The taxi from the airport pulled up smack in the heart of Mexico’s past; in front of the Hotel Casino, across from the Plaza de los Martires and next to the 17th Century Cathedral.
This is not to suggest Morelia, capital of the state of Mochoacan, has no present or future. Those are readily apparent in its vibrant streets and plazas, new suburban mall sprawls and burgeoning population-1.3 million, up a staggering 1 million from my first visit in 1964.
But the past is everywhere. You bump into it at every turn.
Virtually in the geographic center of Mexico, Morelia is a Spanish colonial city dating to 1541. The focus of all that history is the peasant who ended Spain’s rule in the 19th Century, Jose Morelos, who was sort of Mexico’s George Washington. His presence is everywhere, here and in the nearby Patzcuaro lake district.
Halfway between Mexico City and Guadalajara, but west of the main traffic between them, Morelia is on the road to nowhere in particular, which has been its salvation. The town is way off the ant-trail tourist tracks and, until recently, the roads from Mexico City and Guardalajara were crummy.
U.S. tourists don’t come here much because there are hardly any of the “essentials”: swimming pools, tennis courts, golf courses. Or the biggest essential: beaches.
There are compensations, such as value. My hotel bill for five days was $126. The scenery alone is worth the trip. Situated in a wide valley 5,000 feet high and surrounded by low mountains, the landscape is reminiscent of Crete without the olive groves. The weather is darn near perfect, with T-shirts and a little sweat during the day, a sweater and maybe a fire at night. I call it “Morelia weather,” meaning heavenly. It’s like this year-round.
Value, scenery and weather are a bonus to the city’s rich history, all of it easilly accessible.
Within a half mile of the Hotel Casino are at least 30 museums and historic buildings open to the public, several ablaze with some of the most inspiring revolutionary murals anywhere. At the Palacio de Justicia, a beyond-life-size standing portrait of Morelos, flanked by an eagle battling a serpent in an orange sky, gloriously depicts the revolution, a theme that continues at the Palacio Federal, directly across from the Cathedral.
The interior of the Cathedral is moving. Less ornate than some Spanish colonial cathedrals, Morelia’s has a simple Renaissance quality that’s soothing no matter what your religion is.
Throughout the city, domes of colonial churches rise like great stone bubbles in the sky, cool shady plazitas with fountains and statues are resting spots for the body and the eye, and outdoor markets sell everything from candy to museum-quality artwork.
The neoclassic El Centro, or downtown area, often compared to Madrid’s, has survived the intrusion of the present, mainly because of a fairly rigorous building code. It has been designated a World Historic Artistic site by UNESCO, and connoisseurs of such things generally consider it the gem of Mexico’s colonial cities.
At night, Morelia’s central plaza and sidewalk cafes facing it are given over to people enjoying the city buzz. Hanging out in a downtown park around midnight is not something you might want to try at home, but in Morelia, everybody’s out and nobody seems worried.
When we pulled up in front of the Hotel Casino, the sidewalk cafe tables under the stone colonnades of the block-long 18th Century building facing the park were packed with people having a late coffee or a beer, checking out the scene.
Across the street in the park, the white carts of various vendors were lit up by bright clear light bulbs. Lovers necked on benches and curled together in the shadows along green geometric walks among tall trees meticulously clipped like great hedges.
And this was a Thursday night.
The nearby Hotel Casino is fairly basic. A little Graham Greene and Bogart to it. No air-conditioning-a big fan instead-but clean, quiet and with cable.
True, my view was an airshaft. And some nights with the fan cranked up, I had dreams of tornadoes. But the hotel’s sidewalk cafe is center stage for the passing scene.
Early the next morning I had breakfast at one of the cafe tables outside the hotel with Terry Moore, a photographer who has been all over Mexico, and whose easy manner and excellent get-along Spanish was a great help. My own is below the level of the average Mexican 2-year-old’s, but I try.
Together we set out to “find” Jose Morelos, the short, stocky, freedom-minded peasant who was excuted before he could realize his dream.
It’s still possible to visit the building where he attended school, not far from the Cathedral. Today it’s a college and library where an eternal flame burns for him. The house where he later lived, a few blocks away, is now a museum tracing the history of the revolution he led against Spain.
A pleasant early-morning walk brings you to Morelos Plaza, about a half-mile from the Cathedral. At that hour, it’s a green, peaceful place dominated by a heroic statue of Morelos on horseback, with three kinds of woodpeckers working the old shade trees that surround it.
It also marks the end of the Roman-style aqueduct built in 1785, which for many years was Morelia’s main source of water. Beginning in the mountains outside of town, it once wound its way five miles to the outskirts of the central city. It’s no longer in one continuous piece, but the remaining sections serve as reference points for locals and visitors.
One of the really pleasant aspects of roaming downtown Morelia is that just wandering is reward enough, with or without Morelos. While seeking sites associated with the great man we stumbled across the Casa de Artesanias, a showcase for Michoacan crafts-ceramics, furniture, copperware, silverware, jewelry, leatherwork and paintings. There is a museum section, a section where the artists craft these things and a shop where you can buy some of them. For the crafts shopper in Morelia, this is the place.
Three blocks the other way lies El Mercado de Dulces, the Sweets Market. The apotheosis is sugar in its many forms, colors and tastes. Spices, herbs, sandals and guitars-virtually all of them produced in Mochoacan-are also sold.
After a few days in Morelia, we made two day-trips to the Patzcuaro lake district. We got a little of that country air and wandered the small, distinctive villages surrounding the puzzle-piece-shaped lake.
At 6,000 feet plus change, the island-dotted Lake Patzcuaro is one of the world’s highest. From a distance, Isla Janitzio looks like Skyros or some other small Greek island: a single mountaintop rising out of the water, covered by white stucco buildings with red tile roofs.
Walkways (no cars) loop and twist upward past shops and restaurants toward the top, which has been flattened and made into a park dominated by a 300-foot stonecut statue of Morelos with one fist upraised. You can almost guess what he’s saying to the Spanish conquerors. He ought to be the Statue of Liberty’s boyfriend. As with Liberty, you can climb inside to the top, circling upward past more murals of the revolution.
So few U.S. tourists vist Michoacan that it’s helpful to know some Spanish or hire a car with a driver whose English is good. We lucked out with Moises Miranda Cortez, who’d grown up in Michoacan but went to high school in south Los Angeles.
After our trip to the island, Moises took us to the home of Juan Orta Castillo, a maker of fantastic wooden devil-serpent mask sculptures he carves and paints. Some are in the permanent collections of Chicago’s Art Institute, Field Museum and Mexican Museum, among others in the United States.
Senor Castillo, a compact 50ish man wearing a white T-shirt, made us at home with tall, cold glasses of papaya juice and showed us examples of his work while he told us how his dreams inspired him. Although generally indifferent to such things, I was sold. Despite my non-shopping vow, I bought a small but intricate mask for about $50.
Later that Sunday afternoon we ended up at the main plaza of Patzcuaro. It’s a small town with a colonial square faced by two-story stucco buildings whose bottom thirds are painted wine red, representing the earth and death. The top two-thirds are painted white.
We had a delicious early dinner at El Patio on the square, and it was more than I could eat.
Afterward, in the late Sunday afternoon light, we wandered the small plaza. It was family hour.
Kids were running and giggling, with us more sedentary types sitting on benches just watching it all. Was this the look, the feel, the smell or Morelia in Morelos’ day? Quite likely, it was.
DETAILS ON MORELIA
Since they’re in the mountains, Morelia and the Lake Patzcuaro district share pretty much the same weather year-round–70s in the winter, 80s in the summer. But nights tend to be a bit nippy, so it’s best to bring summer clothes for daytime and autumn clothes for evenings.
Places to stay range from the fancy Europeanized Four Seasons-style Hotel Virrey de Mendoza on the plaza, to such down-home digs as Hotel Casino, about 50 yards from the Virrey and a lot cheaper. The Hotel de Soledad, around the corner from the Cathedral, is peaceful and first-rate–and under $60 a night for a double.
The choices in Patzcuaro are more limited and countrified, but the nicest are modest, charming and inexpensive. Among those facing the Plaza Grande are the Hotel Mansion Iturbe, Posada de Don Vasco and El Patio. All have restaurants serving tasty comida corrida–daily specials.
For daytrips to Patzcuaro from Morelia, it’s handy to hire a car and driver, since little English is spoken here. At $80 a day, it’s worth it. We had great luck with Taxi Turismo in Morelia, most easily reached by phone 011-52-43-15-94-46. Ask for Moises Miranda Cortez as your driver.
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For more information, contact Mexico Tourism, 800-44-MEXICO.
