled with bad versions of beach rave parties, bon fires with stumbling drunks, grandfathers wearing g-strings, and beach vendors trying to earn a buck selling anything from sardine tacos to full size hammocks. When Friday came both Elissa and I felt that the age-old adage of “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” was appropriate. We determined the only way to feel at peace with the environment here was to drink pina coladas and 40 oz coronas while observing the madness. This was day three of “party mode” for the crowd and by now they all began looking like mutant versions of their previous selves. Their young bodies were now covered in bruises, bug bites, and impressive sunburns. As this thought passed through my mind I realized that the virus that spread through crowd had infected us as well, and we had become one of them too. On a walk through some thickets Elissa and I had come across some indigenous plant that locals called “the tiger’s hand” and had a poison-ivy like reaction on her legs that also showed up on my knee, stomach, and wrist. We also had a healthy dosage of sun and been worn out by days of watching waves curl, boogie boarding, and late nights. We were now worn down images of ourselves, caricatures in our own bodies.
But we still managed to have great and memorable experiences amidst this vibe. One night we went out on a boat to check fishing nets with the one of the family’s nephews during the full moon. We cut the waters through the lagoon illuminated by the gigantic flashlight in the sky passing the mangrove jungles on either side of the channel. Hundreds of feet of weighted nets captured about a dozen fish for meals the next day. That is a memory that I’ll get to hold onto forever. We waited out the rest of the week until Sunday to escape back to the mainland which was welcomed by this point in time. An hour by boat through the mangroves brought us back to land. But the vision of the paradise still remains solid in my mind amidst the weirdness that came with jaded traveling surfers and the flood of college kids primed and ready to get wasted on a beach.
Cholula and Puebla
It was mutually decided that we needed to escape Mexico city before we became permanent residents there. After breakfast Santiago brought us to a café for some quick internet research before taking us to the Eastern bus terminal called TAPO. En route we encountered a road block through the main artery Paseo de la Reforma caused by a massive protest. After getting lost we eventually found the bus station and parted ways with the hope that we will meet up during Semana Santa.
The ride to Cholula brought us through many small villages that really gave us another glimpse of the other side of Mexico. Remnants of buildings bunched together appeared to be either half-built or half decayed, forming small networks of communities between the vast open spaces of farmlands and the folded, crumpled mountainous terrain. There seemed to be an endless stream of used tire shops, mechanics, and food stands planted along the main road with the purveyors sitting outside watching the traffic pass. Men tending fields in the distance looked like tiny figures kicking dust around while their horses and goats surveyed the scene with the tired wisdom only nature possesses. It’s times like these where a sense of guilt stirs within thinking about the difference in situations between us riding through on a bus looking into their lives and them fixated in their little corner of the world watching us roll into and out of their reality. Passing through these beaten down pueblas conjures up feelings that bring me back to childhood memories of looking through an old viewmaster 3-D plastic toy, seeing a scene that feels both real and out of reach at the same time. Traveling is eye opening.
The bus dropped us off in the parking lot of an auto parts store on the outer perimeter of town. This version of a bus stop is turning out to be quite typical in Mexico between smaller cities. We wandered into the historic center and found our very first hotel together ever. It was joined with a bar bearing the same name and appeared to be part of a compound that housed the owners. 220 Pesos bought us a room without a key (you had to buzz when you wanted to get in) and the most basic version of a bathroom a hotel could possess. When you start at the bottom, the only way to go is up.
We came to Cholula particularily to see Container City, a small complex comprised of steel shipping cargo boxes made into a small network of stackable bars, stores, and public spaces geared towards the local college crowd. We snapped some pictures and explored around the brightly colored boxes before heading back for some food and libations. Our hotel/bar was decorated with vintage pictures of Marilyn Monroe amongst Mexican beer ads of yesteryear and happened to serve some great ice-cold Micheladas. Two old men chatted over a newspaper at the bar while we drank our beer with cacahuates. We took a stroll later on throughout the plaza during a soft rainstorm (a pleasant treat from the endless sunny, dry days) surrounded by beautifully lit cathedrals and restaurants. Cholula has the largest pyramid base in Mexico (by volume) and it was a short walk away from our accomodations. In the morning we found out that the ancient tunnels were permanently closed and had collapsed recently. As a concession we settled on some fresh fruit with yogurt before taking a very authentic bus ride to Puebla. I can honestly say I’ve been off-roading on a public bus now.
We were advised by many to take an afternoon for Puebla, get some food, and hit the road. Upon arrival our low expectations were melted and a pool of wonder appeared at the tips of our eager feet with the beautiful reflection of Puebla ahead of us. Our hostel was situated in a part of the town that had the look and feel of a finely tuned Chinatown, equipped with wall to wall craft vendors, random anything-you-could-imagine stores, eateries, fish markets, fruit and sandwich shops. We walked through an atrium-like mall and found ourselves buried in the picturesque historic center. Although we have been in the thick of Mexican history for almost a month now Puebla offered fresh perspectives and attractive structures to get absorbed in. Kids playing soccer with an empty water bottle at a church older than all of their living generations made my feet stop working and my eyes stop blinking. Moments where time seems to pause clears out the inner brain chatter and make me truly feel like we are connected to each other as humans by the purest and simplest form of all; joy. Moments in life like this truly let you know you are alive and part of a bigger scene than just the one you are directing.
The Zocalo was an amazing mix of old architecture with modern art and was a very lively place to people watch on a Wednesday afternoon. Hordes of school children playing in the fountains were amidst city visitors, vendors, and restaurants galore. The Cathedral was cavernous and housed the biggest organ I will probably ever see in my lifetime. It’s two gigantic towers house larger-than-life church bells and are immortalized on the 500 peso bill. I can almost hear them ring whenever I see one.
We decided to skip out on most of the museums in Puebla, having seen an exorbitant amount of culture and history already, and headed for the train museum for some large-scale interactive fun. We played around the old trains of yesterday’s past in what used to be the city’s train station. Several dozen old boxcars of all shapes and sizes were here with some open to the public to walk around and play in. We saw just about everything and crossed the street into the second part of the museum where a guard opened up some trains that are presently used for educational purposes. One held a public library packed to the gills with books, while the other was used for kindergarten classes. Four thumbs up for the train museum.
Since we were in Puebla it was absolutely necessary for mole to be consumed. Mole was dreamt up in Puebla but it’s origin remains a mystery. A museum at a nunnery claims it was first made in it’s kitchen and grew in popularity from there. Regardless, we went out and had some damn good mole poblano one night in an open air style restaurant. Ironically they had some 80′s classic rock bands playing their classics way past their expiration dates. It was classic watching Billy Idol belt one out while cabelleros tapped their feet and a toddler learned how to dance. Plus this gave us an extra chance to walk through the zocalo one last time at night to savor the visual.
The ingredients used to create Puebla craft a beautiful dish in my eyes. It has the perfect amount of grittiness, the right amount of historic preservation, and a tolerable amount of new-age shopping and city necessities. What is really appealing aesthetically is that all of the shops, restaurants, and hotels are housed within old buildings and have to make due with the space that is available for the storefronts. We passed by a movie theatre that literally had a drive in parking lot that was within the other half of the ancient structure. Some little food shops set up their goods at the front ten percent of the store while the rest was completely empty. You can never be sure what is beyond the open doors in these buildings and will probably be surprised at what they possess.
We left Puebla in a mad dash to try and figure out accommodations for Semana Santa, which is referred to as traveling hell. The big complication was that we are headed for the beaches the same time that everyone in Mexico would be. I would have liked another day in this comfortable walking city but it wasn’t in the cards. We’ve got a 5 hour bus ride to Oaxaca ahead of us accompanied by another 7 hour excursion to finally reach the Pacific.
Mexico City: Earthquakes, pyramids, and birthdays
Warning: We spent a lot of time in the Ciudad, so this post is unusually long.
Queretaro exits stage left. Mexico Ciudad enters. The massiveness that is city limits of Mexico City can’t really be described without seeing it, driving in it, walking through it, and roaming around it’s subway system. The suburban expansion seemed to have swallowed the mountainous landscape to it’s northwest as the bus inched closer to the Mexico Norte bus terminal. The slums and outskirts of the city are mainly grey block buildings in grey urban neighborhoods and reach out far beyond the city lines up and around mountains along the highway.
After the bus arrived we waited by the main entrance where my old pal Santiago picked us up. He brought us to his apartment located in Las Palmas, one of the more affluent and posh parts of the city. The city is divided up into many zones that each have some unique draw or characteristic to them, and I believe this one was business and real estate. Floor to ceiling windows covered his 3 bath, 3 bed apartment with hardwood floors throughout. It was a far reach from the hostels we’ve been staying at until this point and upgraded our traveling status from copper to platinum. Santi hadn’t quite moved in yet so the oversized apartment felt even larger. He gave us his entire place to ourselves for the duration of the stay, which wound up being 10 days instead of the 5 or 6 planned. Elissa and I gravitated towards doing what we do best and started cleaning the place up like it was our apartment, and even convinced Santiago to start buying living necessities like pots and pans to try and nudge him into finally moving in.
Santi’s aunt and uncle invited us to their ranch in the Pachuca area north of the city. Once outside of the influence of the metropolis the terrain is very flat and sparsely decorated with small towns and roadside taco stands. The Ranch turned out to be a massive, beautiful chunk of land in the valley of a national forest complete with a horse stable, a house for the groundskeeper and his family, and three houses tucked away in the back depths of the property. We were thoroughly entertained by his Uncle’s humor and fed very well. They ran a very successful archeology magazine and sports newspaper in the city and have full-time maids taking care of all the chores. It was my first experience having dinner served inside a home with maids and it felt a little awkward. This was a normalcy to them and a lot of other wealthy Mexico City citizens who partake in the service-based industry. With Elissa’s background experience in the restaurant industry it took all she could to not help clean up the dishes and settings. We stayed up late talking about Mexico City, different must see places to visit in Mexico, and philosophy with his uncle. They gave us a room with king sized bed to sleep in and Elissa and I became lost in both it’s size and comfort. The next day we hiked to the top of the nearby mountain peak and explored a small mining village for some Pastes, a pastry filled with anything from meats and cheeses to fruit and rice pudding. Verdict: delicious.
Our new apartment was a far cry from the convenience of public transportation. The nearest metro station was about a 30 minute walk and the nearest bus stop was about 20. The subway system and Mexico City in general has been portrayed as full of pick pocketing, petty theft, and elaborate money extraction schemes in literature but the truth is we didn’t feel unsafe or threatened for even a minute. The subway system, just like buses, are full of people that try to sell you things from candy, super loud dance music, to earphones between almost every stop. Since we both lived in Boston the subway and bus system was rather easy to get used to (a few mishaps here and there) and brought us into the city for about 25 cents a trip. We found that the biggest danger in the city was car traffic. Drivers here were absolutely mad and crossing the street felt like a real life game of Frogger. Drivers licenses are given without an exam (I was told) which I believe to be true based on our daily roulette game of crossing the road.
On Tuesday morning we experienced our first big earthquake! Being on the 8th floor may have amplified the effects as the building began bouncing for several seconds then swaying back and forth. We looked outside, saw people gathering outside of buildings, and figured we should too. The quake was fairly large and made headlines although I didn’t really see any damage anywhere we went. A lot of older buildings and churches here are listing, sinking into the fill and clay soils they were constructed on from years of earthquakes and just the weight of the structures themselves. Some were not noticeable until pointed out, with massive churches almost leaning over you at the entrance.
We visited the Zocalo one afternoon to check out the street markets and historic center of town to see how much free stuff we could find in the city. Numerous street markets were selling (once again) anything you could possibly imagine from food to fake purses to super glue (our big purchase of the day) all watching for the anti-piracy police to come around the corner. As soon as they saw them, they quickly gathered up their goods and dashed into stores or began walking away, only to return minutes later to set up their shop again. We went into a museum, checked out the cathedral, and wandered into the National Palace to check out some murals. While inside this monstrous complex a troop from the Mexican Army entered the palace with a marching band. We went outside and watched the daily lowering of the flag ceremony in the Zocalo, where the discipline of the marching troops vanished while they scrambled to catch the enormous flag before it touched the ground. We ventured down a walking street swollen with people in the crisp night taking in the night lights of the city.
A few days later we found ourselves in Bellas Artes, a modern museum containing large paintings, murals, and an architectural exhibit. Afterward we hunted down the largest, busiest bakery we’ve ever had the pleasure of being in on the same day after seeing countless Mexicans carrying pastry boxes and wondering where they were coming from. The place was teeming with people and sweets, and after you self-served a small mountain of unexplored items onto your metal plate a boxing and wrapping station was nearby where 20 or so workers packed the goods in a mechanical fashion. We walked over to the Zocalo and ate the entire bag amidst people of all ages flying kites and made a new memory in the process.
Eager to finally check out the pyramids we hopped on a bus to Teohuatican early one morning. We had missed the solstice there, which may have been a good thing because it was very empty when we arrived a few days later. My best descriptive language could never do this place justice and wouldn’t accurately describe the sense of wonderment that you feel when you see what man is capable of creating without modern tools. The amount of effort put into building this city was astounding. Everthing seemed to be flush and squarely oriented astronomically. There were an endless amount of men and women selling the all of the same touristy stuff there at every step of the way. The annoyance of conveying “No thank you” to endless obsidian stones, fake bobcat mouth noisemakers, and necklaces was probably nothing compared to the toil they go through everyday trying to peddle these items. Everything worth seeing in Mexico has some sort of undertone of money extraction in some way, shape, or form and can take away from the experience while being part of it at the same time. But I digress. We climbed the huge Pyramid of the Sun, hung out with our Pyramid of the Moon, and walked around the backside of the pyramid for a view without the drones of people climbing up the overly steep steps. I imagined what this monster must have looked like in it’s time, painted red with hand carved sculptures everywhere, with thousands of devoted natives milling about on this hot, hot day. The view from the top was breathtaking. We saw a mini cyclone pass through swirling up dust several hundred feet in the air before disappearing into the hot afternoon. En route back to the city we checked out the old and beautiful Villa de Guadelupe, as well as the new rock concert-esque stadium built in her honor in the 70’s that can house up to 40,000 devout Christians. After walking up beautiful Spanish style stairs with flower covered archways the peak had some of the best skyline views of the city.
Since our laundry bag was bursting at the seams we killed an entire afternoon and a lot of energy trying to find a Laundromat. Protip: If you want to start a successful business in Mexico City run a functional Laundromat. They seem to be non-existent here mainly because people either have their own machines, know someone who does, or tend to pay someone to do it for them. After several hours we found one and were told our small bag would be ready in 3 days. 3 days is a long time to go without fresh underwear. Luckily one of Santiago’s cousins brought us into his house and we did a load of laundry there while we went to see a documentary at the Auditorio on Leonardo Da Vinci’s exhibit at the National Gallery in London. Culture points.
A day trip to Xochimilco brought us to a yet another massive and amazing street market. We sought out this area to take a trip on one of the many gondolas that leave from several embarcaderos and take you through irrigation channels still present. The city was originally comprised of these waterways fed by a large lake that slowly became filled in as the city grew. We bartered the price down for a 1 hour trip at an embarcadero that was filled with hundreds of brightly painted gondolas, each complete with tables and chairs for it’s passengers. To get to your boat you would walk through several others tied together, kind of like a floating dock comprised of jumbled boats. Once we got onto the water we cruised along watching large families with 2 or 3 boats linked together with rope blasting music, drinking, and eating food they had brought. There were gondolas full of Mariachis trying to sell you songs. Vendors were also out on the water selling everything from beer, food, ponchos, toys, you name it. Elissa and I joked and grinned as we took in all the sights of this cool and unique version of a family get together and wished we could share it with ours. The shores were decorated with flower and plant shops alongside food businesses and homefronts. Romantico.
The next few days were dedicated to the birthdays. Santiago’s college buddy Mike flew in from NYC and both his and Santiago’s birthdays were the previous week. He was a true fish out of water here and seemed to be stuck in the upper west side bubble in life in general, so interacting with Mexican culture was almost non-existent for him. Santiago’s pal from the city also had a birthday, so we spent 2 straight nights in birthday party mode. Mexicans (at least these ones) tend to go right for the hard liquor and drink that all night long. The language barrier is broken by alcohol during the later portion of the night as our interactions were spent laughing a lot more and trying to talk a lot less. Physical humor prevails. After getting to bed around 6 AM we woke up and spent all day setting up Santiago’s apartment for his celebration. We utilized his projector to create a slideshow of pictures I’ve taken of Mexico thus far onto his ceiling, arranged his living room, and set up food and drinking stations. After eating tons of food, playing an intense game of marbles (I’m sure the neighbors were delighted by this), and drinking plenty of libations we found ourselves still awake at 6AM again, and we were thoroughly wiped out now. We needed a full day of recovery before leaving the scene. Monday I was sitting on his couch reflecting over the past week and felt completely content. Mexico City gave us opposing perspectives on life here. We saw the cushy, upscale kind of living in this part of town and hanging out with Santiago’s relatives. We also saw the poorer walks of life here getting by in their day to day shuffle scrounging for pesos. The classes established in this city, and in this country, seem well defined and hard to break out of. It’s a busy city to find yourself in with a more than enough to see and do. I can’t thank Santiago enough for his hospitality and making our Mexico City experience awesome. More than anything our stay in the city brought Mexican hospitality to light. It was stressed to me that Mexicans truly want you to have a good time in their country and that “mi casa es su casa”. This was truly conveyed.
Quickly through Queretaro and Bernal
Driving into Queretaro I scanned the view through a weathered window seat on our bus and was awoken out of the dream I had of the city. The romantic vision of this old mining supply hub quickly disappeared like sunlight burning off the morning fog revealing the truth. The view coming out of the mountains and into the valley was sprawling outskirts of complex infrastructures and buildings. The bus station was gigantic and probably a hub for traveling all over the country. After becoming thoroughly confused finding local buses we wandered amongst a sea of taxi cabs waiting their turn and found what looked like an abandoned bus station of yesteryear. We took a stab at where the dozens of buses were going and wound up getting dropped off near the lushly landscaped Alemeda Park. Green grass, giant palm trees, and perfectly groomed hedges led us through the park and into a bustling intersection packed with vehicles and a sea of people. My first impression of this town was that the pulse of urban expansion was drowning out the heartbeat of it’s history. Downtown was covered in people, transportation, and shops with the echoes of capitalism bouncing off the historic churches and plazas that were sprinkled throughout. Don’t get me wrong and think that this place isn’t worth a visit because it definitely is. This is just a personal lesson I’d like to share about presumptions and expectations of a destination without any prior knowledge. It is almost a 100% certainty in life that if you go into a situation with expectations you will ultimately be disappointed. I’ve learned this before but for some reason it slipped past the guards and walked right into the corridors of my thoughts. The layout consisted of old, windy narrow roads intertwined with a grid-like system which probably came from Spanish influence. The churches and plazas visibly show Spanish influences as well but monuments of Indian legacy give the impression that cultures blended here.
Armed with our heavy backpacks we walked a healthy 15 blocks or so through the urban growth that swallowed this town until we came across Itza Hostel. Itza Hostel has a cute name, but it was run by some dude in his early 20’s and was sub-par for a hostel. After settling there we walked down through the historic streets and markets of Queretaro desperately keeping our eyes open for a different sleeping situation. We treated ourselves to our first authentic Gordita experience made fresh from a woman who had looked as if she had been cooking in that same 15×20 foot store front forever. She made us each a Gordita filled with cheese, pork (I think), salsa, and guacamole. We then ventured off for some beef tacos and capped off the meal with eating our first Mexican paletas (fresh ice cream and /or fruit bars). We have been seeing these things everywhere and had to try a fresh strawberry bar and an oreo cookie ice cream bar. Both were fantastic and I have been craving them ever since.
The layout consisted of old, windy narrow roads intertwined with a grid-like system which probably came from Spanish influence. The churches and plazas visibly show Spanish influences as well but monuments of Indian legacy give the impression that cultures blended here. There seems to be more of a city-backed market business here with designated metal pop-up vendor stations instead of the do-it-yourself tents seen almost everywhere else.
A slight mishap at the Templo de Santa Cruz had us on the bad side of the elder man that leads visitors to the gardens in the middle of the nunnery. We had been walking around for hours and just bought some desperately needed drinks with pocket change. One of the main attractions at this church are the trees growing in the gardens that the legend states a monk placed his walking stick in the soil and thorn trees bearing the sign of the cross. The entry was donation only and all I had were $3.50 pesos (roughly 30 cents) or a 50 peso bill (roughly dinner for the night). I placed the $3.50 money in the donation basket and was questioned as to why I didn’t give more money, in Spanish. After attempting to explain that’s all I could give (donations don’t feel like donations if they are forced or there is guilt involved) he eventually led us begrudgingly to the trees and led us straight out the side door 30 seconds later. We got to see the thorns more up close and personal in the plaza outside when a woman knocked over a whole box of the crosses and gave Elissa one for aiding the clean up. We then retired at the Itza and immediately located a much better hostel in the morning before leaving for Bernal.
Another confusing bus station scene later and we are off to Bernal on a cheap, low fare bus. These buses tend to make many stops along the way at little roadside corners that would have any outsider baffled as to how one would know it is a bus stop. When Bernal came into view I had one of those amazing and all too rare moments where I gasped involuntarily. Between two curtains on the bus I could see the entire monolith (Pena de Bernal) illuminated by the sun with a dark cloudy backdrop. Until that came into view I had felt awful about being so pushy to go hours out of the way to see a big rock. Elissa was being a trooper for supporting the geologist in me but it was worthwhile in the end. The small and dusty town of Bernal had one main street on the outer perimeter and dropped us off accordingly at an abandoned looking building. We immediately wandered into the heart of the town and headed towards the giant rock that brought us here. We hiked up hills, stumbled into a field trip, and saw some breathtaking views. We then wandered about looking at some churches, artisanal shops, and storefronts getting ready for the big weekend rush. On the equinox this tiny town gets inundated with pilgrims who believe the rock has special energy and powers. Thousands would climb up Bernal to get close to the rock just a few days after we visited.
After a long day we got back to the bus station and on another crazy local bus that got pulled over on the way to the city by a cop. After boarding another bus we had our first Mexican Chinese Food experience (not bad, not good) and settled into the hostel for a low-key movie night. It was Friday night and I took a small stroll around to get some drinks and took in the scene as youngsters were out and about dressed to impress for a night of clubs and bars. A theatre show just got out and I was in the middle of very well dressed Mexicans and felt at peace with the city and our decision to stay here. Next stop, Mexico City.
San Miguel de Allende (and the surrounding area)
After a hot and sweaty ride on the 2nd class bus (cheaper, less comfortable) from Guanajuato we arrived in San Miguel. We’ve seen nothing but warm, sunny days since arriving in central Mexico and this day decided it was not going to break that streak. In times like these I go through my belongings in my head and casually toss items into a metaphorical trash can to lighten the load. Backpacking can be quite tiring, and our routine of city shuffling is proving to be exhausting without a break in the sunny weather. This is the dry season in part of Mexico and rain is missed dearly. The hike up to the reservoir in Guanajauto exhumed an old leg injury of mine that feels like a pinched nerve running from the top of my right leg down to my ankle. I believe it’s all muscular and will work itself out, but after several restless nights I can’t help but wonder.
San Miguel is another iconic city along the freedom trail in the central part of Mexico. The streets here are very colorful and noticeably wider than Guanajuato and have that historic sense engrained within their flat rock and round cobblestone streets built by hand. We stumbled across some construction projects on our travels around town and witnessed the painstakingly slow process of placing the final cobbles back into place, making the street look as if nothing happened. The city also keeps its streets preserved historically by prohibiting signage from protruding perpendicular from the exterior walls of it’s buildings. This creates a very aesthetically pleasing look when gazing down any of it’s long, straight streets- but can also be slightly confusing when trying to locate something. San Miguel has also kept it’s religious history very conspicuous with its vast array of beautiful churches and plazas. The doors always seem to be open and you can respectfully pop in to see all of the ornately depicted religious scenes. Jesus is everywhere here and you quite often see locals making the sign of the cross as they enter, walk, or drive by a church. The Plaza Central is squared up in front of the enormous Parroquia de San Miguel Arcangel, a landmark of San Miguel. On our first night here we discovered that this week was dedicated to Cuba Fest and had a Cuban themed outdoor exhibit each night in the Plaza Principal. We listened to a Cuban performance and watched breakdancers perform impromptu in a gazebo nearby.
In dire need of some relaxation, we set off the following morning for some natural hot springs just outside of town. The local bus system in Mexico is quite perplexing, even with decent instructions. The Lonely Planet section of San Miguel seems to be written very obscurely and had us waiting at the wrong bus stop for about 45 minutes. After failing to find the right bus we changed plans and sought out the Sancturio de Atotonilco, a preserved historical church where local artist Miguel Antonio Martinez spent 30 years painting the frescos for the complex. The church was astonishing and the town was barren. After leaving we bumped into an American who led us to the hot springs we were seeking on foot. This place was a great example of how to commercialize a geothermal anomaly without making it feel like a dirty theme park. It was quite a spread of lush green plans, cacti, and ponds with a covered grotto fed by hot spring water. A nice Mexican couple that were at the springs gave us a ride back to town when they saw we were walking towards the highway to flag down a bus. We went back to San Miguel to check out some more churches and had some margaritas with some fellow hostelers at an ex-pat bar.
The only qualm I have about this pretty town is the influx of ex-pats who have retired here without a noticeable attempt of integration with the Mexican culture. It seems they have set up a separate subculture of businesses, galleries, bars, and educational lectures all geared for English speaking tourists and retirees. In my head it felt as if a memo leaked and stated that this town was a safe paradise to invest in causing a slew of people to start buying out haciendas, developing property, and setting up shop in this historic city. I don’t want to sound hypocritical (because I am a tourist and visitor as well) but when I see very little attempt to speak the language it irritates me. I’m noticing Americans tend to carry themselves in a different manner now that I find myself outside of the states. It’s becoming increasingly apparent, especially compared to the polite and humble culture that Mexico has created. Apologies for the pontification.
Our last morning here we took a hike to the northeast part of town to check out the botanical gardens. Succulents of all shapes and sizes were found in this preservation. A donkey found its way inside the conservation and it’s frustration could be heard booming from the canyon as it tried to figure out how it got there in the first place. This large canyon dominated the lower half of the preservation was believed to house the first water mill for San Miguel primarily for wool treatment. The water supposedly changes color based on the seasons.
Overall, San Miguel is a great place to visit and was a very warm, friendly place for turistas like us. The street food was cheap and great but the restaurants seemed trendier and priced accordingly. And lastly notable was San Miguel’s amazing outdoor public library where we would find ourselves doing research amongst a lush outdoor courtyard complete with big green leafy plants and a tranquil fountain. If all libraries were set up like this I would find myself reading a lot more.
Guanajauto
I feel that a short preface prior to this post is necessary, although it has nothing to do with the actual post itself. Hence the following.
I am astonished and completely floored by the attention that my last post received. I never anticipated, although it has always been a goal for this blog, that I would actually get the spotlight and become freshly pressed. Shortly after it was published I checked my email from my cozy hostel in the heart of Guanajuato and noticed that I had almost 100 new messages in my inbox. I figured something was awry and was in complete disbelief when I checked wordpress’s homepage. In regards to the old adage about setting the bar high I think I’ll need a combination of a trampoline and a grappling hook to get back to where it was raised . I jokingly told myself and Elissa (my sweet and dedicated girlfriend/travel guru) that I have to really keep up my game now that people are watching. But that attitude and line of thinking will ultimately push myself to creating an artificial experience based on what I think will be better received rather than keeping my perspective. I chose plan B. I want to thank everyone who took the time to read and enjoy life as I see it. That’s it that’s all.
Guanajuato
I’m not sure that my words could ever really express the beauty that is buried deep within Guanajuato. It’s almost a proven theory in my head that I could tell a much better story through photographs than my vernacular limits will allow. This place is truly a diamond in the rough with a deep history full of Mexican pride that matches the charming tune it hums throughout the sunshine kissed days and almost overly romantic nights. A slight breeze accompanied us almost every day we spent here roaming the hand-laid brick and cobblestone streets and plazas that had the feeling of an old-world European town imbedded with Mexico’s culture. Each plaza seemed to house a picturesque fountain (with or without water), vendors cooking up sizzling snacks, and plenty of people taking a break from the chores and deliberations of the slow pace of the day. Street vendors selling donuts are just about everywhere here, tempting you with their take on these delicious treats usually set up on small tables that have you craving donuts like you never had before. The chorus line of “Take it Easy” reminds me of the ubiquitous lifestyle that everyone seems to embrace here. I realize this is coming from a travelers perspective and that there are very hardworking people here but it seemed like every night a different celebration of some sort was going on and everyone was out enjoying it. I fully approve of all forms of public celebrations and this town was chock-full of them.
Guanajauto takes pride in their city and this can easily be seen in the clean streets of this old mining town. A silver vein found in the mid 1500′s brought this area to life and it later became the site of the first victory for the rebels under the leadership of Miguel Hidalgo. A larger than life statue of El Pipila carved in stone looks down upon the city and serves as a permanent reminder to Mexicans that they took back their land from Spanish rule. This is also home to the world’s smallest mummy and the Pope will be here next week. Not bad for a little town in the mountains.
This UNESCO World Heritage city’s age can be seen (thankfully) everywhere you roam. Each building has a story written in it’s walls and ancient doors that any preservation society would tip their hat to. It looks as if nothing has changed (although it clearly has) since the mining days with underground tunnels through the rock and below the city’s streets and buildings. The streets are just barely wide enough for a car and somehow buses manage to take the hairpin corners coming uncomfortably close to contact with people on the sidewalks (I haven’t figured out sidewalk etiquette here yet but I always seem to be the one moving out of the way). Elissa captured the magic of this city the best (she is one of the greatest observers I have ever met) as ¨a perfect blend of the old with the new¨. It does have the ammeneties of a modern day city but everything is contained within these beautifully preserved historic buildings, stucco houses, and plazas that could never be recreated or duplicated elsewhere with the same effect.
The town has an orchestra of church bells, barking dogs, and roosters that seem to crow all through the night conversing with each other. Earplugs are advised for sleeping. Our first night we decided to go super budget on our hostel and wound up in a room that would make the bulb from a black light cringe. We met an insanely drunk Mexican named Poncho who spoke some English and acted out his conversation for us in a delightfully animated manner. I was dubbed “Danny boy” somehow over a few 40 oz Coronas. After a full night of restless sleep we awoke to the charming sound of about a dozen roosters announcing their love for the sun in close proximity. A bad food decision on the way out of Guadalajara added to my insomnia. We promptly set out to find a different place to stay and on the recommendations of a fellow traveler from Guadalajara stumbled into Casa Bertha (http://www.casabertha.com/) and settled down like we were living there. By the way, the only place to stay in Guanajuato is Casa Bertha in my opinion. The owners are charming, the accommodations are wonderful, and the terrace with the outdoor kitchen is heavenly. We wound up buying groceries in this town to cut back on the eating budget but did manage to go out and get some local fare too. The food in Guanajuato ranged from authentic Mexican to bagel cafes, pizza joints, and even Japanese cuisine. It had a great mix for a city in my opinion.
Students and artists showcased their honed talents in the Jardin de la Union adjacent to the Teatro Juarez just about every single night. It became a routine to swing by just to see what was in store. Beautifully skilled mariachi’s played loudly and sang softly to diners at the outdoor cafes while street performers captured the attention of crowds. Our trip coincided with a GTO rally race and we got to enjoy pedestrians dashing out of the way as cars whizzed around the narrow streets and tunnels.
We capped off our stay with a hike to one of the reservoirs that feeds Guanajuato and am paying for it currently with some severely sore legs. It was kind of scary to see how low the Presa de Mata was with the high water mark about 30 feet lower than stands currently. I spoke with George (manager of Casa Bertha) about the water in my best broken Spanish and he said it has been a very dry year and the water is dangerously low. I had to memorize what I wanted to say for a solid 5 minutes beforehand so it came out right instead of “Agua es no bueno” (my vocabulary is slowing increasing). I’m finding that I am uncomfortable with the amount of Spanish that I know and it is more of a hurdle to jump than I had in my head before arriving. I don’t like feeling like a typical tourist, and an important element of traveling for me is communication. And at the moment, it feels like a huge barrier to cross with native speakers. Practica, practica, practica.
We slowed our pace a lot in this town and stayed an extra night or two cooking up meals for ourselves and taking everything in. We both wished we had found this beautiful city later on in the trip, as we would have loved to spent more time here. But we had to move along.
I’ve also realized I have to stop taking so many damn pictures. This pace can’t go on and will ultimately slow down to a reasonable amount.
-Dr.
Guadalajara, Tlaquepaque, and Tonala
the approach
Guadalajara is Mexico’s second largest city and deemed one of the safest in Mexico, so it seemed like a great place to get comfortable with the country on our new adventure. The night before our departure was its own adventure, spent clearing out the apartment and leaving us with 1 hour of sleep, severely exhausted and slightly delirious. After landing we grabbed a cab to our hostel in an older part of historic Guadalajara. Our itchy feet had us roaming the streets and I was pleasantly surprised at how relaxing the atmosphere was. We stumbled upon a plaza dedicated to the artist Pablo Neruda filled with street vendors offering tacos, fresh fruit bags, fresh potato chips with salsa and lime, clothing, toys, you name it. The warm breeze brushed our weary faces as we watched kids playing soccer next to fountains and heard Spanish chatter everywhere. I could recognize that this historic city was going to be a great place to explore and immediately regretted not having my camera at my side when everything was so new and fresh in my eyes. I shot almost everything with my new 35mm prime lens, and I think this might be my go-to for street photography.
Exploring Guadalajara proved to be an exhausting and worthwhile experience. Using the Lonely Planet’s Guide to Mexico we quickly started seeing the traditional and exciting sides of the city. Buildings showed their age with hand carved facades and small balconies at almost every door sized window with full wooden shutters. There were beautiful churches surrounding plazas teeming with Mexican citizens wandering about their daily routines and vendors with tables around almost every corner. We found ourselves on the outskirts of the city one day in a slum of sorts with tiny little shops offering specialized crafts in areas that I bet most would find a little uncomforting. But those areas seemed a little more authentic just a few blocks away from the cultural attractions. The massive wooden doors of the cathedral were opened up one day and we found ourselves in a cavernous church watching a couple tie-the-knot. 2 lb bags of fresh cut watermelon, pineapple, mango, papaya, and cucumber (about $1.75) became an everyday mid morning staple. With fresh torta ahogadas (drowned pork sandwiches with spicy chili sauce), huevos al gusto con chorizo with freshly squeezed jugo najarana (the best orange juice I’ve ever had for about $3.00) my stomach quickly became fond of Mexico. Most meals run us about 6 bucks for two and they are a treat for the taste buds. Just tonight we enjoyed two quesadilla gringos (lengua y bistek) and a grande horchata at a roadside taco stand. We then walked over toward the cathedral plaza and watched a Bruce Springsteen documentary while eating a freshly steamed corn on the cob with mayonnaise, cheese, and chili sauce with a backdrop of horse drawn carriages, children playing with bubbles, and a newlywed bride and groom enjoying the same treat.
On Saturday we found ourselves in Tlaquepaque, an up and coming artisanal suburb of Guadalajara. The upscale interior decorating stores lined walking streets and led to a carnival-like setting in the central plaza with, again, food everywhere. Leafy green plants, palm trees, and flowers were set with the background hum of music and children running about. A slowly drawn out Mexican sunset left peach colored light on two ornate churches while families strolled around enjoying a lazy weekend night.
Tonala offered the best street market that I have been to. The bus ride there felt like we were really in Mexico as streets disappeared into dusty untamed side roads with rocks, broken down vehicles, and buildings that looked like they gave up on life years ago. Closer to town the area started to take shape with artisan shops everywhere showcasing the talents of the craftsmen and what they deem as art. Unique large pieces of pottery, metal work, wooden transportation vessels turned into large scale ornaments, and galvanized stars filled the sides of the narrow streets. After getting dropped off in the city center we immediately were swallowed up into tents and shacks that were teeming with shoppers. This market was not for those with any level of claustrophobia as foot traffic bottlenecks for minutes at a time when a craft catches a shopper’s eye. Getting out of the tented area brought us through the side streets of the suburb with even more tables and workshops with open doors in every direction. After wandering around the side streets for a while we had to give our legs a break and sat under a straw hut with wooden benches that were more than inviting. A separate part of the market had even more Mexican crafts to offer on dusty streets on this hot afternoon. I think it impossible to see everything the market had to offer in one day. After nearly passing out we had the best burrito I’ve ever tasted cooked in front of us for next to nothing. The bus ride made me wonder how these metal tanks stay put together on some of the roughest roads I’ve ever experienced. Some bumps literally had us airborne off our seats while those around us barely even blinked an eye.
We are wrapping up our stay in Guadalajara and moving along tomorrow. We’ve met some very inspirational travelers the past few nights that have shed light on some fears and have spilled their views on the world to us in ways that I can carry with me forever. An older chap from England started his trip in the Northern border and is doing an entire loop ending up in Tijuana. He’s traveled the world mostly by himself, seen all but 3 countries in South America, and believes that traveling is the best way to connect with people and the world. A younger man from Ecuador gave us all his opinions and inside information on the best places to see from his journeys through Central America and Mexico. He speaks about 4 languages fluently and did so with others staying at the hostel while we sat in awe, somewhat ashamed by our limited internal dictionary of languages. He believes traveling is the best investment anyone can make in this world and I agree whole-heartedly. Two Aussies just got in tonight without learning a lick of Spanish and plan on conquering the coastlines flying by the seat of their pants. After about 15 hours of flying they dropped off their bags and went looking for beer and food. They know some places they want to go and the kinds of things they want to see. The Australian way always gives me a great laugh and awesome travel inspiration. Traveling brings about an odd group of characters in a play that is too often missed out by the masses. Guadalajara was a great place to start in Mexico but it’s time to move along.
-Dr.
