The writers' organization in Lake Chapala, Mexico, hosts an annual conference that's fairly ambitious but seems to be quite successful. They were kind enough to extend an invitation to me to be one of their presenters. This was enticing for a few reasons: the invitation had come through a lovely friend; Linny and I had long felt remiss in our lack of Spanish and lack of Latin American travel; and I needed a new pair of cowboy boots.
We began scoping out the area and could see that the lake is not terribly far from Guadalajara. The area around much of the lake is agricultural, i.e., produce such as raspberries for US grocers. The lake is Mexico's 2nd largest and it has considerable spiritual mojo. As you might imagine, there are lots of tributary stories in a culture evolved around a large lake in a high desert.
Our guides were several gracious folks. First, there was Herbert, who treated us like honored guests and showed us around Guadalajara, as well as introducing me to the writing cohort who worked so hard to make their conference valuable. One of the local writing champions put us up in Ajijic in a beautiful guest cottage behind their home. She also took us on a tour of the town, where she volunteers teaching English, and got me momentarily involved. That was embarrassing because my Spanish amounted to nada.
This was a pretty soft introduction to Mexico, which we ought to have already gotten to know. There was almost no language issue, and this was even true in Guadalajara. Someone always had more English than we had Spanish. And we were fortunate to have fluent guides. But we were reminded that our ignorance is part of our national arrogance. That's a long story.
Frankly, we'd had trepidations about meeting Mexico via taco stands in Portland and expats and snowbirds in Mexico, but we had some misconceptions about them, too. People move to other countries for an incredible number of reasons, just as we visit them and can imagine a life in them.
We were in for a treat with all the color and art. Ajijic was a lake resort for Guadalajara's elite long before it drew a population of Gringos. The setting is lovely and it's quite close to the big city. So the artists and others dependent on selling to the wealthy became its 2nd population.
In Ajijic we bought a print from Jesús López Vega, who was a friend of Joel Weinstein (d. 2008)—also a friend and fellow publisher (Mississippi Mud) in Portland. Vega has murals in government buildings in Portland that were commissioned when he lived there, one in the federal building and one in the main fire station. In Ajijic, he's an institution and has created institutions in his wake. His gallery is wonderful, but his contributions of public art and his support of new artists are truly exciting. In the photos, you'll see the enormous snake that stretches along a main street. You'll also see a couple of striking murals of the lady of the lake. One covers the walls and ceiling in the community center and the other is on the courtyard wall of a nearby home (I'm standing beside it in one photo). I don't think he painted the "rooster party" mural, but roosters are a recurrent theme in Mexico, though I now see them a lot, in general—maybe I wasn't paying attention.
When you get to the calf skulls, you're in Guadalajara. Art is everywhere there, too. Our friend Herbert took us to Tlaquepaque to visit the galleries in the famous neighborhood. A number of photos feature the sculptures of Bustamante, some of which are on the street near his shop, but sculptures and other public art are frequent in the city. There are plenty of street vendors and hustlers and bustlers and clowns and musicians, buskers and portraitists.
A big treat for me was going to Mercado Libertad, which is mostly called Mercado San Juan de Dios. It is an enormous market—the largest indoor market in Latin America at 40,000 sq. meters, which is nearly 10 acres. There is much more than one can imagine crammed inside and ready for you to buy it. The leather goods section was huge. Many small shops, often with specialities. I saw some boots I liked at one shop, but they didn't have my size. When I thanked them, the husband and wife implored me to let them find them for me. They did. Clearly the small vendors help the first one who has a customer ready to buy.
