Jimm Budd's World

Sweet Dreams In Morelia

     Churros and hot chocolate taste especially fine served at a sidewalk

 cafe beneath the arches across from the majestic cathedral in Morelia.

        Churros elongated crullers, fried like doughnuts, sprinkled with sugar and served fresh from the caldron, rank as a Spanish delight. 

        Chocolate, of course, is Mexico's gift to the world.  Montezuma had steaming cups served to Hernan Cortes.

        Like churros and chocolate, Morelia is a blend of Spanish and indigenous Mexican.  Capital city of Michoacan, ancient Kingdom of the Tarascans, today it is a stately university town, somewhat European in flavor, where coeds' dark eyes flash beneath black tresses from faces of amber. 

        The Tarascans still run things here.  The city folk, to be sure, have adopted modern ways, speaking the language of Castile, men occasionally putting on neckties, ladies tripping about the cobbled streets in high heels.

        But the country people cling to the old ways, the farmers in sandals and straw hats, the women wrapped in rebozos.  Oxen still help plow the fields and laden donkeys amble along back roads.

        Morelia is only 180 miles northwest of Mexico City, but the peaks and valleys of the Sierra Madre make it a five hour drive. We flew in aboard one of Aeromar's new ATR's, but we'll go back by train.  The sleeper service is good now, the fare a bargain and we save a night in a hotel.

        Not that hotels are expensive.  Usually we stay at the old Posada de la Soledad, downtown, which rates as both a gem another bargain.

        The other top choice is the Villa Montana, up in the hills, with huge rooms, wonderful meals and a nice, clubby feeling to it. The tab runs high, but at the Villa Montana guests usually check in not for days but weeks.  

        There being no gold in the local hills, the conquistadors left Michoacan to the Spanish friars.  The Franciscans and Augustinians moved in, along with a few second sons of Iberian nobility who preferred landed estates across the Ocean Sea to none at all.  

        Stately palaces went up, along with magnificent churches.

The Posada de la Soledad originally was a monastery. This is a city of stone, gray stone and stone with a slightly pinkish hue, much of it handsomely carved. 

        The Morelia Cathedral took a century to complete.  With twin 200-foot bell towers (the tallest in Mexico), it dominates the city, but the most beautiful church is the Guadalupe Sanctuary down by the aqueduct.  Unimposing from without, within it is baroque gone wild; not a square inch is left undecorated.

        The missionary friars found the Tarascans to be especially skilled artisans.  Every village had its specialty, and the padres encouraged that tradition.  They did bring in a few new skills.  Looms were introduced, and the potters' wheel.  Tarascan coppersmiths, who were just then learning how to work with metal, were shown the latest 16th century techniques.  They use them down to this day.

        Santa Clara de Cobre is the place to go for copper, Uruapan for lacquer, Paracho for guitars, Tzintzuntzan for pottery, Patzcuaro for pottery.  It's great fun to rove along the rural roads, driving among forested mountains so untypical of Mexico, searching out village stalls and marketplaces. 

        We got to Tzintzuntzan, which was the prehispanic capital of these parts, has ancient ruins and supposedly takes its name from the hum of humming birds.  The brochures claim there are 150 species of humming birds around here.  A distinguished gentleman joined us in our browsing, pointing out new a new plaza about to be built and a school under construction. 

        "I am the mayor," he announced.  "I want you to know we are bringing progress to this town."  He beamed as if assured of our vote in the next election.

       The town of Patzcuaro, by the lake of Patzcuaro, is one of the most classically Mexican villages in Mexico. Whitewash peels from adobe houses that line uneven lanes.  Moss grows on the red tile roofs. 

Tarascan fishermen ply the lake in dugouts, using graceful nets resembling butterfly wings to scoop up little whitefish prized by Mexican gourmets.

        The Tarascans calls themselves Purepechas.  "Tarasco" means something like in-laws.  Legend has it that when the conquistadors asked the village elders what they called themselves, they were told, "We are your in-laws."  Apparently the captains from Castile already had met the local ladies.

        You pick up such gems of wisdom as your guide heads a decades-old Ford back to Morelia.  He will deposit you at the House of Artisans, where treasures in handicrafts from all over Michoacan are sold at fixed prices, nice if you are shy about bargaining.  Or he will take you to the candy market, where you can haggle for almost anything, from carved furniture to candy. Morelia is famous for its candy.

        School is out.  Giggling children scurry by, a brave one waiving hello, asking where you are from, practicing a bit of English.  Answer and the others will begin chattering, too.

        There is still time for a dip in the hotel pool, but pools are for beach resorts where there is nothing else to do.  Better to wander around a bit more, perhaps look in at the home of Jose Maria Morelos, the Independence hero who gave Morelia its name, or pass by the Conservatory where the Boy Singers are rehearsing.

        The moment will come for more churros and chocolate beneath the arches.  As dusk approaches blackbirds will flutter in to roost in the great oaks by the Cathedral.  Much noise comes from the birds.  They are, Morelia folk will tell you, reciting their prayers.

        Families gather at the sidewalk cafes.  Parents and small children.  The young people are across on the plaza, waiting while a brass band tunes up.  Once the music begins, the girls will stroll clockwise around the kiosk, shy and giggling. Young men will walk in the opposite direction, strutting, preening, waiting for a smile and perhaps an invitation to join a senorita on her promenade.  No discotheque could ever be like this.