Monday July 11th - Pachuca to Morelia

I made a good run, but I run too slow............

I was going towards Oaxaca, I have an inclanation for that place. Of course, destinations are only tricks or excuses to move in a particular direction. It is the quality, or style, of the movement that is important. Days of rushing, and time spent hoping for a particular, expected, experience seems a waste. So I find my self in Morelia, no longer heading towards Oaxaca.

Tuesday July 12th - Morelia

Deep Catholicism, men in franciscan robes walk in the streets. Entrenched political power, state functionaries wielding their small powers sit in cafes making deals and granting favors. Students, thousands of them, studying art, music or science with a devil may care attitude, drinking, smoking and kissing. A strong undercurrent of tragedy. Morelia is compelling.

Wednesday July 13th - Morelia to Tequila

The temperatures have been cool since Zacatecs, now it is starting to warm up as I descend towards the west coast. Tourists come to Tequila to drink tequila, obviously. 

I spend the afternoon and evening sitting by the church square, drinking cerveza and eating quesadillas. There is a funeral going on in the church. When it is over every one walks behind the herse to the graveyard, praying together out loud. A brass band is playing around the corner and sky rockets are exploding overhead. Lonely mariachis wander through the scene looking for a gig.

Thursday July 14th - Tequila to San Blas

From the "Autopista" to San Blas the road winds through mango orchards, small towns, and low marshy wetlands. Heat humidity and strong rich smells fill the air.

San Blas. A small, sandy, hot, mosquito ridden, desultry little town. It's deserted marina down sandy back roads overgrown with palms and other tropical beach flora. A rusty bicycle and and old pair of cargo shorts is all one needs in this town. I like it.

The Hotel Hacienda Flamingo, striking in its tidy, tasteful, contrast to the town, hosts me and a few Mexican families passing through. Sitting in it's lush courtyard I sweat, listen to the thunder and wait for the rain. As the sun sets the geckos come out to prowl the walls in search of mosquitos.

What say the Bells of San Blas
To the ships that southward pass
From the harbor of Mazatlan?
To them it is nothing more
Than the sound of surf on the shore,—

But to me, a dreamer of dreams,
To whom what is and what seems
Are often one and the same,—
The Bells of San Blas to me
Have a strange, wild melody,
And are something more than a name.

The chapel that once looked down
On the little seaport town
Has crumbled into the dust;
And on oaken beams below
The bells swing to and fro,
And are green with mould and rust.

“The saints! Ah, have they grown
Forgetful of their own?

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1882, on his death bed. (fragments)

Friday July 15th - San Blas to Mazatlan

 

Saturday July 16th and Sunday July 17th - Mazatlan

It's ok to sit in a cafe, or restaurant, for hours. A bite to eat, and a coffe, and spend the whole day there. Watching the ocean, waiting for the rain, no problem.

There will be music. A guitarist playing "Hotel California", scatting the words because he doesn't speak english. Better than the original.

Heat, salt, sun, sea, skin.