Revolution central
10/12/2009 at 21:53 from (19.85, -101.033333)
The next day, we set out in search of new accommodations. Hotel Señorial had served its purpose as a place to crash for the night, but we figured that, for marginally more money, we could find a nicer place that was closer to the sights. Max had a place picked out, so we lugged our packs down several blocks, past the film festival and the Plaza de las Rosas, to the hotel that would serve as our home for the next week: Hotel Colonial.
The hotel was a lovely, restored colonial mansion, situated around an atrium at its center, which served as an open lobby. The staff was pleasant and the rooms, though a bit pricier than the previous night's (~USD$60 per night), were still very reasonable, especially when split three ways. We enjoyed a room overlooking the lobby, with an excellent bathroom (and shower!) and clean, comfortable beds. Perhaps best of all, though, was that the cathedral and the rest of the plaza was only a short walk away.
We settled in, moved our bags to their new homes, and then prepared for a day of sightseeing. We swung by the plaza briefly to brag to Marijana about what she had missed the night before, then walked to a nearby juice shop, where we ordered some sandwiches and, finally, indulged in some of our first fruit since we left Mazatlán, in smoothie form. The drinks were delicious, and I was so hungry that I hardly tasted my sandwich.
Morelia, in addition to being drenched in colonial architecture, seems to have adopted rebellion as its primary export. Almost every time we walked past the Avenido Madero, which was five or six times daily, there was either a public festival commemorating past revolutions or a demonstration demanding new ones. This day would prove to be no exception. We picked our way gingerly through a student protest demanding equal treatment for indigenous peoples. We moved through as quickly as possible, since we were keenly aware that, a year earlier and on this very street, conservative terrorists had thrown hand grenades into a similar march, killing several bystanders.
SIDEBAR:
We probably had no need to worry, considering the heightened police presence. In fact, one of our first impressions of Mexico was that the police here make their presence known. Every few minutes, a truckload of men in uniform, carrying assault rifles, would round a street corner near us. And as we moved further south, the sheer number of these encounters rose dramatically.
We didn't think much of the show of force in Nogales, and hardly noticed it at all in Mazatlán. After our first few days in San Blas, the stream of men with guns began to rattle our nerves a bit. But Morelia topped them all. Every manner of police officer -- traffic, municipal, state, federal, even tourist cops -- carried a very large, very visible weapon. Furthermore, trucks laden with masked men dressed in bullet-proof vests were not uncommon, adding to our anxiety.
The message the Mexican government wants to get across, it seems, is that it is in control, and that it posesses the means to win any battle. The people we talked with, however, seemed to agree with us that, more than anything, the constant signs of hostility only heightened the sense of agitation, subconsciously hinting at a lack of trust and the threat of violence. After all, there's nothing calming about a man with a gun.
Once we had made our way through the protest, we began wandering around, exploring the wealth of sights and sounds and smells and tastes that downtown Morelia has on offer. We passed a number of historical sites (which are as common as street lamps) on our way to the Mercado de Dulces, Morelia's sweets market.
The market isn't strictly reserved for sweets, and a number of artesenia (handicrafts) vendors also operate out of the small, nearly vertical stalls. That didn't mean, though, that there weren't plenty of sweets on hand. Every other stall was filled near to bursting with sugar in every shape, color, and size imaginable. We purchased some candied fruit and a little coin purse for Marijana, then moved on.
After a lot of walking around, immersing ourselves in history, we headed back to the hotel for some rest. In the afternoon, we set out again in search of food, this time heading to the Augustinian cloister, where a long row of vendors hassled passersby, insisting that their food is better than that of their neighbors. We fell for one stall's pitch, and, as soon as we were seated, were summarily ignored.
With the personality of a damp sock, the woman eventually took our order, reheated some food, and passed us three warm plates. Marijana's fried potatoes and chicken were less than admirable, bland and soggy. I ordered three tamales: one roja (red), one verde (green), and one dulce (candy). The green was OK, the red was better, and the dulce (which turned out to be pink) was too sweet, essentially a block of sugar. In all, a rather ho-hum street food experience, and quite a step down from our previous encounters.
Our stomachs full, we wandered over to the cathedral, venturing inside to soak up the atmosphere of Morelia's crown jewel. It's even more impressive on the inside than it was from the outside. Its interior is dark, cavernous, and utterly silent. Massive paintings hang above doorways leading to secondary chapels. Huge chandeliers struggled to cast even a dim light in such a space, and behind us, dominating the balcony at the rear of the church, sat the imposing hulk of an organ, its pipes extending all the way to the upper reaches of the ceiling, from wall to wall.
We started back for the hotel, took in a movie, and drifted off to sleep, one by one.