CHAPTER 3
Morelia is a gem of history and colonial architecture in the middle of the mountains of central Mexico. Founded in 1541 (one of the oldest cities in Mexico), it was originally called Valladolid. The town was the birthplace, and headquarters of the Jose Maria Morelos, who was a big player in the Mexican fight for independence from the Spanish, and the town’s name was changed to honor him in 1828. Later, the town served important roles in the numerous wars and revolutions that make up Mexico’s bloody history. Needless to say, Morelia is a proud and independent city.
The city has a beautiful central plaza dominated by a massive cathedral, surrounded by ranks of colonnaded two story buildings, each with an inner private courtyard in the old Spanish tradition, and is a UNESCO world heritage site*. The cathedral is somewhat gaudy with its pink stones and plaster, but still impressive. The plaza is littered with park benches and large shady trees, and at every hour of the day, no matter when we happened to walk through or sit down on a bench of our own, there were crowds of people just sitting around, relaxing and enjoying the sunshine. There were the typical street vendors selling candies and ice cream, but also dozens of balloon vendors, with a million shapes, sizes, and colors of balloons rising like towers into the sky- I’m not sure if they were all tied down to an anchor, but it looked like they could easily carry away the small ladies or children holding them, like that Brasilian priest in the lawn chair, with only a change in the wind. The whole atmosphere reminded me of one of those old impressionist paintings depicting “a Sunday in the park”, but it was like this every day that we were there… none of which were on a Sunday. We liked it immediately.
*A little note on “UNESCO world heritage sites”: I’m sure that the good ol’ guys over at UNESCO are well intentioned and diligent in their selection process, but I think that they might be starting to get a little carried away. It seemed that every town we drove through, from small villages with one old church, to larger, well preserved towns like Morelia, to huge bustling cites, were donned with the prestigious “UNESCO world heritage site” designation. It is an impressive title to be sure, but considering that almost all of Mexico falls under that banner, we began to be a bit indifferent, if not skeptical, of anywhere touting the UNESCO stamp. Later, when reading about the Garifuna people in southern Belize we learned that they are the first “UNESCO world heritage culture”! I am all for preserving history and diversity, but come on, by the time they are done with it, the whole world will be a UNESCO world heritage something or other. In fact, maybe I should just help them out, and pronounce this the first “UNESCO world heritage blog post”.
We ended up staying in this beautiful town for 4 days, our longest stop of the trip so far, and spent our time wondering the stone paved streets and sitting and watching the kids play in the plaza. Aside from the relaxing setting, the plaza was our favorite place for another reason… the food. This will sound rather disgusting when I explain it, but trust me, once you try it, you’ll never look at a bowl of fruit cocktail in the same way again. At a small shop with a window to the sidewalk, and a line of people stretching down the block, you can find them selling gaspacho (yes, without a ‘z’). Those inventive Morelians cut up pounds and pounds of mango, pineapple and jicima (a crunchy white root, similar in texture to an apple, but not as sweet), put it in a large plastic cup, add some orange juice, and then drown the whole thing with hot sauce, chili powder and a white cheese kind of like parmesan. It is delicious! We called it spicy fruit cocktail, and I can’t wait to get home and try the Dave’s Del Monte version. Another one of our favorite foods we discovered was molletes: half of a baguette, sliced horizontally like a sandwich, with refried beans spread all over, and topped with cheese, then broiled and served piping hot. It could really warm you up on a cold rainy evening, which happened to be the norm while we were in Morelia, though we weren’t complaining, it was a welcoming change from the sweltering heat of the coastal lowlands.
Our next destination was another historical colonial era city, Taxco. Known for its precarious position on the side of a steep valley wall and its abundance of silver, it is about 3hrs south of Mexico City, and 5hrs from Morelia… or so we thought.
Half way there, in what was assuredly the middle of nowhere, we ran into a huge traffic jam on this small two lane road. There were hundreds of cars and semi trucks backed up as far as we could see, down the hill in front of us, up the other side of the valley, and around the curve of the mountain. Some people were getting impatient (with good right, they had been there for hours waiting) and were leaving the right lane, and driving the wrong way down the on-coming lane up the other side of the valley. Because of this, the line of cars slowly kept inching forward, filling the gap left by the cars which couldn’t wait. Every once in a while, a car would come from the opposite direction, giving us all hope that it was road construction or something causing the hold up, and that they were letting cars through occasionally. Inspecting the map, it was obvious that there were no detours available, and that back tracking towards Morelia and taking a different, less direct, route would add hours on to the trip. I started noticing that the cars that were coming from the other direction seemed very similar to the cars that had become impatient and tried to jump the line. There must really be something bad up there to cause these cars to turn around and go all the way back for the alternate route to Taxco. I woke Kacey up from her driving induced coma, had her take the wheel, and decided to walk to the front of the line to see what was going on. Twenty minutes later, at the crest of the hill, I saw a truck sideways in the road, and hundreds of people standing around. Then I saw that there were rocks placed across the street on either side of the truck like a barricade. And all the people had the same color cloths and some were carrying banners with political slogans roughly spray painted on. It was a blockade!
Those crafty Mexicans! They picked the one spot on the highway to block, in the middle of nowhere, that would cause the greatest frustration due to the ridiculously long detour required to get around them. There were plenty of police and military cars close to the blockade, probably to keep the frustrated motorists from trying the old ‘rocket’ technique to brake through (it’s always a sure bet in shuffle board), and the people in the street seemed content to sit there all day. I don’t know what their gripe with the powers-that-be was, but they would certainly have been effective in losing my vote, if I only had the right. Realizing that it could be hours, or even days, that we might be sitting there, I figured that we better cut our losses and head back for the detour. All said, our leisurely 5hr morning drive, turned into a 12hr all day marathon. To add insult to injury, we decided to take a toll road south to Taxco to make up some time (the toll roads are generally 10 times quicker than the free highway), but this one was only a 2-laner, we got stuck behind a big truck, and we ended up shelling out some absurdly large wag of money, maybe US$20 worth, to go the final 30 miles.
Taxco is an old silver mining town founded in 1529, and has seen many boom and bust cycles since then. Currently the silver mines are shut down due to a 2 year long strike by the workers, but the city is still raking in the riches from their most lucrative source… my pocket. The town is definitely a tourist magnet, and the prices for everything have risen accordingly. The crooked cobblestone streets are lined with shop after shop selling .950 silver, each with a large sign reading “Great deals! Big discounts! Today only!” Casually asking any shop owner, you will be confidently reassured that all the items lining their shelves are made with true Taxco silver- which was a little surprising to us considering the mines had been closed for some time. Finally we found a shop with a nice young man that was genuinely proud of his handmade jewelry, and after the usual trite response to our question about where the silver had come from, we got the true story: since the local mines had been shut down for so long, most of the silver for sale in the city came from distant sources, though still Mexican. Some silver was reused/recycled if a piece didn’t sell, and crafted into something new, so some items might contain some Taxco silver, but chances are not in your favor.
Not that it really matters where the silver comes from, even the silver ore taken from the Taxco mines was sent far afield to be refined and smelted into pure silver before returning to the city to be sold. But sometimes it’s neat to buy something that you know was made locally from local materials. I can’t tell you how many times we have asked a street vendor if they personally made the bracelet or carving they were selling, to be told that they most certainly did, and then see the exact same item being sold hundreds of miles away. In fact, we have been told that many of the trinkets sold by the street hawkers across Mexico are actually made in Guatemala and Honduras.
Taxco was a great city to stroll along the winding, hilly streets, sit and watch the crowds in the plazas, and poke through the hundreds of little shops. The streets are crowded with old VW Beatles and bus taxis, and we hired one to take us to the top of the mountain, where they have a large statue of Jesus looking down over the city, much like that in Rio de Janeiro. This one is much smaller though, surprisingly new (only a few years old), and seldom visited-we were the only people there on a weekend summer afternoon, and I think that the obscenely rutted and circuitous road to the top may have had something to do with that. But who knows, in time, maybe it will become know worldwide like its cousin in the southern continent.
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