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The
Mexican's Mexico-Michoacán
by
:Jane Onstott:
Michoacán,
a large state with a rugged, little-visited Pacific coast, lies
west of Mexico City, sandwiched between Guerrero, Guanajuato, Jalisco,
Colima, and the state of Mexico. In addition to light industry (they
export paper products, avocados, and guacamole), tourism contributes
greatly to Michoacán's economy. However, of its two to three
million annual visitors, 90 percent are Mexican.
Why
is it that for every nine Mexicans who visit, only one foreigner
hears the call? Because Mexicans are more sophisticated? Because
most are defeños, anxious to trade Mexico City’s congestion
and smog for something familiar and comforting, close by, and safe?
Because they love guacamole?
I
recently visited Michoacán state and its capital, Morelia,
not because I wanted to answer these or other rhetorical questions,
but because I’m one of the 10 percent of foreign visitors who finds
the place irresistible.
And
it’s not just the guacamole. Have you tried “Michoacán-style
meat?” It’s sold in restaurants and at taco stands around the country,
but nowhere does it compare with what is made in its home state.
The first time I tried a plate of a mixed grill cooked hot and fast
with chunks of onion, fresh mushrooms, green pepper, and melty cheese,
I thought I’d truly landed in Mexican fast-food heaven. Of course
it’s served with a mountain of steaming hot tortillas and bowls
of perfect red and green salsa. The Pioneros restaurant chain which
(along with others) serves this fabulous food has several outlets
around Morelia. It’s a no-nonsense kind of eating place, and beer
is served only with a meal. There’s no reason to linger: you’re
there for the food.
And
why linger? There’s a few days’ worth of wandering, photographing,
and learning to be done in this capital city of 1.2 million. The
downtown area is lined with two-story buildings of unpolished limestone.
Their dignified plateresque facades are without the distraction
of stucco or paint. Inside, some have been endowed with multi-million
dollar renovations.
One
such massive restoration has been recently completed at El Conservatorio
de las Rosas. The church and part of the adjoining former convent
have been painstakingly restored over the last three years. The
Santa Rosa de Lima convent was established in the 16th century.
It became a school for orphan girls in the 1800s. During the Revolution,
soldiers were bivouacked in the large patio courtyard. Since the
1930s the building has housed The Conservatory of the Roses – one
of the most important music schools in Latin America.
I
recently toured the church with Mr. Phillipe de Reiset, one of the
restoration project’s principal champions, cheerleaders, fund-raisers,
and patrons. The painted ceiling, quite unusual in gray-green and
tan, looked like art nouveau to me but is apparently baroque. The
gray and blue motif is mirrored in the tiled floor of stylized flowers.
Covering the entire front of the single-nave church is a lovely
altarpiece with saints leaning out from their carved wooden niches.
Along one side, the screen behind which the interned girls stood
to hear Mass has been beautifully restored in shiny gold.
After
my tour of the Church of the Roses, Mr. de Reiset showed me around
the meandering grounds of Hotel Villa Montaña, which he and
his wife Eva bought in 1973. Born to wealth in France, de Reiset’s
family home was an ancient abbey that he longed to restore. Regulations
in France being too complicated and restrictive, the art and architecture
lover moved instead to Mexico, where he has transformed the Villa
Montaña into a delightful enclave of dark red villas shaded
by tall trees and dotted with sculptures both old and new. Each
room is individually decorated in an amalgam of styles, and the
staff is exceptionally professional, bright, and helpful.
I
was surprised to hear that the place began in the 18th century as
a collection of summer homes for wealthy people from the city below.
Today it’s just about 15 minutes by car from the busy city center,
but I suppose in those days it was a horse or buggy ride of some
hours. These homes were small and unassuming compared to their center-city
mansions, but they enjoyed a terrific view and cooling summer breezes.
When
movie director Henry King owned the hotel during the Hollywood glamour
days, occupation was 99 percent American. Today Villa Montaña’s
guests, which de Reiset describes as “the newlywed and the nearly
dead,” are mainly upper-class Mexicans in designer dresses and tailored
suits. I spent two nights at the hotel, but the nicest dress I had
seemed shabby by comparison, and the jean jacket I selected to go
with it made me feel like a brigand among butterflies. I opted for
room service. After several weeks on the road and lots of socializing
and interviews, a couple of nights alone with yummy gourmet food
and a warming shot of tequila was absolutely welcome and rejuvenating.
Although
I’ve visited Morelia several times in the past, this time I hired
guide David Saucedo to show me around both the city and the surrounding
countryside. David laid on an overwhelming flow of facts and historical
data. But he’s also a local, from the town of Santa Clara del Cobre,
and knows the countryside well. He can tell you where to find the
best tacos in Morelia, and is well connected there with hoteliers,
restaurateurs, and artisans.
We
skipped the city’s museums, which I’d seen before, and had a pleasant
meal instead at Los Mirasoles, a restaurant in the restored home
of one of Morelia’s leading families. Slip into the beautiful bar
with unpolished marble floors and its own fireplace for one of a
laundry list of martinis (50 in all) or many good wines by the glass.
The separate dining rooms throughout the mansion are elegantly decorated
with a mix of modern murals and old-fashioned tin chandeliers and
free-standing carved wood cabinets. My watercress salad was overdressed,
but most of the dishes on the international menu are worthwhile.
After
eating we headed for the lovely cathedral, which took one hundred
years to build. Its baroque façade is fascinating combination
of pillars and carved sandstone panels; the interior is mainly neoclassic.
The first chapel on the right inexplicably houses the mummies of
two who died in the Crusades, a gift no doubt of Spain. If you go,
note the chandeliers, which were gifts of Mexico’s short-lived Emperor
Maximilian of Hapsburg, and the German pipe organ, second-largest
in Latin America (after the one in Mexico City) with 4,700 pipes.
Next
to the cathedral, shoeshine men and boys position themselves in
the geometric shade of Indian laurel trees with foliage trimmed
like botanical hatboxes. Laced-out jacarandas surround the beautiful
wrought iron bandstand where evening concerts are held. Music is
big in Morelia. November heralds the International Music Festival,
featuring the cathedral’s massive organ. The Guitar Festival is
held each March.
One
of the most pleasant pastimes any time you travel is, to my mind,
simply lingering in an outdoor café and watching the world
go by. Several cafes with a European feel crowd together along Avenida
Madero across the street from the main plaza. If you sit at the
more tranquil café across from the Conservatory of the Roses,
you can listen to the strains of young orchestras at play.
Music
aside, however, there’s not a lot of playing going on in Morelia.
Maybe that’s why foreigners don’t visit often, or if they do, don’t
tend to linger. The people are warm and hospitable, but this city
has a purposeful air that almost makes one loath to loaf.
Yet
the first inhabitants of Morelia (then called Valladolid) were consummate
loafers. Unlike most other colonial cities in Mexico, Morelia wasn’t
founded at an existing indigenous town, city, or even settlement.
Soon after the Conquest, two Spaniards on horseback met at the undeveloped
site to discuss administrative affairs. One of them, the Spanish
viceroy, was so impressed with the beauty and climate of the place
that he encouraged elite criollo families to relocate there, and
a city was founded in 1540. Because Spanish nobility had no need
(or desire) to work for a living, the city evolved slowly and practically
without industry.
More
to experience in the countryside
Although
Morelia is an excellent place to begin exploration of the state,
the small towns around Lake Patzcuaro exert a powerful draw. About
an hour west of Morelia, picturesque Patzcuaro perches on the edge
of its namesake lake. The entire town is whitewashed, with the bottom
quarter of each shop or home painted a deep wine red. Perhaps by
city ordinance, or simply by consensus, business names are printed
on the sides of buildings in an old-fashioned script, with the first
letter in red and the rest of the word in black. The humble, uniform,
one- and two-story buildings form a wonderful backdrop for quiet,
meditative walks and a lovely background for photos.
You’ll
get more excellent photos and experiences by taking a boat across
large Lago de Patzcuaro to the touristy but still appealing island
of Janitzio. Climb a series of cement stairs past tiny restaurants
and souvenir stalls to the giant statue of war hero Joséé
Maríía Morelos that crowns the island. Or visit smaller
Isla Yunuen or one of several other tiny islands populated by fishing
families.
Although
Patzcuaro is a smallish town, there’s plenty to see and do, and
I recommend spending several days. At more than 7,000 feet above
sea level, the weather is often hot during the day but cold at night,
when sweet-scented smoke curls above timbered roofs uniformly capped
with ancient red tiles. You’ll note that the local indigenous women
use shawls of black with narrow red or blue or yellow stripes to
carry their babies or other belongings or folded in different ways
on their heads. These shawls, as well as sweaters and capes knit
with traditional geometric designs of animals and birds, mitigate
the morning and evening chill and make beautiful souvenirs as well.
A
fireplace is welcome in this part of the world, and many of the
town’s humble yet charming hotels have them. My favorite place to
stay, which I found when on a strict budget and still prefer, is
Hotel Posada La Basilica. Inexpensive and homey, its pretty, simple
rooms surround a central courtyard. (Make sure to ask for one with
a fireplace.) The upstairs restaurant has a wonderful view of the
city’s adobe roof tiles.
Slightly
more upscale but still earthy is the Hostería de San Felipe,
an inn where David and I took a quick break for lunch. The restaurant’s
rustic, high-ceilinged interior has red tile floors, several large
fireplaces, and few decorations. On the waiter’s advice, I tried
the dried chile appetizer (served with fresh cheese, Mexican sour
cream, chopped cilantro and onion, and tortillas). I’ve never had
anything like it. The Tarascan soup, similar to tortilla soup, was
quite good, and I could manage only a few bites of Patzcuaro's rich
and famous ice cream.
Michoacán
has such a wealth of folk art that even non-shoppers like me can’t
resist. And Patzcuaro’s shops, all housed in the same whitewashed,
dark-timbered buildings within a five or six-block radius of the
town center, are ancient, small, and inviting. One of the best places
to get an overview of area crafts is the Casa de Once Patios (“House
of 11 Patios,” although I counted only half a dozen).
On
the first patio, look for the shop of Sarita Angel Calderón,
who practices the fine art of maqué. Using clay colored with
such natural pigments as squashed insects and chia-plant oil, the
aged but still spry artisan creates exquisite bowls, platters, and
trays. She laments that her craft is a dying art, as few of the
younger generation are interested in such painstaking work. In other
shops you’ll find tablecloths and other textiles (made to order
if you’ve a few days to wait), items of carved wood or plaited straw,
guitars and other musical instruments, shawls and sweaters, and
copperware from nearby Santa Clara.
A
Wee Bit of History
The
one-time capital of the native Purépecha people (one of the
very few groups in Mesoamerica never conquered by the Aztecs), Patzcuaro
radiates from two squares a block apart. The small Plaza Gertrudis
Bocanegra is named for one of the martyred leaders of the Independence
movement. Check out the small library on the corner of the square,
which houses a fabulous mural by architect Juan O’Gorman.
Far
larger, Plaza Vasco de Quiroga honors the bishop revered by the
people of his time as “Tata Vasco,” or “Grandpa Vasco.” Originally
a Purépecha playing field, it was converted under de Quiroga
to one of Mexico’s largest tianguis, or outdoor markets. An experienced
ecclesiastic lawyer and judge, de Quiroga was ordained a priest
and made bishop the same day. Coupled with his legal training, Bishop
de Quiroga’s important position gave him a powerful platform from
which he aided the indigenous people until his death decades later.
It
was no small feat for the wise and charitable de Quiroga to earn
the trust of the indigenous population, who had fled to the hills
during the tyrannical administration of Nuño de Guzmán
to avoid being beaten, enslaved, tortured, and murdered. De Guzmán,
whose reign of terror was unacceptably brutal even by the standards
of the day, was finally hauled back to Spain in chains. But the
indians were by then extremely wary of strangers. De Quiroga was
able to regain their trust initially by hosting festive parties
with dancing, music, and larger-than-life mojigangas, giant dolls
that were paraded through town.
As
evidenced by the ornate baroque temples seen today throughout middle
Mesoamerica, one of the conquerors’ most important goals was construction
of temple after luxurious temple using Indian labor and occasionally
even indigenous architects. Vasco de Quiroga built his share of
churches, most of them with huge atriums, or outdoor “patios” opening
off the nave or main chapel. He found that the Purépecha
preferred worshipping outside and, in any case, when the audience
swelled, there was no room for the converts in an average church.
But
de Quiroga had a more practical agenda, constructing as many schools
and small hospitals as houses or worship.
Further
evidence of the bishop’s dedication to the practical over the esoteric,
he taught each of the communities surrounding Patzcuaro (then the
capital of the Spanish authority) a different trade. His foresight
gave the people, who by Spanish edict were not allowed to work in
gold or silver, valuable trades still practiced in the lake region
today.
The
Road (Even Less) Traveled
Former
regional tourism delegate Gerardo de Larrea Miller once chastised
me at length: “You foreigners! You come to Patzcuaro and you think
you've seen the lake district!” He admonished me repeatedly to visit
the lakeshore towns for their music and dance, festivals, and unique
cuisine as well as their handicrafts. I’ve been meaning to take
his advice ever since, and only recently embarked on a whirlwind
tour – not nearly long enough to savor local culture, but at least
I got a taste.
Ten
miles from Patzcuaro, Santa Clara del Cobre is a charming and successful
copper-smithing town. Like many others in the region, it’s a neat
whitewashed town edged in maroon. Nearly one-third of the town’s
1200 inhabitants is in some way involved in pounding out and polishing
the fine copperware that fills the town’s 300 shops.
I
visited a garage-like workshop where the owner, Brisio Pureco Farfán,
pumped a giant bellows. His five burly sons pounded and shaped dingy-looking
pieces of copper sheet using primitive tools that had probably changed
little in the past 500 years. Brisio is a fourth-generation coppersmith,
and his kids, both sons and daughters, are following in his footsteps.
The
kettles and pots on which the young men were pounding were so raw
and burnt-up looking, it was shocking to see the finished product
in the adjoining showroom. While supervising kids and undoubtedly
performing dozens of other tasks, Brisio’s three daughters had polished
and finished vases, plates, urns, pitchers, and platters with surprising
finesse. Some pieces were inlaid with intricate silver designs or
tiny oil paintings. The most expensive piece, which took two months
to make, cost 8,000 pesos, or about USD$800. Most, however, were
priced well within reach of the average gringo.
Heading
northwest of Santa Clara, David drove along a road paved with cobblestones
and painted cement blocks toward Lago de Zirahuén. We passed
snatches of pine-oak forest interspersed with fields of mahogany-colored
earth turned and ready for planting. Small hills stood in the middle
ground, while dusky blue mountains formed a perpetual backdrop.
Zirahuén
sells no handcrafts: its “product” is the lake itself. Passengers
pay about USD$3 per person for a 45-minute spin around the lake
in small, covered boats. Tiny restaurants on stilts cluster at the
shore, frying up freshly caught fish, chiles rellenos, and frittatas
of potato, mushroom, and diced nopal cactus pads. Reasonably priced
wooden cabins lining the shore near the dock have kitchenettes,
fireplaces, and front porches and are popular with city people getting
away for weekends and holidays.
Guitars,
violins, and other stringed instruments are produced in San Pedro
Paracho, which I didn’t have time to visit. Instead, David plunged
the car between two plowed but unplanted fields, taking a shortcut
to the town of Erongicuaro, where we visited the huge, noisy, yet
orderly woodworking shop of American Steve Rosenthal. Along with
his wife, Maureen, he and 110 employees produce a carnival of tables,
chairs, carved mirrors, and other minor wooden miracles. You’ve
probably seen some of their pieces, often brightly painted and whimsical,
in upscale shops and boutique hotels around Mexico and in the southwestern
United States.
The
Rosenthals have been working in the area for many years. Workers
can own stock in the company, which is a sort of co-op. The work
is low-tech and highly skilled-labor intensive, and there are some
400 different models of tables, chairs, bureaus, and other pieces
to chose from; special orders are accepted.
Other
towns to visit around the lake include Tzintzuntzan, almost as much
fun to say as it is to visit. Here you can walk down to the lakeshore
and visit the huge old Franciscan monastery where two churches are
being restored and a third stands in ruins. Also see the artisan’s
market, where Tzintzuntzan’s famous straw products are for sale,
and the ancient Purépecha ceremonial site.
A
short side trip off the road from Tzintzuntzan to Patzcuaro takes
you to the marvelous village church at Tupataro, whose interior
in the 17th century was decorated in amazing, vibrant, and naïf
figures. Instead of stone or wood, most of the figures were made
of a Michoacán concoction of cactus gel, orchid essence,
and ground corn stalks. The church is astonishingly beautiful and
well worth the detour. A few miles beyond Tupataro, the town of
Cuanajo dedicates itself to painted and natural wood furniture,
much of it sold elsewhere.
Michoacán
is one of the most beautiful states in Mexico, and one of the least
visited by foreigners. So let’s get those numbers up! To make it
oh-so easy, Continental Airlines now offers daily nonstops between
Houston and Morelia, with connections from more than 100 U.S. and
Canadian cities. And if you’re interested but the kids or your spouse
really wants to spend time at the beach, a brand new superhighway
now connects Morelia and Ixtapa-Zihuatanejo. The straight new highway
cuts driving time from Morelia to the coast to just over three hours.
Open jaw flights are worth investigating: fly into Morelia and out
of Ixtapa-Zihua, a laid back resort destination we’ve covered in
recent editions of The
Mexico File.
Oh,
and speaking of open jaws – would someone please pass the guacamole?
About
The Autory
Jane
Onstott is a translator, writer, and editor who contributes regularly
to The Mexico
File. She has lived in Spain, Ecuador, and Mexico – and is currently
plotting a return to Mexico.
