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Exploring the Soul of Mexico
Centuries-old cathedrals and lush plazas are two of the top attractions in Morelia, Michoacan's capital city.
By JEFFREY STEELE Special to the Journal & Topics Newspapers
High in the Sierra de Michoacán, my guide Rodrigo Munoz and I pull into the historic mountain village of Zacan. On the square, we spot the town's main attraction. The Huatapera de la Immaculada Concepcion de Maria is a quaint chapel that doubled as shelter and hospital for 19th Century travelers. But its ancient doors are locked.
An inquiry by Rodrigo at an eatery sends us ambling down a cobblestone side street to the weathered green metal door of a two-story adobe house. Rodrigo and a resident converse for a moment, then the door closes.
Stepping back a few feet, we turn our gazes to the roof, where a gunmetal gray loudspeaker crackles to life. We hear someone blowing into a microphone. Then, in a voice audible for miles, a young woman says in Spanish:
"To the person who has the keys to the huatapera, please come and open the place. There's someone here who wants to see it!"
Ah, the charms of Michoacán, the spectacular southwestern Mexican state often dubbed "the soul of Mexico." Though not the Mexico of American beach-worshippers' fondest dreams, there are few more beguiling destinations for those seeking an immersion into the mystic, centuries-old history and architecture of colonial Mexico.
The trek starts with an overnight stay at the picturesque Hotel Villa Montana in the capital city, Morelia. Rodrigo and I then motor a half-hour west to Patzcuaro (POTZ-kwor-oh), Michoacán's 15th century cultural capital, and today a charming lake resort of 100,000. For centuries, Patzcuaro's heart has been its vibrant central plaza, bustling with vendors piloting umbrella carts, bordered by Fresno-lined walkways and graced by colonial buildings with shops and restaurants at street level and living quarters upstairs.
Like other colonial Mexican cities, Patzcuaro was colonized by missionaries who followed 16th Century Spanish conquerors to Mexico. As benevolent as the conquerors were brutal, the Jesuits, Dominicans and Franciscans built monasteries and taught Native Mexicans carpentry, baking and other skills. One of Patzcuaro's many structures from that time is its monumental basilica, whose construction was launched in 1554 by its revered first bishop, Don Vasco, and not completed until 1883.
A short walk away, a one-time Dominican nuns' convent is now the House of the Eleven Courtyards, where artisans practice centuries-old arts of the indigenous people. Within this serene setting, city sounds give way to the twitter of birds and the stylings of an accordion player. Near one of the shops, pink begonias and an artisan's hand-made red, yellow and orange tablecloths add splashes of color to the white adobe walls.
Inside the shops, artists produce and sell their own textiles, copper and straw art pieces. One practices maque, the art of handpainting wooden plates of parota wood with paints mixed from rocks, plants and insects – a craft dating from 500 B.C.
It's soon evident Patzcuaro is a magnet for foreign-born hoteliers. Venezuelan-born Isabel Lange may have lived in England, China, Norway, New York and Miami, but when it came time to open her own hotel, La Siranda, she chose Patzcuaro. "Here you feel you're in a town, a timeless town," she said. "When I begin to walk I feel ridiculous. I'm walking my New York walk, and it has no place in Patzcuaro."
Not far away, self-proclaimed "California Girl" Priscilla Madsen, a gregarious, scarlet-haired San Diego native who discovered Patzcuaro decades ago, greets us at her La Mansion de los Suenos Hotel in a restored 17th Century adobe building.
Those convinced Patzcuaro is just another sleepy Mexican village have yet to savor this jewel, she said. "We're not just some little puebla 7,400 feet in the air. We're this magical little pueblito, here for everyone to discover."
Soon we're off again, this time a half hour farther west to Uruapan (oo-ROP-in), an avocado processing capital of 300,000. The charming Hotel Mansion del Cupatitzio becomes our base for tours of the adjacent Parque Nacional Eduardo Ruiz, a former coffee plantation turned state park with rushing streams, waterfalls and cobblestone walkways that meander through forests of banana, fig and guayaba trees.
It's from Uruapan that we climb in Rodrigo's Jetta higher into the mountains to Zacan. Along the way, we pass towns inhabited exclusively by the native Purepechans, their women garbed in traditional blouses and skirts of teal, scarlet and pink.
The fresh mountain air is delectably crisp as we reach Angahuan, where sombrero-wearing men offer horseback rides to famed Paricutin Volcano. In February 1943, a corn farmer noticed heat and steam rising from his soil, which within weeks had disgorged a roiling volcano. Today, visitors can rent horses for a 30-minute ride to the ruins of San Juan, a town abandoned when volcanic lava and ash rained down upon it. Or they can take a bracing 2-1/2 hour ride to the 1,391-foot volcano itself.
By late afternoon, we're back in Morelia to relish its stunning architecture and spacious plazas. Named a UNESCO World Heritage City in 1990, this city of 800,000 assiduously preserves its historical treasures, among them La Plaza de Armas, a plaza adorned with sculpted emerald ficus trees, fountains and centerpiece gazebo.
The landmark 18th Century aqueduct, which carried water a mile from a spring to homes of Morelia's wealthiest families, is a big attraction, as is the soaring Cathedral of Morelia, finished in 1744. Each Saturday night, a fireworks and light show illuminates the cathedral's spires with musically synchronized sweeps of illumination.
But it's the 18th Century Sanctuary of Our Lady of Guadalupe that draws the most attention. Outside, Rodrigo tells me this is the church where every Morelian bride wants to be married, and every 15-year-old girl wants her quince-anos, a ceremony of young womanhood. It is one of the most beautiful houses of worship in Mexico.
"Why does it have that reputation?" I ask. "Follow me," Rodrigo responds, and leads me into the eye-popping Mexican baroque interior, seemingly lined from ceiling to floor in gold. "Any more questions?" he asks with a smile.
Just one. How soon can I get back to Michoacán?