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April 17, 2004
Exchange rate: $1 = about 11 pesos
Taxco is a city of about 50,000 that's less than three hours from Mexico City (DF). I
was still traveling over my spring break with my friend Tina (see last edition), and after a few days in DF we
took a bus south out of Terminal Sur, a one-way ticket costing 96 pesos. The reason we'd opted to visit Taxco was
its reputation as a picturesque, colonial city that'd be a marked and welcome contrast to the immensity and busyness
of DF, a metropolis of over 20,000,000. It would indeed live up to its reputation, though in some ways it would
be even more hectic than DF due to the hordes of tourists that poured in for Semana Santa (Holy Week)…probably
many of them from DF!
We arrived on Wednesday, a bit concerned about the prospects of finding a place to sleep since friends of mine
in Zamora had already been unsuccessful trying to make reservations for that week. As a general rule it's not my
style to pre-book a room as doing so severely limits my flexibility as a traveler, knowing that I must then be
in a certain place at a certain date in order to guarantee that I have a bed to sleep in. In all my travels I've
never been unable to find adequate accommodation, though I must admit that in a few cases it's been a bit of a
hassle. While in DF a very sweet woman working at the San Antonio Hotel kindly offered to call ahead for us, but
couldn't get through via phone. So we were crossing our fingers and hoping we'd have positive "travel karma"
going for us that day.
Once our bus (Estella de Oro) pulled into the station in Taxco a man from Tourist Information immediately approached
us and asked 1) if we wanted a hotel, and 2) what our budget was? He then made a phone call and no more than ten
minutes later Tina and I were checking into Hotel Casa Grande. Done… easy as pie. Then I recalled how three years
ago my son Matt and I were repeatedly cautioned against going to Seville in Spain during Semana Santa, "ALL
the rooms have been filled up for months now!" we'd been repeatedly warned. In that case, once Matt and I
got to Seville it took us less than thirty minutes to get a room, and a beautiful and reasonably priced one at
that!
In all candor I cannot recommend the Hotel Casa Grande. It was priced well enough (230 pesos for a double) and
very conveniently located, but was very noisy (and I mean VERY) and the shared bathrooms were beyond disgusting…on
par with some I'd regretfully encountered in rural Asia and Africa!
Located 160km southwest of DF, Taxco is a former silver mining town that's squeezed down into a ravine, clinging
to steep hillsides. Conquering Spaniards looking for tin established a mine and the town in 1531. While succeeding
in extracting modest quantities of that metal they stumbled upon tremendous lodes of silver. However these were
soon emptied, the town virtually abandoned, and not until two centuries later in 1743 was more discovered by a
certain Don Jose de la Borda - a man who would figure heavily in Taxco's future. But that silver was also soon
gone and the town became quiet and poor once again until 1929 when an American named William Spratling showed up
and set up a jewelry workshop. The end result of his presence and influence has been the immergence of an attractive
city full of silversmiths, workshops and hundreds of jewelry stores (platerias). If you're into silver jewelry
then this is where you want to go shopping! I dare you  to go there and try to not buy anything! Just try!
The federal government has declared Taxco a national monument, so laws preserve the traditional colonial style.
It's a gorgeous city and wandering the narrow cobblestone streets as they twist and turn between the well-worn
buildings is a joy. I particularly liked the mercado (market) which, due to the vertical nature of the town, takes
you up and down as much as it does horizontally. It is the ultimate shopping labyrinth! In the bowels of this bewildering
maze of lanes and shops Tina and I found and ate our lunch: for me a chicken mole with rice that was to die for
(do people still use that expression?), plus a large glass of freshly squeezed and blended banana/orange juice…
all for a mere 26 pesos! But that's because we were eating where locals eat, not tourists.
Plaza Borda is the zocalo (main square) and Parroquia de Santa Prisca is its major landmark. This is a church that
is difficult to ignore due to its gaudy Romanesque design with rose colored stone and elaborately sculpted figures
covering a massive Churrigueresque style facade. The inside is similarly overdone with gold being the dominant
theme and it contains several paintings by Miguel Cabrera - one of Mexico's greatest colonial religious artists.
Senor Borda had it built between 1751 and 1758 and its outrageous ostentatiousness nearly bankrupted him. He was
quoted as saying, "Dios da a Borda, Borda da a Dios ("God gives to Borda, Borda gives to God.").
 I enjoyed hanging out in the zocalo as it was a relatively calm hub in an ongoing web of
activity. In the shadow of Parroquia de Santa Prisca's twin towers I sat on the wrought iron benches, read and
watched all the goings on. Most of the tourists there were Mexicans, though a few easily noticeable gringos passed
through. One of those that Tina and I met and hung out with for a while was Winni, a German chap in his late 30s
who'd been pedaling around Mexico for months. The ultimate indomitable cyclist, he'd cycled at length on every
continent but Antarctica (including eight countries in Africa on one trip, going from Namibia to Zanzibar in Tanzania)!
He'd had more than just a few adventures along the way… in fact on this trip had been robbed at gunpoint while
camping in the southern region of Chiapas - but shrugged it off as only an inconvenience. Typically, Winni works
for a year to year-and-a-half and then takes off for six months or more. As I write this he's now pedaling in the
Yucatan area before he flies home and proposes to his girlfriend, who he's cycling around Australia with next year.
We'd arrived in Taxco on early Wednesday afternoon, just as Semana Santa was really building up steam. We were
then only two days away from Good Friday, supposedly a day when Jesus was paraded through Jerusalem and subsequently
hung from the cross. So devout Catholics were busily at work displaying their willingness to physically abuse themselves
as their way of saying thanks. Yep… say hello to The Procession.
The Procession is THE big event during Semana Santa, and as implied, involves groups of participants solemnly filing
through the streets. There was a printed schedule and it was meticulously organized with various churches and groups
each carrying a heavy wooden platform laden down with either statues of Jesus on the crucifix, or photos or other
religious forms. Huddled around it would be a few dozen somber parishioners, sometimes with flickering candles.
A handful of "musicians" played drums and violins, generating a slow repetitive melody and rhythm that
droned on and on. Additionally, specific devotees took on other various tasks.
Sometimes these were groups of women dressed in black, severely crouched over and silently dragging chains. They
were hooded and walking barefoot, as were the groups of men who specialized in individually lugging along exceptionally
burdensome objects. Some carried large bundles of cactus: long tightly wrapped stalks which were strapped to each
man's extended arms. Each lugged this very heavy (I tested it!) and exceedingly prickly load up and down serpentine
cobbled streets that weren't always that easy to navigate even under the best of circumstances. They were a strange
site with black hoods, bare chests and usually huge bellies hanging out, plus black shawls wrapped like skirts
around their lower bodies down to their bare feet.
Within each cluster of devotees would be at least a dozen or more men who would volunteer (presumably!) for this
daunting task. Additionally a few men, similarly dressed, bore a large wooden cross across their shoulders. Unique
about them was their added self-flagellation: at times the entire procession would stop, whereupon these guys would
drop to their knees and proceed to whip themselves. In their right hand would be a short whip with two extensions,
each with ends containing razor sharp thorns causing two large somewhat circular wounds on their back that slowly
dripped blood. The whole scene was macabre, to say the least…so much so that I half expected to spot either Marilyn
Manson or the Marques de Sade hanging out! What we did NOT see were any priests or nuns. Not a one anywhere!
Usually you'd be walking along, poking your nose in and out shops, when you'd step out and find yourself smack
dab in another procession. You'd be lightly pressed against a store front or stone wall as participants glumly
shuffled past. There wasn't much sense in trying to go anywhere as it was slow going at best - better to just watch
the spectacle, and it was initially captivating. The images and sounds, the whole spectacle was remarkable. Cameras
of all kinds would be in action, occasionally with some guy brazenly darting out for that "precious close
up", which tended to break the mood, of course. But then there were also plenty of peddlers casually jostling
their way through, trying to sell all that stuff that no sane person would ever want. It was a bizarre collage
of intentions!
And then it'd be over for a while and you could just mosey around town, wandering aimlessly, exploring nooks and
crannies. Taxco is a nice place to be out of doors in. At an elevation of 1800 meters (5900 feet) the weather is
arid and warm in spring and we enjoyed our strolls, randomly ducking into a silver shop here and there to check
out the jewelry and chat with those working inside. Terraced cafes with beautiful views abound and we'd sit and
converse over a meal and/or beverage, sometimes joined by typically amicable Mexicans who we'd met. These were
havens of a sort, away from the growing bustle we were finding in the narrow streets as the week progressed.
By Friday, Tina and I had had about all of the procession scene we could handle! Partly because it was becoming
"same old, same old"… nothing new. But another reason was that we were finding it to be distasteful and
pointless. Tina, having grown up in an almost totally secular environment in Germany and the U.S., was appalled
at these ritualistic acts that for us bore little resemblance to anything we perceived as genuinely spiritual.
Plus, she abhors the sight of blood. I abhor blind, mindless ritual… especially when it's accompanied by crass
commercialism! Several days later on Easter Sunday a woman at Basilica de Guadalupe back in DF would tell me, "Sacrifice
is something that needs to be done on the inside… not on the outside. These people do not understand this."
Can we get a rousing "amen" here?!?
I consider myself a spiritual person while at the same time steadfastly maintaining that most of religion is a
complete hoax, and a cruel one at that. Historically, it's been primarily a tool of manipulation and control by
those in power. And how many stupid superstitions persevere generation after generation without fail, forever trapping
those who follow them in self-righteous arrogance and stupidity. This criticism isn't meant to be directed solely
towards the Catholic Church, though in 2000 years it's surely managed to accumulate a sizable portfolio of hypocrisy
and murder in the name of God. No… every major religion is to blame… they've ALL drifted into their own politics
cloaked in piety, to some extent at least.
Since the processions wound their way through the city's central area, Tina and I headed away from it all and were
soon ascending our way more and more steeply towards the huge crucifix we'd previously seen looming high above
the town and valley. This section of Taxco tenaciously clings to a ravine's sheer walls and more than once had
us puffing a bit as we wove our way upward. Red-roofed, white-washed buildings were haphazardly squeezed together
and piled on top of each other, a creative solution to an atypical architectural challenge. Some had petite metal
balconies that offered a chance to sip cups of morning java while taking in heart-stopping panoramas. I wanted
to live there.
Tiny abarrotes (general stores) peaked out at us and locals strolled along as if walking at a 40 degree angle was
normal…obviously it was. Despite both of us being active we needed to pause at times to catch our breath. Sometimes
we were on streets so narrow we'd have to quickly step into a store to make room for a vehicle to pass, and sometimes
we  were
shortcutting through people's backyards, construction sites or a silent schoolyard. There isn't really a specific
path to the hilltop though many visitors go there. The reason is simple: few visitors WALK there… especially in
the mid-day heat! Most people drive or take a public transport, but we'd been up for a walk and were ultimately
glad for that.
Near the summit a motley looking pair of young boys attached themselves to Tina and me and then boldly informed
us that we needed their help. Without our prompting they steered us off the street and up a twisting dirt path
that seemed headed toward the big cross we'd kept seeing while climbing, beckoning us with its imposing presence.
We gave them a few pesos (which they surely looked liked they could use) even though I was more than slightly dubious
about the veracity of what we'd been told, especially when struggling upwards involved climbing over a barbwire
fence. "This can't be the best way to get there!" I recall murmuring.
Best way or not, we eventually reached our goal and the payoff vista and relative seclusion at the top was idyllic.
We parked our asses in the luscious shade of a towering pine tree. We could easily see and hear all the lively
activity far, far  below us, but focused instead on the solitude and cool breeze we were experiencing as we
gazed over the colorful city, rolling hills, and the distant and impressive volcanic peaks Popocatepetl (5452m)
and Iztaccihuatl (5286m) - both brilliantly draped with shimmering snow.
After three nights in Taxco we would return to Mexico City, wondering what it would be like to have been there
when it was quieter and less crowded. It is an enchanting place, slightly reminiscent of Guanajuato, located farther
north - both are former mining towns with ample charms. Before departing though, Tina and I did buy some jewelry
in Taxco… it IS magnificent, well priced and hard to resist!
"Have fun while ya can, cause fate's an awful thing."
- BB King -
Until our next visit...
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------------Eddie/Eduardo