Real Del Catorce...
I was invited on a journey to the high desert, to visit the Sierra De Catorce range which is one of the highest plateaus in Mexico. The historic pueblo with less than 1,000 residents sits on the side of a mountain over 2,743 meters high (9,000 ft). Silver was discovered in Real in 1772 which brought in close to 15,000 inhabitants in search of riches and the town was officially founded in 1779, but when the price of silver dropped after 1900 the town reached the status of a ghost town. Now it mostly relys on tourism. During my visit to Real I found out that there was more to this place than a Ghost Town and beautiful views. The region, is sacred to an indigenous tribe named the Wikarika (Huichol), who walk across miles of desert from Nayarit, Durango, Jalisco, and Zacatecas, which mark the 4 points, one for each direction, to reach the valley of Catorce. In this valley (Wirikuta) grows their supply of sacred nourishment in the form of Peyote or (hikuri) the magical cactus they use to guide their path and conciousness. My friend Memo and I had wonderful luck hitch hiking all the way from Guanajuato to Real. When we reached the valley, we got a ride on a jeep willy which is a super fun ride up the first dirt road built to reach the town. I road on the roof and the views were unbelievable as we climbed the mountain.
Once in the town, the rain started to drizzel and the cobblestone streets became slick. We found the cheapest hotel room possible and went out to explore. The air was filled with the sounds of donkeys and hourses pulling carts. Their shoes hitting the stones beneath their feet. There were a handful of tourists and a handful of locals, and not many options for food or things to do. I bought some Pulkay which is a fermented alcoholic beverage made from the Magey (agave) to keep me warm because as soon as the sun went down the temperature dropped to below freezing.
We woke up the next morning to streets and cars covered in ice and bitter cold temperatures. We set out on a bold attept to climb Cerra Quemado, a ceremonial center for the Huichol. We were gifted a peyote cactus on our ride up the mountan the night before and were looking forward to making a ritual of our own. We set out and passed through ruins of the old mining town, feeling the energy that the once booming city held, the craving and desire for riches that the silver brought. Walked over the deep white veins of quarts running through the vally floor, feeling the power and spiritual connection to the land that has been present for much longer than any mine.
We found a beautiful tree, and sat with our peyote cactus. After our ceremony, and thanksgiving for the land and the people and the medicine, we set out for the mountain. The walk was beautiful and as we reached the mountain what felt like a very soft change in balance, in perspective creeped up on me. Nothing much more than that ever invited itself into my conciousness, but once we got to the top of Cerra Quemado, something extremely special happened.
On the top of the mountain, the highest point, there was a small one room cabin. This cabin was made of stones and grasses, wood and other materials from the earth. There was tradicional Huichol art covering the cabin, and a man sitting on a rock next to a woman sewing him a new pair of pants. I had my thermos of tea and offered some to them. The man was chosen and sent from his tribe to live on the mountain for three months. Four times during the year another Huichol is chosen to spend three months in the cabin, learning from the medicine that is colleced earlier in the spring. We were invited into the cabin. There were deer skins and antlers, tails of foxes and coyotes, and other animals, feather of all sorts from deeply spiritual walks into the desert night and encounters with the animals who he told us were all equal to us. The hearts beat as our do and the give us food and warmth and tools. There was an alter, and a years supply of peyote cactus. Art in every corner, candles and other unbelievable peices of art that were in the process of being made.
He shared his peyote with us, giving it to us with a ritual, and a blessing, a small ceremony and a giant smile.
As we left the cabin, our eyes wide for we were on what felt like the tip of the world. the mountains climbed over eachother in blues and yellows and the sun felt so close even as darkness was nearly upon us. We left, after giving thanks and observing the landscape with great respect. As the moon rose, it was the brightest sliver of moon I have ever seen. We walked back in the dark, in the cold, but we were deeply warmed with our new knowledge of the importance of this place. We had just been sharing a moment, of one of the most important times in one mans life, in one of the most sacred and powerful places for an entire tribe of indegenous people. We got lost in the dark, ended up lying on the floor of the earth surrounded by ruins watching shooting stars. The cold finally won over the magic of the night and we returned to celebrate Memos birthday in the last place selling food, talking about the night over hot soup and pizza.

Tianguis

The increadibly strange world of Tianguis. Tianguis is the name of an open air bazaar where all sorts of goods are sold from animals and agricultural materials, merchandise, herbs, food, and drink, and more than you would ever want to buy. This particular Tianguis was in Leon, and we spent over three hours walking around, only to buy a really terrible coco water and a pair of amazing vintage dress shoes that were 20 pesos. I could not manage to leave them behind, however I did manage to leave without buying the caged opossum.

Trip to San Miguel De Allende

The first weekend of Cervantino is underway and I have watched the amount of people and shops douple in a couple of days. I decided that I was not ready to be around this many people yet, and after the first big free show in the park I would hitch a ride with my friends from Guadalajara who were heading to San Miguel De Allende. I needed to check out the school that I am planning to go to for silver smithing, Instituto Allende, and just get a feel for another mexican town I will be living in. We set out the next afternoon because our night did not end until 6am the next morning. There was to much good dancing and conversations to head to bed any earlier. During Cervantino, especially during the weekends, the steets and bars are packed until 4am. Any street you take you can find amazing mariachi music, tradicional musica de Nayarit, or a free circus act in a bar or cafe. There are free shows throughout the day, and into the night in different plazas and expositions throught the month. I new that leaving the city for the weekend, I wouldn´t miss much since the festival is 3 weeks long.

The drive to San Miguel took about 1 hour and it was beautiful. Green hills dotted with rocks and cactus and a few houses, took us through a few tiny pueblos, and then into gorgeous San Miguel.





San Miguel is a side of Mexico I did not know existed. With the entire city layed out in obblestone streets and colonial, European style chuches and homes that have been kept in tact from when they were built in the 17th and 18th century. The main center of the town is swarming with tourists throughout the night and day and is quite an outstanding sight. La Parroquia, the current parish church of San Miguel is unique in Mexico and the emblem of the town. It has a Neo-gothic facade with two tall towers that can be seen from most parts of town. It is one of the most photographed churches in Mexico. While the outlying areas of the town and municipality have changed over time, the historic center remains much as it was 250 years ago. I found San Miguel to be gorgeous and very artistic, but in my short visit it did not win my heart over the outstandingly unique and magical town of Guanajuato.

Cervantino

Fireworks filled the sky last night for the inaguration of Cervantino. Cervantino quadruples the number of people in this small city over these three weeks. The origins of the festival are from the mid 20th century, when short plays by Miguel De Cervantes called "entremeses" were performed in the city’s plazas. This festival has grown to become the most important international artistic and cultural event in Mexico and Latin America, and one of four major events of its type in the world. We drank beers and ate fresh tamales while we watched the firworks from our roof, lighting up the city from above. I am really looking forward to this festival because there are so many free performances and intersting people filling the streets. Talented artisans coming from all over Latin America set their work up for sale in hopes to bring in big bucks from all of the tourists. Folks rent spaces to open shops for this short time because the flood of money is constant, and then close up after the festival.

This video was taken from one of the free and outstanding performances.

Lost in Translation

I am in the middle of my third week in Mexico. Slowly the realization that I have left my home, my comforts, my life that I am so accustomed to, is sinking in. Spanish being only the second language I have ever been taught, I am challenged deeply with many new words and an entirely new format of speaking and forming sentences. I started school the day after I arrived and have had about 10 classes. I feel like I am learning more every day but it is a struggle for me to live with the fact that I cannot read or understand a lot of what is going on around me. My roomate tells me stories of his life with theatrical excitement, making it a little easier to make out what he is trying to say, however I am missing huge pieces of his stories, the way he is using his words to express who he is and how he feels about things.


I am learning to listen, and only listen. To listen more and then process what I think I heard and let go of what I might not have. When I do understand my responses are limited, very limited, and I am learning to not respond to anything. Conversations that I desperatly want to be a part of I cannot. My patience is growing, my desire to learn is growing, my heart is growing. I am reading the collection of comics that Carlos has from the 70s because the pictures with the words help me and it is fun to read Superman and Pink Panther comics written 40 years ago. Carlos is in the process of taping the names of household objects to the objects in the house, and then he writes the verbs or other words that I might use with that name. It is a brilliant way to learn common words.


I am learning the value of silence in many situations. When I want to say something judgmental I usually cannot and just have to think about it which fades away very quickly, rather than speaking of something that really has no meaning. When I see something I want to share I hold back for lack of vocabulary to describe what I want to say and my words remain thoughts. I am learning to appreciate the process, not knowing what people are saying around me, not being bothered by someones phone call or conversation with a friend. I can read or do work while other people are talking and this has never been easy for me when I can understand the language. I am deeply thankful for this experience.

Agua Fuerte

Deep blue, grey clouds roll over the hills surrounding Guanajuato, filling the sky above the little town with blanket of moisture and darkening the landscape. The light in Guanajuato is always beautiful because there are always huge puffy clouds sitting in the sky, casting shadows onto the colorful buildings. The sun is strong though, and I do my best to not let it beat down on my neck and cheeks while I walk but since there the streets are made up of curve after curve after curve, I have to switch sides of the street every ten steps to stay in the shade. This becomes difficult because there are two main streets that each have cars going opposite directions and there tends to be bit of traffic and very little room for more than one person to fit on the sidewalk. Walking the streets feels like an uncoordinated dance with strangers.

I have a 15-20 minute walk to school, which is on the other end of town from where I live. My school is next to a place called Plaza Embajadores, or ambassador in English, and up an ally named Agua Fuerte, Fire Water. My school a year old and much less colorful and equipped with books and tools for students than the other school around town that teach English. It was also cheaper and has less students so I am so lucky to be receiving solo classes rather than group classes, which is what I paid for. My teaches are very good, or at least I like them very much. There is no pressure, no tests, but a lot of speaking and listening. I am on day 10 of classes and very frustrated with my terrible communication skills but I am sticking with it, knowing that my reward is a cold beer and warm delicious food.

Water here is much harder to come by. In my house, my roomate is used to buying one garrafon, or five gallon container of water per week or so, and with me in the house we go through one every other day. Most every tienda has garrafons to buy, and you pay for one when you bring back your empty bottlle. The same goes for beer. I am still not used to this, but I really like the way things are reused here. I basically had to stop drinking hot water becuase the cost of gas and time it takes to heat as much as I want to drink is uneconomical. I do however, fill my thermos a few times a week and share tea with people. With that said, I am still alive. I feel hydrated enough and still amaze people here with how much water I drink. My showers are usually cold, so I only take two a week, also because I barely fit in the bathroom let alone take a shower in it. This house is made for very small people. Everything about it is small. I am trying not to gain weight so I can keep fitting though the doorways, but with the tasty, rich, cheap food here, I might be moving to a bigger house soon.

Arrival

The taxi ride becomes bumpy. Colors become brighter, more vivid. What has been a somewhat barren landscape in transit from Leon to Guanajuato becomes more alive with people and trees, children and street vendors. All of a sudden the hills are surrouding us. We enter into a valley that 15 different colors of paint spilled onto.

The clouds thick and voluptuous as they sit still in the sky above the town.I am not sure where to have the driver drop me off, because he seems to have no idea where my street is, we have something in common besides our excitement to be out of the airport.

I have plans to meet Carlos when I arrive. Carlos is a name without a face. All I know is that I am planning on living in his house for the next month. I am running close to five hours late because when I entered into Mexico from the states, I forgot to pick up my bags and take them through customs. Because of this mistake I missed my connecting flight from Guadalajara to Mexico City, and was searched from head to toe, all of my bags unpacked and riffeled through and then had to wait for the next flight. The taxi driver, named Natividad, thought it would be best to drop me at the main market, Marketa Hidalgo. I agreed this would be central enough and it was done, I was left in this new town, this beautiful and fascinating new town, with my worthless spanish, and a deep hunger for fresh Mexican comida, as well as a curiosity to meet my new roomate.

I called Carlos and while deeply struggeling to describe where I was and what I was wearing, I understood nothing he said in return. I just waited and imagined the most hillarious situation possible about to happen. Each man who met eyes with me and carried a cell phone I assumed must be Carlos. An older man with a scowl and a limp was surely him as he searched the benches in front of the market. I stood up and he passed without interest. A scrawney middle aged man with a dog, smoking a ciggarette stopped to search for something and I thought it might be me as I imagined what his home was like and where I would be staying.

My nerves were shaking a bit and close to twenty minutes later I became sure that my attempt at describing my clothes was actually a description of me standing on a blue tree with white pants on. This is when a younger, slim, quite handsome man walked up with a huge smile, greeting me with a hug, a "mucho gusto Leah," and let me know my pants were not white and I was in front of a different market than I had said.

I fell calm and filled with joy for who was in front of me. He had on ripped jeans and cowboy boots that I later learned his brother gifted him, and hand made, long black culy hair quite similar to mine and a very friendly sincere, presence. He truly looked like he came straight from the Bay Area. Everything felt lighter and as we walked up, and up and up to his casa, perhaps because he was carrying my extremely heavy bag, but even more because although he spoke no English at all, I was somehow understaning his spanish and he, my broken spanglish. We stopped to buy some cervesa to celebrate my arrival.