Life In Pátzcuaro

Something went wrong with my last post but are still living  large in Pátzcuaro. I have changed my password, given thanks to Jeffrey in Cape Coral for the technical advice and I think we are back for now.

A day in the life in this campgrounds pretty much a day in the life on the road. This morning after my website crashed I relaxed and washed the exterior of the van and underneath the chassis with my hose. I checked the tire pressures and boosted the rear tires a few pounds and chatted with Layne about our route planning. It's absurd: we have four months left on our Tourist card as we have to leave Mexico by June 28th and we are checking our route back to Arizona with time in hand. Pretty cool!

Yesterday we scrubbed the interior of Gannet2, one of those occasions when mats come out and our porta potty takes up its true nature as a throne in the middle of the field getting cleaned (a blue job I might note) even as the toilet compartment gets scrubbed down (another blue job) and prepared for a few more weeks of hard service. Layne cooks and washes up by her choice (pink jobs) and I take care of boring stuff like the toilet and the tires. After we spent three hours making and mending we showered in our magnificent facilities -hot water!- and had lunch.

This dusty industrial room probably does not look like the latest in high fashion shower decors to you, but the water pressure is strong and the flow is hot and the faucets are simple to use. Highly enjoyable for people on the road. Then  shaved and scrubbed and with a fresh shirt on I put Rusty in the van and we march across the field to a five star lunch.  Pork chops in a mole sauce (savory chocolate sauce pronounced mow-lay):

And of course the magnificent view:

The afternoon ended up frittered away in conversation with some neighbors who showed up. My, wasn't I surprised! Michel and Suzanne send their winters in Mexico driving down over the years in an assortment of RVs and spend summers in Québec with children and grandchildren, as you do. We had a great time exchanging travel stories with them as they have been all over the place, returning now from Chiapas, the other Mexican state (like Michoacán) that enjoys. fearsomely dangerous reputation. They laughed at the stories of danger!

Happily Michel speaks fluent English because if I have to speak French to someone from Québec I cannot easily understand their own dialect and we can only communicate in formal French. In this case Michel wanted to check out Gannet2 as he is thinking of getting used van in the US and converting it to his taste in Mexico where he knows where the right people have their workshops. He is an aircraft mechanic by trade so his technical skills are stratospheric compared to mine...people like me are lucky to have access to overtime and Custom Coach Creations in DeLand.

Their RV is a powerful four wheel drive full sized truck with a large camper on top. He was saying it is difficult to drive in the narrow streets of the cities in Mexico and as his rig is even taller than our van height issues have given him in difficulties. I hope we meet them again as I want to see what they come up with next. A really interesting couple.

They also told us of a different road out of the campground which we will check. These two roads were where we dead ended in front of the gates to the La Mesa Resort, whose gates I photographed above.

Neither one looked doable in our van and I would suggest that someone traveling in a four wheel drive vehicle with their home on the back might think twice. Its all very well to go four wheeling for fun but when everything you own is wrapped up in your ride the idea of exploring this kind of stuff is reserved not for travelers but off road enthusiasts. That's the reason I am not interested in a four wheel drive van. This isn't fun to me:

It is entirely possible to tour Mexico in large RVs and travel trailers and people do it all the time. However the larger and more complex your vehicle the less exploration is open to you. Our van was designed and built to be off grid, not to drive difficult dirt roads but to not need to be plugged in or attached to sewage dump stations everywhere. Its small enough we can park it like a car even in the small spaces of Mexican parking lots! However as you have seen from our photos the interior spaces are small and not everyone likes to put their toilet paper in a separate trash can and deal with emptying a porta potty by hand. In Mexico you never put toilet paper down the bowl unless you want to wreck the sewage system so we never put paper in our toilet. We learned that habit from traveling by sailboat where the same rule applied on our boat and we are used to a toilet paper trash can.

This campground has sophisticated facilities compared to many. It even has a thirty amp plug alongside the usual 15amp household plugs. There is a water faucet (not for drinking without filtering!) and the cap on the floor is where your sewage goes.  RV's with tanks direct their black hoses there, people like me pour out the porta potty tank there.

This big RV is a permanent fixture as far as I can tell here. Perhaps its employee housing or something. But it is proof positive you can drive whatever you own in Mexico. A big RV was never on my radar but if you want that comfort by all means come on down!

I am not fond of camper shells on pick up trucks for a variety of reasons. I don't like climbing stairs to get in, I don't like the separation of cab from living space and I dislike the lack of customizable space inside the living area. They pretty much all look the same because the space is what it is. Other people love them because they can keep the camper shell separate when they aren't using it, or they can get a four wheel drive truck and make an excellent off road package, especially with the smaller shells that fold down flat when not in use. You can also park the camper unit on its own legs and use the truck as a separate vehicle. For us the van works best but unlike a lot of travelers we don't sit still for long periods and we have no compunction about packing up a campsite for the day and driving the van around as if it were our car.

Some people tow travel trailers to Mexico, and speaking as a former truck driver towing doubles and pup trailers around San Francisco I am not fond of that idea. Half the joy of exploring is screwing up and being able to back out of a mess. With a trailer that gets quite complicated if you go badly wrong and that lack of flexibility puts me off. I can, and have backed, Gannet2 up for long distances when I got stuck and I have no fear of backing when I do screw up, which is often. Stealth camping is totally impossible with a trailer and toll roads charge more. Trailers suck up gas like its going out of style. and their big advantages, low cost, lots of space and the ability to park them and use your tow vehicle separately are advantages that do not overcome the disadvantages for me. However if you like to set up camp and tow lots of toys a travel trailer could be perfect for you.

There are no wrong answers to the question of what vehicle should I travel with? Its like any hobby or sport, you make the best use of the equipment that best pleases you. To say you wouldn't come to Mexico because your camper is unsuitable would be a shame. I can't go where four wheel drive goes but I love the comfort and easy driving of my front wheel drive gasoline powered Promaster. I love the lack of systems, no hot water, no heat, no propane in my van. I don't mind at all pouring out my porta potty, and these are all subjects that may make you shudder. Please don't let me and my preferences put you off what you want to do. My good friend Webb Chiles, a man who lives to sail and has set records on the oceans of the world says it best when he tells me vive la difference! I enjoy sailing but I absolutely love traveling in my van. I don't miss traveling by sailboat and I am more relaxed behind the wheel than I ever was navigating and piloting a boat. I'm glad for the experience cruising Central America, but this life suits me best. And that doesn't threaten Webb at all, on the contrary he takes joy in my pleasure. 

I hope that explains our choice and how we travel. I hope you find whatever hobby or sport or relaxation that suits you, at home or on the road, or snug in the bosom of your family. I have absolutely no wish to encourage you to think this is the only life for a retiree because it decidedly is not, and when it isn't for us we will live on a boat in St Petersburg and tell stories to bore our neighbors rigid, so consider yourselves warned!

Carnival

Yesterday dawned at last after a long sleepless night. Starting at four in the afternoon Saturday we heard loud explosions all across the city. Of course it could have been a cartel turf war but if it was, we were listening to the slowest shoot out in history. One shot every fifteen minutes seemed a rather slow rate of fire between warring desperados but it was about right for people trying to celebrate without blowing their fingers off. Rusty took refuge in his bomb shelter under the bed.

I took Rusty for a walk outside the campground, just far enough for him to lay his morning egg and then we scuttled back to the van as the city continued to have gunpowder fun to fend off the ritual boredom of Lent starting on Wednesday. We had to move somewhere.

Here’s the problem: anywhere there are people there are likely to be fire crackers to make Rusty crazy. He was chased by angry farmers after he was abandoned in Homestead and he saw dogs shot to death as he struggled to escape. The experience witnessed by his rescuers left its mark. He’s doing better but constant all night fire crackers are too much.

We even considered going back to the coast but layne pointed out that’s where people take vacations and celebrate. We thought about taking a hotel in the big city of Morelia our next destination. Hotels are packed. In the end we decided our best chance was to take a space at a campground just outside town on top of a hill. Off we went.

In a state with exceptionally decrepit roads the route to La Mesa Hotel and RV park is a masterpiece of self destruction. It’s cobbled and runs through a poor neighborhood so there is no incentive for those in charge to ameliorate their lives. Crumbling cobbles are horrible to drive, like unpredictable washboard that rattles teeth at random. 

We followed the blue line from Villa  Pátzcuaro to Rancho La Mesa and when we got there the cobbled road ended. Great! Right? Hardly. We found ourselves facing an intersection between ghastly and utterly impossible. One road was a sand canyon and the other was a narrow sand track and neither looked appetizing. We sat and stared and pondered our options. We had none. Then a young man with silver capped teeth stopped at the window and smiled and asked if we were looking for La Mesa? He was the gate guard of a massive unmarked metal fortress. His remote had a dead battery (not kidding here) and he couldn’t open the gate. Could we wait five minutes? Sure. Thank god we speak Spanish!

After the steel gate slid open we faced one more steep scramble up a winding Alpine path and we had arrived. The whole field to ourselves with plugs for electricity, water faucets and a shower and toilet hut WiFi during the day when the restaurant is open. All for $18 a night and only distant sounds of fire crackers. Rusty settled into this place quite easily. He still gets a bit scared occasionally with the loudest bangs but he’s eating and sleeping again. 

The temperatures here at 7500 feet are 75 by day under the sun and 55 by night, perfect sleeping weather. Not only Rusty has the run of the field. There are goats cows chickens and:

A couple of horses strolled into the frame and were soon rounded up by a couple of kids and led away. We decided to have lunch fed to us so we left Rusty in his bed and strolled into an extraordinary lunch place. We were preceded by the local BMW motorcycle club. 

And we were followed by a whole bunch of middle class Mexicans enjoying their Sunday off. We were the sole gringos at lunch. We are getting used to it. 

Lunch was superb. We started with two traditional appetizers, dried meat rather nicer than jerky and a soup filled with cheese chunks and tortilla strips.

We shared a first rate hamburger with crispy lettuce tomatoes and pickles and a side of fries all first rate. They make their own sangria and add a healthy dollop of vodka to the wine. Lucky we didn’t have to drive. Coffee was of the Mexican sort, smooth and infused with cinnamon. 

All beautifully done for $34 including tip. That’s life in Mexico when you have dollars. We spent $400 all week and we haven’t held back. Incredibly privileged, and we know it. 

We opened up the van when we got back and Rusty resumed his watch. Not a bad view either from our spot.

We napped our lunch off, and bowed to the inevitable with some exercise. Rusty hardly wanted a walk so I haven’t done much exploring. There will be time for that. Meanwhile we seem to have fallen on our feet again. Magic Mexico indeed. Where is everyone? 

Walking Pátzcuaro

 The shower building is completely furnished at this campground and even boasts sinks with mirrors, thus I can shave my cheeks and see what I'm doing for once not at the the sink in the van. The  clothes hook in the shower said "Bienvenue" - greeting the naked, defenseless user in French. Très chic. The faucets, they were the problem as I stood there covered in shampoo with Dr Bronner's boring into my skin as only organic peppermint soap can make itself felt. The faucet on the right said "C" and the one on the left said "F" which I interpreted as Chaud for Hot and Froid for Cold, and in much of the world that would be the case. However here the hot and cold were reversed which threw every last brain synapse in my head onto a collision course. I frantically twiddled the Caliente knob and reversed the Frio knob and tried the other way round. I was stepping as far out of the way of the tight trickle of scalding hot water as my short arms would allow and tried to figure out which way to turn the cold knob which is hot and the hot knob which is cold and the water only gets hotter. It was a tough start to the day, and we went into town from the campground driven by a very clean, frizzy, boiled lobster. Tomorrow is another day and another shower. This could be complicated.

The Plaza Grande is the second largest in Mexico (after the one in the capital) and it is the only one in the entire country that doesn't have a church looking out over it. Formally it's known as the Plaza de Vasco Quiroga named for the kindly administrator of the region installed in the 16th century and whose utopian ideals are remembered to this day in a statue.

According to the guide book the city has a Plaza Grande, obviously and a Plaza Chica which is nowhere near obvious. In fact it's a rectangle of open space in front of a church and looks nothing like a Plaza Chica to balance the big plaza. This shortcoming and misdirection from the Lonely Planet resulted in us walking in expanding circles all morning trying to figure out where the bloody hell everything was. I mean, seriously, does this look like a Plaza Chica?

Plaza Grande, a vast space lined with shops:

Plaza Chica, a practice area for folk dancers:

Then I'll tell you the story of the Folk Museum that never was. Our neighbors in the campground told us about a fabulous breakfast to be had in particular corner of the Plaza Grande. We wobbled the van into this big open rectangle  and I saw no church in the neighborhood so I knew this must be it. A man with a rag waved us down and offered parking...which we later observed was how he got cars to clean. We found our own space in a half empty plaza which later in the morning was quite full. My wife had turfed me out of bed early and even my startling shower wasn't enough to delay our arrival and snag a spot for our home on wheels.

It's pretty nice having a place to put your purchases, get a cold bowl of water for your dog and a place to download photos and take a rest in  the middle of a bustling town. We ended up circling downtown quite a few times on foot to find the fiendishly difficult to locate museum that Layne was determined to see. Pausing at the van on each successive circuit eased the frustration. 

I made the photo above on our first circuit when I saw an interesting looking building. However there is absolutely nothing to say that it is what it is, never mind contact information or opening hours. Layne located it after persistently asking people all over the place. It sure wasn't where Lonely Planet said it was. That was a half mile deviation and Pátzcuaro is full of steep hills at 7,000 feet. Good for our sea level lungs I hope. This fruit seller serving an impromptu drive-thru customer gave Layne the final hint that it is what she hoped it was and  opens on Tuesday through Friday. Brilliant news as this was Saturday. 

No one else had had a clue where the place was , misdirecting us all over the place.  Patzcuaro grew on me as the day wore on. At first I found it to be rather over the top tourist oriented. I pined for Uruapan, a town devoted to industry and local needs where we drifted through the crowds as fish out of water yes, but not sheep to be fleeced. Pátzcuaro had the measure of us and sellers of this and that stopped by and drained our  supply of small currency pesos. It was overwhelming, the constant begging. 

Chocolate, honey, plants, key chains, fruit, nuts and an endless parade of musicians and on and on and even when I was standing in the van downloading pictures someone came up and trod heavily on my last nerve. I was, embarrassingly, a teeny weeny bit abrupt but as much as I liked the town and admired the cleanliness and devotion to the city's good order the constant stream of salespeople jangled me to death. And the city is beautiful and it would be great if a deluge of gringos came to  marvel at how cities have been built here over the centuries. And to take the begging pressure off me personally. Middle class Mexicans have an uncanny ability to cut themselves off from the street poverty. I hope I never emulate it. 

This is a town packed with Mexican tourists. Indeed one family stopped by saying they were from Chiapas and encouraged us to visit when we return to Mexico, which we shall. However they were interested in getting a van, his wife was pushing him to do it! That surprised me. We showed them all over the van and I hope they fulfill their dreams as we fulfill our best hopes here.

Breakfast was lovely, sweet cinnamon laced local coffee, scrambled eggs local style in two different sauces, crisp bread rolls and fluffy flour tortillas and a burning hot sauce if you preferred not to be able to taste anything. The family at the table next door were quite taken by Rusty and even chose to pet him as he took the attention in his usual superior way.

It was a lovely spot, European in flavor sitting back in the sun and watching the world go by and dispensing alms, of course to the passers by. We were on the lucky side of the equation. We could look out around the city from our perch at the privileged table.

And Rusty at our feet.

The Plaza Grande is the heart of it all and everyone obeys the command not to step on the grass, or drop trash. The old town in the city is scrupulously clean.

We passed by an artist with van sized paintings and among the sunsets and bland stuff there was one that screamed out to me and I was on tenterhooks wondering  if the tire kickers in line in front of us would snag it.

Nice work Sandro.

In the van.

I saw the same scene through my view finder. I liked his better.

There is a dessert in Pátzcuaro which someone will mention to you if you tell them you are visiting the city. A surfer by the name of Dane in distant Barra de Nexpa (water bomb country, remember?) told me about pasta ice cream. Thank you Dane.

Layne says it tastes like a very rich frozen English custard. We ate some and put the rest in Gannet 2's freezer. I love sugar but this was rich beyond my abilities to consume. Quite delicious and I shall miss it when we move on next week. A few pictures from the city for your pleasure:

We tried a dried fried fish which left an oily fishy residue in our mouths - surprise! a fried piece of dough covered in sugar called a churro took care of it for us. Needs must.

No headless dogs in the cafe! 

Not everyone eats pasta ice cream. 

Homage to William Eggleston:

David Stephenson's homing pigeon?

Typical city colors, whitewashed adobe, red paint and black lettering, no advertising no neon!

Old style treats versus new style snacks:

I still like Uruapan as a living city but its only half an hour away from this place of endless sights and photos and colors and views. I hope I have transmitted some of that beauty and intrigue because they could sure use more visitors as we put Covid behind us. Masks were almost universally worn though and at seven thousand feet I admire their lungs.