Monday, April 21, 2003
Report from Real de Catorce (Mexico)
Real de Catorce is a fabulous place, with an intense, stark kind of beauty--but don't wait too long to visit, for it is on its way to becoming one of those places (like the Sunday market in Chichicastenango) of which people say, "Oh, I stopped going there because it became unbearably touristy." Perched 2,750 meters-9,000 feet up, in the north of the state of San Luis Potosí, Catorce is all stone and steepness--stone walls, stone buildings, cobblestone streets, stone sidewalks, everything steeply up- or downhill, including the kiosk-center plaza, nestled on a hillside. Always looming in the background is the Sierra Madre Oriental, an enormous, hulking presence. Nopal cactus abounds, and almost everything is brown or green, with the flowers on the nopales providing occasional touches of pink, orange, and yellowe. Horses are more plentiful than cars, and then there are the burros, which, unlike the quiet burros of Guanajuato, are frequently braying.
The town used to be a thriving mining center (silver, gold, and copper), with a population reaching 40,000 in the late 19th century. Possibly because of a drop in the price of silver, it went into total decline, becoming almost a ghost town, now has a population no more than 1,000. The "Catorce" in the name, according to a friend who was born there, refers to 14 escaped prisoners who discovered silver in the embers of their campfire. "Real" comes from the colonial name, Villa Real de Minas de Nuestra Señora bla bla bla (9 words) de Catorce.
Some of the town's tourist-oriented aspects are positive, such as the attractive and new-looking street signs and the bilingual explanatory signboards at the two churches and other points of interest. And whereas the 2000 edition of Lonely Planet says there was only one phone in town, now you can call or fax your hotel to make a reservation, and you can even check your email at two little cybercafés tucked into artesanía shops (one has only one computer but has the advantage that its home page is La Jornada).
The less attractive aspects of the town's tourist orientation include a double row of puestos running along the east end of the main street, featuring T-shirts, dulces (said to come from San Miguel!), religious pictures, and general schlock. Along the street facing one side of the plaza the hippie version of ambulantaje has taken hold, with the usual jewelry and tie-dyed clothing. More of the same is sold in the innumerable artesanía shops, though if you look hard you can find Huichol beadwork in the form of animals, bowls, and masks.
Services of daily life are somewhat lopsided. There are no taxis, there is no bank, there is no newsstand (there is a man who delivers the San Luis Potosí paper, and I was able to read the copy of the owner of the minisuper after he finished), as far as I could discover there is no farmacia or papelería--but there are four Italian restaurants. (The owner of my hotel claimed that some of the owners are dealing drugs.)
What to do in Catorce? Most visitors seem to end up on horseback, and I turned down innumerable pitches to do a paseo a caballo. My interest being photography, I found being on a horse incompatible with composing halfway decent photos, so I opted for a jeep, which are for hire along the main street opposite the Parroquia. I explained my interest in going up to a point where I could shoot a panoramic view of the town, and the driver said, "Pueblo Fantasmo," a place I had heard of but which a muchacho at my hotel had said was only accessible on horseback. We got there and back, but with much knotting of the stomach on my part--the camino was a jumble or rocks, and we frequently were going up (or down coming back) at something like a 70-degree angle and then had to go around a curve. The jeep was ancient, and my door closed with a bolt. In any event, the view of the town was indeed panoramic, and the ruins of Pueblo Fantasmo were quite photogenic. (The excursion set me back 400 pesos.)
Walking around in town, the Parroquia is worth a visit for the room to the left of the altar full of retablos addressed to San Francisco de Asis, whose imagen in the church is said to possess miraculous powers. These are small drawings or paintings, generally depicting St. Francis and people kneeling, along with an explanation of the miracle for which one is thanking him--frequently undergoing surgery successfully, in one case, copy of report card furnished, getting good grades.
The town's other church is out by its pretty cemetary, 10 minutes north of the plaza, a striking white presence against the brown mountains. On the other side of the road are the remnants of a bullring. On the way back to town is an elegant stone cock-fighting ring (palenque de gallos). Across from the Parroquia is the Casa de Moneda, currently being restored, where money was minted for 14 months starting in 1865. There is said to be a museum down below, but it apparently rarely opens and its entrance isn't marked.
I got to Catorce for Semana Santa more or less by accident. When I was first planning the trip, I decided that if I was going to be at 9,000 feet, I wanted to be there at the warmest time of the year, namely April, which it then occurred to me included Semana Santa, so--to avoid traveling when everyone else was--I arrived the day before Palm Sunday and left the day after Easter.
For Domingo de Ramos, townfolk gather with their palms--mostly leafy branches really--at a point near the cemetary, where the priest says a few words, blesses the palms (dipping his in a bucket of ordinary water), and then Jesus on a burro gets into line following little girls in white dresses, the 12 apostles follow him, and the townsfolk bring up the rear as the procession moves into town.
The next Semana Santa event comes Thursday night, a re-enactment of the Last Supper on a platform erected opposite the plaza, following which Jesus prays by the fountain by the side of the Parroquia, is betrayed, and is captured by an ample number of Roman soldiers, who hold back an angry mob.
Good Friday features the Via Crucis Vivente. Jesus is tried before Pontius Pilate and a noisy mob, held in check by Roman soldiers, at the landing by the entrance to the Casa de Moneda, then sent to Herold, on a long balcony up the (uphill) street, then back to Pontius Pilate, who gives in to the mob and washes his hands. Jesus is then whipped (the whip has what looks like blood on it to start with, but it makes contact with his back) and integrated into a procession--two Roman soldiers on horseback, the two thieves with logs across their shoulders and men whipping them, Jesus accompanied by Roman soldiers and a man whipping him, the mob--for a mile or so to a clearing past the cemetary. Jesus and the thieves are barefoot, which must be painful on the extremely irregular cobblestones, but Jesus is relieved of the cross occasionally and isn't carrying it when he arrives at the clearing, where three crosses are lying on the ground, each outfitted with a ledge to sit on and another to use as a footrest. The hands are tied with rope and an attractive cord goes around the waist. The crosses are raised by ropes attached to the cross bars, which are then removed. Jesus stays on the cross only long enough to utter his last words with brief pauses in between, then drops his head.
Several men in white then come to the cross and take Jesus down, mostly using a long rectangular cloth as a sling, and lay him on the ground, where the two Marys mourn him. Then he is carried off on an improvised stretcher back towards town. Two printed programs I had seen said that the burial was to take place at the palenque de gallos, but the much-reduced procession passes it by and goes into the Parroquia--an anachronism of 2,000 years--where the stretcher is placed on the floor of the aisle in front of the altar. I see a man who has been directing things sitting in a pew and ask him if something will be happening at the palenque de gallos, and he says they will be going there after five minutes of "reflection." A priest appears on the altar and starts speaking, at which point I succumb to being sweaty and hungry--it is now after 2, about two and a half hours after things started (well behind schedule), and I have shot almost three rolls of film--and go off to an Italian restaurant. On the way back to my hotel I stop by the palenque de gallos, where there is a large, rather amorphous-shaped white object, looking to be made of fiberglass, placed vertically in an opening up in the stands.
The Resurrection, oddly enough, is staged Saturday night. At first I thought maybe this schedule was so as not to detract from the cockfight being held at 2 p.m. Sunday (I did NOT go!), but it turned out that the religious powers that be had decided to merge the Resurrection with a kind of vigil service that I had encountered during my first Semana Santa in Antigua (Guatemala). This service starts out of doors, priest and congregants gathered around a fire, the priest says a few words and then lights a very large candle at the fire, the parishoners do the same with the candles they have brought, and all enter the church, which is totally dark. A lovely effect, but as a nonbeliever it struck me as esthetically very unsatisfying to combine a vigil based on someone's death with his coming back to life, and I should think for a believer it would make even less sense. In any event, a fire has been lit in the center of the ring of the palenque de gallos, the priest notes that Catorce is one of the few places that does a re-enactment of the Resurrection, then the large blob that I had seen the day before, evidently intended to be a stone covering the grave, falls with a thud, the Roman soldiers who had been standing nearby prostrate themselves, and Jesus walks out and says a few words to Mary. Then the priest takes over, lights his candle, and conducts a prayer, after which folks file out, lighting their candles, and head down toward the Parroquia--at which I head back to my hotel.
Before coming to Catorce, I had wondered whether I would suffer from the cold at 9,000 feet, but April turns out to be the right month to come for avoiding that problem. Most of the time it was quite warm, even quite hot at midday. The sun was intense, and the afternoon light in my hotel room was radiant. (During the rainy season the surroundings are undoubtedly greener, but I would hate to have to execute the steep streets when the rough stones that pave them are wet.) The one effect I noted of the altitude was that it made me a napper, which I'm not in Guanajuato; I was generally quite tired by mid-afternoon.
Logistics: Being carless, my trip to Catorce involved first going to San Luis Potosí, the capital city, where I spent two nights, enjoying its spacious plazas (two with gorgeous fountains) and pedestrian-only streets and shooting two rolls of film. Then it was on to Matehaula, two and a half hours away, and from there taking a second bus for an hour and a half to Catorce. That bus drops its passengers on the far side of the Ogarrio tunnel, a narrow space through a mountain, created, I was told, by two rich families in the 18th century who were working on separate tunnels from opposite ends--without the aid of dynamite--which happened to meet in the center. This final stage involves changing to a minibus for the almost-three-kilometer ride through the (one-way) tunnel and then hiring a muchacho to carry your bag to your hotel.
I'm now back in San Luis for one night, my trip back much simplified because the owner of my hotel, who was going to drive me to the tunnel, drove me to Matehaula instead, without charge, worth 300 pesos as a taxi ride. From here I'm taking a detour tomorrow to el DF for four nights before going home to Guanajuato, to develop my 16 rolls of exposed film, hopefully have some enlargements made, stock up on provisions like green tea, and enjoy the city.
The town used to be a thriving mining center (silver, gold, and copper), with a population reaching 40,000 in the late 19th century. Possibly because of a drop in the price of silver, it went into total decline, becoming almost a ghost town, now has a population no more than 1,000. The "Catorce" in the name, according to a friend who was born there, refers to 14 escaped prisoners who discovered silver in the embers of their campfire. "Real" comes from the colonial name, Villa Real de Minas de Nuestra Señora bla bla bla (9 words) de Catorce.
Some of the town's tourist-oriented aspects are positive, such as the attractive and new-looking street signs and the bilingual explanatory signboards at the two churches and other points of interest. And whereas the 2000 edition of Lonely Planet says there was only one phone in town, now you can call or fax your hotel to make a reservation, and you can even check your email at two little cybercafés tucked into artesanía shops (one has only one computer but has the advantage that its home page is La Jornada).
The less attractive aspects of the town's tourist orientation include a double row of puestos running along the east end of the main street, featuring T-shirts, dulces (said to come from San Miguel!), religious pictures, and general schlock. Along the street facing one side of the plaza the hippie version of ambulantaje has taken hold, with the usual jewelry and tie-dyed clothing. More of the same is sold in the innumerable artesanía shops, though if you look hard you can find Huichol beadwork in the form of animals, bowls, and masks.
Services of daily life are somewhat lopsided. There are no taxis, there is no bank, there is no newsstand (there is a man who delivers the San Luis Potosí paper, and I was able to read the copy of the owner of the minisuper after he finished), as far as I could discover there is no farmacia or papelería--but there are four Italian restaurants. (The owner of my hotel claimed that some of the owners are dealing drugs.)
What to do in Catorce? Most visitors seem to end up on horseback, and I turned down innumerable pitches to do a paseo a caballo. My interest being photography, I found being on a horse incompatible with composing halfway decent photos, so I opted for a jeep, which are for hire along the main street opposite the Parroquia. I explained my interest in going up to a point where I could shoot a panoramic view of the town, and the driver said, "Pueblo Fantasmo," a place I had heard of but which a muchacho at my hotel had said was only accessible on horseback. We got there and back, but with much knotting of the stomach on my part--the camino was a jumble or rocks, and we frequently were going up (or down coming back) at something like a 70-degree angle and then had to go around a curve. The jeep was ancient, and my door closed with a bolt. In any event, the view of the town was indeed panoramic, and the ruins of Pueblo Fantasmo were quite photogenic. (The excursion set me back 400 pesos.)
Walking around in town, the Parroquia is worth a visit for the room to the left of the altar full of retablos addressed to San Francisco de Asis, whose imagen in the church is said to possess miraculous powers. These are small drawings or paintings, generally depicting St. Francis and people kneeling, along with an explanation of the miracle for which one is thanking him--frequently undergoing surgery successfully, in one case, copy of report card furnished, getting good grades.
The town's other church is out by its pretty cemetary, 10 minutes north of the plaza, a striking white presence against the brown mountains. On the other side of the road are the remnants of a bullring. On the way back to town is an elegant stone cock-fighting ring (palenque de gallos). Across from the Parroquia is the Casa de Moneda, currently being restored, where money was minted for 14 months starting in 1865. There is said to be a museum down below, but it apparently rarely opens and its entrance isn't marked.
I got to Catorce for Semana Santa more or less by accident. When I was first planning the trip, I decided that if I was going to be at 9,000 feet, I wanted to be there at the warmest time of the year, namely April, which it then occurred to me included Semana Santa, so--to avoid traveling when everyone else was--I arrived the day before Palm Sunday and left the day after Easter.
For Domingo de Ramos, townfolk gather with their palms--mostly leafy branches really--at a point near the cemetary, where the priest says a few words, blesses the palms (dipping his in a bucket of ordinary water), and then Jesus on a burro gets into line following little girls in white dresses, the 12 apostles follow him, and the townsfolk bring up the rear as the procession moves into town.
The next Semana Santa event comes Thursday night, a re-enactment of the Last Supper on a platform erected opposite the plaza, following which Jesus prays by the fountain by the side of the Parroquia, is betrayed, and is captured by an ample number of Roman soldiers, who hold back an angry mob.
Good Friday features the Via Crucis Vivente. Jesus is tried before Pontius Pilate and a noisy mob, held in check by Roman soldiers, at the landing by the entrance to the Casa de Moneda, then sent to Herold, on a long balcony up the (uphill) street, then back to Pontius Pilate, who gives in to the mob and washes his hands. Jesus is then whipped (the whip has what looks like blood on it to start with, but it makes contact with his back) and integrated into a procession--two Roman soldiers on horseback, the two thieves with logs across their shoulders and men whipping them, Jesus accompanied by Roman soldiers and a man whipping him, the mob--for a mile or so to a clearing past the cemetary. Jesus and the thieves are barefoot, which must be painful on the extremely irregular cobblestones, but Jesus is relieved of the cross occasionally and isn't carrying it when he arrives at the clearing, where three crosses are lying on the ground, each outfitted with a ledge to sit on and another to use as a footrest. The hands are tied with rope and an attractive cord goes around the waist. The crosses are raised by ropes attached to the cross bars, which are then removed. Jesus stays on the cross only long enough to utter his last words with brief pauses in between, then drops his head.
Several men in white then come to the cross and take Jesus down, mostly using a long rectangular cloth as a sling, and lay him on the ground, where the two Marys mourn him. Then he is carried off on an improvised stretcher back towards town. Two printed programs I had seen said that the burial was to take place at the palenque de gallos, but the much-reduced procession passes it by and goes into the Parroquia--an anachronism of 2,000 years--where the stretcher is placed on the floor of the aisle in front of the altar. I see a man who has been directing things sitting in a pew and ask him if something will be happening at the palenque de gallos, and he says they will be going there after five minutes of "reflection." A priest appears on the altar and starts speaking, at which point I succumb to being sweaty and hungry--it is now after 2, about two and a half hours after things started (well behind schedule), and I have shot almost three rolls of film--and go off to an Italian restaurant. On the way back to my hotel I stop by the palenque de gallos, where there is a large, rather amorphous-shaped white object, looking to be made of fiberglass, placed vertically in an opening up in the stands.
The Resurrection, oddly enough, is staged Saturday night. At first I thought maybe this schedule was so as not to detract from the cockfight being held at 2 p.m. Sunday (I did NOT go!), but it turned out that the religious powers that be had decided to merge the Resurrection with a kind of vigil service that I had encountered during my first Semana Santa in Antigua (Guatemala). This service starts out of doors, priest and congregants gathered around a fire, the priest says a few words and then lights a very large candle at the fire, the parishoners do the same with the candles they have brought, and all enter the church, which is totally dark. A lovely effect, but as a nonbeliever it struck me as esthetically very unsatisfying to combine a vigil based on someone's death with his coming back to life, and I should think for a believer it would make even less sense. In any event, a fire has been lit in the center of the ring of the palenque de gallos, the priest notes that Catorce is one of the few places that does a re-enactment of the Resurrection, then the large blob that I had seen the day before, evidently intended to be a stone covering the grave, falls with a thud, the Roman soldiers who had been standing nearby prostrate themselves, and Jesus walks out and says a few words to Mary. Then the priest takes over, lights his candle, and conducts a prayer, after which folks file out, lighting their candles, and head down toward the Parroquia--at which I head back to my hotel.
Before coming to Catorce, I had wondered whether I would suffer from the cold at 9,000 feet, but April turns out to be the right month to come for avoiding that problem. Most of the time it was quite warm, even quite hot at midday. The sun was intense, and the afternoon light in my hotel room was radiant. (During the rainy season the surroundings are undoubtedly greener, but I would hate to have to execute the steep streets when the rough stones that pave them are wet.) The one effect I noted of the altitude was that it made me a napper, which I'm not in Guanajuato; I was generally quite tired by mid-afternoon.
Logistics: Being carless, my trip to Catorce involved first going to San Luis Potosí, the capital city, where I spent two nights, enjoying its spacious plazas (two with gorgeous fountains) and pedestrian-only streets and shooting two rolls of film. Then it was on to Matehaula, two and a half hours away, and from there taking a second bus for an hour and a half to Catorce. That bus drops its passengers on the far side of the Ogarrio tunnel, a narrow space through a mountain, created, I was told, by two rich families in the 18th century who were working on separate tunnels from opposite ends--without the aid of dynamite--which happened to meet in the center. This final stage involves changing to a minibus for the almost-three-kilometer ride through the (one-way) tunnel and then hiring a muchacho to carry your bag to your hotel.
I'm now back in San Luis for one night, my trip back much simplified because the owner of my hotel, who was going to drive me to the tunnel, drove me to Matehaula instead, without charge, worth 300 pesos as a taxi ride. From here I'm taking a detour tomorrow to el DF for four nights before going home to Guanajuato, to develop my 16 rolls of exposed film, hopefully have some enlargements made, stock up on provisions like green tea, and enjoy the city.
