On the other hand, there is something about a southern interior Pueblo that for me is quintessential Mexico. Narrow cobblestone calles with white washed buildings, low hung red tile roofs supported with large wood beams is ubiquitous with Mexican colonial architecture. Set against the Spanish city scape are the indigenous peoples. The men, though physically different from the European stock, wear western garb and blend with the Spanish Mexican men. It's the woman; still caring their babies in the traditional blue and black striped rebozo's, swaying in their wide pleated skirts, with pink, orange and deep blue ribbons tied in their long braided hair that add color to the scene. They dawn their white blouses that have vibrant roses or other flowers hand stitched along the collar and sleeves easy, not like us ex-pats who wish to look the part but fall short. There are a few gringos a foot but not as many as in Puerto Vallarta, Mazatlan or San Miguel Allende. It is a purer Mexico, set up for the wealthy tourist from Morellia more then for the gringo from Montreal.
Dinning on any square or zocalo, is an open invitation to continual intrusion; hawkers try to chum you into buying everything from a hand forged machetes to chicalets. JT and I have bought both the saber and gum and much of what is in between. The mercados are a feast for the eyes, ears and nose. Mango's, 2 lbs for a dollar. Handmade tamales, tortillas, pastries, nuts, seeds and unidentifiable things are artfully displayed. Row after row of chili's in varying hues look like the perfect composition for a Zuberan or Vemeer. I want photograph it all and capture the faces and colors but I'm too busy eying the wares, trying to pick up the dialogue between the old man selling woven bags and the mama with her baby yammering for something across the aisle, and skirting the guy running through the narrow stalls with a hind quarter of beef on his shoulder.
The handmade crafts range from pure unadulterated schlock to a blouse or shawl that is a cross stitched work of art. The prices are shocking considering the time that has gone into some of the items. Many things would sell for hundreds of dollars back in the US and here they're asking $20.00. We knew we lost our minds when JT pulled out his tape measure and started taking down dimensions for a hand made double copper sink for our kitchen. No, we came to our sense's, but to dream is to enjoy what the mountain towns have to offer. Hand carved furniture, tin and tile mirrors, table clothes and pottery until it's coming out of your ears are interwoven into the towns store fronts and spill out onto the streets.
This is in the market square in Uruapan. It is known as the Mercado Antejitos or food court
This is one of many shops in Tzintzuntzan, a village outside Patzcauro that is known for it's wood furniture.
One of the larger streets in Patzcauro.
Written since sitting in the mountains:
We left the high mountains on Sunday, not sure were we would lay out heads that night; end up south west of Guadalajara in the little oasis village of Villa Corona. VC is known for it's thermal water parks. Chemulco rv & agua parque is located on a beautiful lake and there are three of us camping here. The park is open to the public from 9 to 6 and then the place is all ours. JT and I got up this morning and were the only ones to take a soak in the clean pool. Yesterday was one of the busiest days for this area. It was the last weekend of the Easter holiday and the crowds in the park were staggering, note the photos above.
After two wonderful days in Villa Corona we are back in Melaque and on the beach. All is well and the pups are over joyed with sand and endless freedom. Tonight it's a short walk into the main square for some tacos and then to bed early, ahhh the sound of the surf. There's nothing like it.
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