[Continuing journal written by Chiripa partners on the most recent buying trip.]
August 24
In Mexico, many people work at least 6 days a week. But on Sunday, things usually slow down a little. People get up later, and some go to church. The great church bells ring, as they do every day -- often with a dry, flat resonance that conjures up the Spanish Middle Ages.
There is a big noon meal, and the family sits around talking or watching soccer. In the villages, men and women may stand outside drinking beer. But many shops are still open.
We had breakfast at our favorite outdoor terrace restaurant, which has a wonderful view of the mountains and the magnificent Santo Domingo church, originally built between 1570 and 1608 as part of a Dominican monastery.
We spent our afternoon at the Women’s Cooperative in Oaxaca, where we found a great selection of tin ornaments, decorative paper and other items. Then we trekked down to the artisan market, in the city’s market district, to hunt out more small items. In the evening, in our hotel room, we started to label, organize and pack the bewildering array of little treasures.
Today it is snowing in Madison, Wisconsin. The continuing journal of the last buying trip to Mexico makes me homesick for the warmth and color and fine friends of Mexico. Sigh. . .
[Continuing journal written by Chiripa partners on a recent buying trip.]
August 23
Jacobo Angeles and his wife María produce the finest alebrijes in Mexico. They are also wonderful people, and it was a pleasure to visit them again this year. We found them in their family workshop in the village of San Martín Tilcahete, Oaxaca, Mexico.
Many artisans in the Oaxaca area produce alebrijes -- carved and painted wooden animals that can take many forms. But Jacobo and Maria have raised this craft to the level of fine art. Their finely carved pieces are typically produced from a single piece of wood, and have an amazingly graceful and living form. The figures are painted with intricate, precise and complex designs (using beautiful naturally-derived colors and traditional indigenous patterns) that you must see to believe. The completed figures have a pensive, elegant, almost human quality. We bought a number of fine pieces from Jacobo and María, including a big, exquisitely painted Jaguar head.
Maria with the jaguar head that she so expertly painted.
In a place of honor at Chiripa.
The road to San Martín Tilcahete goes through other craft villages including San Bartolo Coyotopec, Santo Tomás Jalieza, and Ocotlán. In San Bartolo we visited the workshop of the late Rosa Real Mateo (Doña Rosa discovered the process for producing the famous Oaxacan black pottery), and picked out a number of black pottery pieces for Chiripa.
Click on the photo to see a piece of black pottery for sale on the Chiripa website.
In Ocotlán, we visited the family workshop (commune, really) of the famous Josephina Aguilar and her extended family. Chickens and turkeys strutted through the compound, and a host of grandchildren ran about and posed for photos as we selected some of the small clay figurines for which Josephina is famous.
Between villages, we got on and off several local buses. In San Martín, we also got a ride in the little golf-cart type vehicle that serves as the village taxi. Finally, as evening approached, we climbed on the bus and headed back to Oaxaca. On our way back to the hotel, we stopped in at the Majordomo Chocolate store in the bustling market district southwest of the zócalo, where they make fresh chocolate to order, and had our traditional hot chocolate.
[Continuing journal written by Chiripa partners on a recent buying trip.]August 23: The Abastos Market
There are a large number of craft-producing villages within a short bus ride of Oaxaca. But to get a bus, you must ordinarily go to the 2nd class bus terminal in the sprawling Abastos Market. Some buses leave from the terminal itself, while others leave from various locations in the market. You learn these locations only by hard experience (you can ask for directions, but will probably get conflicting advice).
In a perverse way, we look forward to our periodic forays into the Abastos Market. The market is fascinating, but it is not easy. It is not a place frequented by the wealthy class. It is a teeming, noisy, dirty place. Dust is everywhere, and loud buses belch fumes into your face until you feel queasy. We always leave somewhat exhausted, sweaty, and abraded as if by sandpaper. Of course, market regulars live in this atmosphere all day, every day.
The government recently constructed a gleaming new 1st-class bus terminal on the other side of town. But the 2nd-class terminal in the Abastos Market has been unchanged in the quarter century that we have known it. It just gets more rundown. And God help you if you need to use the bathroom.
Ancient buses arrive at the terminal through a wasteland of dust (or a sea of mud, in the short rainy season). The potholes are legendary, and get bigger by the year. Swaying buses disappear into them like struggling galleons in a storm-tossed sea, only to climb out again and make slow headway toward port.
The rare first class ride.
August 23: On a 2nd-Class Bus
The U.S. State Department says that you should only take 1st-class buses in Mexico. That may be good advice, especially if you are taking a long trip. But I must admit that I have seldom felt happier, or freer, or safer than on a 2nd-class bus. For one thing, a 2nd-class bus is more interesting. There is also a feeling of humanity, community and courtesy that you will seldom experience in a place like an international airport.
On a 2nd-class bus, there is no pretense or falsehood, and there are no metal detectors or cell phones. The bus is friendly and comfortable, in a worn and homely way. The seats are shabby, and sometimes broken so they lean way back. The seat covers are dark with years of accumulated dust and exhaust, and some of the seats are held together with packing tape.
Some windows are cracked, and frozen in place. If the window is frozen in the shut position, you may get a little hot and stuffy. If open, you may be a little windblown. If the window can be adjusted, you may have to negotiate the adjustment with the person in the seat ahead. But all of these things can be managed.
The seats fill with beautiful, decent and patient people. They sit in the front if they can, in the back if they must. Sturdy middle-aged ladies push down the aisle and drop into their seats, maneuvering big plastic bags and wearing sweaters despite the heat. There are old people with weathered hands and faces, school girls dressed in uniform, Indian women carrying sleeping babies in rebozos, small children smiling shyly, and boisterous young men whistling out the window to buddies on the street.
The adventure starts as you roll out of the terminal, dust everywhere. The bus rocks from side to side, like a ship in heavy seas, as it navigates the enormous potholes at the terminal entrance. The rosary beads, crucifix and holy pictures hanging in the windshield sway this way and that. The bus driver, a sweating and seasoned pro, grinds the gears and hauls at the big wheel – all the while honking the horn, waiving to fellow drivers, and joking with the teenage kid who proudly “rides shotgun” to his right.
Of course, the kid has no shotgun. He just collects fares and serves as a kind of conductor for the journey. As the bus rolls out of the terminal, the kid bangs the metal side and shouts the bus’s destination with the well-rehearsed nasal voice of a street hawker. The bus picks up more passengers -- some standing at the curbside, others chasing the bus with waving arms. On a 2nd-class bus, passengers just climb on without paying. Later, when things have settled down, the kid comes back to collect. The kid always remembers, with unfailing accuracy, who has paid and who hasn’t. Of course, the people would pay even if he didn’t remember.
Looking out of my bus window.
As you pull out of the station, a street vendor or musician may climb onto the bus. The vendor may offer candy, nuts, melon with salsa, or a cream to ease your arthritis. The musician may strum a twangy, well-worn guitar, or render a nasal a cappella version of an old Mexican folk song. In some cases, the seller may have a mental or physical handicap. The bus riders, who are themselves none too affluent, always buy and contribute generously.
The bus, which may have its own name (like “Angelito”) on the front window, stops anywhere and everywhere -- wherever people want to get on or off. We remember one long night ride when groups of faces would appear in the headlights as if from nowhere, the bus would stop, and campesinos would bundle themselves, their babies, and their belongings onto the friendly bus. The bus always accepted them without fear or question.
NEWS FLASH: The truck is getting closer. We'll let you know when to expect to see new product from Mexico on the Chiripa floor!
[Continuing journal written by Chiripa partners on a recent buying trip.]
August 22: Small Things in Puebla
This morning, on our short stopover in the beautiful colonial city of Puebla, we walked a few blocks from our hotel to the little shop run by our friend Miguel Paredes and his wife Lilia Cruz Ruiz. Today, Miguel’s school-age son Daniel is helping at the shop (Daniel, a friendly and bright kid, attends school in the afternoon).
Miguel is a perfectionist with a sense of humor, and an eye for detail. In his home, he makes miniature clay scenes in little glass boxes. The scenes feature amusing skeletons engaged in everyday activities. The skeletons appeal to Mexicans’ black sense of humor: indeed, we all feel like walking skeletons sometimes.
Miguel Paredes with his skeletons at Casa de las Artesanias, Puebla, Mexico.
When we got back to the hotel room, the phone rang. It was Miguel. He had discovered that he inadvertently short-changed us by 8 pesos (about 80 cents). He felt bad, and said he would return the pesos to us. We told him to keep the change.
August 22: The Road to Oaxaca
Today, something unusual happened. When we arrived at the bus station in Puebla, we had to wait a couple hours.
The Mexican bus system is a miracle of efficiency – moving millions of people every day with a minimum of trouble and fuss. In our experience, you can usually walk into a bus terminal without prior reservations and, for next to nothing, you can usually climb on a bus to the destination of your choice within 20 minutes (quite often within 5 minutes). But today, we had to wait.
Late in the afternoon, we finally boarded for the 4-hour bus trip to Oaxaca (Wo-HAH-cah) in southern Mexico. If you can ignore the U.S. movie shown en route, the trip from Puebla to Oaxaca is wonderful. There are 5 major volcanoes near Puebla, and on a clear day you can see some of them as you pull out of the city and head south (including Popocatepetl, spewing smoke at 17,802 feet, and Orizaba, Mexico’s highest mountain at 18,880 feet).
A view not from the bus!
On the outskirts of Puebla, as in other Mexican cities, you pass a lot of industrial and commercial flotsam – junk yards and facilities selling cement, tires, auto parts, construction supplies, bottled gas, and car repairs. Between these gritty places there are scores of taquerias, carnitas stands and other open air eateries where people gather to eat at all hours. Trucks and bus roar past, belching fumes.
Eventually, you emerge into the countryside and glide through farm and ranch land green with recent rains. About halfway to Oaxaca, you enter a wild and seemingly uninhabitable mountain area. The land is crumpled and tortured, and a vast forest of 20-ft. tall cactuses covers the landscape. As you climb along sheer canyon walls, and cross a bridge suspended a thousand feet over the river below, you find yourself thinking of earthquakes and landslides. But you never doubt the skill of your bus driver.
Even here, there are some signs of human life. A shepherd stands near his lonely tent, watching the flock below. And at a high scenic turnout, there is even a little comedor selling tacos, carnitas and other muy rico (very rich) and exquisite treats.
Later, the road drops into a slightly more inhabitable landscape of arroyos and running streams. Campesino huts blend into the natural landscape, and hand-planted milpas (corn and bean fields) cling to terraced hillsides. Smoke rises from the little huts, and families head home from a long day of hand-cultivation.
Finally, we drop into the broad, beautiful Oaxaca valley (still high at 5,070 ft.), which has nurtured humanity for thousands of years. The spectacular pre-Hispanic ruins of Monte Alban sit high over the modern city of Oaxaca. Rural Oaxaca state is very poor, but the city of Oaxaca is a colonial gem that draws tourists from all over the world. The site of recent political turmoil, the city is now quiet.
When we arrived on Friday night, the streets and cafes were alive with people – including visitors from Germany, France, the U.S. and other places. As usual, we walked the mile or so from the bus station to our hotel (carrying the box from Miguel’s shop in Puebla, as well as our packs).
Las Golandrinas, Oaxaca, Mexico.
Later, we enjoyed an excellent and inexpensive dinner in a candle-lit courtyard restaurant. We felt glad to have arrived.
NEWS FLASH: The goods described in the past few posts and a few more to come are now on a truck making it's way to the border. We'll let you know when to expect to see product on the Chiripa floor!
[Continuing journal written by Chiripa partners on a recent buying trip.]
August 21
The town of Dolores Hidalgo is important in Mexican history. There, in 1810, the radical priest Father Hidalgo launched the Mexican rebellion against Spain with his famous cry of rebellion (“grito”) in the parish church. These days, Mexican presidents are still obliged to shout a symbolic “grito” every year on independence day.
Things did not go well for Father Hidalgo. He was captured and executed, and his head was publicly displayed for 4 years as an example to other would-be rebels. But the rebellion eventually succeeded, and Mexico won its independence from Spain.
Today, we were in Dolores Hidalgo to look for high quality Talavera-style ceramics for Chiripa. Dolores is a ceramics center, and one of our favorite producers is the Liceagui (Lee-say-ah-GHEE) family.
Estella, Gerardo, and Maria
Beth checks our sums.
It was nearly 3:00 PM when we finished our order, and rushed to the Dolores bus depot to begin our 8-hour marathon bus ride to the city of Puebla (where we hoped to find a hotel). We caught the bus with 3 minutes to spare. Two hours later, after a violent electrical storm, we got off the bus in the booming city of Querataro. There we caught another bus (with 5 minutes to spare) for the 3-hour trip to Mexico City.
Mexico City is an unfolding drama. It was the site of the epic encounter between Cortés and Moctezuma -- between the Old World and the New – that is still playing itself out today. When Cortés arrived in 1519 (after burning his ships so he couldn’t turn back), Mexico City was already one of the biggest cities in the world (bigger than any city in Europe at the time). The population collapsed after the Spanish conquest (mainly the result of smallpox and other diseases brought by the Spaniards). But today, it is again one of the world’s biggest cities.
The city sits in the high central valley of Mexico, at an altitude of 7,400 ft. (over 2,000 ft. higher than Denver), and is prone to earthquakes. When Cortés arrived, the city was built on an island in the middle of a lake. The lake is gone now, but the earthquakes remain. Huge volcanoes loom over the valley, and sometimes you can see them when the view is not obliterated by smog. This is a place of raw natural forces and raw human struggles. A taxi driver in Michoacán once warned us to be careful in Mexico City – it has a reputation for danger, even among Mexicans.
As our bus approached the megalopolis, farm and ranch scenes gave way to the gritty reality of urban life. There were recently-constructed ghettos of identical, bleak, wall-to-wall cement houses, intermingled with makeshift tin, wood and cardboard shacks. Smoke rising from the shacks confirmed that people were, against all odds, living within.
Children from the shacks played in streets strewn with rubbish, between walls covered with graffiti. Their parents probably came from some famished village, looking for a better life. I wondered: what kinds of bathrooms do these people have, and what happens to the waste? There are people who scratch out a living by combing the dumps for useful trash items. But you can also find wealth, refinement, learning, elegance, lovely buildings and parks, fine museums and restaurants, and friendly neighborhoods in this great city.
We arrived at the bus terminal in Mexico City, and eventually got on another bus for Puebla. It was dark now, and the city lights stretched on forever. Our bus traveled, in reverse, the original route taken by Cortés when he crossed the high mountain pass and first set eyes on the Aztec capital.
We arrived in the big city of Puebla after 11:00 PM, without a hotel reservation. But a friendly taxi driver took us to one of our usual hotels near the Zócalo (central plaza), where we found an available room. We were glad to have a bed.
[Continuing journal written by Chiripa partners on a recent buying trip.]
August 20, 2008
Today we had a good breakfast, because we knew there would be no lunch. Then we plunged into the depths of the San Miguel artisan market, to finish the work started yesterday. At the market you can buy many small treasures from the artisans themselves. By mid-morning, we had a good collection of Huichol beadwork, amusing coconut heads, hand-carved flying angels and other items to make you smile.
Huichol artist painstakingly picks up beads with a needle
and places them on the carved form that has been coated in beeswax.
Eggs for sale at the doorway of Ricado's home and workshop.
Working is a family affair.
Of course we'd get a ride back!
Beth goes over details with Felix.
A Man of Few Words
Victor Manuel Torres Osuna is a patient and efficient man. He is slender, and has a somewhat Asian appearance. He radiates precision and practical intelligence. He wastes few words, but means what he says. He writes down little, but remembers all. He speaks only in Spanish, but smiles with apparent understanding when we speak among ourselves in English.
Whenever we are in San Miguel, we pay a visit to Señor Torres because he consolidates and ships our San Miguel orders to the exporter in Guadalajara. All of the San Miguel artisans know and respect Señor Torres.
Today we arrived at his shipping establishment unannounced, and without any prior notice. Señor Torres recognized us and, as always, invited us into his tiny back office. He sat behind his small desk, studying us amiably through his glasses like a Zen master. As always, he wore an agreeable but slightly ironic smile.
We asked whether it was possible for him to consolidate our San Miguel shipments, as he did last year. “Por supuesto” (of course). How much will it cost? “Pues, depende, no?” (well, it depends, doesn’t it?). Can you collect the shipments from the artisans, for storage here? “Claro que sí” (of course). Can you deliver the consolidated shipment to Guadalajara in 4 weeks? “Sí.”
We told Señor Torres that, last year, everything had again arrived in perfect order. He smiled, and responded in Spanish: “Yes, but I was not paid the 2,800 pesos ($280) owed to me for the shipment.” He stated the precise unpaid sum without consulting any invoice, account record or computer screen. We were stunned. The exporter in Guadalajara was to have paid Señor Torres as part of its service to us, and we had received no notice of the nonpayment (either from the exporter or Señor Torres). Yet the shipment had occurred a year ago.
We immediately paid the overdue amount to Señor Torres in cash, without consulting the Guadalajara exporter, because there is something about Señor Torres that tells you he is always correct. We counted out the peso bills. “Gracias,” he said, smiling, “Nunca he tenido ningúna problema con ustedes” (I have never had any problem with you folks). Then he wrote out a precise receipt acknowledging the payment. And that was that.
[We regret that we do not have a photo of Sr. Torres. If you have read this far, you probably have your own picture of the man we rely on in San Miguel.]
[Continuing journal written by Chiripa partners on a recent buying trip.]
August 19
Today, we left Patzcuaro before breakfast (we ate a granola bar and drank some yogurt), and spent most of the day traveling by bus to the colonial town of San Miguel de Allende. The landscape is drier there, and dotted with cactus. But this is the rainy season, and tonight it rained in San Miguel.
The storm moved quickly up the normally dry valley. Lightning flashed, and thunder rolled through the town. The rain came down in torrents, and flowed like a river down the steep cobbled streets. The sudden downpour caught us in the open, and we were drenched. Later, in the dry comfort of our hotel room, we listened and dozed as the rain splashed in the open interior courtyard.
The Cathedral on the zocalo at San Miguel de Allende (day and night)
If you want a break from shopping, you can climb the hill past the old public washbasins (still used to wash clothes). In the hillside residential area above the town, there is a house with a world-famous collection of orchids. Further up the creek bed, there is a hidden canyon with quiet pools, shaded by willows and steep cliff walls. The ruins of an old Spanish water mill overlook the canyon. Beyond that there is a reservoir, where waterfowl splash about, and an adjacent botanical garden with an amazing variety of cactus species.
End of post from 2008 trip.
Note: One of the businesses we patronize at the San Miguel Artisan Market is Luciano owned by Hector Bustamante. Hector and his family specialize in metal creatures: animals, day of the dead figures, suns, and beautiful tree of life wall art. In this photo his daughter is working on a small metal Day of the Dead figure. We carry many Luciano creations at Chiripa and you'll find some of the metal figures on our website. -KL
[Continuing journal written by Chiripa partners on a recent buying trip.]
August 18, 2008
Peter Knöbl is an unlikely Mexican name. In fact, Peter was born in Austria. He came to Mexico as a young man, 35 years ago. He married and never left. As he puts it (in Spanish), “I got used to it here. It is tranquil and comfortable.”
Peter now runs a small furniture company with his wife María Cristina and their daughter Gabriella. He makes wonderful hand-crafted furniture and mirrors, with Austrian technique and Mexican style. He uses local wood, and copper crafted in nearby Santa Clara del Cobre.
A taxi driver helped us locate Peter’s workshop, in the countryside near Patzcuaro. We turned down the unmarked gravel road, and found the office of rough-hewn wood that looked like a chalet in the Alps. It was not out of place in Michoacán.
In his orderly office, Peter sat behind a finely crafted desk painted with flowers. After we toured his equally neat workshop, which smelled of freshly-sawed wood, we placed our order for Chiripa. When we finished, we asked if we could catch a bus or taxi back to town. “No es sencillo” (“it isn’t simple”) he said, and cheerfully drove us back to town himself.
On the way to town, Peter talked about the Patzcuaro area and its traditions – including the colorful annual “Day of the Dead” events that draw people from all over the world. On the “Day of the Dead,” local residents spend the night in the cemeteries, communing with their dead parents, family members and ancestors. But, according to Peter, there are so many outside visitors that the real family communion now occurs in the very early hours of the morning, after the tourists have gone back to their hotels.
[Note: At this time mirrors and furniture from Peter Knöbl are not available at Chiripa. We will let you know when the shipment arrives.]
[Continuing journal written by Chiripa partners on a recent buying trip.]
August 18, 2008
Today, for the second time on this trip, we took the second-class bus from Patzcuaro to the village of Santa Clara del Cobre (“Santa Clara of the Copper”). The artisans of Santa Clara have had a hard year. The village produces the world’s finest hand-hammered copper. But soaring world copper prices have increased material costs, and declines in the U.S. and Mexican economies have hurt sales. A fine, but unsold, piece of hand-hammered copper may represent months of uncompensated labor.
So there were smiles when Chiripa bought some prize-winning pieces at this year’s annual Copper Fair in Santa Clara. We bought the first-place centerpiece in the children’s category,
and the 3rd-place copper pot winner in the “New Entrants” category.
Today we returned to the village to watch the winners receive their prize diplomas, amid great civic pomp and ceremony. Of course, we also bought many other stunning, hand-hammered copper pieces in Santa Clara. We always buy more than we had planned, because it is impossible to resist the timeless warmth of these pieces. In a thousand years, they will be as beautiful and elegant as they are today.
Be sure to check out the copper pieces available for sale on the Chiripa website. You'll find a range of pieces from inexpensive copper boxes to works by some of the maestros of the craft.
[Continuing journal written by Chiripa partners on a recent buying trip.]
August 17, 2008
The Pre-Hispanic world is everywhere present in Mexico – in the customs and crafts, in the food, in the ancient stone ruins, in the indigenous languages still spoken in many rural villages, and above all in the beautiful faces and forms of the people.
Today, we are traveling outside Patzcuaro, to the Purépecha village of Santa Fe de la Laguna on the far side of the large lake. The village is poor and worn, except for the stunning mosaic mural in the plaza (executed by local artisans).
But down a quiet side street (dirt lane), we find the home of a modern master of the indigenous ceramics craft – Nicholas Fabián. Nicholas and his wife, María, are leaders in the lead-free ceramics movement that is now gaining worldwide recognition. Lead-based glazes pose a serious health hazard to traditional potters and their families. Nicholas and María started using lead-free glazes after María suffered a frightening miscarriage. They made the switch with help from the non-profit organization Barro Sin Plomo (“Clay Without Lead”), which Chiripa helps to support.
A smiling Nicholas, remembering us from past visits, opens the door and ushers us into a lovely interior garden. He points with pride to his latest home improvements – including a new studio and ceramics kiln – made possible by his ceramics sales. Around the studio we see the sublime, hand-etched pots that have made Nicholas’ reputation and built a comfortable life for his family. Nicholas is building on an ancient tradition.
As we make our pottery selections, he shows us tangible evidence of that tradition: a pre-Hispanic ceramic bowl that he recently unearthed, not 2 kilometers away, while digging potter’s clay for his own use. The bowl, though worn by the centuries, is almost fully intact. It is elegantly formed, and stands sturdily on 3 legs. It is made from the same orange-brown clay that Nicholas still uses today. It is a beautiful gift from the past – formed by a kindred artistic spirit who lived in another age.
[Continuing journal written by Chiripa partners on a recent buying trip.]
August 16, 2008 (Evening)
Night is falling in Patzcuaro. In the blue light of the little shop, within the thick adobe walls, Enrique is perched on a ladder in front of a stack of packaged, hand-woven table linens. The stack lines the wall to a height of 12 feet. There are bright greens and blues, oranges and reds, plaids and stripes – a stunning assortment of colors and patterns. We point to a deep blue tablecloth that sits 10 ft. up the wall. Enrique hands it down to us, and we add it to our growing assortment.
We first met Enrique 3 years ago, when he showed us through his family’s weaving workshop just up the hill. There, artisans wove brightly-colored table linens on heavy wooden hand looms.
Now, in the little retail shop, Enrique helps us choose a good selection of linens from the workshop. His mother and pregnant wife keep track, and add up the bill with a pencil. Enrique finds a large cardboard box, which exactly holds the linens we have chosen. He wraps it in packing tape, and reinforces the corners. I try to pick it up, but lift it only a foot or so. “Don’t worry,” says Enrique (in Spanish), “I will carry it for you.” Before we can refuse, he lifts the heavy and unwieldy box onto his shoulders and we are off.
Somehow, we must get to our hotel at the other side of the plaza. The stone cobbles are rough, and it is starting to rain. But Enrique is undaunted. We are halfway there. Enrique is going strong, but the rain is steady now. At the three-quarter mark, Enrique is starting to show the strain but still refuses assistance. We duck under the arcade to avoid the downpour, but find our way obstructed by evening crowds out for a paseo and snack. Enrique struggles on gamely.
Finally, we reach the hotel lobby and Enrique puts down his burden. When I tell Enrique that I will carry the box the rest of the way to the room, Enrique responds with a look of fierce pride: “No, I will take it.” And he does.
[A small sample of the Patzcuaro table linens are for sale on the Chiripa website.]
August 16, 2008 (Morning)
This morning, we [Chiripa partners] left Guadalajara. We took a taxi to the Central de Autobuses (bus terminal), for our 4 hour bus trip to the town of Patzcuaro in the state of Michoacán. As he unloaded our equipaje, the young and somewhat macho taxi driver asked us where we were going. Michoacán, we said. “There has been trouble in Michoacán lately,” he said in Spanish (an apparent reference to the government crackdown on drug gang violence in some areas), “but don’t worry” he grinned. “We’re not worried,” we replied, as we paid the fare.
Patzcuaro haunts us, and keeps drawing us back. It sits above a lake in the wooded highlands of Michoacán (altitude 7,200 ft.). Mist hangs on the mountains, and fragrant pines are rooted in moist red earth. A sweater feels good in the evening, even in summer, and the air is humid. It takes several days to dry the underwear and socks that we wash in the hotel sink.
Patzcuaro’s first cathedral (still standing) was built from 1540-46, just 50 years after Columbus landed in the “New World,” and a full lifetime before the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth. But the formidable ruins of much older buildings stand just down the road in Tzintzuntzan, the capital of the pre-Hispanic Tarascan empire.
Patzcuaro’s central plaza (Plaza de Quiroga) is one of the finest public spaces in the Americas. You might not think so at first, because it is very old and somewhat worn and melancholy, but that is part of its charm. It is not designed to inspire “shock and awe.” It is civilized and serene, especially in the early morning light when people gather there to take their morning exercise laps.
A fine statue of Patzcuaro’s benevolent first bishop, Vasco de Quiroga, stands in the center of a quiet pool and presides over the plaza like a good and wise shepherd.
The rectangular plaza is green and beautifully proportioned, planted with ancient trees painted white at the bottom. It is surrounded by harmonious buildings and arcades dating from the 1600’s. The adobe walls, here and throughout the town, are painted white above and red-earth brown below. Red tile roofs, resting on darkened pine timbers, have sheltered the town’s inhabitants for centuries.
The entrance to our inexpensive but comfortable hotel is under one of the arcades. The sidewalk around the entrance is alive with people buying delicious ice cream and sweets from the street vendors. The sweets attract a swarm of honeybees, who know a good thing when they see it. The vendors and customers don’t seem to notice them.
It is the first day of school, and an elaborate opening ceremony is getting underway in the plaza. School children are arrayed in their spotlessly clean uniforms – white shirts, sweaters (different colors for different grades), dark pants, pleated skirts and white knee socks. The brass band plays, and a school color guard raises the flag.
We can’t stay to take it all in, because we must start our expeditions to surrounding villages to find local crafts for Chiripa – hand-hammered copper, lead-free ceramics, carved cantera stone, pine needle basketry, hand-weaving, corn-husk flowers, and distinctive wood and copper furniture. It promises to be “un buen día.”
From August 15, 2008
When we go on buying trips to Mexico (for Chiripa), we do a lot of walking. We also rely on public transportation – buses and taxis. So we have met a lot of taxi drivers. Each taxi driver in Mexico has his own personal style (the taxi driver is always a “he”). Some are middle-aged and courtly, while others are young and macho. Some are talkative, some not. Most have a rosary or religious token hanging from the rear view mirror. Some wear seat belts, but others (perhaps trusting in the Virgin’s protection) only pretend to be buckling their seat belt when they approach a police car.
Most taxi drivers prefer Mexican traditional or pop music on the radio. But you may hear classical or New Age music, or even Johnnie cash singing “Your Own Personal Jesus.” Many taxi drivers have been in the U.S., but most say they prefer Mexico. As one driver told us on this trip, Mexico is “más bonito” (more beautiful) and “más tranquilo” (more tranquil) than Aurora, Illinois, and you don’t have to spend so much time putting coats on and off.
Mexican taxi drivers usually know exactly how to get where you want to go, (they sometimes they take disconcerting shortcuts that make you wonder, if only for a moment, whether you are being kidnapped). But taxi drivers occasionally have trouble locating the obscure and unmarked family workshops that Chiripa seeks out.
In Guadalajara, we asked our young taxi driver to get us back to our somewhat low-profile downtown hotel during rush hour. He gave the impression that he knew where it was, and we started on our way. We passed, among other things, the statue dedicated to the “Niños heroes” (child heroes) – the young Mexico City military cadets who fought to the death against the invading U.S. Army in 1846, while the main Mexican army abandoned the city. Every Mexican city has a street named “Niños Heroes.” In the Mexican-American War, the U.S. forced Mexico to cede much of its northern territory (including Texas, California, Utah, Colorado, and most of New Mexico and Arizona).
The Guadalajara taxi driver seemed to have a plan, and was making good headway. But eventually he admitted that he didn’t know exactly where our hotel was located. I knew we were in trouble when he asked me which way to go. We were actually pretty close, but on the wrong side of the central plaza, and the downtown streets were choked with traffic. Getting to the other side took, well, a long time....
We crept along -- measuring our progress in feet, not blocks. The young driver maintained a cheerful demeanor, but was sweating with anxiety. We passed the glorious cathedral, as well as the famous hotel established in 1610 (our pace gave us plenty of time to take in the sites). We could easily have made faster progress on foot, but the taxi driver was determined and we didn’t have the heart to stop him short of his goal. As the sun was going down, we finally arrived. The taxi driver beamed, and we paid him extra for his trouble.
[Note: See post on March 10, 2008 for a description of the hotel Chiripa partners were trying to find.]
August 14, 2008
Today we also visited with Martha Pardo, the creative force behind Arte y Mano, which produces charming small painted images on silk. 
Martha (on right), shown here with her assistant Lizette started painting when she was 6, and eventually started selling her work. She found that people loved it, and sales made it possible to work her way through school. Eventually, she started her own company and now sells her images worldwide. We are delighted to feature her work (including small paintings, bookmarks, cards and other items) at Chiripa. [Note: products from Arte Y Mano are not available on the web. Please visit the shop to see our current selection.]
Chiripa partners are on a buying trip to Mexico. Here's the first communication we received:8/14/200
Chiripa has landed in Mexico! We started this morning by visiting the ceramics workshop of our friend Enrique Castro Compos and his family (D’Casa Stoneware). We found the modest workshop tucked into a typical residential neighborhood in Guadalajara. Guadalajara is a city of 4 million souls but, like other Mexican cities, it feels smaller because everything is on a fairly human scale.
Enrique’s workshop has no signs or advertising to distinguish it from the surrounding residences. But when you knock on the door, Enrique invites you in to a small world of beautiful ceramics.
Enrique’s life is a compelling story. He lost is father at age 12, and his mother at age 16. He and his 4 brothers had no other family to support them -- no grandparents, aunts, uncles or cousins. So the brothers had to support themselves. There was widespread poverty, and at times they had nothing to eat, But they stuck together and, somehow, made their way.
By constant hard work, Enrique made it to the University of Guadalajara, and eventually graduated with a degree in chemical engineering. He worked for 34 years, as a production supervisor for major ceramics companies, before starting his own business with his wife. He and his wife worked hard to build the small business, and to support their family of 5 children. The grown children have gone on to professional careers.
Enrique, shown here with his youngest son Carlos, is proud of his family ́s achievement. He has put his professional experience to work in producing a very high quality product, but he also credits his wife for developing the business. Son Carlos now plays an important role in keeping things running.
End of message from Mexico.
One of the fun and popular items that we carry on the Chiripa website is the 4-piece tequilla set. Tray/cup/salt shaker/plate for lime. At $17 it makes a great gift!
Every piece is carefully made by hand. The consistent shapes makes D'Casa stoneware a perfect choice for your dinnerware.
And the precise painting is equally consistent, yet maintains a definite hand-made feel.
We will continue to carry this line and will be adding more pieces to the website in the near future.
