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July 4th. Once again it was a wonderful abuelita style breakfast that started the day and was followed by absolutely nothing. It wasn’t because we were resting for the holiday, plus it’s not exactly an observed holiday down here. No, we just chilled and waited until 11am to load up and go to the Guadalajara airport. Sharon’s nephew, Shawn, (well, my nephew too but…) decided to perform the “Hail Mary pass” of travel by hoping we would pick him up in a foreign country. Tony Romo was nowhere to be found. Pass complete. We drove into Ajijic for some tasty empanadas and just showed Shawn the basic lay of the land. Dinner in Ajijic was also in order and we were treated to a “token” fireworks display for any 4th of July Americans in the crowd. It consisted of 9 or 10 bottle rockets. Anyway, glad they thought of us. Once back to our room in Chapala, Shawn and I counted geckos and watched a nice lightening storm roll in across the lake. The tequila seemed to mess with my picture taking ability of this beautiful site. I tried. The geckos probably could have done better.
July 5th. Juanita and her sister Alicia took a liking to Shawn during breakfast. He seemed to get extra portions of breakfast without asking. Unfortunately, the motherly love didn’t last as we said goodbye and set the controls for Patzcuaro.
The free road was fairly smooth yet still presented opportunities to teach Shawn about the dreaded Mexican “tope”, (Tow’ pay). Translation: speed bump from hell; placed at places you should slow down and at other random places just because. Once you hit one, you’ll know what I mean. Otherwise, the drive was beautiful and lush. The clouds were low and snaked through the mountain passes along with us.
In about 4 hours we were approaching the Patzcuaro area and entering the town of Quiroga, where we came upon a road block. No, not like there was construction and no, not like there was a detour. We found ourselves in the middle of a full blown political protest. The locals blocked the road with a Volkswagon bus, which then clogged with 18 wheelers. The protesters, wearing bandanas to cover their faces waving machetes, further clogging the street.
Well. Never been in this situation before.
I got out of the car to survey the situation as Sharon jumped into the driver’s seat and Shawn contemplated whether or not he liked us anymore. I got to the center of the ruckus and waved to Sharon to drive toward me. As she approached, a machete wielding masked man stood in front of the car. It started to get a bit edgy. For once my Spanish didn’t fail me. As a small crowd started to encircle our car, I looked at the protester a said, “Apoyo la gente”, (“I support the people”). You would have thought I had personally given each of them a 10 dollar bill. We shook hands and were allowed to pass. I felt pretty darn macho.
We entered Patzcuaro, found a room, then caught a collectivo (peoples bus) to the center of town. Patzcuaro is a lovely community, plenty of local artists and colonial culture. We introduced Shawn to the local market food and associated smells, then walked the cobbled streets in search of who knows what. In the central plaza, Sharon and I noticed an artist that we had seen here before. He seemed overjoyed that we remembered him as our conversation lasted and we poked through a number of his pieces of art. We exchanged information the headed for our collectivo home. Or so we thought.
The little people’s bus ride from hotel to town lasted all of 12 minutes. The same ride to return took us to parts unknown via a mysteriously convoluted path. About an hour later, we got off at the first thing we recognized. Somewhat magically, our hotel was only a short walk away.
A weird day like this deserved a night cap. Apoyo la gente, folks.
