A haphazard chronicle of my inevitable misadventures during a year in Vietnam and points east.

p.s. I'll be pitifully grateful if you send me email during my exile: TravelerKaty@hotmail.com

October 2002 November 2002 December 2002 January 2003 February 2003 March 2003 April 2003 May 2003 June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 February 2006 March 2006 May 2006

 
Day 2 - Puebla 2/12/06

I am honored to report that I was appointed "Captain" of our little Mexican adventure. I'm not sure if this was due to my travel experience, my semi-fluent Spanish, or some combination, but as I told Dad when he informed me of my new exalted position, he should have let the others know directly, as I am hardly the person to whom they would turn first. In fact, I am the sort of person who invites paternalistic suggestions (or maternalistic, since this is an all-girl party) such as "would you like me to hold your bus ticket so you won't lose it" and "there's a big hole in the sidewalk." The sidewalk thing is in reference to my propensity to sprain ankles, but frankly, since A actually broke her nose by running into a parking meter, I don't know that my klutziness should be singled out, not that it will slow them down. In fact, before our departure, Mom informed me that she had updated her first aid kit to include an ace bandage, seeing as I was along on the trip. Thoughtful or condescendingly obnoxious -- you be the judge.

Given this context, it was unsurprising when my announcement of my Captaincy was greeted with general hilarity. I soldiered (sailored?) on, however, and required frequent "Aye aye, Cap'n"s. In practice, my position was basically limited to reading the map, influencing our route (I was a benevolent captain who worked by consensus) and translating with D's much more competent assistance.

Speaking of D's assistance, it was terrific having a native speaker along. Unlike traveling in Asia or in one of the beachier parts of Mexico, there were very few people in Puebla who would greet tourists in English first, which was of course perfectly fair, since we were in Mexico. Different, though - I'm quite used to Asia, where every tourist is instantly attacked in English without even an attempt at getting you to speak their own native language. In any event, it wasn't a problem for us since I could get by fine in Spanish, fluently ungrammatical no doubt, and with D along there was much less guessing involved, since I could just look to her whenever I didn't know a word or couldn't figure it out in context. Plus, she was much quicker and more entertaining than a dictionary. Mind you, she was not infallible. Menus were a particular challenge for us, chock full of regional dishes and Mexican food words not familiar to the wider world of Spanish speakers. At dinner on Day 2 this led to multiple trips by the waiter to the kitchen to get samples or more information about particular dishes or drinks. Fortunately we understood enough of the menu to avoid the cow brain tacos, the stomach meat soup and the maguey worms.

The dinner, at La Fonda de Santa Clara, was great despite the confusion, starting with the queso fundido, a lovely way to make quesadillas. A and I shared Mixiotes, a regional specialty made with lamb in our case (another word that required a long back-and-forth with the waiter in order to confirm that we wouldn't be ordering muskrat or iguana or something) wrapped in the parchmentlike outermost layer of maguey leaves with a complicated sauce. Though we almost passed out from the spicy steam that emerged when we untied the paper bundles, it turned out to be perfectly seasoned and delicious, served with tortillas and guacamole. Mom stuck with the more familiar tostadas, also delicious, and D ordered some revolting sauteed mushrooms. OK, I concede that they probably weren't at all revolting to mushroom lovers.

We had been relegated to what Mom referred to as the "Gringo Room" -- there were four other foreign tourist parties in our section. My theory, however, is that only the foreigners opt for the "non-smoking" room. I had strong doubts as to whether the locals and Mexican tourists were even given the option.

In actual fact, there were very few foreign tourists in Puebla, particularly in comparison to any of the resort towns on either coast. The Maitre-d of La Fonda was recording the origin of all the customers at the restaurant (located just off the Zocalo in the heart of the tourist district), and she reported that most of the diners were tourists from other parts of Mexico. I could well believe it -- in a full day of touring Puebla we didn't see more than a dozen other gringos.

The tasty smoke-free dinner capped off an excellent touristy day hitting all (or at least many of) the high points of central Puebla, including a healthy amount of shopping. We woke, once again, appallingly early, as the former convent in which we were luxuriously ensconced shared a wall with one of the hundreds of churches in town and is less than 2 blocks from a couple others. The enthusiastic bell ringers, who do not acquire their jobs due to any finesse or musicality, called the first mass at 6:30 a.m. We were able to return to sleep after that one, and again after the 7:15, and some of us after the 7:50, but the new guy came on shift for the 8:10 and he was quite fervent about the danger to our eternal souls if we were not to get up and come to church. Or at least he wanted us to get our lazy Protestant asses out of bed.

Fortunately I had learned the Secret of the Shower the night before: turn on the hot water when you get up, brush your teeth, gather your clothes, put your contacts in, and write the Great American Novel. By the time you're done, the water would be hot enough for a civilized shower. What you don't do is what I did the previous night: turn on the hot water, wait a few minutes, give it a few minutes more, decide they've switched the taps, turn on the cold, wait, check, wait, check, turn off the cold and try hot again, wait 20 minutes in your towel, then take a barely lukewarm shower. Travel is so educational.

Despite the vagaries of the shower, the Camino Real was still one of the coolest places I'd ever stayed. They offered up an impressive spread for Sunday brunch buffet, served on elegantly laid tables in the stunning two-story main courtyard and protected from sun or rain by the Mexican equivalent of the Seattle Mariners' retractable roof -- a massive white canvas tarp covering a third of the area. It sounds tackier than it was -- even a ceiling of fabric could not detract from the architecture of that place.

Although we were there for breakfast they were clearly catering to the after-mass crowd with a buffet that far more closely approached the lunch end of the Breakfast-Brunch-Lunch continuum. The array of fresh fruit and made-to-order omelets were overmatched by the pozole, chicken with mole poblano sauce, grilled meats and many other unidentifiable soups, stews and meat dishes. I sensed there weren't very many vegetarians in Puebla.

We ate our scrambled eggs, fruit, and revolting coffee in expensive 17th century splendor and were on our way, setting off with no destination or route in mind, a situation which makes me generally uneasy despite my random and seemingly plan-free travel patterns. The fact is that although, when I travel, I don't necessarily know what I'll be doing the following week, I nearly always know what I'll be doing on that specific day. The plan may be a bit pathetic of course - eat breakfast, visit museum, have coffee, read book, have lunch, write fascinating account of morning activities, have coffee, read book, dinner -- however, I do know what the plan is. And of course I'm not at all averse to major alterations in the plan. Having a plan so chock full of leisure makes alterations very simple.

We didn't wander planless for long. The Captain just couldn't take it indefinitely. After getting cash, going on a fruitless cell phone SIM card hunt (during which we learned that the Mexican pronunciation of "Woolworth's" sounds alarmingly like "vulva") and enjoying the lovely colonial architecture, wrought iron railings and colorfully tiled church towers, we sat down and developed a morning plan that catered to one of mom's greater strengths -- shopping. Puebla is the home of Talavera, a typical tin-glazed Mexican earthenware with ornate naturalistic designs in rich blues and other bright colors. Talavera dominates many elements of the region -- in addition to the dishes and other pottery its tiles adorn the domes of most churches, decorate the sides of buildings, and are used in most kitchens and many patios.

We happened upon the best Talavera shop in town by accident, but unfortunately for them it was our first shop, so we bought nothing. I did discover (and taste) some delectable coconut and dulce-de-leche flavored liqueurs and some of the just-add-chicken-stock mole paste that Maria in my office had told me about, so our visit was at least educational. The Parian, the main artisan market, basically encompassed several streets with a range of products, from high quality shops to mini-tourist-stands with awnings and tacky displays of toys, tourist goods and slightly lower-quality Talavera. This was perfect for me, of course, since my objective was to buy gifts for my office. I ended up with several cute ceramic boxes for the women and some highly decorative shot glasses for the guys. Actually, knowing my office, the shot glasses might have been appropriate for most of the gals too.

Art students and a variety of tourist and non-tourist paintings filled one block, but I couldn't see myself paying $45 for a Mexican watercolor, even if I did like it. I get cheaper all the time. Mom bought little candles for her office, A reinforced her commitment to devoted pet ownership with a dog biscuit container (most would consider it a sugar or flour container) and D picked up and put down 79 soap dishes and an equal number of napkin holders without buying.

All shopped out, we headed back to the hotel and happened upon "La Guadelupana," seemingly the same restaurant that the dimwit at the front desk had attempt to direct us to the night before. After cold fish, a glass or two of a very questionable iced tea-like thing made of Jamaica flowers, some distinctly lackluster service and a view of a dancing Buzz Lightyear out the door, we came to the conclusion that either the desk clerk was even less competent than we thought, or that there was another La Guadelupana somewhere else. The latter proved to be the case, as we stumbled upon a delightful restaurant in an old colonial building, two blocks beyond where the half-wit marked the map. Live and learn -- next time we go to Puebla, we'll know exactly where to eat!

The good news about the lunch was that the poor service gave me loads of time to study the map and develop the Afternoon Plan, which was to consist of a shopping and church-filled loop back through central Puebla but hopefully on streets we had yet to traverse. With a hearty "aye aye," the sailors agreed to the plan and we set off from the hotel. First Los Sapos, a Sunday flea market in the same square that we discovered the night before but with far less amplified music. It was an entertaining market, very popular with the locals, featuring antique tchotchkes, heavy Mexican-style wooden furniture, crafts made to look like they were antiques (religious scenes on rusty metal, mainly) and a bit of the usual plastic crapola that you see at markets worldwide. Movie posters and vintage magazines were surprisingly common as well.

Next stop - La Capilla del Rosario, located in the Church of Santo Domingo. The Catholics have never been stingy with the decorative touches in their churches, but they really went to town on this one. Virtually every surface is covered in gold leaf, and there is a big box in the center containing a statue of the Virgin who gets her dress changed every month. Presumably this will get some of the less devout and more fashion-conscious Catholics into mass at least once a month just to check the current style. Lovely windows in the ceiling provide natural light and the whole thing makes a very powerful impression. I really loved it, and I'm pretty cold to most of the baroque excesses of Latin American church interiors. None of the pictures really do it justice -- it's really beautiful and the light is incredible. I even liked it better than the weird sight of the Mylar basset hound "I love you" balloon that was hilariously stuck on the ornate ceiling of the church itself.

Our other religious pilgrimage (in addition to La Compania, which was indistinguishable from any other large Mexican church with the exception of its interesting history as the burial place of La China Poblana) was to the huge cathedral on the Zocalo, an extraordinarily lovely structure particularly from the outside, with tiled domes, turrets and the tallest bell towers in Mexico. Much of the cathedral is in shades of dark yellow and light pink that created lovely contrasts as the sun moved across the sky. The inside was equally impressive, littered with fresh flowers and enormous arches, statuary and organ parts, in addition to the usual morbid and bloody statues and paintings beloved of Latino Catholics. The reclining dead wooden Christ statue in the Cathedral was especially appalling in this respect, with lifelike open and oozing wounds and creepy half-closed eyes. It was enough to turn you off religion for good. This Christ figure, alas, did not possess the entertainment value possessed by those in a couple of other nearby churches that I will forever think of as "Cell Phone Jesus." These Jesi, (who are, thankfully, upright rather than prone), have their left hand positioned in such a way that if you catch a glimpse out of the corner of your eye, you'd be convince that an injured man was phoning 911.

Perhaps the most disconcerting (and yet highly entertaining) element of the afternoon was wandering through the Zocalo, which on a Sunday afternoon was teeming with local families, couples (there are always lots of couples in Mexican plazas), vendors and balloon and ice-cream toting kids. For entertainment, clowns were vying with elderly ballroom dancers, and in a very weird juxtaposition, a bungee-trampoline apparatus was set up directly in front of the entrance to the cathedral. This was a huge hit. Parents would allow their doubtful children to be strapped into the harness and the crowd would proceed to laugh their asses off while the kids screamed in terror. A good time was had by all.






Here's some more photos of beautiful Puebla for your viewing pleasure --












© 2006 Katy Warren
posted by Katy at 6:58 AM