My, Oh, Mayans

When last we left you, Michael, Wes, Ron and I had somehow managed to cheat death in the Michoachan wilderness and had wended our way to the beach resort of Ixtapa where we passed a middling time and reconstituted ourselves for our push on to Acapulco.  We were heartened that we had to only traverse a single road (Route 200, the Coast Road) and would then arrive unscathed at our destination -- the Mayan Palace.

I was confused by the resorts name because there were no Mayans EVER within hundreds of miles of Acapulco but in Mexico one cannot be too literal.  It was everything one would expect a Mayan Palace to be:  20 foot tall stone statues of fierce warriors; slabs of stone suitable for scooping live hearts out of writhing bodies; miles of marble floors; and a Lazy River.  While Wes amused himself by torturing time share salespeople virtually nonstop for three days, the remainder of the party unwound on the Lazy River, sipping Bloody Marys and remarking on how unconscionable it was that the resort charged for Wi-Fi connection, along with any other conceivable item you may want or need.  After a few days of being hugged to the warm bosom of a mega-resort that  guaranteed complete security and the opportunity to never once have to think about anything, we decided it was time to get out and mix it up with the local community.

View of the Mayan Palace from the pool.

Deirdre on the lazy river.

Ron on the lazy river.

Ron & Wes (finally joining us) on the lazy river.

We had driven in Acapulco (seriously not a treat) and heard tales of horrific crime ("it's all on the other side of the hill, don't worry") so we decided to hire a driver/guide.  We told him what we would like to see and he shook his head reflectively and took us where HE wanted to go.  Which was many places that wanted to sell us things.  Icky things.  We did discover though that if we told salespeople that we lived in Mexico they immediately lost interest.  So, there's a trick you can use.  Ricardo was clearly not inspired by either his city or his job but did manage to convey us to several points of interest that will be duly noted in Michael's photos.

No trip to Acapulco is complete without a visit to the renowned Cliff Divers.  Upon arrival at the site, we were entrusted to the care of Garbriel, a 12 year old who spoke fluent English, was supporting two sisters and had a lot more enthusiasm for his job than Ricardo did.  He deftly steered us to the requisite store where we once more deflected salespeople and then on to the bar (drink minimums of course) where we would witness the spectacle.  Okay, I know I'm jaded and make sport of everything but, despite its many cheesy aspects, those divers were pretty impressive.  It is actually different to see them in person.  I winced a lot.  They come REALLY CLOSE to the cliffs.  Really.  The cheesy aspects were that the site looked exactly like it did when Johnny Weismuller was there except dirtier and that they were selling T-shirts encrusted with lots of gold and sparkly stuff autographed by the divers for $5 USD.  I resisted the urge to buy one of them for each of you for Christmas -- but barely.

View from the Peace Chapel.

The Peace Chapel.

Inside the Peace Chapel.

The Flamingo Hotel where Johnny Weismuller & John Wayne used to hang out.

A Diego Rivera mural in mosaic.

How Deirdre felt on the way to Cuernavaca.

More of the Diego Rivera mural.

A cliff diver in mid-flight (notice how close the rocks are)...

and another cliff diver...

and another...

and another cliff diver about to enter the water.

This was the shrine at the top of the cliff that the divers would visit before their jump.

Heartened by the fact that we had traversed Acapulco and not been damaged seriously, psychologically or physically we decided to venture out on our own for dinner one night.  We prudently decided that if we went to an upscale mall (vs. for instance "the other side of the hill") we would have a safe, secure and tasty adventure beyond the resort.  And it was all of that.  And more.  The mall featured stores like Coach, Cartier, Hilfiger...well, you get it.  Wimp that I am, my spirits soared when I saw two heavily armored and armed security guards almost immediately.  And then several more.  And several more.  And a stray Marine.  And very few civilians.  Very few.  This aroused my suspicions.  "Guys",  I said, "Don't you think it's odd that there are so few people here yet perhaps half the police force of Acapulco is on site?"  Sheepish glances were exchanged.  Prior to the trip, wanting to spare my emotions, the gentlemen had failed to inform me of an unfortunate incident involving a number of bodies and a shopping mall in Acapulco.  Well, looks like we found the place.

We DID however have an absolutely marvelous dinner. The staff was very attentive since we were four out of ten diners in the restaurant and the other six looked to be the family of the owner.  Braced by excellent food and several glasses of wine we strolled the mall,  grabbed some ice cream and headed for the car. And then I saw the image that would encapsulate my time in Acapulco for me forever.  We approached a very, very upscale home furnishing/kitchen store.  Immediately inside the door was their security person.  He was suited up in white shoes, white knee socks, white shorts, white shirt and white pith helmet.  The very embodiment of a Bermudian policeman.  EXCEPT he was wearing body armor and holding an AK-47 (or goat horn as they are affectionately known here).  In a kitchenware store!  Now that's Acapulco.

La Mansion, where we had our marvelous dinner.

As much fun as it had been, it was time to depart for our last vacation destination -- Cuernavaca -- the "Land of Eternal Spring".  Why do they always lie about that kind of thing?  This was March and when we arrived at our hotel it was 103F degrees.  Of course there was no air conditioning because we were in the Land of Eternal Spring. After all we had been through, this seemed a minor inconvenience and we soldiered on.  Cuernavaca is really a lovely town about an hour south of Mexico City.  We were struck immediately by the fact that we were not surrounded by Army, Federal, State, Marine or Municipal peacekeepers and exhaled in unison.

It's the kind of town that is charming and low key and where you can see all the major sites in one day -- which is a good thing because that is what we had.  We started with the Cathedral which looks strikingly like a fortress and was commissioned during the time when Cortes was using Cuernavaca as his summer home -- and a place to stash wives he was bored with.  And then we saw Cortes' Palace which also looks strikingly like a fortress.  This is because, apparently, the local folk were less than thrilled that the Spanish decided to take over their little village and use it as a summer watering hole. The Palace had a really interesting museum covering all aspects of the history of the area.  We also saw the Robert Brady Museum.  He was a very wealthy (son of Atlas Van Lines) gay guy who didn't feel that he quite fit in with the America of the 60s/70s so moved to Mexico.  Being mega-rich he traveled extensively and collected an amazing and varied series of collections which he housed in his beautifully renovated hacienda style house which was originally a monastery.  He looked a lot like Burt Reynolds in the 70s  which was unsettling because he had about a million photos of himself all around the house and I kept thinking I was seeing the Burt. Whom I've never liked.

Robert Brady's house with some of his collections...

and even more of his collections.

The ivy covered walls of the outside by the courtyard.

As you can see Robert was an eclectic collector...

who collected a unique (yes, naked) version of the Last Supper (most (in)appropriate as we approach Semana Santa).

The vibrant colors of the bedroom...

and the rest of the house showcase Robert's decorating talent.

Even the tiles, the textiles, paintings & sculpture in this hallway show an amazing flair!

Another bedroom for guests.

A sculpture in the garden (with a religious theme).

A Diego Rivera mural depicting the spanish conquest at Cortes' palace (now a museum).

More of the mural...

and even more of the mural.

At this time of the year the jacaranda trees begin to bloom with their Lenten color.

One of the amazing churches (one of three) within the walls.

Another entrance to the church with the sea scallop entry.

The altar covered with gold leaf in the church.

The interior of the oldest church in Cuernavaca (built in the 1500's) with a mural depicting the conquest by the Spanish of the Aztecs, in what is now Mexico City.

Another mural on the wall of the church.

The exterior & bell tower of the oldest church.

An indigenous woman with her very colorful dress walking to one of the churches.

A woman praying at a shrine to our Lady of Guadalupe.

The colorful walls of the home & store fronts in Cuernavaca.

View from Cortes' Palace with the view of the churches to the left.

Oh, I almost forgot.  On route to Cuernavaca, we pulled off the Interstate to see Xochicalco.  This is a hilltop ruin that was populated by at least 10,000 people and peaked around 700A.D.  It's a little unclear who exactly these folks were because they've found Olmec, Toltec and Maya artifacts.  But see, it's like at a crossroads almost dead center of the country so whether they just traded and left these artifacts lying around or if the actual people lived there is anybody's guess.  As we say, "Quien sabe?"  My appreciation for the site was somewhat diminished by the fact that I felt feverish and had been forced to consume two Immodiums before embarking on the last leg of our journey.  My fellow travelers were sympathetic yet unaware of the extent of my illness.  Upon reaching the hotel and taking my temperature I discovered that it was 102.1. There was immediate disbelief and a call for a second round of temperature taking. 102.0. Sympathetic but dubious.  Strangely, I was perfectly fine the next morning.  But enough about me.....

Ron, Deirdre & Wes as we enter Xochicalco.

An amazingly well preserved cite considering the age.

The site was on a hill with amazing views of the valley & lake below.

The stonework is also well preserved.

Here you can even see some of the original color on the altar.

This is one of the two ball courts in Xochicalco ... the objects with the round holes were originally mounted on the walls. The players used their forearms & hips to propel the stone ball through the hole.  Needless to say there were a lot of broken bones involved in playing this game.

Well, everything after that was predictable and boring.  We packed the car and drove home and everything was fine.  Long, but fine.

After arriving home on Sunday, Michael and I prepared for the arrival of Joan and Jerry Vaillancourt (Jerry was one of Michael's former business partners) on Thursday.  It was great to see them and we had to apologize that there was not a single parade, procession or rollicking street party in the entire five days they were here.  We ate a lot of food, drank a little wine and took them out to dance and hear The Tall Boys.  Pretty tame stuff by Ajijic standards but they assure us they will return in a time of fiesta.

Joan & Jerry in the traditional "big chair" in Tlaquepaque.

Other Random Notes:

• Not Moving -- I know we said we were moving.  Here's the short form.  We made an offer on the house we are in.  Landlord rejected it but decided "What a swell idea.  I'll put it on the market at a ridiculous price.  I'll make the tenants pay the regular rent and have it available at any time for open houses and showings.  Boy am I smart." Well, we didn't think that was a great idea and told him so.  He was not pleased.  We found another place to rent.  He regained his sanity and agreed to lower our rent and only show it with our consent and presence.  Still looking for a house to buy but glad we didn't have to move.
• Odd fact - Did you know that the mileage between Tijuana and Juneau Alaska is less than between Tijuana and Cancun?
• Semana Santa is upon us -- Well, it all starts this Sunday.  We're ramping up to Holy Week.  Don't exactly know what to expect but it is supposed to be pretty wild.  Will keep you posted.        

Strangers in a Strange (and Scary) Land

A Note:
I am requesting that Michael include some lovely photographs which have little, if anything, to do with the text of this blog.  Everything described below was either too gross or we were in to high a state of fear/worry to photograph them.  But I know you love the photos... so enjoy.

Now, for those of you following the blog closely, you will remember that our previous trips to the beach have been fraught with difficulty, dismay and discomfort.  Ever the optimists, last week we sallied forth with our pals Wes and Ron for what was billed as an idyllic twelve days in Ixtapa, Acapulco and Cuernavaca.  Mother of God were we wrong.  Priding ourselves on both our thoroughness (GPS + Google Maps) and pluck (grisly stories of Michoachan and Acapulco are overblown), we packed the car with luggage and a suitable supply of sandwiches, wine and cheese and set forth bravely at 9:30 Wednesday morning for our six and a half hour drive to Ixtapa.

By noon, we began to tip to the fact that something was seriously wrong with the GPS which appeared to be sending us to Morelia instead of Ixtapa.  We left a modern, four lane highway and began our descent (or ascent as it would turn out) into sinuous, two lane, potholed, debris strewn back roads that would be our personal hell for the next 24 hours.  And not just any debris.  Living a sheltered life, I had never actually seen vultures feasting on dead burros...and cows... and coyotes before.  Well, I can check that off my life list.  There is a lot of death in those mountains.

At some point, I began to suggest that we should retrace our steps to a point where we could use the Google Maps directions.  No one heard me or perhaps, just perhaps, they were not paying attention to me.  We plunged on into mountains exceeding 3,000 meters characterized by: 1) lovely vistas; 2) rock slides; 3) no cars; 4) no people; 5) no signs of civilization.  The GPS was resolute in its conviction and determinedly directed us further and further afield.  By consulting the highly insufficient map that Google Maps had provided, we determined sometime around 2PM that if we turned right at the next intersection we could reach a town shown on the Google Maps route.  We were near giddy with relief.

As we approached the sought after intersection, we realized that we had a problem on our hands.  In front of us were arrayed a large number of Mexican Army soldiers resplendent in full body armor and large automatic weapons.  They looked tense.  We looked tense.  Michael pulled up and the soldier in charge gestured that we should proceed to the left.  But we needed to go right.  Oh, but look.  The right hand road was barricaded with army vehicles and prickly looking soldiers.  Hmmm.  We accurately deduced that we were not going right (our one chance to find the town we needed to get on course).  We asked him "Which way to Ixtapa?".  He looked very confused but said "Go left and then when you can, go right".  There was only one problem.  You could never go right.  Never.

Finally, finally, at around 5:30 we arrived in a very big town (well comparatively) and the GPS announced triumphantly that we "had arrived at our destination".  Except there was no resort there.  It was a big town but it wasn't Ixtapa.  We assumed it was the big town next to it.  Zuhuantenejo.  So we asked a guy where Ixtapa was.  He looked confused.  Said he didn't know.  We thought "Wow, he sure doesn't get around much.  It can't be more than 10 miles away.  What a rube."  We started on our way when our eager eyes latched onto a sign that said Ixtapa.  Hurrah!  A portion of the sign was obscured but as we approached more letters were revealed.   234km.  There were some in the car (well one -- not me) who refused to believe that.  So we stopped at the Pemex station where I tried to get a bored 14 year old girl behind the counter to confirm or deny that we were close to Ixtapa.  She couldn't be bothered.  Some things are universal. I went outside and asked the guys about it.  "Oh, it is about 3 and 1/2 hours away."

The sun was setting.  Michael had been driving for about 10 hours on hideous roads.  We still didn't know what town we were in.  We sat in the parking lot having a lively discussion on whether to continue driving in the dark through mountainous roads filled with cartel figures and dead donkeys and live donkeys soon to be dead when we hit them.  Just then a nice Mexican guy came up to Michael's window and said: "Señor you do not want to drive on that road at night.  It is very, very dangerous."  When a Mexican tells you it is dangerous, it is dangerous. Not just life threatening.  A certain death.

We retraced our steps and located a hotel.  While doing so we were heartened to see that the town was a headquarters for the Federales.  We were less heartened to note that the entire station was surrounded by sand bags six feet high with gun slots but hey, it was something.  Upon entering the lobby, the desk clerk almost fainted at the sight of us.  Clearly there had not been a gringo in this town for at least ten years and any gringo who would come into this drug infested den of the cartels would have to be crazy  and/or dangerous.  I didn't have enough Spanish to disabuse him of this idea so merely ordered up two rooms.  They were as you may have expected.  We would have put furniture in front of the door for added protection but there was only one resin chair.  But don't feel sorry for us.  Really.

We decided leaving the hotel to seek out a charming little eatery might be tempting fate.  Thank God I'd packed well.  It was a little surreal sitting in this horrid little room in this really scary town eating Camembert and drinking a decent red wine.  Ah! moments to remember.

At least the hotel in Ciudad Altimarano came with peacocks!

Astoundingly we survived the night.  Up at the crack of dawn and primed to find that damned Ixtapa if it killed us which it was looking as if it might.  All we had to do was follow one, single road.  One.  Route 134.  May it live in infamy.  To give you an idea, we had to travel 234 km.  It took us 6 hours of constant driving.  That is less than 40km per hour.  Like an average of 27 mph.  And, at that, I was making little animal noises and clinging to the door handle and occasionally weeping with fear.  This stretch had it all -- numerous rock slides, sheer drops of thousands of feet sans guardrails, potholes the size of swimming pools.  On one curve was a dead cow being feasted upon while across from it was a dead coyote that had gotten hit while in a mad dash to get to the dead cow.  Poetic justice.

Some of the mountain views in Michoacan...

and more mountain views...

What passed for a roadside rest stop-- we leave it to your imagination

Well, we finally made it.  Sometime in mid afternoon.  We then went and ate and drank a lot.  Our hotel was typical of the sort utilized at Spring Break except all the guests appeared to be old, Canadian and undiscerning.  We knew things could only look up from this point forward.  And they did.  Kind of.  But you'll have to wait until the next installment which I promise will be soon.