San Pancho Vida

Little Miracles in Tonalá

It's late Saturday afternoon in Tonalá, and I'm on a quest. I need to find some little miracles.

I don't know when or where I first saw milagros, but I knew I had to have them to use in my art somehow, someday. The milagros I was seeking are small metal objects used in prayers of appeal and prayers of thanks throughout Catholic Latin America, although they date back to five centuries before Christianity in Spain. I was captivated by them the instant I first saw them.

I had trod the long blocks of Tonalá since early that morning, looking, shopping, buying. I'd been to see Enrique Tin Lamp Guy and finalized the purchase of my goodies, which he was wrapping for delivery to the hotel.

I had asked him and his daughter where I could find my little miracles, figuring that their work with metal and their experience of Tonalá would give them insider knowledge.

Surprisingly, they had no idea; but later in the day as I was passing their corner shop, another daughter who had heard of my request stopped me and told me to go to the Parroquia, the big church, that there were shops nearby that sold religious items and would have milagros. She directed me to walk three blocks this way and two blocks that way and I'd surely find the shops.

I thanked her and set off to complete the final item on my list. My pledge to keep going until I got there and not look into any more workshops lasted half a block, when something caught my eye in a small gallery on my right. I don't know what it was, but despite my singleminded intention, I found myself walking through the open door. 

                                                ✒    ✒    ✒

At the rear of the shop, a man and a woman are in the middle of an embrace. It's too late now to turn around, so I smile at them as they break apart, and they smile back, embarrassed. They are a handsome pair, somewhere in their thirties, I think. The man welcomes me and encourages me to look around. I see immediately that the objects in this gallery are unlike any I've seen so far. Fat-faced masks from Guerrero in polished wood, unpainted. Odd, interesting paintings on the wall. Pieces of untypical sculpture. I am drawn to a piece on the wall, a candleholder that has been used, wax dripping. 

"What is this?" I ask. The man tells me it is one of his pieces, as are many, maybe most, of the others in the shop. I decide I am in love with the candleholder. He gives me a price. I tell him I'll buy it if he signs it. He grins and, as he takes it off the wall, I turn and notice some wooden crosses covered with...guess what? Little milagros. "Yikes!" I comment. "Where did you get those?" And I tell him of my quest.

Abraham, for that's his name, waves me over to their big desk. "Sit," he suggests. I do. He goes into the back room and comes out with a box, which he proceeds to dump onto the desk. ¡Qué milagro! Milagros galore!

There must be a thousand or more, all handmade, he explains, by a friend of his who uses a combination of metals to make his own pewter. These little castings have a silky luster, and are nearly soft enough to bend. 

Across from me sits Rosalba. Rosalba. What a fabulous name. I'd never heard it before and made her write it down. Abraham informs me that "alba" means dawn, daybreak. Even better! As Rosalba and I begin pawing through the pile of milagros, Abraham proposes we all have a beer, and walks across the street to the abarrotes to buy some. 

So Rosalba and I begin to get to know each other, our hands in the milagros, showing each other our best finds.

Lips. Eyes. Leaves and roses. A moon! A sombrero. There are other body parts -- arms, legs, hands, hearts, breasts. There are houses and cars, fishes and dogs, ears of corn. Each of these can represent an offering, a special request, a thank you. Arthritis in your knee? Leave a leg milagro on the altar or pinned to a statue of your favorite saint with influence. Need a new house, a car that runs, a better crop, more eggs from your chicken? A milagro exists for nearly every instance and can be made to order if you have a special case.

Many of the milagros are of the Virgin, revered and powerful mother figure, agent of intercession, granter of miracles. There are angels, sacred hearts, chalices and praying figures, too. 

Besides their association with prayer, milagros can have a talismanic purpose, can be worn or carried for protection or to bring about a change of fortune. Ancient practices dovetail so neatly with Roman Catholicism.

Abraham and Rosalba and I visited for nearly an hour and a half. While she and I selected the two hundred milagros I bought from him, he dusted and signed the candleholder for me, which now is perfectly at home on the casa terrace.

I paid for it and for the milagros and was preparing to leave when Abraham said, "Wait. Come in here, I want to show you something," and led me into the back room. 

Turns out I brought one more amazing piece home from their gallery, a collaboration between the two of them, made to order for some fellow who hasn't been back since January. "Take it," they told me. "We have time to make another."

Abraham painted Frida's portrait; Rosalba did the papier maché and all the rest. They both signed it for me. It doesn't have a name, but I'm calling it "One More Self-Portrait".

Come by Casa Luz de Luna sometime and I'll show it to you.

 

 

Here's wishing you a whole bunch of little miracles.

xo

C

 

 

 

 

Tonalá: Photos and a Story

Tonalá. What a hoot. Each block is two blocks long, each store is proudly owned by an extended family, each item is handmade -- although I don't know why they bother with some of them. One sifts through a lot of junk in Tonalá.

Some of it's pretty tempting. Want a photo of Pancho Villa?

How about a gazing ball for the garden?

A nice gory crucifix?

All available, and much more, of course.

On this, my fourth trip, I am inured to much of it. I don't even glance into ninety percent of the shops I pass. But I still get a kick out of the town, how it looks and acts and works. I had a real list this time, but it's difficult to stay entirely focused in Tonalá. So many colors attract the eye.

So many sidestreets beckon.

But one of my main objectives was to spend some time shopping in the warehouse of Enrique Tin Lamp Guy. I was standing on the sidewalk in a spot of shade waiting for him to show up for our appointment, which I was late for but he was later for.

I noticed three little boys cavorting on the narrow sidewalk on the other side of the street, and thought to take out my camera. I aimed it, and saw them notice, then immediately strike goofy poses, after which they nearly fell over laughing.

I laughed back and turned to shoot a quick photo of a young girl holding a baby on the adjacent step. Before I could focus, I was suddenly inundated by children. 

They are all hermanos, this group of happy creatures: sister and brothers. We had a chat. “Hermanos, todos?” say I. “Si!” they reply proudly. All seven of us. We have another sister. She’s fifteen, says the girl. I’m twelve. Where are you from? they ask. Estados Unidos? “Si,” I reply, “but now I live in San Pancho, near the playa. Do you know it?” They go into rhapsodics over beaches in general, but are not familiar with my pueblo, which does not surprise me. So I start naming other places they might know: Puerto Vallarta? Lo de Marcos? La Peñita? Guayabitos? “Guayabitos!” the older ones exclaim, and begin rattling off some experience they had in that place that was remarkable and memorable both. 

Enrique’s daughter calls out from behind me, where she tends her own shop of what appears to be stuff to make other stuff out of. Her father has called and is at the semaforo, the stoplight. I tell the children I’d like a photo of them all together, and they’re more than eager.

I show it to them on the little viewfinder screen. They are beside themselves with delight. They drag me back across the street (looking both ways) in order to show the photo to their mother. Their front door is a curtain. They pull it back, call inside, and mama appears. She can’t possibly be much over thirty, as her oldest child of the seven is fifteen and she looks like she started early. She is very thin, limp, and exhausted, and has maybe five teeth. She smiles shyly and nods to me as she looks at the image of her children.

Then one of the boys carries out a tray of tired donuts glazed in crayon colors, some of them overfilled with unrefigerated custard. I pass, pleading a recent breakfast. This is a big lie, but they don’t hold it against me. As I cross the street, for Enrique has at last arrived, I immediately begin to regret not having bought the whole tray, even if they were to end up in the garbage can around the block. I’ve kicked myself more than once since. Ah well, you live and learn.

I will try to remember to print this photo of all seven of her exuberant, curious, and charming children and bring it to them on my next visit to Tonalá.

I'll have more photos and another story or two next week. In the meantime, and this is no April Fool's joke, if you've been waiting for the photos of the entreAmigos Circo de Los Niños, you're in luck! Here's a link to Tara Gimmer's web album where she does a smashing job of catching the performances of our local stars, all decked out in handmade costumes. 

The Circo in Living Color!

¡Hasta luego!

                                                ☆    ☆    ☆

Tonalá-la-la!

Want to go shopping?

I did. I was in Ajijic, waiting for delivery of my new 2005 RAV4, which delivery was delayed due to an unexpected holiday having to do with the Virgin of Rosario.

I needed to get into Tonalá. I had hoped to take my own car and had arranged to meet a shopper there. I called him. His name is José Orozco. He spent years in the import/export business and is now a tour and shopping guide. I met him a couple of years ago at Quinta Don Jose, my favorite Tlaquepaque hotel. José said he'd drive and deliver me back to Ajijic. 

Coincidentally, Raúl, who is the main guy at the company that's moving my boxes from Seattle, offered to come to me in Ajijic to get all the paperwork signed, sealed, triplicated and delivered. So I bummed a ride up the highway with him and arrived in Tonalá on Wednesday late afternoon.

I'd done my research, of course, and had chosen Hotel Casa de las Palomas, a standard Mexican hotel just far enough off Tonalá's main drags as to (theoretically) not be as noisy as the two other popular shopping hotels.

The desk clerk was instantly welcoming and practiced his English on me as he showed me several rooms. He seemed to be urging me to take an inside room; that is, one without exterior windows, facing the center courtyard. But I chose a larger room with street noise over claustrophobia. Here's the view from my room:

Snazzy, huh? And they had complimentary toiletries. With mints.

The room was just fine, with the usual hard Mexican bed (which I rather like) and some space to spread out.

I made a personal pledge not to deteriorate any objects or stain any etc.'s, then quick washed my face with a corner of the hand towel (these places never have washcloths) and hurried out, as I knew I didn't have much time before the stores would close. First place I wanted to go was the place I bought the punched tin lamparas, as I needed mirrors and assorted junk, which they have. 

I can't for the life of me get a clear photo of this place, but you'll get the idea.

I bought a whole bunch of mirrors with the help of the owner's 8-year-old granddaughter who was fabulous. We had a ball.

I also bought six punched tin wall lamps for the kitchen and some of his other tin doodads to decorate the backs of the old doors in the house. I finished just before closing time and went to eat at Rincon del Sol, which was recommended by the guy at the hotel and was only two and a half long blocks away.

I hadn't taken time to eat all day and was famished. I ordered the molcajete which would have been too much even if a lovely woman from Manzanillo whom I'd glimpsed at the hotel had not brought half her order of guacamole to me.

Can you say, "too much food"? Can you say, "Ow, my stomach hurts"? I can. It was delicious and my stomach hurt only because I ate all of it.

Next morning, I met José in the hotel lobby and we started our spree. First place he took me was to look for a big table top for the dining room, which is on the outdoor covered veranda of the casa, as you must know by now. I saw several that I liked and they offered to make one for me to size from parota wood, which is one of the few woods that works outside in the jungle-and-sea environment of San Pancho.

I also ordered a four foot round table for the kitchen that will look something like this one which was too small.

I told José I was hoping to find comfortable pine chairs, which I plan to paint to protect them from the climate. I can't tell you how many Mexican pine chairs I've tried, and they all hurt. José knew just the place.

I chose six each of two different designs. We wouldn't want things to get boring, would we? And they're made with curved seats and backs, so actual people can sit in them!

Then the owner (who's a nice guy and a Jim Morrison fan) brought me a corner of a roll of brown paper and I sketched a little desk that he'll make for the kitchen.

 

 

 

 

Next was glassware, as Tonalá is also a glass blowing town and makes all those glasses you see everywhere you go.

I knew exactly what I wanted, which is not always a good idea when shopping, but I was sure I'd find it. I didn't find it at this place, but the workers invited me into their workshop to take photos, anyway.

Next, we went to a workshop that actually had decent prices on well-made equipale, so I ordered a whole bunch of it to put all over the place.

This worker is applying carnauba wax to the leather to protect it from the climate.

José has a big truck, by the way, in case you were wondering. Or access to one, with a driver he's used for many years. At the time we bought the equipale, I was only going to fill up half a truck, as he was taking down some furniture for another client in a couple of weeks.

Then, he got a phone call which made him wonder whether the other client's stuff will really be ready by then. Personally, I must have my stuff by early November as (if you recall, and it's now confirmed) Queenie is arriving in mid-November along with esposo and hijo.

So now I'm paying for a whole truck? Well, okay. How about some pots?

I'm sure you know the feeling: at this point my mind just totally shut down. I wanted all of them.

I wandered around like a zombie.

Through a terra cotta haze, I was able to indicate to José that I was going to go shopping later in my pictures, and would send him photos of the ones I wanted. And how many. And what color. 

You have time to vote on your favorites if you hurry.

José kindly shepherded me out of there and into the car, and delivered me intact to the hotel. It was 5:30. I grabbed something non-caffeinated to drink at the little corner grocery store across the street, washed my face with a fresh towel corner, and headed out. Because Thursday in Tonalá is market day (Sunday, too) and I just wanted to watch them fold it up.

Strangely enough, as my camera and I drifted down a back street...

...I happened to look up and notice a glassware store. I went in, and there were the everyday all-occasion glasses I'd been looking for.

So I bought enough for every day and a goodly number of occasions. 

They packed it carefully and delivered it to the hotel, of course.

I know there are people who think it gauche to talk about prices, so I'll keep it to three words: cheap, cheap, cheap! All of it! You wouldn't believe it compared to Puerto Vallarta, not to mention the U.S.A. (Okay, okay...that's more than three words. I'll stop.)

By the way, I will certainly return to Hotel Casa de las Palomas. I'm sure it is quieter than the hotels closer to the market streets, and the cars and kids skateboarding below my window were pretty much done by eleven at night. Anyway, earplugs are always a good idea when traveling in Mexican towns. The staff was kind and cordial and took care of my deliveries gladly. 

The next morning José picked me up again. We loaded his car with mirrors and glassware and a few little antique-ish things, then went and paid for the table top. He let me find the woman with a booth on Tonalá's main avenue who sells mosquito netting dyed these beautiful dusky colors which have intrigued me since I first saw them a couple-three years ago. Then he drove me back to Ajijic.

Later that day, I picked up my new used car. The following day, car packed to the brim, I drove the five and a half hours to San Pancho with Travis riding shotgun. Easy as pie, the RAV4 and I crossed the river where the bridge wasn't and climbed the hill to Casa Luz de Luna.

Probably I'll be getting a lot of stuff in a few weeks. I'd better get ready for it.

                                                    <    <    <                                                  

The Excellent José Orozco, Tour and Shopping Guide

 

Next week: I don't suppose you'd like to see how the casa is coming along?

 

The Adventures of Tracy Guadalupe, Part 3

Tracy Guadalupe's day started out pinker than a ripe papaya.

On her morning stroll, she saw a cute guy standing in the Domino's Pizza window and went over to say hola. Turned out he was trying to hire someone to work there!

I earn a lot, I deliver a lot, I grow a lot, and I have a bunch of fun, said his sign. 

She just bet he did. She wouldn't mind having a bunch of fun with him, and if she worked there she'd get to ride around Ajijic on one of those rad scooters.

 

She was on her way in to sign up when she noticed the delivery guy was holding a helmet. Are you serious? She'd have to wear a helmet? What would that do to her do? Also, she was so not into carrying big greasy boxes into people's apartments. Ick. Not the job for her.

Anyway, she already knew what her perfect job would be. She'd discovered it while watching TV with her friend Adam. She was wondering where to apply when she happened to glance at a newspaper and...OMG!!! Some floozy had beaten her to it!!!

Tracy was horrified. I mean, totally crushed! What did that big mouth girl have that SHE didn't have?? She decided to go home and sulk. But when she got there, that snakey-locked female from San Ponche had moved into Tracy's room--again. Could things possibly get worse??

Yes, they could. Turns out she was being put in the car for another road trip to another dusty town somewhere. This day was going nowhere but into the baño.

Off they went, following yet another gas truck past someone's laundry.

 

 

After an excruciating hour of driving past cornfields and misleading highway signs and goats, they finally stopped at a Pemex for a potty stop. Fortunately, the people who owned the Pemex had some taste and had replaced their real palm trees with beautiful plastic ones.

There were even plastic coconuts! In different colors! Pretty, even if they weren't pink. 

Then they drove into this town called Zacoalco del Torres, which (big shock) had a plaza with a church in it.

Who cares.

There were a lot of people on bicycles all over the place.

 

Apparently, besides bicycles, this town was famous for making some sort of furniture called equipale (pronounced ekki-polly) which is why Frizzy Hair Lady had talked Talbot and Adam into driving all this way to get to it. 

Big deal.

They drove up and down pot-holed brick and cobble streets until Tracy thought she'd barf. Finally, they parked. Adam and FHL went into a big house for a while. When they came out, they asked Tracy if she wanted to join them.

Not really.

But it was possibly better than sitting in the car staring at the Off can tucked into the back of the passenger seat.

Inside, there were, like, a couple of floors of this equipale stuff, and a gross pile of animal skins right out there where you could see them.

Tracy was just getting ready to go back and sit in the car when she happened to glance into a room and saw...trabajadores!! Workers! Tracy just loves men who are talented with their hands.

She decided to sit and chat for a bit.

They offered to show her around the place.

She tried on a chair with a nice cowboy motif, but it was too big.

Then one of the guys sat her down in a perfect little leather throne!

Now, that was more like it. She was finally getting the appreciation to which she wanted to become accustomed. Things were so looking up.

Then, on their way out of town, she met some more cute workers selling pink fruit...

...and then a handsome fellow in a sombrero selling pink corn!

Delighted by the fruits and vegetables grown especially for her, Tracy drifted into a contented siesta in the back seat and woke when the car thumped over an extra large tope at the entrance to Jocotepec, on the west end of Lake Chapala.

 

When they reached Ajijic, a little further down the road, they stopped for a bite to eat at Tabarka. The menu was unusual and fun to read.

When the food arrived, it looked good.

The specialty of the house was grilled fish (monkfish, scorpion fish, seabass and habachi), nice and simple with several house-made sauces and fresh vegetables, but Tracy wasn't hungry and thought she'd check out the place and maybe make some new friends while her old friends ate.

She met some fishes that weren't grilled...

Photo by A. Pool

Photo by A. Pool

...and visited with a variety of interesting folks.  

Photo by A. Pool

 

Tracy waved goodbye and got back in the car, feeling full even though she hadn't eaten.

Later that night, just for a moment, Tracy recalled with a pang the newspaper headline announcing the new un-pink Miss Universe. But then, as she pondered her day a little more, she realized that although she didn't have a crown, it was obvious that most people knew where she belonged: at the top of the heap.

After all, crowns are a dime a dozen, but glory is where you find it.

☆    ☆    ☆

In case you missed Tracy in Part One and Part Two:

The Adventures of Tracy Guadalupe, Part 1

The Adventures of Tracy Guadalupe, Part 2

Next week: come on back for A Few Shots of Tequila!

Thanks for reading, and keep those comments coming! Adios for now from Sauna Pancho.

 

A Tiny Taste of Tonala

On the hottest day of the year so far, Allen and Travis and I drove from Ajijic to meet Salvador, who manages the restaurant and bar at Quinta Don José, my favorite place to stay in the town of Tlaquepaque. Salvador is also a shopper--a guide to the adjacent town of Tonala, which is the mecca of furniture and accessories seekers in this part of Mexico.

In the center of Tonala, two main avenues meet in a T. They are lined with shops, most of which sell the same things over and over: glassware, chairs, hand-painted Talavera pottery, assorted folk art, and some of the worst knickknacks you have ever laid eyes on. But hidden in the drab and dusty back streets are the fábricas, the workshops where families make furniture of wood and leather; where glass is blown, lamps are formed, and iron is forged. The thing is, these places are nearly impossible to discover on one's own.

So I'd made arrangements to get an overview with Salvador, who turned out to be a very nice guy but something of a novice in the job. Fortunately, the excellent staff at Quinta Don José--who regularly host hosts of new homeowners and visiting shopkeepers from all over--knew of a place that made tin lamparas, which was my real focus this trip.

I'd also mentioned in passing that I was looking for something to use as a dining room table. So the first place Salvador drove us was here:

Nope, nothing I wanted. I was back in the car in ninety seconds flat.

We meandered through a few narrow streets looking for an address which turned out to belong to this little shop.

We cast sidelong glances at each other. We were all pretty sure that I was not looking for a suit of armor, although the ax had a certain appeal. Salvador approached the young ladies sitting and chatting behind a little desk. One of them waved her arm apathetically out toward the street and down-the-block-ish. We trooped out the back door and in through another door and found this:

Let's put it in the category of "Now, That's More Like It!"

This is the fábrica and warehouse for the small front shop. The owner -- who talked on his cellphone the entire time we were there, even while on the ladder -- proceeded to take down each lamp I pointed to and carry it over to show me how it looked lit up. I wish the photo I'd taken of this procedure had turned out, but it didn't. Let me just tell you that he used a light bulb in a socket attached to a wire with no prong on the end--just two stripped wire ends which he poked into the two slits in the outlet. Looked a tad bit risky to us, but it worked well enough. 

I didn't choose this one, as the green was too garish for my tastes when lit up. It looks even more so as it is standing upon a mirror. I don't know why. Anyway, I did like the punched pattern in the tin sides and I may have him make it eventually with amber glass, which will probably take him around half an hour. 

He just laid the ones we liked right there on the floor.

Not that red octopus thing--we didn't choose that. But the piece in the front is a treat: a votive candle holder with an assortment of appeals one can make regarding money or travel, health, partnership, and other hot topics. You'll find it hanging behind one of the old doors in the casa someday...along with a can to put your coins in and a match to light a candle.  

I bought eleven ceiling lamps. He put sockets in them for me for a buck apiece. Given his wiring (or rather, non-wiring) behavior, I'm not sure that was such a swell idea. We'll see. He wrapped them up (still talking on the phone)...

...and we loaded them into Salvador's van.

It was time to pay the bill. Now, when you shop in pesos, everything has an extra zero on the end. You'd think I'd be used to that by now, but I'm not. So when people start with "three thousand...", I always get this little panic pang. Then I remember. Then I have to try to divide by 12.5. With that fairly decent (but not as good as it was) exchange rate, I paid three hundred dollars for my eleven lamparas. 

And another $13 for the votive candle wish-granter.

Not a bad price, if it works. I'll let you know.

÷    ÷    ÷

It's been a busy week, plus I have two of my favorite distractions visiting, so I'm cutting this short. Lots going on up at the casa--I'll fill you in next week!