Random Zacatecas Photographs [Part 4]

Zacatecas Random Photographs: Part 4.

Feeding pigeons in the park.

Four gentleman relaxing on a Sunday afternoon.

I couldn’t get away until I took some swigs from their bottle of mescal.

It’s always good to meet a friendly face, holding a bottle of alcohol.

After Bambi’s mother was killed.  Bambi collected the insurance money from the hunters, and bought a house in Zacatecas.

One of the many interior courtyards in Zacatecas.

Zac plays a mean electric tuba.

Really.  It’s not an electrical supply store, in the state of [Zac]atecas.

It’s all about Mr. Zac, and his stupendous electric tuba.

Wonderful enthusiastic people who love their picture taken.

Fountain detail.

Small park near the center of town.

Smallest bistro ever.

Doorway to an abandoned house.

There is graffiti all over Zacatecas, Maria complained that when the police catch graffiti artists, they don’t arrest them, or even fine them, they just let them go.  Therefore, lots of graffiti, all over town.

View of corrugated iron roof, overlooking downtown, with, as usual, the hill of La Bufa in the background.

Alleyway off the main street.

Handicapped parking sign with a most wonderful caption: “Tienes el valor o te vale?”

When I saw this, I instantly thought that it meant, “Do you have valor?  or are you a loser?”

The computer translated it as: “You have the value or it costs you.”

Yet another stunningly beautiful church.

Entrance to one of the many parks.

House entrance, with stereotypical missing plaster showing brick.

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Random Zacatecas Photographs [Part 3]

More random photographs of the city of Zacatecas, Mexico.

The rebuilding of a cathedral near the city center.

Chopping up meat in the central market.

As I walked the central market, taking pictures, the man in white told me how wonderful his food was at his little stall restaurant.  I had already eaten, and declined, but he kept looking at my camera, so I asked if he wanted a picture.  He became all smiles and wanted a picture of not just himself, but with his friend.

I offered to send him the photograph, but he did not care to see it, he just liked the idea of his picture being taken.

As I stood on the corner of the street, pointing my camera down the alleyway, walking up was a grandmother, mother and daughter, and when they saw me they hustled out of the way.  I smiled at them and with words and gestures, told them I would like for them to be in the picture.  The mother and daughter smiled, threw their bags onto the bushes, and while the grandmother declined, they went and posed for me.

The center of Zacatecas was made a World Heritage Site about ten years ago, which means all renovation or rebuilding must keep the original facade and its original look, which is one of the reasons why this city is so beautiful.

Random Home.

My local burrito shop (across from Las Quince Letras), with wonderful 1920’s photographs of Zacatecas, 1930’s radios on the wall, and incongruously, a five by three foot poster from The Cure’s Disintegration album on the wall.

The tour bus, with the Central Cathedral and La Bufa hill in the background.

View the opposite direction from the picture above, down the main street.

Central Cathedral.

Fly to Zacatecas to fly to London.

Check in desk at the Hostel Villa Colonial, with Antonio on left, and Ernesto -the owner and instigator of Thursday all you can drink tequila nights.

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Las Quince Letras: A Moment

Tuesday night, ten o’clock, sitting at the end of Los Quince Letres’ bar, the stools are mostly filled, and the people sit at the tables and sing along with the jukebox.

The jukebox is playing something in Spanish I don’t recognise, a ballad, something Frank Sinatra would sing.

And it reminds me, of working at The Saloon in Laguna Beach, and Dean Martin would come on the stereo and we would all sing along to “That’s Amore”, or “Standing on the Corner”, or “You’re Nobody ’til Somebody Loves You.”

Late some nights at The Saloon, when it was only Us Locals, we would connect arms and sway to “Sway” back and forth at the back of the bar and everyone would be smiling and laughing and singing.

I asked my new-found-friend of ten minutes, what was playing on the jukebox, he answered:  Jose Alfredo Jimenez, a Mexican crooner from the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s.

I made an offhand comment that all Mexican songs have the word ‘corazon’ -Spanish for heart- somewhere in it.  He agreed.

The bartender came down the bar and joined in the conversation, and my friend tells him I was asking about the music.

“Es Bien” I say, “mismo -the same- es Frank Sinatra.”  The bartender shakes his head and says one word, “Compositor.”

It seems that the bartender knows that Frank Sinatra did not write his own music, and Jimenez did.

“Si,” I say with a big smile and a little laugh, “es mismo al Neil Diamond.”

The bartender smiles, “Neil Diamond, Si, Si.  Love on the Rocks,” gives me a large smile, and walks off to open more beer.

Photographs:

Tuesday evening at Las Quince Letras, with almost unseen paintings hanging from the beamed ceiling, the two singers standing on the back wall, and a beer, and empty shot glass and an ashtray in my position.

A similar view of the bar, with the bartender showing his face.  He gave me his card:  Cantina – Las Quince Letres – Arte y Tradicion desde 1906 – Anibal Llamas Borja – Propietaro – Martires de Chicago Number 309 – Centro Historico – Tel. 01(492) 92 2-01-78 – Zacatecas, Zac., Mexico

Outside of Los Quince Letres on Tuesday night.

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Random Photographs of Zacatecas, Mexico. [Part 2]

Bad choice of names for a dentist office.

The big ‘D’ in Ford.

‘Woof’

Girls playing in a truck.

Different Dentista office.

Sadly Tony closed his shop just before I took this photograph, the sign has been removed and a ‘Se Renta’ sign in it’s place.

Central Cathedral with sun.  Also includes fake camel from the Christmas display in the square.

Christmas tree in the courtyard of Government house.

Sellin’ deep fried pig skin, must be good for you.

Where Jesus buys his paper.

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Random Zacatecas Photographs [Part 1]

Random Photographs from Zacatecas, Mexico.

Statue of Jesus inside the Santo Domingo Church.

[This photograph is an experiment in HDR editing techniques.]

Main walkway inside the Santo Domingo Church.

The Altar of the Santo Domingo Church.

‘Dia de la Muertos’ display inside Government House.  As with most large houses in the center of the city, there is a courtyard in the center of the house, with arches and balconys.  The display is set up in this courtyard.

Mural on the stairs of the Government House.  I have no idea what it means, and no, it is not upside down.

Mother and child in ‘Arms Square’ in the city center.

This symbol is painted in many places throughout town.  I don’t know what the 2004 stands for, but the date 2010 is displayed all over the country.  Mexico’s 200th anniversary of independence and 100th anniversary of the Mexican Revolution is in the year 2010.

Alleyway looking East toward downtown, with walkway to La Bufa in the background.

There are many abandonded houses in the city, or should I say abandonded apartments.  As it is the middle of the city there are rows of houses all sharing similar walls and facades.  There will be a collection of new doors and then a broken locked one for an abandoned house.  Looking through the sometimes open windows can be seen sunlight, dirt floors and disintigrating mud walls.

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La Quemada – or – 1300-Year-Old Ruins in Mexico.

Between the cities of Zacatecas and Jalpa runs a 100 mile long valley called Malpaso.  The valley is about 20 miles wide, with mountains running down each side.  Through this valley runs route 54, a mostly small twin lane road following the flat valley floor.  The land is high desert – 8,000 feet – with green-dinner-plate-sized spiny cactus, scrub brush, and the occasional group of dry trees.

About half way between the two cities is a hill upon which sits La Quemada, the hill is anomaly set in the middle of the flat valley, while the ruins La Quemada is an enigma this far north in Mexico.

The number one fact about La Quemada, -‘The Burnt One’- the fact that each sign, book and website relates first, is that no one really knows who built this site.  And it’s not like it is a small site, it had the largest roofed building in the whole of the America’s for its day.

Scattered about the site are informational plaques.  One of them lists the theories on who built this fortress and ceremonial site:  “It has been considered a Teotihuacan enclave, a Toltec emporium, a Tarascan bastion, the Chicomostoc of the Aztec legends, and a Caxan center, among others”

The hill is not that big, I guess it took Susan and I an hour and a half to get to the top,

[upon the top of La Qemada]

but before we climbed to the top, we began our journey up the hill in the clean and modern museum next to the car park.  The night before Susan and I visited La Quemada, Saturday Jan 31, I had been invited to attend a night camping under the stars at this site, but decided, as there were no cameras allowed, and the evening would be filled with astronomy lectures in Spanish – despite the fact that I like astronomy lectures – just not in a language I don’t understand.  Two thousand people were expected to camp out for the evening and learn about the stars, but an estimated 4000 showed up.  Maybe I should have gone.

What was I talking about?  Oh yes, the modern museum, which had beautiful cactus growing in front of its modern stone walls.

[Cactus in front of La Quemada museum]

Inside the doors of the museum, is a miniature of the historic site.

[I added my own indicators of the significant buildings.]

Inside the museum were many pieces of pottery, which have never really interested me, but off to one side was a display of the work of the archaeologists.  It was a recreation of the different layers they had to dig through to reach the good stuff underneath.  First they had to dig through the modern sewing machines, car rims and windshields:

In order to get to the bones and the rifles underneath.

Out of the museum, and following the path up the hill, there are towering, thick walls.  They are made from small stones from the surrounding area loosely piled on each other in perfect smooth lines.  But the stones were not always visible, when the site was originally built -between the years 500 and 900 – the stones were mortared together with clay and vegetable fiber, and then covered with layers of mud and finally whitewashed.  The mud and the mortar has been removed by the elements and the passage of time.

The walls were not just ceremonial, or to keep the terraces from falling down, but as fortifications against invaders.

Which seems to have eventually failed.

The first structure we visited, near the bottom of the hill, was the Hall of Columns.  It is a large walled space with round stone columns symmetrically aligned.

[Susan inadvertantly demostrates the size of the columns]

The interior space is 41 meters by 30 meters (135 feet by 100 feet), with the columns 5 meters (15 feet) tall.  The informational plaque read:  “The remains of the 12 columns, which are seen inside, served as roof supports.  They sustained large beams on which were placed a covering of wooden rods and finally, a layer of adobe mud 12 cm. thick.”

When excavated, the floor of this cavernous room was covered with a layer of burnt wood carbon and baked clay, which led the archaeologists to conjecture that it was destroyed by fire.  As the site was abandoned somewhere near the year 900, and from the large defensive walls, it is conjectured that the city was attacked, looted and set on fire at that time.  It also might be the reason why it is called “The Burnt One”.

This room is assumed – for its time – to be the largest roofed enclosure in the Americas.

Also found in the Northeast corner of this room was a concentration of human bone fragments.  Which suggests ritual use, or maybe even human sacrifice.

Just north of the Hall of Columns is the Juego de Pelota (Ball Court).  The rectangular court is 70 meters (230 feet) long and excavation has found numerous layers of polished clay which suggests much use and much maintenance.  Underneath the clay floor is also evidence of human burials, which suggests that not only were the games used for a religious function, such as fertility cults or solar cycle festivals, but also as human sacrifice.

[The steps entering the Ball Court]

[View looking down on the Votive Pyramid on the left and the -half hidden- Ball Court on the right.]

At the end of the Ball Court, is the Votive Pyramid.

LIke other buildings on this site, this pyramid used to be covered with an outer coating of dried mud, and as this was a ceremonial building, there was an altar on top, which of course would have been used for human sacrifice.

That phrase, human sacrifice, keeps popping up about various different areas on this hill, I wonder how true it is, and what really happened here.

From an informational plaque: “In excavating it, skeletal remains of some 250 individuals were found mainly in the area at the foot of the pyramid, apparently deposited there by the inhabitants of La Quemada on the eve of its abandonment.  Many of the long bones show traces of having been cut.  Some of the skulls show perforations which indicate that they were hung somewhere prior to being deposited here.  On the top of the pyramid, remains of a small shrine were discovered built of adobe with numerous skulls, jawbones and long bones.”

In the museum is a recreation of what is thought the shrine with dangling bones looked like.

To the left of the the Pyramid is the Grand Staicase, leading from what seems to be mostly ceremonial buildings to resdences.

[Children climbing down the Grand Staricase]

[and then they climb upon the Votive Pyramid]

[Random photograph of defensive walls next to Ball Court]

[Random photograph looking north, or up the hill, next to the Hall of Columns.]

At the top of the staircase, on the next level of terraces, there is a clear veiw over the flat countryside.  The clouds sit quetly in the sky, as a patchwork of fields and lines lead out from La Quemada into the distance.  I notice some unusually straight lines leading from the mountain around the valley.  I turn to Susan with a sarcastic grin, and poking her lightly on the shoulder say, “you see those lines, they were probably built by aliens.”

Susan looked up at me with eyes that questioned my sanity, and said even more sarcastically, “Yes, they look exactly like the fences that border farms.  Which means they must have been built by aliens.”

I paused for a moment, and then continued my train of thought, “but the latest Indiana Jones movie said there were aliens round here, you know, the ones with those big skulls,” she kept staring at me, like she was contemplating which nut farm to send me to, so I continued, “ya know, Indy would not lie to us, like that golden box that holds god’s power, or that guy that could pull a beating heart out of someone’s chest, or, um, what was the third movie about?  Oh, yea, it had Sean Connery.”  She turned her back on me and continued to walk up the hill, and I followed.

[Men relaxing on the Grand Staircase, with the Votive Pyramid in the foreground, and faintly -in the top right corner- the perfectly straight lines built by, of course, aliens.]

[Detail view of stone wall missing its mortar.]

[View looking south into the valley.]

While standing and looking over the valley to the south, I turned to the west and looked at a set of cliffs.  And noticed a set of stairs leading to the edge of the cliff.  I wondered if these stairs had to do with human sacrifice or aliens, could not come to a conclusion, so I took a picture.

[View west with the ‘Stairway to Nowhere” -my designation, not an official name.]

[Random photograph of wall and tree.]

Near the top of the many terraces, was another plaque, which destroyed my fabulous alien theory.

It stated that the lines leading out from La Quemada are roads, -170 km (105 miles) of them – which lead all around the valley.  It seems, most of the population lived in 200 villages or hamlets surrounding La Quemeda.  La Quemeda was used primeraly as a ceremonial site – or forterss as necessary – and only the priests or leading gentry lived there.  The roads were build of stone slabs and clay, and have survived because the local farming tools could not break up the stones.  But that is changing with the advent of modern farming equipment.

Finally Susan and I sat atop the hill, overlooking the whole valley, enjoying the warm sun and the cool breeze.  And discussed why the last Indiana Jones film was so bad.

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Hangin’ From a Thread

A few months ago, upon my daily walk up La Bufa, I stumbled across a thick cable that ran from the parking lot, over a valley filled the dirt-scraped-from-the-ground-scarred-remains of a mine.  Next to the cable was an open-air hut, but there was never anyone there, and no obvious reason for the cable.  I assumed it had something to do with the disused mine.

I was wrong.

A few days ago, as I paused to catch my breath -it’s the altitude, not the smoking, really – at the northern overlook, I saw a figure flying across the chasm to my right.  Upon investigation, the hut was now lined with white bicycle helmets and harnesses.  And as I watched, they wrapped a harness around a women, clicked a helmet on her head, clipped the line to the cable, and pushed her off into the infinite.

“I must to do that”, I thought,  but since I was on my afternoon exercise, with no money or camera, it could happen later.  The operator insisted they were open every day, we must have recently entered ‘zip line’ season.

As there was no hurry to fling myself across a chasm, I waited for the right moment.

While visiting the Corona Factory I met a young lady from New Mexico named Susan.  We drank bad Corona together after the tour, and somehow the zip line came up in conversation.  She had already done it, and upside down at that, but was willing to do it again.

So on Saturday, we paid our money, got ourselves strapped in, and went for a ride.

Susan getting strapped in.

Susan on her way, upside down.

Still on her way.

Half way across.

The crowd – just like in NASCAR, waiting for a crash – as I was strapped in.

On my way.

Still on my way, wait, this is slow.

As I slowly moved out over the canyon, the rig slowly spun around for a view back where I had come.

Northern Zacatecas and the valley.

My leg, Northern Zacatecas, and the valley.

The view back over the zip line, with the crags of rocks on top, called La Bufa.

The scariest part of the whole journey, the swaying, bucking cable bridge.

Susan photographs as I set out on the return journey.

Can’t this thing go any faster?

Note the fear on my face.

Half way back across the valley.

The return incline was so shallow, I didn’t make it across the valley, and dangled while a worker in harness could push himself out and retrieve me.

I wish I could say that Susan and I had beers and mescal shots at Los Quince Letres becasue of the adredreline and our sudden-appreciation-of-life-because-of-that-death-defying-leap, but no, we went and had a beer and a shot for the hell of it.

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12 Reasons to Drink (Corona) Beer

So today we visited the Corona Brewery near Zacatecas. It’s a huge place, the guide intoned that it’s the second largest brewery in the world, after Coors in Colorado.
The first three minutes of the tour was in English and Spanish, the rest in Spanish only.  So there are only a few nuggets of information that I collected.  Most of the time while the tour guide talked, I wandered a short way off and took photographs.

Here are the other pieces of information: the brewery creates two billion liters of beer a year, fifty percent is exported, it is owned by the Modelo group and brews not only Corona, but Modelo and Victoria beers.

The tour began in the same room in which it was to end, a room scattered with tables and chairs, and a wooden bar in the corner, but they did not give us beer before the tour, which is probably smart. But they did show us a video, and although I couldn’t understand what was said, the graphics and images reinforced my idea that a beautiful life includes drinking Corona.
On a side note, next to us was the souvenir shop, and above the door was an inscription:

‘Tienda De Propaganda’

Is it ironic that a brewery is selling t-shirts with their name emblazoned upon them, and they call it Propaganda?

Ok, ok, yes I know, it probably means something else in Spanish, but playing with different languages is so much fun, because it shows the underlying meaning of words, or maybe their similarity to what I was really thinking when I saw the rows of t-shirts waiting to be bought and advertise their product.

But after the video show, we were led into a room that had a 20 by 12 foot diorama of the brewery complex on the floor, when the tour director -who’s name was Roman – described a certain building or area, he pushed a button on the podium and little lights lit up the little buildings.  It was really neat, in a useless sort of way, but I kept looking at the two posters on the wall, because they made me smile.

12 Reasons to Drink Beer:

Reason Number 1: It’s good for your heart, and if you are a mutant and can control people’s minds, it will help to control Cerebro, like Patrick Stewart.

2. Helps (create? – remove?) obesity.

3. Helps alienate the wrong type of friends. (i.e….’Never trust a man who doesn’t drink.’ – W. C. Fields)

4.  It has folic acid. (That’s probably good for me.  Right?)

5. Vitamins!

6. Diuretic, like we need that.

7. Aids digestion, especially of that cheap burrito at three in the morning.

8. After fifteen beers, it helps you to relax for hours, wherever you happen to be.

9. It makes breast-feeding wonderful. (And helps the child sleep.)

10. Beer Makes Menopause Fabulous!

11. The ‘beer only’ diet is good for you, kinda like that Atkins thingy.

12. Beer is good in Belize.

The tour continued.

This photograph is of the tour group standing in front of the first of three buildings we were to enter, with the group staring at the map of Mexico inlaid into the concrete, and the cooking beer steaming from the roof behind.

I noticed in the entrance hall photographs of the whole brewery complex being built, the date on the photograph was 1999.

Two young ladies living for a short time in Zacatecas learning Spanish.  Haria (Florida) and Susan (New Mexico)

We then stepped into that glass enclosed building, warm like a sauna, where giant kettles cooked the beer.

The highly polished mirror-like ceiling reflects the enormous cauldrons cooking the beer.

One cauldron was open, and the hot beer swirled, creating a vortex of bubbles circling rapidly in the center.

A closer view of the swirling bubbles of THOUSANDS OF GALLONS OF BEER.

(sorry about the shouting, but, well, damn that’s a lot of beer.)

The computers making the beer.  With a few employees watching the computers, we sarcastically assumed they played solitare (watched porn?!) with most of their days and flicked on the work screens as tourists crowded in.

The second building was topped by these huge beer holders.

I would guess that they were fermentation tanks, but not sure, because again, I could not understand the tour guide, but this building was kept at room temperature, with condensation dripping slowly from the thousands of miles of pipes running through the building.

One of the 3000 employees watering the plants between buildings.

Art!  Looking between the beer silos.

Just about to step into the second building.

A rat trap outside the second building.  I always find it wonderful to see rat traps outside somewhere making food.  It makes me a little disturbed and disgusted, but then again it is probably better than not having the traps, and letting the rats in.

Inside the second building, underneath the yellow and white fermentation tanks, my god, all that beer, Bob and Doug McKenzie -from the movie Strange Brew-  keep running through my mind, “You don’t know how to drive a truck.”  “No, but it’s a beer truck!”

More inside the second building.

Self portrait.

I love group photographs.

Men working in the beer factory, they don’t look too excited, even though they nodded and smiled at my photography request, probably because they’re working, and sick of the damn tourists visiting their brewery.

Now into the third building.

The Bottling ‘it’s bigger than you think’ Plant:

[Click on the Panorama to see the full size]

I couldn’t quite read their name tags, but I think they said Laverne and Shirley.

Beer clinking along the metal conveyor belts, the whole room is filled with the almost deafening clink of bottles, aluminum cans, and rattling metal.

I think their name tags said Lenny and Squiggy.

Finally after the tour, we returned to the bar, and we finally got free beer.  But Free Corona Light, in a can shaped like a red bull can.  I guess they don’t sell very well, so us tourists get the left overs.

But then again, I shouldn’t complain, it was free beer.

We relaxed in the bar for a couple hours, and after four or five beers, clambered back into the van, passing the enormous grain towers in the setting sun.

We, of course, had to stop on the fifteen mile drive home, so all could pile out at an abandoned football field, to empty our bladders of all that damn beer.

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Dancers Exporting Fear and Laughter

In my room, trying to work, but my mind is wandering, too much coffee with my Adobada tacos this evening.

This town is usually noisy, there are constantly events in the town center.  Every Thursday night a brass band plays on the steps by the fountain, on most Friday or Saturday nights, there are people making noise, screaming together, laughing together.  Most of the time I ignore it, and continue on with my work.

But tonight I needed to get out.

Through my front door, and down one block to the Central Cathedral.  In the main square next to the Cathedral something is happening.

The square has four sides.

The east side is a government building, the wide double doors open and marked by three steps leading inside.  The south side are five steps leading to the walkway along the edge of the Cathedral.  On the west side are fifteen steps leading to the main street, where a couple tour buses are parked.  The north side are three steps leading to a empty smaller square with a fountain.

The steps surrounding the square are full of people, and behind them stand the rest, patiently waiting for something to happen.

I lean against the stone wall of the cathedral and look into the wide empty expanse of the square.

The only thing there at the moment is a large square stage, set only three inches above the paving stones.

Some bad modern dance music blares for a moment -too loud- distorted through bad speakers.

The girls in the crowd whistle and cheer.

The music is abruptly cut off.

After a minute the music starts up again, not too loud this time, and two young ladies walk from the government building and out onto the stage.  They are both wearing simple modern prom dresses, one black the other shimmering blue.  But there is something not quite right.  The girls of the crowd whistle and cheer, but the men are silent.

I watch the ladies dance, but they are not really dancing, they are awkwardly moving back and forth, walking up and down the stage.  They move their hips in a jerky fashion, not fluid or comfortable at all.  I have an instant cringe, I cringe for those on stage, in front of a crowd, and doing badly.

The two performers are too far away to see their faces, which are mostly covered by their long black hair, but I suddenly realize what’s going on, and that these badly dancing men don’t look all that bad in their dresses.

That has to be it, I think, but I can’t be completely sure, but then one of the performers walks off the stage towards the crowd, and the people scatter like a gunman is approaching.  But not every one scatters.  The ladies stay put, smiling and laughing and clapping.

A few of the ladies hold on to their struggling men, the men pull on their held arms, desperately trying to get away from these men in drag.

The crowd cheers.

The other performer heads in my direction and the collection of boys and young men scatter, grabbing onto each other and looking back in horror and laughter.  Suddenly there is no one between me and the approaching dress, and I have a momentary panic, not that this man might pick me, but that I might be thrust out into the limelight.

But the performers are not picking people to join them on stage, just having a little fun torturing the boys.

Eventually the song ends, and the crowd erupts in cheers, and the men in their dresses disappear from the stage.

There is an announcement over the loudspeaker, and the people slowly stand up and exit the square down the main street or through the alleyways.

And I return to my little room.

To tell you this story.

The world is a beautiful and strange place.

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Convento de San Francisco

Five blocks from the Cathedral Central, left at the fork in the road with the always dry fountain, is the remains of the Convent of San Francisco.  It was a convent from 1593 to 1857, and left for dust until thirty years ago.  Standing outside the main entrance is a post, with an English description of the history of the building.

Below is the sign, rewritten to the letter.

“This conventual complex was one of the twelve most important ones in America.  It was built in the XVI century to evangelize the indigenous peoples, and it served as a resting area for the Franciscan Friars that traveled to the north part of the country.  Since 1567 Pedro de Ayala, Bishop of Nueva Galicia (Guadalajara), gave the authorization to build the property, and in the XVII and XVIII it was rebuilt various times, on one particular occasion due to a fire.
In 1924 the vault of the main nave collapsed; its rescue was started at the end of the seventies and at the beginning of the eighties of the XX century in order to host the Rafael Coronel Museum.
In the conventual complex, of great proportions, one of the most outstanding features is the beautiful baroque style façade of the church, its front wall without ochavos, the half point plaster border arches and the richly ornamented keystone.”

The arched building below is the entrance to the Ex-Convent and Museum, the ticket office is hidden in the center.

The front facade of the nave, or main church, which sits at the entrance, next to the ticket office.  There is just a little slice of blue sky visible through the octogonal window above the wooden doors.  The sky is visible because the roof of the church is still missing from the collapse of 1924.

The entrance sign is the only one in English, the rest are in Spanish.  As my attempt to read Spanish usually ends in failure, I have found taking pictures of the signs and then translating them sentence by sentence on the internet the only way to go.

But sometimes the translations do not exactly match what I was expecting,

take this one for example:

“Este convento franciscano, fundado en el ano de 1593”

Which translated as:
“This franciscan convent, founded on the 1593 anus”

Note for today:  Those little wavey lines above some  letters, also known as a tilde, are important, as the word ano – with the tilde – means year, and without, means, um, something else.

Below is a view of some of the remaining arches next to the main church.

The next photograph is a large panorama of the interior of the church.  Which happens to be missing its roof.  The point of view is from the floor of the center of the church, where the pews used to sit.

At the bottom is the empty altar and at the top an upside down view of the wooden front doors and the same octogonal window as from the front of the church.

Note the white plaster covered walls, which are part of the restoration.
[Please click on the panorama to see its full size]

My first instinct was to translate the Spanish signs scattered about the site, and then rewritten, regurgutate them to you.  But the direct translation from the internet translater are more entertaining.  So the statements scattered about below, enclosed in quotations, are direct from the computer translator.

Enjoy.

“Its [the convent] influence in the advance of the western culture of that ample region was decisive.”

“The total work was promoted and executed by Mendiguta Father.”

“In 1857 the friars were forced to leave the temple and the convent.”

(it gives no reason why they were forced to leave.)

“Soon, the place was occupied by people, and convirtio in an enormous vicinity whose ceilings went away collapsing little by little, until I am uninhabitable almost in its totality.”

“The final blow happened when the enclosure was invaded by people who, boasting itself like propieterias, demolished vaults and walls to sell the stone like rubblework material.”

Below is one room of the restored convent, now a museum.

Beautiful manuscript on display, with evidence it was once used as a work sheet for someone’s math homework, 23×5=115.  At least they got the correct answer.

“In the last months of 1987, goberno of the State concerto an agreement with the Secretary of Urban Development and Ecology, and some months later began restoration works, beginning with the task of retiring a layer of earth and rubbish that, in proportion of up to three meters of height, covered practically all the estate.”

A soft quiet little grove as the vines are still attempting to take over the area, with beautiful result.

On this day, the Saturday after Christmas, a bride and groom pose for photographs before the ruins and greenery.  They completed their wedding vows a short time later on the front lawn, with the facade of the roofless church in the background.

Part of the unrestored convent.

“It was then when the distinguished painter zacatecano Rafael Colonel, favorite son of the State, and its son Juan Colonel Rivera, offered generously their collections of objects artisticos to the town of Zacatecas; its noble one and you disinterest gesture, did possible the creacion of this Museum.”

Inside the museum, which is the restored portion of the convent.  The rooms are whitewashed, the vaulted ceilings repainted in detail, and the flat ceilings crossed with dark wooden beams.  There is said to be 2500 masks on display, and it feels like it.  They go on for room after room, with every variation imaginable.

Animal bones made into masks.

Mask with a large nose, I’m not entirely sure what the large protrubance is supposed to represent, I wonder if any of the women out there understand its meaning.

This alligator is the most complex and detailed example of this version of a child’s toy.  The child stands in the middle, with ropes over their shoulders to hold up the toy.  So the child can walk around and pretend he is an alligator.  I would to complain that I never received one of these as a child, but I did get an Atari, which probably makes up for it.

This one reminds me of a Twilight Zone episode.  Creepy.

Beautiful colors and a big tongue.

Proof that clowns were always creepy.

This poor little girl, standing in a alcove, missing her hands.

I have no idea what this is, or which way it is supposed to face, which is why, I guess why they put a mirror behind it.  Pretty creppy too.

A large colorful mask, twice the size of a human face, with hunter pointing a gun at a large wounded cat.

And finally, more remains of the convent, with the splattered blue and white of the Mexican sky beyond.

Posted in Writing: Travel: Mexico | Tagged , , , | 5 Comments

Walking with Jesus, by Happenstance

My days in Zacatecas are spent sitting at a desk:  writing, adjusting with photoshop, playing solitare while listening to audio books or reading.  Usually at noon I wander to the market for food, but other than that, there is no exercise.  Finding myself a little soft in the middle, I try to walk daily up the hill behind my house.

And today, you, my dear readers, get to come along.

In the beginning… there is a view looking west from my deck, to the back of the Central Cathedral.

Included in this photograph, as an added bonus, is an image of my classically designed patio furniture.

Still on my deck, looking right, or north, is the hill to climb.  Arranged on the top of the hill, from left to right, is the cable car building.  The meteorological tower with the red roof, and the bell tower of the church.

Left out my front door, up the alleyway.

Left at the top of the alleyway, with another view of the hill, and an immediate right past the red car.

Up the street, where the typical electrical and phone lines crisscross the sky.

A pretty house, with a subtle mohawk.

More uphill street.

Church dedicated to the children by the side of the road.

The hill I am climbing is called La Bufa.  The origin of the word bufa is not known, but there are three ideas:  from the Basque word meaning ‘pigs bladder’, from the Italian buffa, a knights hood or shoulder acceessory, or a mining term for a type of rock.

During my many uphill climbs, I was intrigued by the number and size of crosses along the pathway.  But one day, while resting and wheezing from the 8,000 foot altitude, I noticed a Roman Numeral displayed on a cross.  With investigation I noticed each cross had a number.  They went from 1 to 13.  They could only represent the Stations of the Cross.  Where each number represents part of Jesus’s journey to crucifiction.

This picture is cross number one.

Close-up of number two.

Number two from across the street.

Random cross atop a house.

Number three.

The real guardian of the internet.  No need for anti-virus software any more.

Hot Dogs and Pepsi.  Welcome to Mexico!

Once the houses end; the path steepens and widens.  Cross number five is on the immediate right, while number six is next to the tiny bicyclist pushing up the hill.

Graffiti by cross number six.

More graffiti.

The winding pathway with cross number seven.

The pathway with cross number eight on the right, and number ten in the distance.  The distant rock outcrop is the top of La Bufa hill.  It seems reasonable that someone might name that thin peaked rock after a knights helmet, or plumage.  But then again, I’ve been wrong before.

Cross number eight in the morning sun.

Detail number nine.

Detail number nine, with decaying flowered offerings.

Cross number nine on right, number eight on left, and The Zacatecas Aqueduct standing above the town in the distance.

Cross number ten from the back.

And over its left shoulder, looking southeast.

Cross number 11 with La Bufa behind.

Cross number twelve.  Art!

Cross number twelve with arched walkway in background.

Number 13 with La Bufa in the background again.  I never did find a cross numbered fourteen, but I assume the church nearby, where all these crosses were leading, was number fourteen.

So a picture of number thirteen again, with shadow.

View from the cable car building.  Looking down on Zacatecas.  In the center is the two bell towers and dome of Central Cathedral.  On its right is a square where they sometimes have dangling musicians.  And two blocks to the cathedral’s left, my (impossible to see) balcony.

A watching owl on the path to the meteorological tower.

A view of most of Zacatecas from the meteorological tower.

Be patient opening this picture, it’s a large panorama. 

On the far right of the panorama, is the high desert leading to the north.  Just like the treasure of the Sierra Madre.  It’s a good movie, go see it.

Bottom middle is the red roofed cable car building, with a red cable car just visible above the roof line.  On a line from the building, through the cable car, is a darkened arch, which is the other end of the cable car.  To its left is a gray building, one of the entrances to the La MIne el Eden, and its underground disco.

Middle left, is again, the Central Cathedral.

And on the far left bottom, in the greenery, is the station of the cross path up the hill.

(Useless trivia:  After silver was found on Sept 8, 1546, Zacatecas soon became the second largest city in Mexico, behind Mexico City itself.)

Below is a picture (taken from the rocks of La Bufa) of Revolution Square.  This hill has been the scene of three battles; the Independence War, the Reform War, and in 1914 Poncho Villa’s Revolution War.  The three statues in the square represent the three generals who fought and climbed up the side of the hill in 1914.  Because to win this hill, is to win the city.

In the foreground, General Felipe Angeles.

Pancho Villa riding hard, with rifle ahigh leading troops forward.

General Panfilo Natera.

Shadow stretched down the steps of Revolution Square.  With the gateway into the court yard of El Patrocinio Sanctuary.  Built in 1728.

Front entrance to the courtyard of El Patrocinio Sanctuary.

The courtyard and church of El Patrocinio Sanctuary.

Jesus and child behind glass reflecting the courtyard and church.

Plaster priest behind glass, with dog.

Courtyard columns and church.

Stone work in the courtyard.

Inside the church.

Altar inside church.

Bloody Jesus beside entryway inside church.

View back out of church, toward gate and La Bufa.

Looking heavenward up stone wall, with rain spout and sky.

Arches looking southeast over hills and station of the cross pathway.

In the deepening darkness, on my way down the hill, the eyes of a coyote (fox?) reflect my camera flash.

Down to another quiet night, with my book.

Posted in Writing: Travel: Mexico | Tagged , , , | 3 Comments

Pantyhose

I finally found a market so I don’t have to visit the Soryana.
Soryana is the only large grocery store in Zacatecas and it is owned by,
damn it,
Wal-Mart.
I visit it because they are the only ones with pasta and sauce and soup and other stuff like that.
But in my wanderings on Tuesday I came across its replacement.
My new store is near the town center, vaguely near my home and even though they are much smaller, have all the stuff I need.
Yea! No more Wal-Mart.

But the important part of this story:
Against the wall in my new store is a rack of pantyhose (stockings, tights) and they have the greatest name for a beauty product ever.
Drum Roll….
The name:
Dorian Grey

Upon which I added my own little tag line:
“Pretty as a picture”

Posted in Writing: Travel: Mexico | Tagged , , , | 1 Comment