Tues. Feb. 20:
The next morning, we fly past palms and
evergreens and various flowering trees as we traverse the Coastal Highway. For
a while, we can see the Pacific from the road, but after a while, we have
turned away from it. We are on our way to the city of Colima, which is the
capital of the state of Colima.
We booked a two-day excursion from Pepé Tours, led by José
Gonzales. He picked us up promptly in a huge white van, which reminded us of
the vehicle we called “the bread truck” when we were in France. Of course, no
one much younger than our gang will remember the bread trucks of old. Just know
that they are huge. He could fit 14 people in it and we are only five, plus
José.
José is a slim, lively man with a great command of English
and a wicked sense of humour. We took to him at once.
As he drives, he talks about the natural gas pipeline that
has been coming into Manzanillo for at least as long as Maire and John have
been staying here (five years). It’s finally ready, simply awaiting the
President of Mexico to open it on March 21 with a grand flourish and
celebration. The gas will come from the Gulf of Mexico and the line was
constructed by a Canadian company.
The pipeline means a lot to Manzanillo, from cleaner air to
more energy for more projects. There are tons of improvements an expansions
being made to the harbour, for instance, which is already the largest in North
America. I can still picture the development from the vantage point of the
mountain yesterday.
We are driving along a new toll road, which curves around
the bay. Palms and evergreens and bushes are lush and partly flowering. José
explains that the winter months are kind of like our “autumn”; leaves fall and
the trees are comparatively bare of flowers. Some have begun already, though,
such as the primavera. In April, our street in Las Brisas will be covered in
red flowers from the “red flame” trees (also known as the Royal Poinciana).
Black sand beaches glint in the sun, as we follow the chain of volcanoes that
stretch from Central America to northern Mexico, including Mexico City. Colima
is the third largest state in the country. Its main crops are coconuts, limes,
sugar, and sea salt. Many of the crops were ruined in the October hurricane,
but they’re well on their way to recovery now. Colima City is the state
capital, as well as home to the largest Corona plant, yay!
Green waving stalks of sugar, flowering coffee bean plants,
row upon row of lime and papaya trees decorate our view as we drive along. A
fence around one farm of bushy limes is covered in bougainvillea: red, pink and
white bouquets of color.
We stop and look down upon a clay brick operation,
family-owned, where the red shapes are formed by hand. A huge oven cooks them
into rounded half cylinders for rooftops. José says they get about half a peso
per brick, despite the hours of work that goes into them.
We cross the Armeria
River, peer down from the winding highway at lagoons and trees, tiny shacks
with laundry hanging in the sun. Cows resting amid tall palm trees. Sugar cane,
which is now harvested by machine, wave long hairy green arms. Cement is a big
industry in this part of the state, with its soft limestone mountainsides.
These are part of the Sierra Madres, gorgeous undulating mountains of green.
Yaka is another popular fruit. We pass dozens of stands
selling everything, all appearing succulent and delicious in the freshness of
the day. As we get closer to Colima, watermelon and cantelope are also on
offer. We know how sweet these are from first hand experience. Agava plants dot
the roadsides – ahh, tequila!
The primavera trees are beginning to flower, their blossoms
a deep yellow or pink in the sunlight against an azure blue sky. Cacti strike a
straight backed pose along the folds of the hillsides.
Now we can see the twin volcanoes of Colima shimmering in
the distance. Here’s a tourist guide’s description from our favorite Internet
site (www.gomanzanillo.com): Driving north from Manzanillo, tourists will
always remember their first view of the majestic mountains of Colima. The inactive,
snow-capped Nevado de Colima, towering above 14,200 feet and its active
smoke-and lava-spewing partner, Volcan de Colima, at more than 13,488 feet
overlook a lush, forested valley and tranquil lake. Lake Maria is formed by
another extinct volcanic crater, and is said to be 2,000 ft. deep. We stop and
Vince snaps some fantastic photos. One of them shows a cloud that resembles an
enormous iguana. Ben’s gila monster in cloud formation!
You have to look closely through the haze to see the twins! |
Colima and its twin city of Alvarez hold nearly 250,000
people. The natives were the Aztecs, the last chief being Coliman, thus the
name of this beautiful place. Colimotes means “place of my grandfather”. The
enormous sculpture of the hairless dancing dogs (Perros de Colima Bailarines)
greets us at the outskirts. José says they herald good times and I am smitten
with the idea. The Shaman of the Aztecs would use them as symbols (and
sacrifices) to ask the gods for joyful times. One of the dogs gives a “Tony”
smile, just like my sister Chris’s dog.
We stop in the square where the Ave Maria church, the
government building, stores and restaurants, plus our hotel, surround a lush
Jardin. The church is partially constructed of volcanic rock and topped with
one enormous cupola and cross, and another smaller one. Our hotel is a Best Western,
the Ceballos Hotel, once owned by a family of that name. Its ornate balconies
look out over the Jardin and the square. We check in, where we discover that we
have two rooms side by side, with a lovely sitting room in between. All along
are the Romeo and Juliet style balconies.
The parade of horses has been postponed to tomorrow, so we
decide to go to Comala today instead. As we head toward the smaller village, we
pass an arena where cock fights still take place. People bet on the rooster of
their choice. Once the bets are in, the doors are closed and no one can leave
until everyone declares they are satisfied with the outcome. It is a fight to
the death. I try not to picture the blood and feathers or to imagine the smell
of such violence.
The town of Comala is known as Pueblo Blanco, the white
city, as it is renowned for every
house being covered in sparkling white paint. The streets are cobblestone,
which makes for a very bumpy ride as we traverse the narrow roadways. We pass
coffee plants, sporting white flowers, and here and there, a red bean signifies
it’s ready to be picked. Old wooden doors or grayish plaster walls hide the
lovely little courtyards within. José points out a door that harks from the 17th
Century. He says that no one really cares about the front of the houses; it’s
the courtyard and home that count. Comala is famous for a special coffee drink,
which we hope to try. It’s also lush with the parota, an exotic hardwood tree,
which is used for furniture, doors, cabinets, and even ceilings. It’s easily
carved and sanded into ornate decorations and shapes.
We stop for lunch at Don Camalon. We’ve been here before, so
we know what to expect, but it’s still an astonishing bounty. We are served at
least eight dishes before we say, “No mas”. The food comes with the beer and is
enough to make all six of us feel absolutely stuffed. José calls John a
comelon, which means “good eater” because he is able to put away more than the
rest of us.
Afterward we set off for Nogueras, the site of an art museum,
Centro Cultural Nogueras-Museo “Alejandro Rangel Hidalgo”. The buildings and
grounds used to be a hacienda, some parts of which are over 450 years old. The
chimney from the 17th Century sugar mill stands half crumbled above
the rooftop of the old church and buildings. José points out the tamarinds and
tells us the fruit from this tree makes a sweet sauce. Later, we find out that
he is absolutely right.
The hacienda shape is still evident. The master’s house
stands at the top of a square horseshoe, behind which were gardens, the mill,
and fields of whatever crop they grew. In front, forming the sides of the shoe,
a church and stores. Further on, the workers’ homes. José recounts how the
masters owned the only grocery store, so the workers would shop on credit.
Since they never made enough to pay it back, they were always in debt. St.
Peter doncha call me…
The church still exists, though it’s open only occasionally.
Now many of the places are artists’ shops and studios, or offices for the
University of Colima, perhaps homes for the professors.
The hacienda was purchased and remodeled by the artist
Alejandro Rangel Hidalgo, who lived and created here. He is famous for his
unique paintings, furniture design, and for collecting prehispanic antiquities.
We visit an old kitchen that has most of its accessories
preserved in their original form. John and Vince remember that their parents
used a variation of the “zarzo”, which hangs from the ceiling to keep food away
from animals.
Some of the furniture that Hidalgo designed is on display.
It’s exquisite. Lovely wood (parota?) with painted inlays, birds and flowers,
yellows and oranges and blues. Ornate carvings and interesting designs. We find
a book inside a glass case that’s signed to Alejandro – a friend of art and a
friend of mine in Spanish – from Diego Rivera. He and Freda Kahlo were frequent
visitors and contemporaries of Hildalgo and his wife. Hidalgo donated the
buildings and the grounds to the University of Colima. He died not that many
years ago.
After the museum and studio, we visit the Eco Parque. It’s
impossible to recount the number of trees, flowers and bushes that we enjoy,
all with the sound of the waterfall and waterways that are constructed on the
hillside. The pictures say it best. We sit for a while listening to the wind in
the bamboo making them click and groan, gasping at the beautiful yellow
primavera through green trees and blue sky.
On the way back to Colima, we visit a coffee manufacturing
business. It’s amazing to see the process and how much is done by hand. We
sample the delicious results. We are much closer to the volcanoes now and snap
more shots.
Colima’s own Magnetic Hill is next. José stops the van and
we walk it a bit, astounded. By sight, we’re going uphill, but it’s obviously
downhill, both because we feel it as we walk and because the car keeps going
even in neutral.
Heading back to the city, I am struck by all the sights:
clothes on hangers scattered over a barbed wire fence; plastic dolls in a
window, staring sightlessly through the wrought iron; a bull rests on someone’s
front lawn. A large house has an arch that announces, “Los Simpsons”. Chickens
peck in several yards. José shows us a drive-thru beer store. The Sierras glint in the sun and white
clouds.
Sculpted trees and bushes decorate the dancing dogs square
and roadsides. One of them is a human form that looks as though it is sliding,
arms raised, down the tree. It reminds me of the poem about sliding to the end
of your life calling YIPEE all the way.
Appropriately enough, when we return to the hotel, we are
just in time for a seniors’ club parade. The dancers are all older and some
very elderly. There are people in wheelchairs. The costumes are astonishing,
reds, blues, golds…every color and style imaginable. We dance on the balconies
and drink beer or margueritas. This activity makes for an early dinner and bed!
We sleep with the sounds of the church, the people in the square, and traffic
just outside our windows.
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