Into the Highlands

So as I was saying, Jalisco's high country is on the same planet as San Pancho, but it's a different world.

We drove the long and winding road behind Puerto Vallarta and began our ascent, leaving behind glossy jungle and air the consistency of peanut butter. In less than two hours, we were in San Sebastián del Oeste and pine country, relishing the feel of coolness on bare arms. 

The following morning, after a night of cozy fleece blankets and mountain air, we drove the long and winding road down the other side of the Sierra Madre and into the valley of Mascota. 

I first visited this verdant valley in 2005, when, in a stroke of amazing luck for a geek like me, I was able to view recently excavated burial sites dating back to 800 B.C. by Dr. Joseph Mountjoy of the University of North Carolina. (If you click on his name, you'll find his telling of this grand discovery.) On the day I visited with my friend Guy Lawlor, Mountjoy's son gently un-tarped several of the perfectly preserved graves so we could see them. They were due to be photographed by National Geographic on the following day.

I told this story to Craig as we continued our journey. Our destination, a few more hours away, was Ajijic on Lake Chapala south of Guadalajara. There we would stay with Travis and Allen and Rafi the giant bull terrier to visit and view the weekend Independencia festivities.

This year, though, the weather was being influenced by Hurricane Odile who was tossing clouds all the way inland. It was overcast. It was windy. Off and on, it was raining. This did not bode well for Saturday's festival of Globos. Would the teams give up in despair? Would the huge tissue paper balloons tear and collapse in the rain? Would any sail through the raindrops into the sky? And if they did, would an errant gust of wind set them aflame?

You'll find out next week. The Globos deserve a post of their own.

Now back to the story. Sunday, the day after the Globos, is the day of the charros, the horseback riders of Mexico. Craig and I went to the plaza. After a superb bootshine by kind Arturo as we awaited our breakfast...

 

 

 

 

 

 

...we walked to the church to watch the blessing of the charros. Some of them were inside, their horses tied to the church wall and to trees in the big churchyard.

It's not fair to call the charros "horsemen", as they come in both sexes and all shapes and sizes and styles.

By and by, the priest and all the people came out of the church for the blessing...

...which was followed by a parade...

...which ends up at the Charro ring where, most years, teams from all over the area come to compete in races and bull roping and such. Unfortunately, as soon as the parade was over, the skies split open and dumped enough rain to turn the clay ring into a slippery swamp, so the other teams stayed home and the Ajijic riders mostly just goofed off.

So we went out to dinner at Tango with Travis and Allen and ate steaks and baked provolone and roasted asparagus.

On Monday, we bid farewell to our dear hosts and headed to Tonala for a day of shopping for our new project which also deserves a post of its own. We spent two nights in beautiful Tlaquepaque, during which we had the fun of seeing the actual Día de Independencia celebrations.

Two years ago, I told you about the festival of San Miguel Arcangel in San Miguel de Allende. There, I first witnessed the castillos and fireworks that are part of any big holiday in Mexico. Tlaquepaque's show was much smaller than San Miguel's, but it was a real delight to give Craig his first glimpse of this exuberant insanity.

Notice, please, that the crowd is near enough to be showered at times by the shooting stars of hot sparks from the exploding castillo, a flimsy looking structure of sticks and pinwheels that sprays succeeding cascades of fire accompanied sometimes by earsplitting whistles. In San Miguel, the operation was more professional than here where at times the attendants had to approach the castillo and shake it to get the next fuse to light.

Immediately after the castillo's finale, in which a flying saucer shaped disc shooting sparks flies screaming into the sky to the cheers of the crowd, fireworks exploded directly over the plaza, raining burning cinders down upon the laughing spectators. Here in Mexico, we live life on the edge.

We headed home a couple of days later, completing our wide loop through Jalisco and Nayarit, this time on the zoomy cuota, the super highway that passes through Guadalajara and skirts the town of Tequila. We stopped in Jala, town of miracles and witches, where we met a marching band and I took some photos of the church of the miraculous healing saints and had a lovely talk with a witch.

On the way down the mountain to the beach, not being much in the mood to cook, I pointed out a country birrieria to Craig, and he pulled over while I ordered a quart of birria, delicious spicy mezquite-roasted pot roast which we devoured later as we admired the views from our little table on the terrace.

So here we are at home, enjoying the past few cooler days, painting and brainstorming in preparation for our next magic journey, which will manifest right here in San Pancho.

Next week, put on your fancy duds and let's go to the Globos.

Comments

[Candice]

Thanks, Dee. So great to hear from you! As for your question: to paraphrase one of my favorite lines from The Pink Panther with Peter Sellers, "Those aren't my boots."

:-)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ui442IDw16o

[Dee]

Nice road trip report, enjoying the photos like always. But what the devil kind of boots are those you have on??? Wicked lizard toes!