Trip to Morelia

On Saturday afternoon I went with three other wwoofers to visit the city of Morelia, the capital of the state of Michoacan. We stayed just one night in the city and came back to the farm Sunday evening. Our first adventure occurred as we rode the public bus from the bus station to the city centre. A rather scruffy middle-aged man boarded the bus and sat across the aisle from us. He reached out his hand for a handshake and then a fist butt and concluded the gesture with a peace sign. He did this repeatedly while chatting away about American music and other unintelligible tidbits. At one point he offered us a cold beer. When we refused he opened it himself and, at the bus driver’s shaking finger, concealed the can under his shirt and began sipping. He reeked of paint and we concluded that, along with a strong affection for alcohol, he huffed paint. When he got off the bus the first thing he did was greet a passerby with his signature handshake.
The downtown of Morelia is gorgeous. It is very European like, full of grand plazas and giant cathedrals. The state government was sponsoring live music in the Plaza de Armas and all weekend the city was packed with Mexican tourists and locals. One of the wwoofers with us had a big beard and long dreadlocks and by the end of the weekend we decided that this look acted like a magic magnet for Morelian hippies. On Saturday night we were sitting contentedly in the main square watching the people stroll by when a group of young people approached us and invited us to a party. You could distinguish their alternativeness by their style; rather than crisp new jeans and slicked back hair they touted ragged sweaters and baggy pants. We accepted their invitation as they seemed nice enough and so spent the evening listening to the “leader” of the group give a monologue about the corrupt Mexican government, feelings, life, cultural exchange and other topics appropriate for a social rebel. On Sunday we were again sitting in the main square on the same bench as the night before when a group of grungy teenagers introduced themselves and began playing reggae and dancing. Later that afternoon, as we sat on the patio of a restaurant, a man with dreadlocks joined us and persistently attested to his affiliation with Ian (the dreadlocked wwoofer) due to their similar hairstyles. “We are of the same people” he insisted. Given this apparently deep connection he expected Ian to buy some little gem stones he carried in his pocket…or just give him some money.
But really the trip was wonderful and consisted of much more than just encounters with Morelia’s hippie wannabes. We rambled through El Mercado de Dolces, a market of sweets that was crammed with tables practically overflowing with candied fruit, dolce de leche, coconut sugar balls, nut brittles and any other delicious sweet you can imagine. We saw a giant aqueduct that runs through the city, a group of children practicing for a military marching band, a craft market, many churches, and ate scrumptious enchiladas, chiliquiles (layered tortilla strips with eggs, beans and a spicy green sauce) and sopa tarasca, a wonderful traditional soup.
On way back to the farm we ended up taking a taxi because the price worked out to about the same as the bus. The taxi driver got us to Patzcuaro (the nearest big town to the farm) in half the time that the bus took…He drove so fast we had to distract ourselves from watching the road and trust that his last minute lane changes and 110 km an hour tailgates would leave us all in one piece.
Remember the new wwoofer I mentioned who was the brunt of so much speculation? Well we were supposed to meet her in Patzcuaro and come back with her, via taxi, to the farm. But she wasn’t where she was supposed to be to meet us. This mishap made her already bad reputation with Lisa and Ian (the owners of the farm) even worse. When she finally did arrive at the farm (the poor girl had to take a taxi all by herself to the farm), of course we discovered that she is very nice and not deserving of any of the jokes that were made about her before she even arrived (although she is almost exactly how I imagined her to be…).