A Temblor and San Judas

Sunday night, April 27, as we sat down to dinner I felt suddenly dizzy, a strange sense of motion. When the feeling came a second time I asked Bill,”Did you feel that?” Yes, he did, and we deduced that it must be an earthquake. The ten o’clock news confirmed that it was a quake registering 5.6 on the Richter scale, with its epicenter in Guerrero state. I like the Spanish word temblor better, since earthquake conjures up horrible images of destruction, and this was only a tremor. I hope it’s our only such experience here. Not knowing what to do in an earthquake I did what any computer-dependent person would do and went to ask.com. Basically the answer is to stay where you are and protect yourself as best you can from things that might fall.

Coming home from school on Monday,I wondered why Hidalgo metro station was swarming with people, and then I remembered that it was the 28th. Hidalgo is the closest stop to San Hipolito church, where on the 28th of every month people bring their San Judas Tadeo images to be blessed. Saint Jude, the patron of desperate situations. Judging by the crowds on the 28th of each month, I'd say he is second in devotees only to la Virgen de Guadalupe. Here are some photos from Oct. 28, St. Jude's day, when even more people seek his intercession.

Not a Bad Place to Feel Bad

After having an awful cold for over a week that morphed into a bad cough and laryngitis, I finally decided to go to the doctor. The pharmacy chain stores Farmacias Similares have adjoining consultorios where a doctor examines you for 20 pesos (about $2), no appointment necessary, just knock on the door. Their motto: Lo mismo pero más barato = The same, but cheaper. The two prescriptions were filled for 104 pesos; because I spent more than 80 pesos, they offered me an obsequio of my choice: a can of tuna, a bag of sugar or one of beans. In and out in ten minutes and $12 - not a bad deal, and I'm feeling better already.

But I can't say I had such luck with getting new glasses. I popped in for an eye exam and was delighted to find out that my new glasses would be ready that very afternoon. They were ready, but I couldn't even see the big E clearly with them, so they made me another pair. I couldn't read a line of print without moving my head along the line. The doctor assured me this was most unusual, had never happened, he valued me as a patient not as a sale, and would I let them try again? OK, but third strike and you're out! My new glasses are fine, but I don't think they are really Transition lenses. Lo mismo, pero más barato...

An April Weekend: Celebration of Creativity

On Friday we decided to visit the Museo de la Estampa, just across the Alameda from us on Avenida Hidalgo, to see the Jose Guadalupe Posada engravings of dancing skeletons, La Catrina, and Don Quijote. Closed for montaje - setting up a new exhibit. So we went next door to the Franz Meyer Museum, one of our favorites, and blithely passed by their exquisite permanent exhibit, which we have seen often, to view the current ones: Marimekko, modern Danish jewelry, and Fiskars, all very interesting. We especially felt at home with the Fiskars exhibit, which included willow baskets, pussy willows, and birch bark creations. Almost Maine!




On Saturday we hopped on the Metrobus for San Angel to visit the Museo de Arte Carrillo Gil, which reportedly has a marvelous modern art collection. Closed for montaje! So we walked down Avenida Revolucion to find the Museo Soumaya, located in the Plaza Loreto, an old factory renovated into a mall of specialty stores. Perserverance paid off: the sculpture collection alone is worth the visit; the Soumaya has beautifully displayed a collection of sculptures by Rodin, Dali, Degas and Picasso, among others.



On Sunday we had to alter the beginning of our usual paseo dominical on bikes down Juarez to the Zocalo, because crowds of people heading to hear the "legitimate president" of Mexico, Lopez Obrador (who lost the elction of 2006) filled Madero Street and blocked our passage. It would have been very interesting to hear his speech opposing the current government's policy toward PEMEX, the sole petroleum industry of Mexico. The debate over the future of PEMEX is constant and heated, a topic better reserved for its own entry later. So we headed in the other direction, toward Chapultepec, for our customary "snakes and lakes" tour. This photo is of a section of the base of an enormous structure that was part of a reservoir system in the park, hence the "snakes" part of our loop.





At one end of Chapultepec is a fine children's museum - the Papalote - and the Museum of Technology (MUTEC). We went to MUTEC to see the exhibit of forty machines made from Leonardo da Vinci's drawings.
The exhibit opens with an animated figure of da Vinci speaking about his work, followed by a biographical film and then the forty machines.
A fascinating way to appreciate Leonardo's genius.





On the way back home we passed a display of chile peppers along the Reforma. I especially liked this one of chile poblano done in talavera, the pottery of Puebla.



And this one, in the style of the black pottery of Oaxaca.



And this one, in the style of the national sport, futbol, and apparently much appreciated by this fan.

Crocodile Dunzih

People are used to having a crocodile swim out of his lagoon on Playa la Ropa in Zihuatanejo, spend the night swimming in the bay, and return in the wee hours of the morning when the beach belongs to him. During Easter vacation the beach is full of people, and the croc stayed out too long. What to do? Call the crocodile catcher, of course! Dressed in a bright yellow boxer's robe, long sports pants and sneakers and carrying a rope, he swam out to find the wayward crocodile, beat the water with the rope, and drove to shore the crocodile, who took one look at the crowd gathered there to watch the excitement and swam back out. Later, the crocodile hunter carried this baby croc (the one who swam out was much bigger) along the beach to show him off to everyone. We never did find out when the animal returned, but I'm sure he did.

No Chocolate Bunnies

The only thing here that's remotely like an Easter at home is the basket of "eggs" on our coffee table - brightly colored onyx eggs that I bought at the Ciudadela market. Easter here is not chocolate bunnies and egg hunts! Many of the neighborhoods, towns and cities stage passion plays on Good Friday. We went to one in Iztapalapa that has been staged for 165 years. At least 1000 penitentes (many of them young boys) walk, carrying crosses, barefoot on the hot asphalt until the blisters on their feet scream for bandages. These precede Jesus - portrayed this year by a young man serving an 18-year prison sentence - who carries a cross weighing 90 kilos for 4 kilometers, enduring whiplashes and other faithfully represented events from the Biblical story - Veronica wipes his face, he stumbles three times, Simon helps bear the cross - until he finally reaches a hill (after passing Judas hanging on a tree) where he and his cross are hoisted onto a huge cross. By this time he is pretty bloody. After he gasps for breath for many minutes, a Roman soldier actually pierces his chest with a lance, and it's over. The whole thing is just so very exact in details that you cannot skip over the crucifixion and get right to resurrection the way we do. No empty crosses here!

In the Spanish-speaking world, Easter is Semana Santa (Holy Week); since the vast majority of Mexicans are Catholic, many of the ceremonies and events of the week are similar to Catholic observances in other parts of the world, but with an unmistakable Mexican touch. Every Friday of Cuaresma (Lent) we got empanadas de vigilia, delicious pastries stuffed with fish and seafood, from the corner bakery. Dulce told me that on Palm Sunday, Jesus rode into her parish on the donkey which is the IPN (our school's) mascot. On Good Friday, the most solemn of days, we emerged from the metro in Iztapalapa to fight our way through amusement park rides that we found obnoxious but children were enjoying immensely. Next was a street market with stands selling everything imaginable. Later, I heard a rooster crow and thought, "How quaint to hear this in the city." And then I saw the sign advertising the sale of gallos de pelea, fighting cocks. Finally, we reached a church where people were lined up in order to pass by a tableau of Jesus' trial.

In the plaza in front of the church, vendors sold trinkets, crosses, jewelry with angels bearing Jesus' image, and also bread and bunches of chamomile: bread for the people to take home to symbolize that they would have sustenance in the rest of the year and chamomile (a plant with small daisy-like flowers) to represent - because of its resemblance to the sun - the presence of God in their homes. Beside the main entrance to the church, people walked by an altar to La Virgen de los Dolores, the Virgin Mary weeping over the body of her slain Son, and touched the body with their chamomile bunches. I took no photos; somehow it just didn't seem right for me to intrude as a tourist here.

Acolman

Acolman is the site of the first monastery built in Mexico. Remember that Cortes landed at Veracruz in 1519 and occupied Tenochtitlan by 1521. Franciscan missionary friars began Acolman in 1536, and Augustinians finished it around 1560. The earliest colonial period, the era of collision between two (or one vs. multiple) vastly different world views, is the most fascinating to me, especially the role of the missionary friars, whose profound impact on Mexico extends from colonization into modern times, in ways big and small. In artesanía, for example. Certain pueblos specialize in a particular craft that was first taught to the local people by the friars who served in that area. Fray Juan de Valencia taught people how to mix amaranth and other grains and nuts with honey. The people who first tried it were so delighted that they started dancing for joy, and the concoction is called today alegrías (joy). Vendors sell them all over Mexico.

The friars also sought to impart Catholic doctrine in ways that the people would understand and embrace.
They introduced the piñata, shaped like a seven-pointed star (each point representing one of the seven cardinal sins), filled with treats. They taught the natives that the stick they used to break the piñata was like the power of God to overcome sin and the goodies that fell out were the rewards of resisting sin. The piñata has certainly endured, and Mexicans know the symbolism even if that was lost as the piñata crossed the border. This sculpture of a blindfolded friar striking a piñata is in Acolman, near the monastery.

My interest in this topic was piqued on our first trip to Mexico in 1972 when I saw a cross in front of the church in Tepotzotlan. A coiled rattlesnake was carved at its base. The rattlesnake is a sacred symbol associated with Quetzalcoatl, the god legend said would return some day; Moctezuma famously thought Cortes might be that god, a belief with disastous consequences for his people.

That cross was the first of many examples of syncretism, the melding of religious beliefs. As native artisans built the churches and carved the symbols of Christianity, they included their own sacred symbols. Was this encouraged by the friars? These mixed symbols are so ubiquitous that I think the answer is yes. And Mexican Catholicism is rich with customs that point to a pre-Christian origin.

But back to Acolman. I found it impressive in its simplicity; I could easily imagine the work of the friars in this place as they taught not only their religion but also their language (remnants of writing, with beautifully ornate lettering, can be seen in borders along the tops of walls) and skills of artisanship to give the native population at least some means of livelihood in their changed world. We could not enter the church because a funeral mass was being celebrated, but the music of the mass resonating through the thick monastery walls made our visit even more enjoyable.

Months later, I visited the Antiguo Colegio de San Ildefonso in Mexico City. This mural by Orozco in a stairwell of the school shows a friar embracing an emaciated indigenous, a moving image of the conquest.

Mariposas Monarcas

The fluttering of one butterfly’s wings - so gentle, so soft – is, of course, inaudible. If you’re very quiet, however, and in the presence of millions of monarchs high in the hills of the Rosario Sanctuary, you can hear a sound like a slight breeze stirring leaves, and you know you have heard butterflies. Bill and I were there in January, when the monarchs were hibernating, hanging in great clusters in the tall Oyamel firs. This weekend I went back with Edith, Ceci, Cati and Amparo.
In February we can see the mariposas leaving their clusters to fly around and mate before their long journey north begins in March. They perch on some smaller trees like so many orange Christmas ornaments, or catch a current and fly up, contrasting with the bright blue sky, or land in a wet spot to drink, or alight on yellow, red, and lavender flowers in their forest. It is indeed their forest; they move through their domain as schools of fish do through the sea, and we humans observe in awe, knowing that we are witnessing an ancient, mysterious, and endangered phenomenon.

Local people have known about this marvel of nature for thousands of years, and the Monarch has been an important symbol in their mythology and rituals. In the 1970's National Geographic published an article about the "discovery" of the over-wintering grounds of the Monarch, and the rest of North America got in on the secret.

Across all of North America, not just in Mexico, population growth,
deforestation, and wide-spread use of herbicides threaten the Monarch. You can find further details about their migration on the Feb. 4 entry.