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So we went to Cuanajo - just because the name sounded good.
The village is poor. Some recent wealth is apparent in new cinderblock construction - which makes it look even poorer. The main square, however, still conserves the picturesque wooden galleries traditional for Michoacán. The first two photos are the plaza and the church.
We get into a conversation with two ladies who are sitting on the sidewalk drinking liquor. Karla praises their shawls and immediately gets one as a present. While she tries to convince the ex-owner of the shawl to accept something in return, a local madman turns up and starts talking to me. I understand nothing in his garbled speech but agree with everything he says, so after some ten minutes he leaves me alone. By this time Karla, Kareen and the two merry ladies have already struck a serious friendship: plans are made to cook churipo together in some near future. The new friends pose for a photo.
Nearby a kid hangs out, dressed up as a KKK apprentice. We are lucky: today is the day of Niño Dios (baby Jesus, that is) and there is a procession about to start. Boys wear outfits of hermits on this occasion, and their mission seems to be to appear in every photo taken in the village. So two of them turn up in the next picture.
The procession starts. First come two tiny hermits, then girls carrying the divine babies. In the rear of the procession, the hermits are running around.
It might be the anonymity or the alcohol, but the hermits behave as if they were deprived of female company for a long, long time. When they see Karla and Kareen, they all want to hug them - for a photo, of course. Some discomfort ensues. Frankly, this is frightening.
Luckily, an adult supervises the chaos, and the bastards are chased away for awhile. We try to follow the procession but the hermits just cannot be handled. They jump around, kiss each other, shout "buy me a beer" in purhepecha (to me), invite me to dance (me!!) and, above all, want pictures: with my glasses on, with a bottle of, presumably spiked, soda, with Karla and Kareen.
So we leave Cuanajo for Patzcuaro. We might be back later in January - to learn how to cook churipo.
26.12.12
Link to the photo album
So we went to Cuanajo - just because the name sounded good.
The village is poor. Some recent wealth is apparent in new cinderblock construction - which makes it look even poorer. The main square, however, still conserves the picturesque wooden galleries traditional for Michoacán. The first two photos are the plaza and the church.
We get into a conversation with two ladies who are sitting on the sidewalk drinking liquor. Karla praises their shawls and immediately gets one as a present. While she tries to convince the ex-owner of the shawl to accept something in return, a local madman turns up and starts talking to me. I understand nothing in his garbled speech but agree with everything he says, so after some ten minutes he leaves me alone. By this time Karla, Kareen and the two merry ladies have already struck a serious friendship: plans are made to cook churipo together in some near future. The new friends pose for a photo.
Nearby a kid hangs out, dressed up as a KKK apprentice. We are lucky: today is the day of Niño Dios (baby Jesus, that is) and there is a procession about to start. Boys wear outfits of hermits on this occasion, and their mission seems to be to appear in every photo taken in the village. So two of them turn up in the next picture.
The procession starts. First come two tiny hermits, then girls carrying the divine babies. In the rear of the procession, the hermits are running around.
It might be the anonymity or the alcohol, but the hermits behave as if they were deprived of female company for a long, long time. When they see Karla and Kareen, they all want to hug them - for a photo, of course. Some discomfort ensues. Frankly, this is frightening.
Luckily, an adult supervises the chaos, and the bastards are chased away for awhile. We try to follow the procession but the hermits just cannot be handled. They jump around, kiss each other, shout "buy me a beer" in purhepecha (to me), invite me to dance (me!!) and, above all, want pictures: with my glasses on, with a bottle of, presumably spiked, soda, with Karla and Kareen.
So we leave Cuanajo for Patzcuaro. We might be back later in January - to learn how to cook churipo.
26.12.12
Link to the photo album
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