El Asadero Restaurant

Over the years, I have enjoyed many a meal at El Asadero, across from Mansión de los Sueños, just off Plaza Grande. I like picking exactly what I want and my custom plate is then brought to my table. There is usually a vegetable or two.They tell me that I am more likely to find vegetables during the week because on week-ends people come from the campo to town and they want to eat meat. Pleasant and economically priced.

Be close to El Asadero.

Like to eat?

Snoozing

Catching zzzz’s, waiting, still waiting…

Morning Serenade

I love morning sounds—and I do like El Ga-a-a-a-a-z, a typical Pátzcuaro morning serenade. Does this not make you nostalgic? For something?
Be serenaded.

My Film Career un-Début

I was finally discovered. A woman chased me across the Plaza Grande and followed me down a side street as I headed for Plaza Chica. She entreated me to be an extra in a documentary to bring visitors to Michoacán. I was well-qualified for my road to stardom: I looked foreign and I was to be a Turista.

To make a long story shorter, we agreed that, although I was not available that day to go to Santa Clara, we would meet the next day and I would go with the film crew to the Yácatas at Tzintzuntzan. I invited good-natured and, as it turned out, hapless friend NV to share in the glory of a Turista part, as well. This was lucky for me, but we will get to that.

The next day we were to meet at Noon. The time was changed to 5:00 PM, then re-changed to 6:00 PM. We were flexible. NV and I hopped in a van with film crew and took off, on our way to fame and fortune.

The film crew had a lot to set up.

Pelota de Fuego players wait.

We arrived at the Yácatas. The Director did not like the blouses we were wearing with our capris and we were decked out with something else. We finally passed muster.

The dressing-room.

We got to see the rehearsal for the Pelota de Fuego. I captured this short video clip, but when I wanted to get more I was shooed away. The Director did not want to burn up the Turistas he said. “Mala publicidad.” (Note the singed grass.) I like the coup de grâce when the Pelota de Fuego is smothered with a bucket.

We went back to the dressing-room to wait. Another Turista, JA, was re-dressed several times. Then final touches were added to his hair with gel.

It got later and darker.  When will we start I asked. “Just another thirty minutes.” It got much darker. Just another hour they said.

At some point, after being dressed and coiffed, these lovelies were dismissed; it was decided they would not be used.

It was now pitch black outside and the time was 9:30 PM. My friend’s husband had arrived—in his car!—earlier. I talked to a sub-director and said that we could only wait another thirty minutes. He talked by radio with the Director. We would start in an hour. And the shooting would only take two hours. We would be on our way back to Patzcuaro before 1:00 AM. I said that I was sorry, that I wanted to give my apoyo for a documentary to promote Michoacán, but that I needed to leave by 10:00 PM if shooting did not begin by then. (I had been up since 6:00 AM; I had commitments all day the next day.)

Some of the last comments I heard from the Director over the radio were to send “Felipe” (or someone) to find another Turista. And to go get carnitas for dinner for the crew and the extras. As NV’s husband drove us back toward Pátzcuaro, I wondered where one snatches up wandering Turistas at that time of night at the Yácatas or in the little town of Tzintzuntzan, and where does one buy carnitas?  Or how would I have gotten a taxi if I were not riding home with friends?

I realize that there was a cultural disjuncture in this scenario, but probably not the one which first comes to your mind. The principal disjuncture was between Pátzcuaro and the D.F. At 10:00 PM in the D.F. the crew members would probably normally think about getting dressed and where to go for dinner. The night would be young. Patzcuaro rolls up its sidewalks by 9:00 PM.

This film crew worked in Pátzcuaro and surrounding areas from April 16th to the 29th. They were very nice. I am sure the documentary will be well done and I very much look forward to seeing it. I wish I were in it. I am matutinal, not a night owl. Darn. Tell me if you see the documentary.

You, too, can patzcuarear.

The Burning of Judas

It’s a party on the plaza. Throngs of people loose little children who scurry around like ants. The excitement raises with exploding, brilliant fireworks. We shriek and dodge behind thick stone pillars to escape rockets that shoot right at us. It is not likely that one will enjoy such interactive entertainment in one of the eighteen so-categorized industrialized (and rule-bound) nations.

Judas is paraded around on a pole and set on fire. To the crowd’s delight he is stuffed with more fireworks and not only burns but blows to pieces.
What attributes does one associate with a Judas through lore and such experiences, I wonder. Somewhere deep down, does one learn that it is acceptable to deal with perceived “Judas” characteristics with fire and mayhem? It seems that lurking in the psyche, saved to file, there must lie a Burning of Judas model that colors perceptions and behavior.
But I wax philosophical. Maybe it is just a party. We did have fun—and I didn’t see anyone lose an eyebrow to a rocket.
This year the Burning of Judas took place at Patzcuaro’s Plazuela de San Francisco. Although I did not go this year, I have in years past. I enjoyed brilliant fireworks in the sky from my house.

The Burning of Judas takes place the evening of Easter Sunday.

Joyous Easter Sunday

Celebrating the Resurrection on Domingo de Páscua, clothes in dolorous black and purple give way to bright white and white accents. As the evening mass takes place in the Basílica with doors wide flung open to embrace worshippers, in the front courtyard spirits lift.

Spirits Rise

If I stand by the doors to the church, I can hear mass and merriment at the same time. In the courtyard, people gather and wait to form ranks to parade through the streets.

Finishing touches are added to the float for the procession that will go from La Basílica to the Templo de San Francisco.

Viewing the front of this truck, I wonder if the driver needs a periscope.

Procession of Silence

On the Saturday between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, the Procession of Silence, many blocks long, wound its solemn way through Pátzcuaro streets from the Templo de San Francisco to Plaza de la Basílica. The periodic single beat of a drum paced the deliberate walkers and from time to time the short, mournful wail of a trumpet pierced the evening air.

The participants made ready to start their march in the courtyard of the Templo de San Francisco.

The disquieting hooded figures are called the Hermanos Encapuchados (the Hooded Brothers). Lay men of the community are inducted into this group.

Viernes Santo

The main procession for Good Friday in Pátzcuaro was listed for 7:00 PM in the printed schedule of events, if one consults such things. Of course I knew that it would take place on Pátzcuaro time, not clock time. Even so, it was close to 8:00 pm before the solemn participants started trailing down from Plaza La Basílica toward Siete Esquinas. I wanted a good viewing point and, along with many other spectators, felt I had been sitting a very long time on the very hard curbside. Ouch. At that point I stood up, no longer needing to guard my little space to sit hip-to-hip.

The skies were a little cloudy and the sun very low, so the day had soon progressed well past twilight into night.

		Viernes Santo 2011 VIEW SLIDE SHOW DOWNLOAD ALL