We leave today for a bit more than a week in Mexico City and Oaxaca, in what has become an almost annual pilgrimage. We’re joining our trusty Mexico companions, Patti and David B., and new recruits Connie, Sasha, and Vladimir B.
The New Jersey contingent shared a car to the airport, flew through security, and had a nibble at a dumpling shop in the concourse. Like everything else at Newark, you order with your cell phone. A server came over to me and said “Are you really Michael Jennings?” Turned out an off-duty server and I shared a name. So I asked if dinner were on the house, and he roared. Really nice guy originally from Haiti who has been here for 16 years; added bonus: huge football fan.
The flight felt long at 5 hours; we were routed over land the whole way, perhaps because of storms in the gulf. The rest of the flight rose to United’s high standards: more than five hours on an international flight without so much as a pretzel or a peanut, and lousy movie service (Direct TV).
Immigration in Mexico City was fairly slow, but we were soon in a cab on our way to our hotel. We were a bit worried because we had read reviews that mentioned a dance club with blaring music clearly audible from the rooms. But the Casa de la Luz is a dream: I would recommend it to anyone! Housed in a colonial mansion built in 1578 the hotel has soaring, beautiful public areas, a great rooftop bar and restaurant, and spacious, extremely comfortable rooms.
Like many of the oldest colonial mansions–i.e. those built by the original conquistadores–the walls are made from volcanic rock taken from the Aztec temples.
David and Patti had flown in a day earlier and had already had a day full of Rivera murals; they were waiting for us in the breakfast room when we all came down. The conversation was full and furious–no one is at a loss for something to say!
Patti and David had eaten at the restaurant the night before and had a wonderful meal; and the breakfast lived up to their review. Fresh pressed orange juice, tropical fruit, and a wide choice of Mexican breakfast entrees; I had wonderful enchiladas verdes while several of the crew had huevos rancheros.
The hotel sits on a lovely small square, the Rinconada de Jesus, with a colonial era church facing the hotel.
The square is less than five minutes south of the Zocalo, the city’s most important public space. Here’s the group setting out on the day’s adventure
What a relief from the gloom of the New Jersey winter: a cloudless blue sky with temperatures in the mid-seventies. The Zocalo is b0unded by the National Palace (the seat of the Executive branch of the Mexican government and, since 2018, the residence of the Mexican president) on the east, the Metropolitan Cathedral on the north, and arcades that originally housed fancy stores on the west.
The cathedral is an enormous baroque heap, built to assert the power of the Spanish throne and the church in Mexico.
Even though every attempt was made to attain the gaudy standards of European baroque ornamentation, the nave is so enormous that it gives a sense of sparseness.
The main altar, though, corrects for any false impression of simplicity and humility.
The exit from the Cathedral leads directly to a long plaza that ends at the ruins of the Templo Mayor, the main temple in the sacred precinct of the great Mexica city Tenochtitlan. A word of explanation is perhaps in order here. The vocabulary regarding the Aztecs has changed over the years; while the Aztec empire included not just Tenochtitlan but the independent city-states Tlacopan and Tetzcoco, all within the valley of Mexico, the residents of Tenochtitlan called themselves Mexica. In the last few years, the government has increasingly called everything formerly known as Aztec “Mexica.” This only serves to further the way that Mexican racial ideology turns things on its head. While Mexicans with white skin and European features continue to control the economy and large swathes of the government, the discourse of the elites continues to pretend that the country is focused on its indigenous population. Just as the Aztecs claimed that they were the heirs of the Toltec empire, so the Mexicans suggest that they are the heirs of the Mexica.
Immediately after the Conquest of Mexico in 1521, Tenochtitlan’s great temple and indeed the entire city was destroyed, its building materials reused in the building of the colonial capital. Over the centuries, the temple was essentially forgotten. Especially in comparison to the exploration of the other Mesoamerican civilizations such as the Maya or the Zapotecs, the ruins of the Temple Mayor were excavated very late: some work had been done in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, but the site was more fully excavated only beginning in 1978. What remains is a small fraction of the temple’s great pyramid.
We then walked along the lovely Calle de la Republics de Guatemala, with its long rows of restored colonial buildings.
We made our way to Calle Francisco Madero, the pedestrian zone that links the Zocalo with Alameda Central, the city’s “Central Park.” Although the 1985 earthquake brought down many of the oldest houses here, it still preserves a number of magnificent colonial mansions. It ends at the beautiful Casa de los Azulehos or “House of Tiles,” a mansion dating from the 16th to the 18th centuries. The Talavera tiles from Puebla that cover the edifice makes it one of loveliest in the city.
Across from the Azulehos is the Torre Latino, for many years the only skyscraper in the center. Alongside the tower is a cultural space given over to changing exhibitions. It turned out that the current exhibit offers kinetic sculpture by the contemporary artist Marysole Wörner Baz. None of us had heard of her, though her last name was very familiar to the Bradleys and Jennings. She is the sister of the prominent architect Juan Wörner Baz who came to Tucson Arizona in the early 1960’s to build a gloriously beautiful home for John and Helen Murphey on the highest hill in the Catalina Foothills. Murphey had developed the foothills, making it the most exclusive community in Arizona. My mother was office manager for Murphey and I met Wörner Baz several times when I was 11 or 12. It was only much later that I learned that Wörner Bay had taken on a number of other projects in Tucson..including a group of condominiums at the corner of Campbell Avenue and Skyline Drive. Patti and David now live in one of those homes, as do David’s brother Kim and his wife Mary Lou and our good friends Thom and Michelle Larsen!
Just around the corner rises the Palacio de Belles Arts, the main cultural center of Mexico City.
The building was planned to commemorate the centennial of Mexican independence from Spain in 1910; Porfirio Diaz, who was elected Mexican president seven times and was the de facto dictator from 1876 until 1911, laid the cornerstone in 1904. The initial plan called for a combination of neoclassical and art nouveau elements. The Mexican Revolution intervened before the structure could be completed; it was redesigned in art deco style and opened in 1934.
Our interest in the Palacio, however, lay inside: it houses a remarkable series of large murals by Diego Rivera, David Alfaro Siqueiros, Jose Clemente Orozco, and Rufino Tamayo. The Tamayo murals on the second floor are the first ones seen by visitors.
The Palacio also includes a large exhibition on Mexican modernism, which looked fascinating as I ran by in search of more murals!
On emerging on the upper floor of the palace, the visitor is confronted with Rivera’s “Man, Controller of the Universe.” This is its central panel.
And here is the mural in its entirety.
The mural was originally commissioned by the Rockefellers and given prominent space in 30 Rockefeller Plaza, the main building of the original Rockefeller Center. Conceived as an allegory of technology as it mediates between capitalism on the left and socialism on the right, the mural was attacked even before it was finished as “anti-capitalist propaganda.” Rivera reacted by inserting a portrait of Vladimir Lenin just to the right of the central figure. When Nelson Rockefeller demanded that this be painted over, Rivera refused and the Rockefellers ordered the mural destroyed. Sensing the coming storm, Rivera had had the entire mural photographed; he was able to recreate it, in significantly altered form, in the Palacio.
This isn’t Rivera’s only contribution here: the somewhat cheerier “Carnival of Mexican Life” occupies a less prominent position.
The murals by Siqueiros and Orozco are just as remarkable if very different…and much more violent.
Directly across from Rivera’s “Man at the Crossroads” is Orozco’s “Katharsis.”
The longest wall is dominated by Siqueiros’ meditations on Democracy. Here is the central panel.
We would have spent much more time here, but we needed to call an Uber to take us to lunch at the remarkable Restaurante Nicos. Nicos sits in a working class neighborhood northwest of the center; its founder was also the founder of the Mexican Slow Food movement. Nicos is dedicated to preserving unusual regional recipes and is as close to a “farm to table” operation as one is likely to see here. Too far out of the way to see many tourists, the clientele is largely Mexican families. We started with their traditional Guacamole, made table side on a cart. We then split six different dishes from the comal: the highlights were the sopa seca de nata, a layered crepe dish; the pork belly taco; and a kind of empanada. Then the main dishes arrived.
Connie and Patti had chicken in a deep, spectacular mole; David had an unusual roast chicken (hidden beheath the pottery chicken above); Vladimir had beef ribs; Sue had a wonderful octopus dish; and I had an incredible rabbit stew with potatoes. Here are the mole and the rabbit.
We were stuffed to the gills, but it had been a memorable meal. We took an Uber back to the Alameda Central in order to walk off a bit of our lunch, and then turned south toward the Museo des Artes Populares (folk art).
There is a good bit of performance art around the Alameda.
Of, um, rather mixed quality.
Our friend Sandra Brown had strongly recommended the folk art museum, and it turned out to be one of the highlights of this or any trip.
The museum is built around a soaring atrium; near the ground, the space if filled with brightly colored fantasy animals made of papier-mâché. Papier-mâché constructions–cartoneria in Spanish–became popular in Central Mexico already during the colonial period, used in religious ceremonies and popular festivals, and for domestic decoration. After the Second World War, the artist Pedro Linares began creating fantastic animals (creatures with features of two or more animals) out of papier-mâché. He called them “alebrijes”–supposedly a word that came to him in a dream.
Higher up, kites float freely. This is the Merry Pranksters in an elevator, flying with the kites.
The museum’s collection is housed in galleries around the atrium. I can’t recount here the room after room of absolutely remarkable objects. Vladimir walked through each gallery rather quickly, seeking an overall impression. And he had it right: we don’t know anywhere else where one can find such an explosion of the imagination. Often in subversive, disturbing forms.
Patti and David have a wonderful collection of Mexican folk art, and they found a number of the artists whose work they hold represented here; to my delight, I found both of the artists who created my raccoon and snake that some of you know well prominently represented in the museum. There were a half dozen animals carved by Jacopo and Maria Angeles (raccoon).
And a marvelous dog by Manuel Jimenez (snake).
There is an important continuity here. Manuel Jimenez, a woodcarver from the village of Arrazola near Oaxaca, met Pedro Linares in the 1980’s in the context of a Mexican folk art tour of the United States organized by the British filmmaker Judith Bronowski. Jimenez saw the possibilities of alebrijes when they are carved in copal, a tree indigenous to the Oaxacan valleys. His was the first workshop to produce wooden alebrijes…though the practice is now prevalent not just in Arrazola, but in San Martin Tilcajete as well.
It was Saturday night in the (Very) Big City, and the streets in the Centro Historico were teeming with life. We dove into the rapidly changing scene on our way back to the hotel, reveling in the sense of joy and anticipation all around us.
After an early evening siesta, we rendezvoused at the hotel’s rooftop restaurant. The space is vibrant, with an entire wall open to the outside, and warmed by a lady at a large comal.
This fabulous hotel is typified by its “welcome drink:” mezcal infused with a kind of hibiscus tea and warmed with burning herbs–they call it the “Hernan Cortez” for reasons best known to them!.
None of us could eat more than a few mouthfuls after our gargantuan lunch: Vladimir had some wonderful raw tuna with green salsa; Patti had a salad, David a bowl of ceviche, and Connie, Sue, and I a quesadilla with cheese and squash blossoms. But we spent two and a half hours over drinks and lively talk, a fitting conclusion to a great day.
We were joined at breakfast by the last member of our merry band, Sasha B. The B. clan had decided to take an orienting bus ride around the city while the rest of us headed for Teotihuacan. In the age of Uber it is surprisingly easy to get to the ruins: less than an hour and less than 40 bucks later we were strolling through the very nice site museum.
During our first visit, in 2015, it felt like we had the place to our selves. Today, on a Sunday, the place was mobbed! But it is so grand that even hordes of fellow sun seekers can’t blunt the impact.
Our first view of the site was from the back of the larger of the two pyramids, known as the pyramid of the sun.
Like all the mesoamerican pyramids, the interior is rubble, faced first with stone and then with a rough stucco. We assumed that the rocks protruding at regular intervals were intended to anchor the stucco.
When we were here last, one could climb the pyramids, but that is no longer permitted. The pyramid was named pyramid of the sun only by 16th century Spaniards; recent research suggest that it might have been dedicated to the water god, Tlaloc. There were certainly temples atop the pyramids, but what they looked like is forever lost.
And here are two Teotihuacanos.
The pyramids at either end of the sacred precinct are connected by a broad boulevard called “Avenue of the Dead” (a translation from its Nahuatl name Miccoatli).
The pyramid in the distance is called the Pyramid of the Moon; again, no one really knows which gods it served.
Our last stop was the Palace of Quetzalpapálotl, thought to have been the residence of a high priest. Its interior courtyard has been partially restored; it contains some stunning original murals
It had been a wonderful morning; and we made our way back to Mexico City in a flash with an Uber driver eager to get home…and driving way too fast!
We met the rest of the crew at the extraordinary Anthropological Museum. Since we had visited twice before, we cherry picked a bit, spending more time on the Toltecs, Zapotecs, and Olmecs, and less on the Aztecs. Here are just a few of the remarkable objects held here.
The one below deserves a quick comment: it is a votive mask of the Zapotec bat god. It’s believed the mask was created between 100 BC and 200 AD at the height of Monte Alban’s dominance of the region around Oaxaca. It’s made out of 25 pieces of jade, a green stone highly valued by Mesoamerican civilizations, with yellow, piercing eyes made from shell fragments.
We all rendezvoused again at the hotel for pre-dinner drinks and then made the ten-minute walk to the restaurant Azul Historico. This was a very different place than anything else on the trip: an enormous atrium with huge trees coming out of pots and soaring above the tables. It was crowded, a bit noisy, and definitely buzzy. Unfortunately, I started feeling queasy as soon as I sat down. I hopped an Uber back to the hotel and hoped for the best. But the best wasn’t good enough!
Reports from the others suggest that the food was very good!
Please forgive the interruption of transmission, gentle reader! I’m afraid I fell prey to a bit of turistas on Sunday night. I was really out of commission for just half of today, Monday, but it took me most of the rest of the day to recover my energy…so here I am again.
We had an early flight to Oaxaca, which turned out to be delayed for an hour because Aeromexico had an airplane but no crew! The flight was otherwise uneventful…and very short, just over an hour. A van brought the B.’s and the J.’s to the hotel; David and Patti were on a later flight.
There was some unfortunate signal noise at the hotel. When Patti and I had tried to book rooms for the trip, our first ten choices were full. The Casa de Sierra Azul looked fine, and we booked four rooms. But then I found out that David and Patti had to leave a day early, and that the reservation had to be changed. Patti, our Spanish translator, had called the hotel and they had assured her that everything was in order. It wasn’t. There was no room for Sasha after the first night, so she switched to the (much nicer) hotel next door. And, while our room was very nice, with a large terrace and chaise lounges, David and Patti were at first put in a dungeon and then, after protesting, to an adequate but not lovey room. OK, there, I’ve gotten that out of my system.
In the early afternoon, Sue, Connie, and Sasha took off for some preliminary shopping reconaissance (Oaxaca is a dangerous space for eager shoppers). Vladimir and I opted for a quick siesta. When David and Patti arrived, I joined them in a search for the others. On the main pedestrian thoroughfare, Calle Macedonia Alcala, our path was slowed by a street event that may have been a wedding, or may have been a political protest…or both!
Once we had joined the others, we decided to walk toward a really interesting corner of the city, the former aqueduct that carried water from the mountains to the north of Oaxaca. The way there leads through gorgeous streets and squares, like this one.
Or this one in front of a small church.
Our way led us down to the Calle Rufino Tomato, whose brightly painted houses, street art, and charming home built under the arches of the aqueduct make it one of the most picturesque parts of the city.
At the top of the street is a state-sponsored store for folk art with a lovely courtyard.
The houses here are delightfully colorful, even by Oaxaca standards.
And the street is home to one of the most interesting pieces of street art in the city.
And here is a small sampling of the houses built into the aqueduct.
Dinner was at Criollo, the Mexican star chef Enrique Olvera’s outpost in Oaxaca. This is a definite part of every trip to Oaxaca. The setting is idyllic; you sit under a veranda that surrounds an open patio with a bubbling fountain and look out onto a lush cactus garden. There is no menu: the chef creates six new courses every night depending on what is in the market. And this week there was obviously a lot of fish; even the tamales, let alone the tacos and tostadas, were filled with fish in many guises. It was a fabulous meal and reset the Bans’ understanding of Mexican food.
We had decided to introduce the Bans to our favorite among the several “craft routes” in Oaxaca state: the road that leads south to the town of Ocotlan de Morelos. We had hired a van through our hotel, and hit the jackpot: a new, very comfortable van with a great driver, Manriquez; he spoke about 12 words of English, and spoke Spanish at great speed, but I was often able to get the gist. He proved to be a great driver, and someone who had intimate knowledge of the entire region.
Patti tells us that Ocotlan retains much of the feeling and pace of the Oaxaca of years ago. It is a casual, friendly, and enormously charming place. The town huddles around a verdant central square bounded on one side by the municipal hall and on another by one of the great markets of Oaxaca.
But, before exploring the center of town, we stopped just as we entered Ocotlan at one of our favorite places: the workshop of the great folk artist Josefina Aguilar.
Aguilar creates clay figurines (muñecas) from village life; she learned her art from her mother, as did her sisters Guillermina, Irene, and Concepcion. Although all four work in the same medium, each sister’s work is clearly distinguishable from that of her sisters. Josefina’s career has eclipsed that of her sisters, though, perhaps because of its greater rusticity. The somewhat primitive charm of the figurines is lifted by an eye for detail and a striking sense of humor. The prices are ridiculously low for the work of an artist held in major private and public collections around the world. I paid forty dollars for an extremely detailed market woman that stands 10″ tall.
One important detail: Josefina became blind in 2014 and since then has shaped the figures but not painted them. She said recently to a collector “It’s not the eyes. It’s the hand and the brain.” I have figurines from 2019, 2022, and now 2023, and it is clear that the modeling is becoming less defined and precise–with no evident loss of evocative power. Much of the painting is now done by Josefina’s son Demetrios; he now undertakes much of the international marketing of his mother’s reputation. I turned out that he had recently conducted a workshop at the Princeton Day School, down the street from Vladimir and Connie’s home.
We also toured the workshop of another Aguilar sister, Guillermina. Josefina’s workshop has clearly been kept in a primitive state that reflects the quality of her work: dirt floors, rough tables displaying the art, a comal and table with family members eating their lunch. Guillermina’s, by contrast, is tidy and modern. And that is reflected in her work, which is more “finished” than that of Josefina.
From the Aguilar workshops we drove into town and entered into a lengthy engagement with the town’s other major artistic figure, the painter Rodolfo Morales. Although his work was recognized relatively late, at 50, his reputation rose rapidly and he was soon regarded alongside Rufino Tomato and Francisco Toledo as one of Mexico’s leading artists. We started with the deeply engaging murals he painted for the town hall.
Like virtually every major Mexican artist, Morales was engaged with issues of social justice. Look at the watermelon seller: with her green skin and red dress, she has become her wares.
Morales used much of his considerable wealth to improve his home town. He undertook the restoration of the town’s central church…making it one of the loveliest we’ve seen in Mexico.
As we entered the church, we were very disappointed to learn that we would not be permitted to use the confetti that we had brought to celebrate our arrival in Ocotlan!
And then there were three amigos outside the church…
The convent attached to the church had been converted into a beautiful space for the display of Morales’ work. You are greeted by a wonderful portrait figurine by Josefina Aguilar.
Some of her larger works are also displayed throughout the museum.
There are rooms full of his remarkable collages, and two large galleries for his paintings, which mix a deep respect for the labor of the indigenous peoples of Oaxaca with a sly native surrealism.
We spent a bit of time strolling around in town; we encountered this important edifice along the way.
Silence! Shoe Hospital
In the arcades around the town square, we found this hat maker and, next door, an embroidery shop owned by the hat maker’s daughter. Connie and Patti both found some lovely headbands.
We then plunge into the depths of the market. Bread anyone?
Or grasshoppers?
Or lots of tortillas?
And we paid our annual visit to La Cocina de Frida, where Beatriz Vazquez channels the artist (the food is supposed to be splendid).
Off to San Martin Tilcajete, the carver’s village. We love the food at the roadside restaurant Azucena Zapoteca, and especially the blue corn quesadillas with Oaxacan cheese and squash blossoms. But, to our dismay, it was closed for an event. Manriquez suggested an alternative, Tierra Magica, which was pleasant, but the food was forgettable.
Once in the village, we visited two workshops. The first, Efrain Fuentes, is one of the best known carvers; he has an international reputation. Much of his work is playful. I’m afraid I was too absorbed to take pictures. But we were enormously taken with a colorful jaguar on a swing…if only it had been priced for our grandsons!
And then we paid our annual visit to the workshop of Jacobo and Maria Angeles, who are now superstars of the international folk art scene.
Like Morales, the Angeles are communitarians; they employ more than 100 people from their village, training them for high-end production and sales.
I didn’t intend to buy anything, but, even if I had, the work was now completely out of our price range. I showed one of the managers my raccoon, and he estimated that the price had risen tenfold in the four years since I bought it.
Our next stop was San Bartolo Coyotepec, the home of the famous Oaxacan black pottery.
We have never found a huge difference between producers, so we shop at the collective.
The collective sits at the edge of the lovely town park, with lush foliage and a bandstand.
Back in town, we were in for another memorable night of Oaxacan cuisine. We had a drink at the bar at our restaurant, Origen, and then proceeded upstairs to a very elegant dining room…passing by a display of the heirloom corn that goes into the restaurants tortillas, tamales, puzzle, etc.
The meal was spectacular; my first course, enchiladas filled with duck confit, bananas, pears, apples, and raisins and covered with the best and most subtle mole negros I’ve ever eaten, was one of the best dishes I’ve ever had.
Aided by our exceptionally amiable and knowledgable waiter, we put on a little mezcal tasting to finish off.
We compared mezcals made from four different wild agaves: Barril, Madrecuishe, Tepeztate, and Arrequeno. Two had been distilled in traditional copper stills (the artisanal process), and two in clay pots (the ancestral process.)
Five of us piled into the van for an early start: we wanted to visit the famous market at Etla and then head into the mountains to see what we could see. Etla is very close to San Jose Mogote, the Zapotec capital that preceded Monte Alban; it is probably no coincidence that the people we saw in Etla were ‘more’ Zapotec than anywhere we had seen. Let’s just say that Sue towered over most of the women, who must have averaged about 4’8″. Here are a few shots from the market without too much commentary.
This gives new meaning to the term curtain wall construction.
We think Vivi and Ingrid would have liked the market, and perhaps especially the various sweet breads!
Although they certainly would have liked this better! Who needs hand cranked ice cream when you have granddaughters to help!
This was the most popular barbacoa stand. The Oaxacan version features pork wrapped in avocado leaves and smoke-roasted over a pot of water and vegetables. The meat and chili juices drain into the soup, and you wind up with two dishes: a spicy vegetable soup and incredibly succulent smoky meat.
Patti, always the bravest of us, tried a cup of Atole, the corn based drink common to all the mesoamerican cultures. I tried a sip…just so I could say I had.
The market sits just below a beautiful church with a large parish close and a gorgeous cloister.
Although I had been told that there wasn’t much to see at San Jose Mogote, the others indulged me the 15 minute drive. And, sure enough, there was almost nothing left–a few walls and foundations–of the first real town in the Oaxacan valleys, a place that rose to about 1000 inhabitants around 500 BC and was then overtaken by Monte Alban.
We then headed steeply uphill, putting ourselves in the hands of our driver Manriquez, whose encyclopedic knowledge of the region was increasingly impressive. High above the valley, we arrived at the village of San Agustin and a remarkable little factory that produced hand made paper for artists. It turned out that Patti and David had visited almost 20 years ago and loved it, but had never been able to find it again.
As it turns out, the factory, like much else in San Agustin, is the product of the imagination of the Mexican artist Francisco Toledo. Here is a link to a good deal of information on the factory.
The complex sits above a rushing river in what is essentially a jungle.
This is the sales room.
We were treated to an overview of the local fibers that go into their paper.
you name it, and they will make paper out of it.
And to a tour of the factory itself.
we purchased a few things for various someones, but I wouldn’t want to give away anything here.
As we drove upward through the village, we noticed that it was unusually prosperous, with many stunning modern houses. We soon learned why. At the top of the hill sits a an unusual white stuccoed church.
To the right of the church begins a large complex of buildings that had been abandoned and fallen into disrepair. With help from the state of Oaxaca, the important artist and activist Francisco Toledo had acquired the complex consisting of an abandoned palace and thread factory and turned them into exhibition spaces, performance spaces, and workshops for artists. San Agustin, with its splendid natural setting and newfound artistic potential, became a mecca for international visitors, many of whom purchased homes in the vicinity.
To the right of the church stands an ancient tree, almost as large as the famous one at El Tule.
The artists complex extends up to the hill and to the right
You soon come to the abandoned thread factory, the main building of the complex.
The upper floor is a vast and very beautiful performance space.
The main floor is a large exhibition hall. The current exhibition is called “Seamus Heaney and Jan Hendrix at Yagul.” Both the Irish poet and the Dutch artist were inspired by the remarkable landscape around Yagul, a major Zapotec site (for which see tomorrow’s post). Here’s a link for more information about this incredible da exhibition. https://thelondonmagazine.org/seamus-heaney-jan-hendrix-shared-landscape-inspiration/
I wish we had had time to explore this terrific exhibition, but we were conscious that Vladimir and Sasha had stayed behind in Oaxaca. We emerged from the factory to find this impressive formal facade!
The factory terrace has lovely views back over the complex and far down into the valley.
Back in town, we made a quick run to the Benito Juarez Market to pick up a few last gifts, and then went several ways: David had a board meeting, and he and Patti retreated to the hotel. Connie and Sue also went back to drop their packages while Vladimir and Mike spent a pleasant few minutes watching the world go by in the Zocalo.
No one had had any lunch, unless you count munching on a big bag of bread from the Etla market, so the B’s and the J’s had a quick bite at one of the cafes along the Zocalo; the view from the second floor terrace is great!
Sue and I then took a loop through the center, headed for the Centro Fotografico Alvarez Bravo. The museum is housed in a beautiful colonial mansion, with the exhibition spaces arrayed around a courtyard.
There were three really interesting exhibitions. The largest contained work by the Catalan photographer Marcel Luis, who used the presence of devil figures in many rituals and festivals in Oaxaca states a context for portraiture.
The Mexican photographer Tomas Casademunt showed a number of views of the great volcano Popocatépetl near Mexico City; he used a number of older photographic techniques to bring out various aspects of volcanic activity.
The light was unusually beautiful as we walked toward Santo Domingo.
Down along the Alcala, the pedestrian street that connects Santo Domingo and the Zocalo, the Angeles workshop has a gallery called Voices de Copal (Voices of Copa; Copal is the local wood used in all the carvings). There was a special exhibit of Angeles monkeys, including a few in positions I can’t include here because of our grandchildren!
We had wanted to continue our tradition of having a drink at the Quinta Real, the classiest hotel in town, housed in an extraordinary former convent. But the first real rain we’d seen scotched that plan. Luckily, Patti had spent the afternoon instructing the bartender on the making of a proper margarita. So we indulged ourselves in margaritas Patricia…can’t be beat!
The rain let up enough so that we could walk rather than swim to Casa Oaxaca, our restaurant for the night; modern Oaxaca cuisine started here, and we had eaten a memorable meal the year before. Even though it was a bit damp, we ate under a sail on the terrace overlooking Santo Domingo. David and I reprised our Remedios, a mezcal drink drowning in fresh herbs that had restored my health last year. They were so good that three more peopled ordered them.
The meal was so good that we all agreed it would be very tough to say which of the three was best. Sue and I shared pork tacos; she had beef cheeks in a light mole, while I had roast suckling pig in a richer mole. What a restaurant scene in Oaxaca!
Sadly, we lost two of our adventurers this morning: David and Patti needed to be home, and flew out early. The rest of us, five strong, piled into Manriquez’s van for one last j0urney. Today’s first goal was Yagul, the extraordinary Zapotec site that sits high above the valley on a rocky bench. So we drove ESE along the Mitla arm of the great Valles Centrales.
Although Yagul was first occupied around 500-100 BC, most of the visible remains date to 1250-1521 AD, when the site functioned as the capital of a postclassic city-state. Most of the residential structures remain unexcavated; the visitor sees the main structures of the ceremonial and religious center. This shot gives a sense of the city’s position above the valley.
The ball court is one of the three largest in mesoamerica.
This is the entrance to the “Narrow Street” that runs between the Palace of the Six Patios (above) and he Council Chamber (below).
This is Patio 1; it was originally surrounded by administrative structures; Sue is standing on the remains of one such building.
The pillars of the Council Chamber, at the rear to the left of the large tree; the Council Chamber was the focal point of the patio.
Views like this over the valley surely inspired Heaney and Hendrix.
This is probably the most beautiful place in which a Khan Academy meeting has ever taken place!
This view from above of the Palace of the Six Patios gives a good sense of its complexity: each patio is surrounded by residential structures, and each of the six patios contains several tombs.
Here’s the rest of the crew at the end of our visit.
From Yagul we drove further into the valley toward Santiago Matatlan; we had visited the mezcal palenque Real Matlatl last year and wanted to return. We were given a really informative tour by one of the interning mescaleros, Israel. The palenque had been the site of an artist’s installation; the broad field of Espadin agave had been spruced up just a bit!
The fire pit was aglow, ready to roast the agave hearts.
Once they they’re roasted, the hearts are put into this trough, and the mill wheel (driven by a kind of tractor and not the horse or burro of the traditional palenque) crushes them into a messy pulp.
The pulp is then plopped into huge pine vats and allowed to ferment with natural yeasts from the agave. Very few palenques use chemical analysis of the fermented pulp–the Mescalero determines by taste, smell, and feel the point at which he is ready to distill the liquid. The result is that every batch tastes different. Stay away, far away, Euro zone bureaucrats and your fetishized standardization!
Here are the 300 liter copper stills; this mezcal is called “artisanal.”
And here are the clay pots, which produce “ancestral”mezcal. You can decide for yourself whether the handsome stranger is an apprentice Mescalero…or an ancestor.
Most of the product is held in stainless steel tanks until it is bottled.
And some is stored in barriques made of American and French oak; this becomes the palenque’s reposed and anejo mezcal.
Once we were above ground again, we proceeded to the tasting area…where we found our guide and mezcalero–he of the remarkable pechuga–from last year, Jordany Apricios! We recognized one another right away, and we had a lively talk about the intervening year.
Back in town, Connie, Sue, and I made one last foray into town: in search of adventure…and a certain very specific pipe.
And now, not far from Santo Domingo…bingo! Sue found five of the little devils, and her happiness was complete.
Sue’s early success meant that we had time on our hands, and I proposed a walk toward one of our favorite neighborhoods, Jalatlaco, a colorful working class area full of interesting churches and wall art.
We were waylaid, however, when I ran across a gallery that I remembered. They specialize in the work of Toledo and Tamayo.
I had remembered a striking Tamay “mixografia” image–which they still had.
I asked whether they had any Rodolfo Morales lithographs…and they had exactly one, namely this one:
Even I recoiled at the price; but the galleries said that, since they didn’t represent the Morales estate, they would probably consign it…and that we could have it for 1/3 off. I was tempted, but Sue exercised her right of spousal veto, and off we went.
We walked up to El Llano, the beautiful park northeast of the botanical gardens and watched the families enjoying a beautiful afternoon. On our way back to the hotel, we passed the gallery again and Sue said “if he runs out and says we can have it for 2/3 off, it’s a deal.” We didn’t see the gallerist as we passed, and I assumed that the lithograph was not in our future. No more than 60 yards past the gallery, though, we encountered the gallerist coming down the street toward us. As he passed, he grinned and named a very low number. After a quick glance spouseward, I said “deal!” So you’ll soon see these two lovely ladies and their dogs on our walls.
That evening, we finally got our drink at the Quinta Real–and very fine drinks they were.
After giving the B’s a quick tour of several of the interior courtyards, we headed for our table for the night, a newish place called Levadura de Olla.
The chef, Thalia Barrios Garcia, hails from a tiny village deep in the mountains south of Oaxaca; she had long dreamed of opening a restaurant where she could cook alongside her aunts, preparing the traditional foods of her region. After culinary school, she did just that. The lovely space for the restaurant in an old Colonia mansion first housed a kind of private chef’s table where she cooked for just a few people. That operation has now moved a few blocks away. Levadura de Olla is casual, and much cheaper than the better known restaurants at which we had been eating. We all shared a plate of about 20 kinds of local heirloom tomatoes in delicious beet puree.
Sue and I shared an amazing bean tamale in a pulque sauce; we both had chicken in the best coloradito mole ever; and a baked local squash stuffed with a dozen kinds of fruit for dessert. The meal easily equalled anything that had come before it! What a find!
Back at the hotel, we said goodbye to Vladimire and Sasha, who were headed to Baja for some snorkeling…and retreated to our room in search of the miracle it would take to stuff our purchases in our bags!
Among the lesser known results of the pandemic is the cancellation of any flight from Oaxaca that departs at a reasonable hour and still allows you to get to the east coast on the same day. So the loyal Manriquez was waiting for us at 4:30 AM for our 6 AM flight to Mexico City. From there, it went like clockwork. Manageable layover; short flight; ride waiting at Newark; and home by 6 PM.
Another great trip. Now we can contemplate the important question: do we add a few days in 1) Ocotlan or 2) San Agustin or 3) strike out into the unknown for the Mixteca west of the Zapotec areas? Problems, problems!
