We mapped out our plan; Morelia and Pátzcuaro (with daily side trips), returning through Queretaro. Other than Queretaro, every place was new to me.
Toby proved to be an amazing co-pilot. He was adept at map reading and despite my frequent concern he always managed to get us where we were going.
Our first stop was Morelia. I loved it. At least I loved centro. Like most old Mexican cities, the outskirts of town are sprawling, industrial and ugly. But in the center of town history remains; colonial architecture preserved.
As a University town there was a youth and vitality about it that one doesn’t really experience in San Miguel (what with all the retired people living here). Sidewalk cafes filled with students, talking or studying, not a gringo in sight.
Toby whipped out his guide book and had our walking tour all planned. In addition to the main cathedral, we walked through museums, government buildings, and the conservatory of music. I was impressed by how well everything was maintained. (And all the handsome young Mexican’s didn’t go unnoticed either.)
Pátzcuaro spoke to me. Situated in a pine forest, I found myself feeling at home in the trees. There are two large central plaza’s surrounded by restaurants and hotels. What surprised me was that the town is behind a hill or small mountain and therefore there are no views of the lake. Nonetheless, the town has charm.
We set out in search of accommodations. Had our budget allowed, we would have stayed at a beautiful boutique hotel called Casa de la Real Aduana (http://www.realaduana.com/). At the discounted rate of $180 USD per night, we would have had to share a bed. But instead Toby got the skinny from a couple at a restaurant and for about $150 USD less we stayed at Posada Mandala. There we each got our own bed but had to share a bathroom with the room across the hall. Enrique, the one-legged owner, was gregarious and very proud of the number of times his name appears on Trip Advisor.
After breakfast the next morning, Toby whipped out his guide book and we set off for Paricutin.
Paricutin is about a two hour dive from Pátzcuaro. Toby’s guidebook explained that in 1943 a small volcano erupted and buried the town, with the exception of the church which today is the only building poking up through the lava.
There is not much else to see in the region and I was doubtful that the drive was going to be worth the experience. However, I was not disappointed and it was probably the highlight of our trip.
We pulled off the main highway into a nothing of a town. Waiting by the side of the road were young men and horses. They kept trying to flag us down but we, being savvy travelers, simply sped past them. Undeterred, they mounted their horses and a pursuit ensued. (I have to admit that this was a unique experience for me; my car being chased by cowboys.) The road was so rutted that the horses had better footing than my car and within a few minutes the riders were leading us instead of following.
We were directed to a parking lot where it was explained that to get to the site was a long hike and that we’d be better served to go on horseback. The price was reasonable so we agreed (and later were glad that we did). I was expecting that we’d drive to some lookout point, say something like, “Wow, that’s cool,” get back in the car and return to Pátzcuaro. Not so. Instead we rode through dusty wooded trails with our guide, a small indigenous man who speaks English, Spanish, French and his native tongue “Purepecha.”
At the end of the trail we had to dismount and continued on foot over a small rise. There, unlike the U.S. where we’d be standing behind a fence or velvet ropes or some type of barrier, we were allowed to climb all around and into the remains of the church. And we were nearly the only people there. Very cool. (A picture is a must here.)
Back in Pátzcuaro we dined, at the recommendation of a friend, at Cha Cha Cha. The owner is from the San Francisco bay area and he explained that he prefers Pátzcuaro to San Miguel because there are more trees and fewer gringos. And with Morelia only 45 minutes away, he has the best of country and city life. (I want to go back and explore this further.) He also said that Morelia has a hopping gay scene.
The next morning Toby whipped out his guide book and I whipped back. Enough time in the car. I want to explore Pátzcuaro. I want to go to the island in the center of the lake.
Down at the pier we buy our tickets and are ushered into a long narrow boat with an outboard engine. Accompanying us are the locals, laden with bags of potatoes and vegetables to take to the island. A sign says that the boat’s capacity is 80 people. (I wonder how many bags of potatoes that includes.) The indigenous people appear more native; smaller, darker, less European blood if any. They still wear traditional dress with bright embroidered skirts, aprons and puffy blouses. A young woman breasts feeds an infant while chatting with a wizened grandmother. The language spoken is not Spanish. I notice only one other tourist. A young woman reading a book, who might be beautiful if not for the pierced lip and dreadlocks.
The boat trip is about 30 minutes. The lake is huge, dirty but not disgusting. Our boat stops while the fishermen paddle out and perform something of a show with their unique butterfly nets. After the brief show they paddle over to our boat for tips.
On the island we hike to the monument at the top. There are a multitude of little shops and food vendors but many are closed. We are not there at peak tourist season. Peak tourist season is for Dia de los Muertos (or Day of the Dead) when the island swarms with visitors.
The island at Pátzcuaro
Back by the boats we sit in a restaurant but only order cokes. We don’t feel good about the food being served on the island. We’ll wait until we get back to town.
Back on shore we share a taxi with a charming Swedish woman who was there doing some kind of research (I don’t remember what kind). After dropping her off we find a restaurant on the square and order lunch. A man with a booming baritone voice serenades the diners for tips and offers to sell us his CD. He was good but we don’t buy a CD.
The baritone should have stayed. Because he is replaced by a boy with a guitar, who plays a single cord (if it can be called a cord) and sings at the top of his lungs some song having no relation whatsoever to the so called cord. It is painful. He is so bad that it is comical. At the table next to us is a small child in a highchair. She is adorable. (She looks just like “Boo” in the movie “Monsters Inc.”) She is twisted around in her chair staring at the singer, with a look of distinct horror on her face that clearly says, “What the fuck is that noise?” (I still regret not taking a photograph of such an adult expression on such a young face.)
Our trip back took us through Morelia again. We stepped it up a notch and stayed at the beautiful Hotel de la Soledad (http://www.hoteldelasoledad.com/english.htm), only a block from the main square. That evening as we walked to dinner, minstrels and clowns were performing for the crowds in the square.
The next morning we set out for the butterfly sanctuary, famous for the millions of monarch butterflies that breed and nest before returning to Canada in the spring. After hours of driving we came to the sanctuary. What Toby’s guide book didn’t mention was that it was a three hour hike to where the butterflies were actually nesting. This didn’t do with our schedule which was to put us in Queretaro that evening. Again, there were the horses. We explained to our guides that we didn’t have the time to hike so we would ride. What surprised us was that our guides were not on horseback but ran along beside us. They took us down sheer cliffs and through deep ravines. When going uphill, they would hang onto our horses’ tails.
It was a cloudy day and although we could see masses of butterflies hanging on branches, some of the impact was lost because of the low light. Instead of bright orange clumps, we could only see dark, packed branches. It began to rain. On our way back we passed a couple hiking in, not far from the start of the trail. “I think it’s just a littler further.” I heard the man say in English. “Oh,” I thought, “You have no idea.”
One important lesson that we learned on our trip was, if you are touring a site in Mexico and they offer you a horse, take it.
For those who fear the idea of driving in Mexico, let me stress that the roads were wonderful nearly every place we traveled. There were no bandits by the side of the road and at no time did we feel unsafe. People were friendly and went out of their way to give us information or directions. In our short trip we saw several types of topography; high desert, pine forest and jungle. There were lakes, mountains and volcanoes. At times we were on long highways without anything but farm land or vacant countryside and hardly another car on the road. It gave me an appreciation as to how vast this country is and how little people (from the U.S.) know about it other than the beaches of Puerto Vallarta or Cancun. Believe me, there is a lot more to Mexico. And the further you get away from the tourist resorts, the better it is. For me anyway.
1 comment:
Someday Chip I'm calling you up and getting directions to all those wonderful places. That ruined church looked like something to spend an afternoon exploring!
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