Uruapan, the colonial town of lesser popularity than a say San Luis de Potosi or Guanajuato is in Atlacomulco’s neighboring state, Michoacan. We’ve planned to meet Alexis’ fellow Fullbright friend there but mostly they’re all coming from much further away so we arrive on a Friday night. Coming in via two buses in about four hours, we check into our hotel and amble into town to get a bite. The restaurant we find in the Spanish arcade flanking the town square (not a zocalo, apparently) is beautiful – old, wooden panels, carved cherry chairs, ornate wall fixtures; it’s a vision of Spanish colonial style. We have a few micheladas, some mediocre food (this as per Ms. Alexis’ specs, as I’m not really much of a food critic and was perfectly content to eat the white bread with hot sauce they brought out as an appetizer), and retire to our hotel for the night. Falling soundly asleep in the pristine silence of the hotel, I have dreams of Hugh Jackman traveling through time and floating through space, having seen the dubbed Mexican version of Darren Aronkofsky’s so-totally-bizarre-it-doesn’t-even-qualify-as-shit The Fountain on the bus trip over.
The Hotel, The Restaurant, the Woodwork
In the daylight, the beauty and singularity of the hotel strikes me. I wake up in a room with a high, wood-beamed ceiling. The room is vaguely stable-like. The windows have fully operational shutters. The door is huge and carved and I half expect a conquistador to come bursting in looking for a governor or bureaucrat of some other stripe that he has a bone to pick with.
Continuing the theme of fantastic bathrooms in Mexican hotel rooms, this one’s got a little shower stall/shitter/sink that’s actually raised a few feet off the floor and was very obviously added onto the room well after the whole thing was built. It’s got it’s own roof, which is a rippled hunk of plastic that looks like the tin roofs you see in movies on lean-tos in places like Mexico and the DR and wherever else. It’s also got embossed vinyl wallpaper that’s made to look on the outside like bricks and, here’s the kicker, on the inside like bricks with water on. Puh-ritty cool.
So I shower, dress, and, since Bateman’s still sleeping, look around. The center of the hotel is a courtyard. Both floors are very tall, the architecture in a classical Spanish style evocative of things such as Don Quixote or the al fresco architectural observations of Goya. The walls of the courtyard on the first level are bedecked with four murals. There are benches and tables. Flanking both the upper and lower hallways are bedrooms just like ours with very large windows and shutters and big-doored bedrooms replete with stately beds.
(A) Hotel Courtyard (B) Bateman in the room (C) Window and doors (D) Narrow staircase in the new section
The stairs are of course in the newer section at the back where there’s also a sort of collapsing roof-shelf type deal with a laundry line and cistern on. A very narrow, low-ceilinged stair brings me to the proprietor’s desk, where I make inquires as to the buildings vintage.
“Hello. Good…” (conferring with my watch cause Mexicans are very particular about what you say to them based on the time of day). “Good morning.”
“Good morning. Hello. How [garbled Spanish I don’t understand].”
“Good, thank you.” (this one usually works no matter what people are saying to you). “This building is very old?”
“Yes, it has many years.”
“Yes. Yes.” (trying to formulate my next thought.) “Yes.” (throw this one in as a sort of placeholder while I get everything prepped mentally). “Do you know the history of the building?”
“No. But it’s very old. Would you like some more blankets? Some instant coffee? Perhaps a bird? We’re got some nice parrots.”
“Um. No, thank you. But thank you. Birds are…amenable.” (by this I meant to say nice but I didn’t actually know what nice like pleasant v. nice like friendly was)
“Mostly yes, but not [name of bird I don’t recognize].”
“Good, thank you.”
Bateman having arisen, it is time to sup. We decide upon a diner mentioned in our guidebook and head out. Now the last guidebook diner was the really well known one in Veracruz that all things said and done was kinda like eh, whatever. It was cool that the guy tried to sell me bootleg soccer tickets, but the food wasn’t much. So, expectations are sort of middle of the road for this one.
And expectations are blown away. First, the décor of this place is incredible. Everything is wooden, everything is intricately carved. There are cherubs all around the L-shaped dining room. There’s a little raised platform at the back with chairs of cushions and woven, wicker-thin strips of palm. There’s a staircase that’s not really anchored to anything, is supported only by it’s own engineering acumen and distribution of weight. And then there’s the barrel vault. Yes, truly. At the back of the dining room is what must be an original Spanish colonial brick-work barrel vault.
We order our food. I get nervous about my Spanish and make Bateman ask the waiter about the history building. He just kinda shrugs and is like dude I have no idea I’m seventeen. Make sure you tip your server. We come to love this place, and have four of our Uruapan meals here. In fact, we dine in the same place the same night and the same dude is there taking our order like twelve hours later. Now wonder he doesn’t give a shit about the wood parquet.
So suffice to say, regardless of where we go in Uruapan, from the restaurants to the hotel to old cathedral and former-hospital museum, the woodwork is beautiful, intricate, and soothing. I try to root out a historical society but no luck. The library closes while I’m in the market and the tourist office isn’t actually there, so that’s that. But it was a wonderful thing to see.
The Town Square, the Museum, The Fulbrighters
Post breakfast and tourist-office-non-existence discovery, we amble back to the town square. There’s a central park with an array of fine trees and fountains and gazebos and kids playing soccer and mariachi bands and all manner of other town activity, stretched the about three-block length of the main what is actually a rectangle. A Spanish arcade wreaths the park, littered with discount clothing stores, pharmacies, restaurants, the cathedral, the museum, and the library. Crammed amongst these goodies on the northwest side of the whole deal we find a used bookstore and saunter in. Books may or may not be your thing but on our way out in a dusty pile I’m very excited to find an Alejio Carpetier novel. As far as I know, none of his works have been translated into English. He was a member of the 1960’s Latin American magical realism literary golden era, a Cuban, a student of Jose Lezama Lima’s and a mentor to one of my all-time-favorites, Reinaldo Arenas. So at less than five dollars, it’s a find.
(A) The town rectangle (B) Hospital/Museum + Cathedral conjuncture courtyard (C) Arcade at the museum (D) Fulbright lunch
Next we head to the museum.
Tangential Section: History
[If you’re not much interested in this I encourage skipping down to the other stuff] Uruapan was founded (as in officially declared a town) in 1533 by a Spanish monk who went by Fray Juan de San Miguel. Previous to this it was the home of the P'urhépecha Indians, and had been annexed as a part of the Aztec Empire. The name of the town is a pre-Spanish word, meaning Eternal Spring, this because of it’s lush vegetation and powerful Cupatitzio River, known locally as The River that Sings.
Now before we begin to get all uppity about this San Miguel fellow, he did some good by the Indians. He encouraged their arts and culture and built a modern hospital that helped stave off a good deal of the disease that swept the country after the Spanish arrival. Double-edged sword, though, cause he also grouped the natives into barrios, and imposed such Spanish staples on their lives as urban planning and Christianity. Now it gets a little weird cause, much like Veracruz’s cathedral, there’s a great deal of pride in the fact that Uruapan has a certain colonial beauty, but that colonial beauty is representative of the Spanish domination of the indigenous peoples (interestingly and totally tangentially, the Irish have something very similar going on in their worship of St. Patrick, as he was the English guy who came and converted all the pagans to Catholicism. So, the Irish Catholics hate the English and their influence over Ireland, but they worship the English dude who busted up in their shit and made them accept Christ in the first place). But anyway, what’re you gonna do?
An interesting side fact is that Uruapan is the world’s avocado center. This is particularly exciting to Bateman, who is an avocado fiend, as has like ten a day while in the ‘Pan. Interesting side fact re interesting side fact: avocado comes from the indigenous word for testicle cause they hang in pairs. Gangsta.
Fin (of tangential section, that is)
Next we head to the museum. It’s a little affair of four rooms; three little ones, one big one. The basic set up of the building is an L-shape that comes off the side of the cathedral to form a little courtyard. The doors are outlined with wooden beams and are very small and old. The little rooms showcase local artists. The current show is of a painter who does sort of blah landscapes and a really interesting miniature maker who does tiny versions of the buildings and trees and rock formations about town.
The big room showcases the art of the indigenous peoples. There are wooden carvings, game boards, sculptures, and pottery, favorite piece of pottery being a massive (I’m talking at least five feet tall) dark green pineapple vase. The body has all the natural undulations of the pineapples, and the lid is the tufts of leaf that protrude like uncombed hair from the top of the fruit. It’s really fantastic and I wish I had one and unfortunately photos are forbidden in the museum so all I’ve got is my memory, but that’s good enough for me.
As we emerge from the museum a taxi squeals up to the curb and all these gringos get out, the charge led by this gargantuan guitar-totting troubadour called Andy. I meet the reset of the crew and we head off for some lunch. Over some tasty quesadillas, tacos, and goblets of dirt juice, we get to know each other. Other Will and I quickly realize that greatness truly is in the name and we become tandem Kings of All that is Sacred.
Things Along the River
Along Uruapan’s Cupatitzio River, deriving life from its strength, are two great attractions. The first is a textile mill. Adjacent to this is a picturesque park. We find, as we arrive at the textile mill, that the picturesque park is so picturesque that it’s actually the site of wedding on this particular day so we avoid that but explore the mill. There are a few stalls open, selling blankets, bedspreads, and such items. The building is cavernous and yet again carved from wood. A stray cat wanders about and befriends us. There are totem poles stacked in one of the corners. Over a door into a large, empty chamber is a huge, vengeful mask. We ignore the portent of this and venture in, where we discover a wonderful little men’s room. The whole crew piles in and we talk urinals and peeing strategies and the ingenious British strategy at the Battle of Waterloo (this comes up I think because someone throws out a Britishism saying that we’re in a loo).
(A) Totem polls at the mill (B) Arch, oculus, bell at the mill (C) Wild tree (D) Bateman and jungle
The river’s second primary attraction is the national park, a tropical jungle-type deal with all manner of Jurassic Park looking plant life and water and a fish farm (which is really actually pretty depressing but I won’t go on a vegan tirade at this juncture). While it’s disappointing that the national park is actually more like Disney World without any rides but a bunch of running water and tons of people and vendors selling shit you would never actually need when you’re walking in the jungle, the natural beauty is still a thing to behold. The river is incredibly powerful: water is bursting from nearly every surface, running down walls, over sections of the paths, waterfalls cascading down every vertical service. All of the botanical wonders bloom from the water’s power. It’s a very spiritual event and place and is easy to see how one might worship something like a river as giver of life given the circumstances as the river is, literally, the giver of life here.
Along the walk we get to see a few guys diving off of very high surfaces into very shallow water and then going about collecting tips. It’s really interesting to see but a little annoying cause they guys are total hams and milk the crowd to the point that people start shouting things like Just fucking jump already and Booooring and my favorite You’re just up there to hump the tree at this point. But even despite the spectacle of all of this, it’s a very magical and serene place.
The Pool Hall, The Beer Run, and the Taxi Drive to the Bus Stop
It’s decided collectively that for Saturday night entertainment the Teenage Mutant Ninja Gringos ought go play some pool at the local pool hall. Having deiced to sup with Other Will and Bateman before heading to pool, we make it a bit late. Arriving, we notice a veritable cavalcade of police about the pool hall. There’s about three on our side of the street, each with a machine gun. Huh, ok, fair enough. Then across the street a handful more with some tasty looking firearms. As our eyes adjust to the relative darkness we see that across the street there’s a hotel, and in front of the hotel are three pickup trucks, each loaded with cops with automatic weapons and atop them some serious shit mounted machine guns. Actual, bolted to the roof, like military junta fifty cals.
That aside we play some pool. Beer and games come and go and we have a merry time of it. It’s a grand Saturday night. Next day is Sunday and we’re in town all this day too because Monday’s a holiday so we don’t have to get back quite yet. During the day we check out the national park. At night, it’s hanging out in the hotel playing truth or dare jenga, drinkin brews, and playing guitar. But we run out of brews pretty quickly so we’re off looking for it. Gigantor and Frothingham and Other Will and Bateman and I head out in search of alcohol. We’re directed various places. Frothingham drops trou and pisses on a Telcel (telcel being the Mexican cell phone and internet monopoly company that nobody really likes but everyone just kinda has to deal with). Finally, we get to a long, more run down sort of street. There are dogs and food stalls set up and a mariachi band just on the street playing to no one in particular. This is very much Cormac McCarthy territory and for a moment we stand amazed. Then, moving one, we acquire liquor, get some grub, and head back to the hotel.
(A) Me petting the mill cat (B) Some serious palm fronds (C) Guillermo, our park guide (D) Fulbright Ramones Moment
Monday afternoon, after some fast breakfastage, it’s time we all head home. Other Will heads with us by taxi to the bus stop. Our driver is a very nice fellow who tells us about his nearly seven-foot-tall son who doesn’t like to play basketball. Alexis and Will converse about various teacher things in the back so I choose to bring up the whole armada of cops thing with the driver.
“It’s warm here.”
“Yes, mostly it is. I’m not actually from here. But I like it. In the shade, one wears a jacket. But the sun is very strong.”
(Having understood all of this I assume my Spanish has miraculously leaped levels so I take a shot at something a little more difficult). “As per Heidegger’s ontological discourse, how would you define existence re nothingness?”
“As you can see, all of these very beautiful trees divine their strength from the power of the river.”
(For a moment I wonder if he’s fighting some kind of philosophical battle with me, batting off the barrage of Western philosophy’s bleak, atheist nihilism with a very potent rumination on the nature of life and spirituality. It then occurs to me that my last statement was in fact accidentally said in English and he’s probably assumed I was talking to the others and is simply making small talk).
“Do you know why there are so many police officers around?”
“Oh, yes, well [monologue of very advanced vernacular Spanish that I can’t understand at all].”
[Conversation flowing from Other Will to Bateman to Taxi Driver and back].
We arrive at the bus stop. Paying the man, another taxi driver asks us if we need a taxi, apparently oblivious to the fact that we just got out of a taxi and are carrying large bags and are very clearly headed to buses.
“So what did he say about the cops?” I query.
Other will fills me in. “Oh, he was just saying that they have really bad drug problems here and the cops outside the hotel were protecting the cops inside the hotel cause otherwise the drug dealers would go in and kill them all in their sleep.”
“Huh.”
“You guys wanna grab a bite before the bus?”
All told Uruapan is a lovely and quaint colonial town. The visit was relaxing and slow. We spread our time well, enjoying natural and man-made pleasures. It was a nice, paradisal visit (apart from the whole drug war thing).
The Next Day
The next day, Other Will sends me an email with a link to an article from the Washington Post. The article details recent drug violence in Michoacan (including beheadings). It classifies the area as a “lawless state”.
Will attaches the following note: “I guess the beer run was a bad idea. Had a great time.”
Indeed.
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