I completely enjoy the beauty of sunset, the letting go at end of the day, and experiencing fully that hour of power. I love giving myself over to the mystery so strongly felt under a starry night sky, witnessing the changing moon and her story. But I have always loved the early morning most of all, when it comes to time of day….any season of the year. The promise that lives on the wings of coming light, following the restoration of a night’s sleep, never ceases to awaken joy within me, and the optimism of possibility.
Getting up and out early here in Mexico is a special treat for the senses, whether you are in a pueblo, rancho, or city. When I first wake, I listen. Yes birdsong is everywhere, and roosters crow, cows low, horses whinny, goats bleat, and pigs squeal. The gas trucks begin their traveling announcements around town. Having my coffee outside I consider my plans, check for new blooms in the garden and enjoy the growing expanse of blue. Heading out in my car, I often follow the same “last gasp” pickup, with old metal milk cans on board. I have watched the farmer stop and make deliveries along the way many mornings. Four leggeds graze out along the road and street sides. Artisans begin setting up and displaying their crafts for sale. Dogs sleep in the sun. To an American (even a rural one like me), much that you see feels like stepping back in time, centuries perhaps. Although there are, of course, trappings of modern life, much here remains traditional, done in the same way for the same purpose, for a very long time. Find the woman with her bucket, that grew the blue corn, ground it, and made the tortillas that morning. Notice the oxen pulling the cart beside the combi van, the SUV passing the burro carrying firewood, the man on his horse, or woman with her staff easily moving animals down the road while traffic waits and breathes in a new day’s air. There is often an interesting juxtaposition of old and new.
Morning brings out locals pushing wheelbarrows, carrying five gallon buckets or large baskets filled with any and everything. You may even see wheelbarrows carrying young children from place to place, or filled overflowing with grasses, corn shocks, vegetables or fruits, just bought or to sell elsewhere. And from the magic down in those buckets and baskets you come to know the people and their goods. There are the tortilla women, the bakery helpers heading out from the panaderias, and those cooks setting up on corners with steaming tamales or other delights. Watch the daily set up of stands for eating tacos, enchiladas, burritos Michoacan style, with their steaming pots and sizzling pans, served beneath the shade of trees or from a cart along the sidewalk. Mexico must be the capital of street food. Just smelling the air makes me hungry. And there will always be music. Yesterday I heard an older man singing opera, a young man interpreting Leonard Cohen in Espanol, and the bold baritone voice of a traditional Mexican singer/guitarist in my brief walk around town. Mondays at the Basilica, start early to join the long lines for Quiroga’s famous carnitas, brought over to Patzcuaro ( or just make a 30 minutes drive over for many vendor choices). The daily scene of trucks, full of watermelon, oranges, or mangos, sold by the kilo along the road, and the busy town markets paint a backdrop to all the sights and sounds, smells and tastes. Roasted ears of corn, caramelized whole sweet potatoes, fruit gazpachos (mi favorito) fresh jugos (juices) or agua frescas often flavoured with tamarind, hibiscus, or a blend of fruits, grains, seeds are waiting for you to walk by. By midday, many stands welcome you to try their cheladas or micheladas especial with your comida. And yes you can drink beer out on the street at all the stands. If you are hungry or thirsty in Mexico, you do not have to go far, whether living rural or urban, or traveling
Last week I joined friends at a spa de aguas termales. After several hours of soaking in hot waters I felt lightheaded, so I decided to buy a little food. I walked under what seemed to be an obvious menu sign, where a group of people had a table set up covered with food, all talking. I entered, and in my borderline basic Spanish asked them for something to eat. They all looked at me, and within a minute, I realised this family that had come to take the waters and picnic for the day. I smiled and apologised, stepping back. They laughed, and encouraged me to come back and fix a plate, Saying “Here, eat”, offering a beer, as well. That food stand sign also had said “weekends, only” and it was a weekday. So, I learned a new term in Espanol and tell the story, because my experience has been one of warmth and generosity in this culture of food and drink wherever I go. Greetings of “Buen dia or “Buenas dias” are usually spoken to those you meet, or pass, not just the people you know. There is an ease of moving through the day, like light filtering through leaves and finding your face.
Mornings begin quiet, but become busy. In the coolness life stirs into activity. The sun heats up the air quickly.The landscape has a misty, smoky, slowness to it, but much is happening. Some seasons, fog hangs over the lake and in the valleys for awhile. Around me, people are leaving for work, or beginning the work that sustains them and their families. Without cars, or choosing to be economical, many folks depend on the pretty incredible combi van system to get them where they need to go. Locally, bicycles also get people form place to place. I am not talking about fancy bikes and gear, just two wheeled transportation. And some younger folks have motor scooters. Many days since my arrival in Tzintzuntzan, I have watched an older caballero on his blue roan heading along the road. I notice the nice headset on the horse and the rider’s light hand. He is likely not pleasure riding, but heading out to work somewhere.
Turbo type power tools and a machine oriented way of getting things done is not the norm. I see some tractors, often relics, but they run. Sure, there are fancy tools to be had, and contractors and bigger agricultural companies may need and have them, but the average person has hand tools and whatever materials that can be found around their community, or in nature that can be repurposed and reused. Hands seem to be the greatest tools around, with a knowledge of how to weave a basket or a fence, cut stone, build a wall, form a pot or bowl, gather nopal, pat out the perfect tortilla, make fabric and embroider… all work creating extraordinary beauty with (and from) the ordinary. Some of the fixes I see to “make it work” are unique, functional, and pretty amazing. People here have skills mostly lost generations ago in wealthier counties. It may be a simple life, but living simply is hard work. And it starts early. Wheelbarrows, baskets, and buckets need filling, so they can be emptied. Cycles repeat. The sun rises, the day opens wide, the sun sets, night falls. Wake up again. Stretch. Rise and begin, under the big dazzling Mexican sky. Siesta perhaps from two til four.
