We arrived at the head of Lake Pátzcuaro and got slightly lost in the village of Quiroga which set us back a bit. I was acting a bit too casual as the cellphone signal was weak and I just figured we could follow the main road round the lake, which decision helped me miss the turn to head south and we carried on north for a bit too long. Layne was very patient as I reset Google maps and turned the airplane mode on to save Verizon gigabytes. At last I had us aimed south to head back to our campground via the town of Tzintzuntzan.
I am told the absurd name is an Indio name for a bird that darts hither and yon and even though it looks hard to pronounce its actually quite easy. Sin-Soon-San and you make the Ts silent. Before we reached downtown we diverted to the archeological site about which I hinted yesterday. It seems before the arrival of the Spanish there was a tribal overlord who had two nephews and one son and he split his kingdom in three and his heirs were smart and kept control of the villages around the lake working together in harmony. Their family legacy is a huge stone construction which is described as a series of pyramids but whose construction blew my mind just slightly.
What you are looking at is the top floor of several terraces but on the hillside out of stones small enough you could, with a little effort lift and carry in your arms. And check out the stick figures in the distance maybe two hundred yards away. These aren't the pyramids of Egypt built out of huge blocks of stone. These were made by rocks you might find in your driveway and assembled one by one over a vast surface area in several terraces at least fifty feet tall.
That it is now forbidden to climb pyramids anywhere in the Americas, as far as I know, comes as a relief to me. I am quite content to walk their perimeters, or in this case, part of their perimeters and stare slack jawed at the work that went into these things.
There is a very nice museum on site which discusses hieroglyphs located on parts of the pyramids but no one seems to have figured out quite what they mean. The reason you don't see Rusty in these pictures is because they also have a sign saying no pets (mascotas) and even though a Mexican dog in harness came in on a leash I am too gringo to violate rules so clearly posted. I don't think he would have got much out of this place except a pleasant shaded walk...oh well.
The site closes its gates to new arrivals at three pm however as we drove away at 3:20 people were still arriving and entering. I should have made a Facebook post complaining or something but I have been here long enough to shrug and go look for lunch and not worry about people who break the rules.
I have to stress we are not pioneers in this endeavor and everything we have done has been done before. There are people online who will tell you it can't be done but the guidebooks and map designers have lots of ideas on how it can be done. You'll find reviews of restaurants, gas stations and tourists sites online just as you do at home. We had read of a first rate restaurant hidden inside a bland exterior that sells local food of exquisite quality. Naturally it was impossible to find as sign posting and advertising are concepts not known to small businesses in Mexico. We parked the van and checked out Tzintzuntzan before we hunted in earnest for the superb eatery.
This town is absolutely packed with souvenir stalls and crafts of high quality. Back at the campground we talked with a Canadian who lives outside Toronto and makes a good living shipping products from this town and the more famous Toluca to his warehouse in Ontario. He has a process that is almost automated as he described in extraordinary detail how he uses trailers from a shipper at home to be filled down here and driven back to Canada first by a Mexican driver to Texas and then by a Canadian driver to Ontario. The way people make livings continues to astonish me. This little old lady held out black tamales.
No idea what they are made of but they taste like carrot cake. 50 cents.
I abandoned Layne to her shopping and passed under the gateway with Rusty on his leash into a wonderland of shaded grass and trees and churches and a few Saturday afternoon walkers out with their families.
No idea who the dude with there'd burn on his head. I joked with a young Mexican man nearby that we'd never know but I expect it was yet another statue of the sainted Vasco de Quiroga. He laughed. Who else could it be? he said. Everything around here is in honor of the kindly Spanish administrator who treated the Indio population with kindness and consideration and is still remembered fondly.
That I get to walk these places, never ceases to amaze me. The church looks like a movie set, a scene set in 19th century Mexico. The park was far from crowded and Rusty ambled around sniffing trees and shrubs, children played, unattended by adults at risk therefore of kidnap and broken limbs, lovers held hands and I tried to capture the sense of the place on a podunk digital camera.
I wasn't even interested in what the place was or where it came from.
I walked and watched and hoped Layne's interest would be held for a while longer by the shopping stalls outside in the chaos of the main drag.
Rusty was in his own world and we circled keeping an eye on each other, me looking for contrasts in light and him sniffing whatever there was to sniff.
These are the moments that happen by accident, that creep up on you on the road. I went searching for them in the mangroves of Middle Torch Key but here they happen to me by chance. All it takes is walking a little ways and slipping the surly bonds of Earth, not on laughter-silvered wings but with my eyes looking up instead of looking flat across the spaces I come across.
But then its back to business and people and sounds and things to do.
Layne is always buying gifts of thinking about someone who might want that, drifting from stall to stall secure on the knowledge she would have much less fun were I there being grumpy.
Tzintzuntzan makes and ships and carves and parts all manner of things. Including for us a. rather colorful paper towel holder. We hadn't found a satisfactory one before leaving as we didn't like paper towels unraveling in the breeze, or occupying the space above the counter like an ugly piece of art.
Layne found a brightly painted towel holder that sits vertically on the counter and shows its painted face to you standing in the galley. I'll take a picture of it later the the counter top is reorganized for our journey that starts as you read this, heading south toward Chiapas, the state that feels forgotten by the Federal government that sits next to the Guatemalan border.
Eventually we found the restaurant that is a marvel of Michoacán cooking and it was okay. We had pork in a black sauce and pork in a green sauce at a table in a. corner away from the other gringos who apparently let Lonely Planet guide them. We both pronounced it not worth the effort to find and got back out into the street. 90 minutes to go until dark with a twenty minute ride back to the campground.
Rusty was sitting up waiting for us after our meal and he drew some attention. I let him out and we took a turn in town before setting off for the last part of the trip round the lake.
It was a good day, sunny and bright as almost every day has been for the exceeding long nine days we have been in Pátzcuaro with cold nights under the covers and waking to temperatures below fifty degrees.
I am amazed we stayed in one place this long but we have, parked next to people who don't move all winter after they arrive from the frozen north. We've met several Europeans who have imported their campers on Mexico's famous ten year permit plan and each summer they fly back to Germany and Switzerland and France to be with their families with plans to come back in September. They seem unfazed by fears of cartel violence that plague the American imagination. They are giving me ideas.
Van Life in miniature. Six months in Mexico and six months in the US when I am tired of seeing new places? Doesn't sound bad.
