Morelia - with its wide walls of pale pink and grey stone - there must be a missing mountain somewhere that built this town. During a pink and grey sunset the effect is quite stunning. Square flags of red and yellow (state colours) hang from big square buildings. Pointy metal bits with Spanish flourishes stick out of roofs and pavilions (I think they take away rainwater), there are archways, bells, roses. And fountains - short and squat, tall and spiralled, adorned with cherubs or sometimes just boobs - they are on every vacant street corner, opulently studding every plaza and square, in the centre of every little city garden, with cafes jostling round. And a fountain lines one side of Morelia's soaring cathedral, shooting up at unsuspecting nuns right out of the paving, causing kids (including ours) to go completely bananas and get soaking wet, teenage boys to drag in their gorgeous girlfriends with their knee-high school socks and floppy fringes, dogs to lie belly down and pant happily. And if there are 100 fountains in Morelia there must be 500 churches. Great hulking things with bell towers longer than the naves, and each interior a completely unique and some, like the cathedral and Guadalupe, truly breathtaking and spectacular.
It really is such a beautiful city.
Some moments and thoughts to share... I had my hair cut and coloured by a gorgeous and saavy young thing who spun my chair around to the television and explained to me at length in very fast, very slang Spanish everything that was happening in the daytime soap Duelo de Pasiones. Then we switched to Laura, a woman (?) who "could solve all of Mexico's problems" according to my hairdresser. Mostly those problems seem to involve jilted brides and delinquent boys. Then we showed each other the photos on our mobile phones. It was a lot of fun.
I reckon on every single block en el centro there is a shop full of enormous meringue-like dresses of every colour and size. People seem to get baptised, confirmed, debutanted, married and probably buried in them. Last Saturday by the Fuente de las Tarascas we saw no less than eight wedding photo sessions within an hour, and the only colour we saw twice was red. And when people aren't getting married they are making out - never before have I seen a city with so many couples brazenly frenching like there's no tomorrow. They'll do it anywhere - in parks, perched on fountains, in buses, under arches, on the steps of churches. And not just the young'uns either. Yik.
There are some awesome breakdancers who spread out a sheet of plastic just 30m up the road from us every evening (quite conveniently for us set up just outside the pub, which serves the tallest oversized pints of some kind of dark Corona...? for the sum total of $2 each). But I digress - the dancers are really really great, and are often there teaching up-and-comers, there is such a superabundance of youth in Morelia (one for you, sis), which makes it a really fun place to be. A feeling like everything's a risk. I think they probably learnt their breakdancing moves from a weetbix box, like I did. Although there are no weeetbix in Mexico. Only cornflakes.
In family news... Artie and a neighbours' kitten are in love - never before have I seen a cat jump into a child's arms to be squeezed, snuggled, wrapped up in blankets and toted around for hours on end. They are completely besotted with each other. The kids also have two girls to play with also 3 and 5 who live in our courtyard. They are such adorable little creatures who quite incredibly put up with me squeezing, snuggling, and toting them around.
I don't know what I am going to do without Mexico in my life. I am envisioning quite a dramatic spiritual and cultural crash and burn once I return to Australia. Just thinking leaving brings tears to my eyes and a mild feeling of panic. Mexico makes you feel included.
You would never be invisible here.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Semana Santa
(This post going out to Beth, Hunter, Taos, Eli, Estella, Denis, Kelly, Helen, Dave, Cindy and Leo for being such wonderful and welcoming friends during our time in San Cris).
Easter seems to be a completely different story in Mexico. Apparently it doesn't celebrate the birth of a bunny after all.
On Thursday night the Zocalo (main square, plus every other street and square for that matter) was full of people. There seemed to be a natural flow between the square and the cathedral - outside buying food and knitted things by torchlight, groups talking and laughing, out for the night - without changing pace and still chomping on tamales people came into the church, knelt before statutes brought into the aisles, kissed robes, lit candles, lifted children so they could touch, not pausing to genuflect, which was done often. Not to say it was irreverent or without feeling - quite the contrary, it seemed familial, natural, and honest.
And the explosions! So many explosions. And bells, all day and night, all weekend and all the week leading up to Easter and all the week after. They must have a very sleepy God here in Mexico.
Friday morning Artie and I got up early for a bit of a church tour (there are 3 major churches within 500m of us). There was lots more statue touching as they were mounted for the procession later that day, loads of candles and floors covered in mountains of beautifully scented pine needles (which confusingly, reminded me of Adelaide and of Christmas). Chamomile was big too, as statues of Christ's body were kissed and rubbed and adored and then whacked with bunches of the stuff. We had in true Australian fashion prepared for a commercial lock-down over the Easter weekend, and had war-loads of eggs, cheese, bread, milk and beer pre-purchased, thinking we were very clever. But on Semana Vierne everything was open, in fact the town was more vibrant than ever. Art and I went on to watch a re-enactment of the Passion in the Plaza Mexicanas (poor, cute Mexican Jesus!), and then met Andy and LuLu in the bustling market. Without warning there was a sudden and steady torrential downpour, and a whole market-load of people piled into church. We caught the last of the service, most people nursing a staute of the Virgin of Guadalupe in their laps, chatting, talking to the kids, babies gurgling, oldies singing loudly. I like it how they call Jesus 'El Señor'. No one moved after the service, it was really bucketing down, and there was a lovely feeling of camaraderie as we waited it out. I did think of suggesting the priest handed round the port, but the clouds of incense were enough to keep us giddy and giggling. Andy amused himself by remember the Simpsons episode where they get snowed into the church - when Lisa starts to pray Bart says "Lisa, this is neither the time nor the place".
25 minutes later we decided to make a run for it - the rain had died down a bit but we hadn't counted on the waterfalls pouring off the cathedral, making the cobbled plaza into a river. There was literally water cascading down the stairs, we ran home (not far) ankle deep in water, laughing somewhat hysterically all the way. Had hot showers, made pizza, drank wine, then snuggled up and read stories to the kids (finished 'Alice in Wonderland' and started 'Fantastic Mr Fox') listening to the rain plopping on the clay roof tiles.
That evening we caught a flick at the Ambulante Film Festival (free, of course, with an amazing program), then picked up some cheap and delicious tacos al pastor (fresh corn tortillas with pork off a spit and pineapple and coriander salsa) and a litre (mas o menos... okay, mas) of beer. Good Friday night in San Cristobal was as lively as ever. People were out for dinner or following processions or doing a bit of both, lots more genuflecting, shopping, candle borrowing. There is an amazing and wonderful sense of a public life here. Kind of like you could never really feel lonely.
And throughout all this there was not one single sign of an easter egg.
Apologies for the very lateness of this post (and bad grammar). Some mysterious mental blockade has been keeping me from it... also from my diary and from taking photos. Denial at being over half-way through our trip? Probably. We're now in Morelia, on the other side of the country, a completely different story. I will need to write again soon. xxx
Easter seems to be a completely different story in Mexico. Apparently it doesn't celebrate the birth of a bunny after all.
On Thursday night the Zocalo (main square, plus every other street and square for that matter) was full of people. There seemed to be a natural flow between the square and the cathedral - outside buying food and knitted things by torchlight, groups talking and laughing, out for the night - without changing pace and still chomping on tamales people came into the church, knelt before statutes brought into the aisles, kissed robes, lit candles, lifted children so they could touch, not pausing to genuflect, which was done often. Not to say it was irreverent or without feeling - quite the contrary, it seemed familial, natural, and honest.
And the explosions! So many explosions. And bells, all day and night, all weekend and all the week leading up to Easter and all the week after. They must have a very sleepy God here in Mexico.
Friday morning Artie and I got up early for a bit of a church tour (there are 3 major churches within 500m of us). There was lots more statue touching as they were mounted for the procession later that day, loads of candles and floors covered in mountains of beautifully scented pine needles (which confusingly, reminded me of Adelaide and of Christmas). Chamomile was big too, as statues of Christ's body were kissed and rubbed and adored and then whacked with bunches of the stuff. We had in true Australian fashion prepared for a commercial lock-down over the Easter weekend, and had war-loads of eggs, cheese, bread, milk and beer pre-purchased, thinking we were very clever. But on Semana Vierne everything was open, in fact the town was more vibrant than ever. Art and I went on to watch a re-enactment of the Passion in the Plaza Mexicanas (poor, cute Mexican Jesus!), and then met Andy and LuLu in the bustling market. Without warning there was a sudden and steady torrential downpour, and a whole market-load of people piled into church. We caught the last of the service, most people nursing a staute of the Virgin of Guadalupe in their laps, chatting, talking to the kids, babies gurgling, oldies singing loudly. I like it how they call Jesus 'El Señor'. No one moved after the service, it was really bucketing down, and there was a lovely feeling of camaraderie as we waited it out. I did think of suggesting the priest handed round the port, but the clouds of incense were enough to keep us giddy and giggling. Andy amused himself by remember the Simpsons episode where they get snowed into the church - when Lisa starts to pray Bart says "Lisa, this is neither the time nor the place".
25 minutes later we decided to make a run for it - the rain had died down a bit but we hadn't counted on the waterfalls pouring off the cathedral, making the cobbled plaza into a river. There was literally water cascading down the stairs, we ran home (not far) ankle deep in water, laughing somewhat hysterically all the way. Had hot showers, made pizza, drank wine, then snuggled up and read stories to the kids (finished 'Alice in Wonderland' and started 'Fantastic Mr Fox') listening to the rain plopping on the clay roof tiles.
That evening we caught a flick at the Ambulante Film Festival (free, of course, with an amazing program), then picked up some cheap and delicious tacos al pastor (fresh corn tortillas with pork off a spit and pineapple and coriander salsa) and a litre (mas o menos... okay, mas) of beer. Good Friday night in San Cristobal was as lively as ever. People were out for dinner or following processions or doing a bit of both, lots more genuflecting, shopping, candle borrowing. There is an amazing and wonderful sense of a public life here. Kind of like you could never really feel lonely.
And throughout all this there was not one single sign of an easter egg.
Apologies for the very lateness of this post (and bad grammar). Some mysterious mental blockade has been keeping me from it... also from my diary and from taking photos. Denial at being over half-way through our trip? Probably. We're now in Morelia, on the other side of the country, a completely different story. I will need to write again soon. xxx
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