Mexico

Lynne Doyle is a frequent contributor to Mexico File, with a number of book reviews and accounts of her searches for Mexican folk art. She hails from Maine. This is the second part of a two-part series. The next stop on our trip was Puebla, a city I have been to many times, but always with a long agenda and limited time and never with an opportunity to wander and absorb the atmosphere. We have always stayed at the Hotel Colonial de Puebla, a long block off the zocalo, and been completely satisfied with its accommodations, prices ($55 a night for a double) and services. We tend to lean towards hotels converted from colonial-era structures, and the Colonial is no exception with its spacious rooms, graceful arches and antique furniture. Perhaps the hotel's most delightful feature is the panoramic view of the city to be seen from the easily-accessible roof. The service is gracious, the food excellent, and there is an inexpensive computer room with internet access for the use of hotel guests. Best of all for me, this atmospheric hotel is around the corner from El Parian, Puebla's tiny but treasure-packed artisans' market. As we settled into our room, I felt as though I was closer to "my" Mexico, and indeed, within the confines of the hotel, I was. However, the next morning, as we set out to explore the zocalo, I found that transformation has come to Puebla much like that enveloping Guadalajara, although thankfully not so pervasive. On a sunny Monday morning, the streets were busy with young professional people dressed in attractive suits and fashionable dresses, stockings and high heels. No quaint brush brooms cleaning the streets; rather, large riding machines sucking up litter similar to our leaf vacuums. No picturesque food stands selling tacos and rotisserie chicken - only small but sophisticated little shops selling chocolate and the candies for which Puebla is famous. Restaurants were open early and were full of people drinking coffee huddled over cell phones and laptops. No perceptible slow lane here. Whenever in Mexico, I always search for bookstores, primarily because of the noted magazine Artes de Mexico, which costs $30 an issue in the US can be had for $17 or $18 in Mexico. Generally I can find most of a year's issues. The store we found on the zocalo in Puebla had many old and new issues and as I produced a list of those I was missing, I was waited on by a very proficient young lady with a computer who was able to tell me instantaneously which issues were in stock. Her service was courteous but brisk and unsmiling - and, in minutes, I was on the sidewalk with my very heavy bag and very long computer printout. In contrast, though, next door was another less technologically upscale bookstore manned by a courtly older gentleman anxious to understand in which books I might be interested. As we sat around a large antique table talking, he turned out to be most helpful in discussing the history of the city and in suggesting sights not to be missed. He was exceedingly gracious in speaking precise Spanish so that I could understand him, and in correcting my efforts. Our next stop was an information booth directing people to the various outlets for Talavera in the city. Another older gentleman speaking perfect English directed me to specific stores and advised me to avoid El Parian as only inferior products would be found there. Escorting me to the door, he handed me a sheet of paper availing me of a 10% discount in any of the stores he had recommended - a marketing tool I had never before experienced in Mexico. Being me, I headed directly for El Parian, and while most of the Talavera found there was unsigned, I did not find it to be particularly inferior, or particularly inexpensive, either. What I did find was the first glimpse of the Mexico I know as I chose a large Tree of Life from the noted Flores family of Izucar de Matamoros in one small shop and found it to be covered in several layers of dust and priced at only $29US. I also found a large assortment of high-quality popote boxes, pictures both large and small, unusually shaped crosses and terra cotta plates with popote centers. For the uninitiated, the art of popote, also known as straw mosaic or straw painting, is a series of dyed pieces of straw arranged in various forms and designs, unfortunately a dying art in Mexico. To my knowledge, there are only three significant popote artists working in Mexico today - Arturo Hernandez in Puerto Vallarta (overpriced and undergood - in my never-to-be-humble opinion, his work is redundant and not terribly well-executed), Jose Miguel Santealla in San Juan del Rio (an extraordinary artist in this medium who is very shy, retiring and impossible to find unless you hit the right day and he is selling in front of the church), and this unknown but very prolific artist - whoever he is - working in Puebla today. No one seems to know his name, or no one is telling, but his work is phenomenal - large, intricate, totally unique and easily-identifiable stylistically. To my astonishment, the prices are reasonable and affordable, so I was able to load up. To my intense pleasure, when I asked for a receipt, after some dithering, the amounts were written in pencil on the bag containing my purchases. El Parian, as artisans' markets go, is very small - only one moderately long aisle - but it is surrounded by what has become known as the Artists' Quarter of Puebla, which consists of several blocks of relatively high-end shops selling primarily Talavera and clothes, but occasionally some textiles and other products. The prices are reflective of the higher operating costs involved in individual shops with English speaking staff, clean public bathrooms and computerized inventory. The courtesy of the staff found in stores is very typical of my Mexico, but you don't get the fun and small talk found in the markets. We were fortunate enough to find a very knowledgeable gentleman, an architect by profession, to show us around the city. For me as a history teacher, a must-see was the hilltop where a very undersized Mexican force defeated Napoleon III's vastly superior army and drove them out of Mexico on the 5 th of May in 1866, effectively ending the reign of Maximiliano and Carlotta. There is much to understand of this decisive battle, and much territory to explore, and once he recognized our interest, Ruben Carvajal Corte pretty much covered the city of Puebla with us, including a mole factory, the noted Exconvento de Santa Monica (whose nuns continued to operate in secret for 77 years after Benito Juarez closed all of Puebla's religious buildings in 1857), and the celebrated Exconvento de Santa Rosa, with its intricately tiled kitchen where Puebla's famous mole is said to have been invented by the nuns to surprise their gourmand bishop. Sn. Carvajal Corte was a bonus for us - dignified, courteous, extremely well-informed and enthusiastic about showing us his beautiful city. He spent a great deal of time with us for not a lot of money and was patient and considerate of my constant stopping to take pictures. All in all, a nice taste of old Mexico in contrast to the new atmosphere. From Puebla, we proceeded on to Oaxaca for the annual Day of the Dead celebrations. Whenever I am in Mexico, I try to spend at least a few days in Oaxaca, and on this trip, I was fairly confident that I would find nothing changed in this most special city. However, while the changes are subtle, they are there. For the first time in my history with Oaxaca, when entering an exclusive bookstore I often frequent on the Alcala, I was asked to check my shoulder bag behind the counter while I shopped. In another shop, we were told that no photos could be taken of the offrenda set up at one end. In still another shop on Calle Garcia Virgil that I never miss when in Oaxaca, for the first time, there was no offrenda. There was a small tribute to Frida Kahlo in the front window, with all art relating to Frida stacked around a portrait of her, but no traditional offrenda such as they have always had in the past. As well, there was chaos in the home of the friends with whom we stay when visiting Oaxaca. The youngest daughter of three, twenty-two years old, had just announced her intention to leave university and marry a man of whom her parents do not approve. She has been particularly educated and groomed to eventually run the small hotel her family owns, but her 'novio' has insisted that she have nothing to do with the family business after her marriage, due to take place in early December. This is a particularly sad situation in this family because they have been an extremely close and happy group until the advent of this young man, who for some reason is resentful of this closeness and seems determined to derail at least his fiancee's participation. On top of it all, while she is still working to some degree in the hotel, this young woman has left home and lives with her novio across the city, a phenomenon I have NEVER encountered before in Mexico. Even in the very progressive city of Cancun, where I have several young career-oriented women friends in their early thirties, one of whom actually owns her own house, it is established that until they marry, they live at home with their parents. The girl who owns a house rents it out to business associates. So I was shocked by the way events had unfolded for our friends and very saddened by their grief. Otherwise, during a quick ride to Teotilan de Valle to purchase cochineal, we had an interesting discussion with our driver regarding some of the conspiracy theories rampant in Mexico regarding our government's possible prior knowledge of the events of 9/11. The most popular is that the attack was Israeli-sponsored and some 4,000 Jewish workers in the World Trade Center towers were warned in advance not to go to work on the day of the attack. Sebastian seemed genuinely amazed that we had no prior knowledge of this rumor. Also mentioned was the mess of construction on the road, designed to cut the trip from Oaxaca City to Huatulco and Puerto Escondido from six hours to three when completed. Everywhere I went in Mexico during this visit, I asked if having the PAN party in power after seventy-two years of PRI had made any difference in the country's circumstances. Where previously only very close friends would enter into such discussions with me in any detail, this trip everyone I asked had something to say. The general consensus is that while Vicente Fox was certainly well-intentioned, he had been unable to fulfill many of his campaign promises, largely because he was hampered by a PRI majority in the Mexican congress. Several people I spoke to related this to a Republican president trying to function with a Democrat-dominated congress in the US, a comparison that while valid, I have never heard made before by a Mexican. When I asked if the PAN party would be re-elected, most thought the government would return to the PRI. Tapatios are generally very happy with their progressive PAN governor, who they feel has done a fine job for them. Oaxacans are less enthused about their state government; while they acknowledge that their infrastructure seems to be improving by leaps and bounds, they seem unsure whether this is a federal or state-sponsored benefit. Everyone I talked to had a great deal to say about President Bush and the Iraqi war, as well as venturing opinions about President Fox's failure to back Bush's invasion of Iraq and how that would impact future US/Mexican relations. On two occasions, once in Jalisco and once in Oaxaca, vehicles in which we were traveling were stopped and searched for drugs. These stops were explained by our drivers as Fox's efforts at fulfilling his promise to the US to work harder at cracking down on drug traffic through Mexico, one area where most Mexicans with whom I spoke feel Fox has expended a great deal of energy. No one, including me, seems to know if his efforts have helped, but Mexicans seem very proud of his efforts and anxious to relate experiences illustrating them. At the same time as they hasten to explain the growing of marijuana by poor farmers in the mountains as a matter of economics, they express with great seriousness their understanding of why such endeavors need to be redirected. All in all, this extended trip around interior Mexico was a very unusual one for me. It's very possible that the changes I noticed have been evolving for a long time and I was so absorbed in the never-ending romanticization of my spiritual home that I just wasn't aware. After all, it makes sense - as Bob Simmonds believes - that Mexico is going to change and progress, no matter what. I guess I was just startled by the seemingly headlong charge into the 21 st Century that seems to be taking place almost overnight. I have heard from many fellow Mexicophiles that they really enjoy the new energy found in Mexico's cities, and feel more at home because of it. I, on the other hand, don't go to Mexico to feel the same Type A atmosphere I find at home. I go for the slower pace, the absence of CNN blaring everywhere, and particularly, because absolutely everyone isn't careening down the street talking on a cell phone, characteristics that seem to be disappearing before my eyes, at least in the cities. On the upside, what isn't changing is the essential gentility and kindness of the Mexican people, the genius of Mexican gardeners, and of course, the marvelous art of Mexico. Although these days, you can order from many folk artists by email or phone before you go, once you get there, their humor and courtesy remain the same, the fruit drinks offered with knowing grins pack the same punch, and the work - while more expensive than in the past - is every bit as whimsical and enchanting, even as you are handed a computerized receipt for your pesos. Which really does work for me, in spite of my reluctance to admit it. It's good to have strong water pressure and toilets with seats, and healthy dogs with tags, and internet cafes to keep in touch with home, and it stands to reason that if the artists are making more money, they will continue to create for many years to come, which, after all, is one of my life's goals. Also, in my heart I really do want the best for the people who make me feel so welcome whenever I am there. But it's just as good to see impromptu parades of gigantes and brass bands crossing the zocalo for no apparent reason and dignified old gentlemen creating amazing sand paintings on the sidewalks, and it is a huge comfort to me to know absolutely that I will never be rushed to pay a check and get out of a restaurant in Mexico. I wish I could say that writing about all this has been a wonderful catharsis and I'm comfortably resolved now to accept and enjoy the fact that Mexico is moving rapidly from the Third World into an era of technological sophistication hitherto unknown. I wish I could, but I can't. I'm still afraid it's all going to change and end up being home with a better climate. But I think I have worked out that what I need to do is dig deeper, be careful to combine my visits to the cities with lots of time spent in more rural areas, where things are not changing so rapidly, and hope like hell I'm dead before Mexico completely modernizes.