The Mysterious Island

February, 2013.  We are travelling in the highlands of Michoacán, in south-central Mexico, looking for fine artisan crafts for Chiripa.

Pátzcuaro, in Michoacán, is one of our favorite places in Mexico. Part of its charm is the nearby lake that has nourished people and other wild things for many centuries. The island of Janitzio thrusts upward from the center of the lake, like a Mexican version of Mont St. Michelle. In the evening, the distant lights from the island seem beautiful and mysterious. At such moments, the island seems like a place of legend that is beyond our earthly reach. 

Lake Patzcuaro, from the Island

In our many visits to the lakeside town of Pátzcuaro, we had never before visited the mysterious island – partly, I suppose, because we were afraid of being disillusioned.  But on this beautiful Sunday afternoon, we decided that the time had come to penetrate the mystery. So we took a taxi to the lakeshore embarcadero from which tour boats embark, bought round-trip tickets at the ticket booth, and climbed on to one of many long wooden boats docked along the shore.

We were not alone. It turns out that on Sunday afternoons the island is visited by hundreds, if not thousands, of Mexican tourists (we saw few, if any, fellow gringos). On this afternoon, the atmosphere was fun and festive in an unpretentious working class way. Musicians carrying well-worn instruments climbed aboard with us and, in hopes of collecting a few pesos from fellow passengers, began wailing old-time Mexican tunes – at once jolly, romantic, mournful and fatalistic.

Music and a Festive Atmosphere Onboard

The excitement mounted as we cast loose from the dock, and edged out into the water choked with floating plants.  “Now THIS is living!” one of us smiled.  Soon we pushed through the floating greenery and out into the muddy, shallow lake, which produces delicate whitefish as well as tiny fingerlings like smelt (you can order the tiny fish, crispy-fried or with green tomatillo sauce, in local restaurants).  Along the shore, we could see the ruins of ancient Tarascan towns that had thrived centuries before any Europeans arrived in this place.

The Island of Janitzio

As we moved out across the lake, we gained a better view of the island and the huge statue that rises from its summit. The statue is of José María Morelos, a Catholic priest who became a leader of the Mexican War of Independence against Spain (Morelos was executed by Spanish authorities in 1815). Morelos is a much-loved figure in Mexico, and justifiably so. But, from an artistic perspective, the statue (begun in 1933) is a bit harder to love. It is a rather cold, inhuman monolith – looking somewhat like a graceless Statue of Liberty with a clenched fist, or an odd combination of Lenin and militant Buddha.  But it certainly dominates the landscape.

Statue of Morelos

As we drew closer to the island, we caught sight of fishermen paddling colorful fishing boats and wielding the traditional butterfly nets that have been used here throughout the ages. Today, however, the fishermen seemed to be fishing mainly for tourist pesos.  They surrounded the incoming tourist boats like a sort of naval escort.  And after a brief fishing “performance,” they pulled alongside the tour boats with hats outstretched. 

 

Fishing with Butterfly Nets

Passengers cheered and waived as tour boats passed each other in their race toward the island.  At last we docked at our destination, and stepped ashore.  Tourists are the life-blood of this isolated place, and it shows.  A steep cobblestone walk leads from the boat dock to the summit of the island, where the huge statue is perched.  There is little to do but take the pilgrimage to the top. 

Fish Fry

Along the way, pilgrims pass dozens of little restaurants, snack stalls, and shops hawking humble souvenirs. There are crispy fried fish, blue corn tortillas frying on comals, and stews bubbling expectantly in pots. There are no global brands here – no Starbucks to be seen -- just hundreds of small local operators trying to fish a few pesos from the stream of sweating, puffing tourists. 

Blue Corn Tortillas Frying on the Comal

We hiked up to the base of the statue, but decided not to make the final climb to the upraised clenched fist. Instead, we looked out over the beautiful lake and watched the people enjoying their Sunday holiday. Then, like all the other tourists, we headed back down. As we approached the tourist dock, we saw little fish drying in the sun atop overturned fishing boats. We also passed the garbage scow that is used to collect the island’s garbage and ferry it to the mainland.  A well-fed rat nosed around nearby.

Fish Drying in the Sun

On the trip back, the passengers on our tour boat were more subdued. Their Sunday holiday was coming to an end, and tomorrow they would have to return to their jobs in Mexico City or Morelia. Children clutched their toy fishnets and leaned against their mothers. The warm sun was getting lower in the sky as we left the embarcadero and hailed a taxi to take us back to our hotel.

For us, at that moment, the fabulous Island of Janitzio had temporarily lost its mystery. But if ever we are lucky enough to return to Pátzcuaro, we will again look across the lake as the sun falls behind the mountains. And, in that twilight moment, we will again see the island and the great statue rising in all their distant glory – surrounded by mysterious lights twinkling in the blue darkness. - JM

Real Mexican Hospitality

August, 2012.  We are traveling in Mexico, searching out fine artisan crafts for Chiripa.  We are now in the beautiful colonial city of Puebla.

Puebla Street

Miguel Paredes has a lot of skeletons in his closet: amusing and mischievous little skeletons made of clay and wire. The skeletons appear in all kinds of garb, and act out all kinds of scenes from ordinary (and not so ordinary) life. The skeletons remind us, in a fatalistic but most humorous way, of ourselves. They are big favorites at Chiripa. Miguel is constantly inventing new things, like this skeleton Jack-in-the-Box:

Miguel with Skeleton Jack-in-the-Box

Miguel has a whimsical sense of humor and a love of invention. He also has a deep love of art and humanity, and a profound appreciation of Mexican culture and traditions. He has painted the walls of his house with beautiful murals, representing religious, historical and traditional themes. The house is filled with fine artisan crafts from all over Mexico.

Miguel, with small friend, at home

Miguel lives in Puebla, Mexico, with his charming wife Liliana and his son Daniel. The family operates a tiny retail shop in the city, where they sell skeleton figures and other items made in the equally tiny workshop behind their house. Miguel and Daniel are the artisans (Daniel, who just turned 20, is also studying ceramics and painting under a renowned master craftsman from the village of Azucar de Matamoros). Liliana does the many other tasks needed to manage the family business and household.

Daniel, Miguel and Liliana

On our last day in Mexico, Miguel, Liliana and Daniel invited us to their home for a special seasonal meal of Chiles en Nogada (chiles with a special filling made of nuts and other ingredients, and covered with bright red pomegranate seeds). Liliana prepared the special meal to mark a saint’s feast day, as well as the 20th birthday of son Daniel the following day. We were honored to share in this special family feast.

Chiles en Nogada

The mid-afternoon meal began with a savory bowl of fresh home-made vegetable soup, then on to the rice course and the Chiles en Nogada. This special recipe is made only at this time of year, when the chiles and other fresh local ingredients are available. We were already stuffed when we moved on to a dessert of special fruit gelato, homemade custard tarts with chocolate and fresh fruit, and then fresh local plums and coffee. It was all we could do to stand up from the table.

Homemade custard tarts with chocolate and fresh fruit

Miguel and Daniel were recently invited to demonstrate their work at the Day of the Dead exhibit at the National Museum of Mexican Art in Chicago. They were eager to pick up their visas in the nearby town of Cholula that afternoon, so we went with them. They took the opportunity to show us around Cholula, which is reputed to be the oldest continuously inhabited city in the Americas.

Cholula has many churches, and one of them is built atop an enormous pre-Columbian pyramid that is reputed to be bigger than the great pyramids of Egypt. In 1519, Cortes destroyed Aztec temples here, and put the city to the sword as part of his campaign to conquer Moctezuma’s empire. 

Cholula church built in 1552

We visited one of the churches built by the Spaniards in 1552, shortly after a disease epidemic had decimated the indigenous population. Miguel pointed out a whipping post, just outside the church, used to inflict punishment on native residents who failed to conform. This Spanish church had already been standing for more than 70 years when the Pilgrims landed in North America. But the indigenous American community had called this place home for far, far longer. - JM

Amiable guides, ancient place

A Valentine to Oaxaca

August, 2012. We are in the City of Oaxaca, in southern Mexico, searching out fine artisan crafts for Chiripa.

Oaxaca rooftops

We love to walk the streets of Oaxaca, one of our favorite cities in all of Mexico. 

Oaxaca is sophisticated, but down to earth, and inhabited by charming people. 

A Day on the church steps, Oaxaca

We love the morning mist on the mountains, the afternoon sun and shadow, the cool evenings, the friendly light of the food seller's stall after dark.

Food vendor and customers, Oaxaca

We love the green cut stone of the buildings, the echoing church bells, the museums, the old monasteries, the elegant courtyards, and the daily grit and clamor of the market.  

Textile Museum, Oaxaca

We love the cobblestone streets and sidewalks, the street vendors, the students, the shopkeepers, the balloon sellers and the roaming mariachi bands. We love the giant papier mache puppets and the families strolling together. 

Oaxaca Street

We love the smells of coffee, chocolate, peppers, fresh vegetables, fried tortillas and roasting corn. We love the crowded sidewalks in the market district.  We love the flat nasal shouts of the bus conductors, calling out destinations. We even love the belching, rumbling, swaying, rundown buses that are often named (like fishing boats) after saints or loved ones.  

Market stall, Oaxaca

Everywhere in Oaxaca, proud and graceful people are working hard to make a living. People are building, hauling, cooking, counting, sweeping, selling, and playing music in the streets.

Street musician and green stone.

Oaxaca

Thank you, Oaxaca. - JM

Santo Domingo at Night

Nicodemus

August, 2012.  We are in the city of Oaxaca, in southern Mexico, searching out fine artisan crafts for Chiripa.

At the corner of Mina and J.P. García, in the market district southwest of the central plaza, there is a little shop that sells tin and other artisan crafts. Nicodemus, a gentleman of 81 years, has operated the shop for over half a century. For most of those years, he worked 6 days a week (he closed the shop on Sundays to spend time with his wife and family). But since his wife died 9 years ago, he now spends every day in the shop. He feels at home there.

Nicodemus is a retailer, not a maker of crafts. But he is an artist in his own way. He knows what it means to run a shop in good times and bad. Untold thousands of craft pieces have passed through his hands, and he knows exactly what size box he will need for the many pieces we buy. He stores his boxes near the ceiling, and pulls them down with a long wooden pole. He wraps the craft items expertly, and fits them precisely into the box he has selected. The box is exactly full.

Nicodemus and Chiripa friend

Nicodemus is charming and courteous, and not at all pushy. He moves gracefully around his little domain, despite his 81 years. He knows where everything is, and he wastes no motion. He loves to talk about his business, including the good old days when he was selling “tons” of crafts to Japanese buyers who trusted him to arrange complex orders. To every purchaser he gives little handout sheets describing interesting details of Oaxacan history and culture.

Nicodemus had little formal education, but by hard work managed to send all his children to school. His children now have good jobs, and Nicodemus lives with his son. On one wall of the shop there is a large poster, marking the 50th anniversary of the business. The poster features a picture of Nicodemus, and is inscribed to Don Nicodemus (a title indicating great respect) by his loving children. 

Although Nicodemus has operated his shop for over a half century, he does not actually own the building in which it is housed. On the day we were there, the landlord called about the rent payment. Nicodemus told him that the rent was on its way. - JM

Change Comes to San Cristóbol

August, 2012.  We are traveling in southern Mexico, searching out unique and beautiful local crafts for Chiripa.

San Cristóbol de las Casas is an old colonial city in the Chiapas highlands. In this place, the past is everywhere. Our hotel, for example, was once the home of Diego de Mazariegos, who led the Spanish invasion of Chiapas in 1528.  But the local indigenous culture is far, far older than that.

Old Church Door

San Cristóbol de las Casas

The industrial city of Tuxtla Gutierrez is just an hour or two away, by bus. But it is much harder to get to San Cristóbol from other metropolitan areas, as we rediscovered on our 11-hour bus ride from Oaxaca. New federal highway projects may reduce the city’s isolation, for good or ill. But for now, San Cristóbol is still somewhat off the beaten path. 

Off the Beaten Path:

Sleeping Dogs in San Cristóbol

In San Cristóbol, you are just about as likely to hear people speaking a Mayan language as Spanish. And while most Mexicans (like all of us) now wear clothing that has been mass-produced in Asia, many Mayan people here still wear traditional dress that has not changed for centuries. The indigenous people make the clothing with their own hands, using local materials (although we were told that cheap "knock-offs" are now entering the commercial market). 

Fine Traditional Embroidery

For the indigenous people, clothing is an expression of community rather than individuality. Mayan women from the same village wear the same style of dress, much the way members of an athletic team wear the same uniform, except that these traditional "uniforms" are not made by Nike. They bear no corporate logos, and they do not change with the latest fashion trends.

The Changing Streets of San Cristóbal

We first visited San Cristóbal in 1987, and were last there in 1999 (just a few years after the Zapatista uprising). Much has changed since then. The place looks more prosperous. There has been a lot of new investment. There are more cars. There are walking malls lined with pizza and other fast-food restaurants. There are trendy coffee shops and bars. There are retail shops selling expensive things for tourists. There are people staring at smart phones, and waving their fingers over them. 

The current atmosphere resembles, in some ways, a fashionable ski resort. To us, this is a little unsettling. But much of the old San Cristóbal remains.

Colonial Church on a Rainy Afternoon

There are the beautiful old colonial buildings. There is the clean and bracing morning air, and the special light. There are colorful markets, selling local products and crafts. Above all, there are the indigenous people who make San Cristóbol a truly memorable place.

San Cristóbol Street Scene

We spent a lot of time in the local markets. We found amber jewelry created by craftsmen in the village of Simojovel, in a remote area north of San Cristóbol. We found woven and embroidered table linens, purses and more. We had fun talking to vendors who were selling crafts from their home villages. When we climbed back on the bus, for the return 11-hour night ride to Oaxaca, we were packing lots of beautiful crafts and memories.  - JM 

Old and New

The Shaman’s Realm

August 2012 - We are traveling in Chiapas, in southern Mexico, searching for fine artisan crafts for Chiripa.  

The global economy is gradually seeping into the remote corners of Mexico, including Chiapas. But much of Chiapas is still a place apart -- a place of mystery and tradition -- a place that speaks of another time and a very different way of life. 

Village Cemetery, San Juan 

de Chamula, Chiapas

In much of Chiapas, corn is planted by hand on impossibly steep hillsides. Women and children collect large bundles of firewood from the forest, and carry the bundles for long distances on their backs. Corn is ground by hand, and mixed with lime to produce tortilla dough.

In a rural kitchen, a woman kneels on a dirt floor and tends an open wood fire. The fire heats a comal on which a woman fries the tortillas that she has formed and pressed. The dark room fills with smoke and the smell of warm tortillas as the rain falls outside. 

Making Tortillas, Chiapas

In Chiapas, things are not always what they seem. As we enter the quaint village church in San Juan de Chamula, we immediately find ourselves in a very unexpected world. No photographs are allowed within this space. The interior is dark and mysterious, and hundreds of candles flicker everywhere. 

Village Church, San Juan de Chamula

From out of the darkness we hear low repetitive chants -- not the usual chants that one might expect in a Catholic church, but deep-throated chants that remind us of Tibet or Mongolia. And then, unexpectedly, we hear the distressed screech of a chicken. 

 

Church Entrance, San Juan de Chamula

As our eyes adjust, we see tables covered with beautiful flowers (from the neighboring village of Zinacatlán, which gets charcoal from Chamula in return). The floor is covered with pine needles. Candles burn everywhere on tables and floor. As they burn down, and the wax runs across the floor, some of the pine needles begin to smolder. No one seems concerned.

Village Church, Zinacatlán

We gradually perceive family groups huddled on the floor (there are no church pews). Each group sits in front of a small makeshift altar of candles, flowers and Coca Cola bottles. Penitents drink Coca Cola to make them burp, because the burping is thought to expel evil spirits (a cynical local acquaintance once told us that the Coca Cola distributor had one of the largest houses in the village).

A shaman holds the wrists of a young girl, trying from her pulse to ascertain the source of her malady. Parents and family members kneel nearby, praying for a cure. A doomed chicken, soon to be sacrificed, is held firmly by its legs and neck. The sacrificial and curative rights will cost family members a large share of their weekly income.

Centuries-old statues of Catholic saints line the church walls, but traditional Catholic doctrine holds little sway here. Catholic priests no longer preside in this sanctuary, and from the village of Chamula many evangelical christians have been expelled. For this is the realm of the shaman, and he rules with a strong hand. -- JM