Rückkehr nach Mexiko März

On a Great Journey 2010-2012 Part V

Of Family Celebrations and Jewelry Making

We arrived back in Mexico in the middle of March. More than two months ago. A long time in which a lot has happened. Where to begin? Let's see...

On Sunday morning, we arrive in Mexico City, a metropolis of 20 million people. Sounds worse than it is. We quickly find our way to the Zocalo, the main square of Mexican cities. While we wait for Marcos, our artesano companion from San Cristóbal, we look at the many banners, flags, and stands. Here the people, who call their capital simply Mexico or D.F. (Distrito Federal), are allowed to loudly express their displeasure against their government and their president. Often thousands and thousands gather here, filling the square and the surrounding streets and alleys.

This morning it's quiet. When Marcos arrives, he finds us quickly. By subway and microbus we first go to his home, which takes us the bigger part of an hour. He lives with his mother, sister, and nephews in a small house in the suburbs. Not for the first time I notice the many VW Beetles on the street. But here they seem to be the main means of transportation. Seraina immediately catches my inner excitement: "Maybe you'll be driving one yourself soon." Yes, that would be something!
Later, with Marcos and his girlfriend, Aline, we drive out to Xalpa (pronounced Halpa). "Not far," they both say. After two hours on the train and minibus, we arrive at Aline's home, where we meet her brother and grandfather; she lives with them in a two-story house. It is not long before we are introduced to Aline's mother, aunts, uncles, cousins. They celebrate a birthday, we as guests of honor in the middle of all family members in the small house. "This is how we Mexicans celebrate!" They are proud of their culture. The food is excellent. Spicy, sweet, creamy, refreshing. We help ourselves with gusto. To go with it, we try pulque, a fermented drink made from maguey, an agave cactus that tastes a bit bitter like cider and goes down easily. Delicious! Of course, tequila is a must, and the whole family toasts with it.

But actually, we are here to learn something from Marcos. He shows us how he makes jewelry from wire, string, plant seeds, and stones. We have already been on a shopping tour with him in the city and have acquired tools as well as the raw material. In the meantime, we are diligently practicing making necklaces and bracelets and making earrings out of wire. I quickly enjoy it when I see that this work is not as difficult as it first seemed and that the products come out not too shabby.
But all beginnings are difficult. For days we sit in front of our knotting tools and bend wire with pliers. We curse when something doesn't work out and are happy when it actually turns out better than we first thought. Of course, Seraina is not lacking in creativity and I also come up with something useful from time to time. But it takes a lot of patience and practice to put it into reality.

Easter is coming soon. Here they celebrate Semana Santa for one week. For this, we drive to Xilitla (pronounced Hilitla) in the state of San Luis Potosí with Marcos. The small town, surrounded by lots of greenery, promises to be a welcome change from the concrete jungle. "Many Mexican tourists from the north, where they have money, visit Xilitla every year," Marcos explains with a smile, "that's why it is worth working a lot to be able to sell a lot. So come on you two!"

The Vochito Experience

Simon has been dreaming about it since childhood and I would never have dreamed of having such a soapbox. They call it Vocho (also spelled Bocho) here. It is a VW Sedan or in Swiss beautifully named: VW Chäfer.

Mexico City is packed with them. They can be found in all colors and ages. Some you can hear from a distance and when you get closer you really wonder how such a rattletrap can still drive. Others seem to be new and fresh.

So we are soon standing at a car market in front of the Vocho selection. To simplify this somewhat, we set ourselves the criteria: no older than 1980 and no more than 15000 pesos. Thus, the selection shrinks to a few examples. We are drawn again and again to a bright orange one. It is a 1975, 16000 pesos Vocho. Criteria? What criteria? Let's just take it. But when we want to get the money at the ATMs, they let us down. All three want to prevent us from buying it. A sign? But we are the ones causing the problem.

Simon's card has expired and with mine, it suddenly works wonderfully.
We buy the Vocho (by the way, with a fat sound system - which quickly gets on my nerves because of the much too strong bass) and drive off - or try to, in any case. The salesman let the music run too long and too loud. It sucked all the energy out of the little bug. Only after a lot of pushing does it looks a bit better again. And even now we don't get far. Still in the market, we have the first small accident. A reversing driver has probably not heard of rearview mirrors. But that's not so bad, the Vochito is still rolling.

Only my feeling of a bad purchase is becoming stronger and stronger in the stomach area. I have just learned here that you should take signs and gut feelings seriously. But for these, it is now too late and I turn my thoughts to the positive. Our first destination is Marcos' home, ten minutes away. Until we arrive, we drive into a small wall, lose the cover of a front lamp and have to push the Vocho again. Yes, driving a Vocho is an experience!

"Do you want to take it to Switzerland?", Marcos asks us as we are on our way to Aline's house, where we are welcome to settle in for a few weeks. Interesting question, I think to myself. I'd never have considered it. It would probably be possible, but it would never be worth it. The Vocho only has what is really necessary. Light, display of fuel and speed, and of course the cigarette lighter. Sometimes one of the displays works, sometimes the other, sometimes none.

The speed is not that important here, since you like to drive as fast as you want, but knowing how much gas is left would be handy. The horn also only works in parts, but in such pleasurable moments we push it down continuously. A rearview mirror is missing and the seatbelts are very rudimentary, just good for bust protection. The hazard lights have to serve as turn signals. Otherwise, it drives quite well - at least when the engine is a bit warm. Otherwise, you need almost three legs, because the gas must always be pressed down so that the engine doesn't die. That is quite an effort. However, if you want to stop because you're standing at a traffic light, for example, you also press the clutch and the brake. But as I said, I don't have the third leg, and the handbrake, which no longer works properly, has to suffice. The whole thing is not exactly environmentally friendly either. If you then want to continue, you don't just drive off quietly when you press on the gas pedal. Only when you fully push it down, it moves in a jerking manner. You get shaken up and can only hope that it calms down a bit soon. Yes ... I'll leave the driving for a while. Simon is doing quite well. Driving in Mexico is a bit different from here and cars like this are normal for Marcos and others here. "No, we really don't want to do that to ourselves," I answer Marcos.

After many visits to different mechanics, our Vochito already runs much better. Of course, we have spent much more than planned. When Oswaldo, Aline's brother, with whom we are currently staying, is changing the clutch, he wants to know how much a Swiss mechanic earns. I admit: "Yes, approximately 90 francs per hour, so about 1000 pesos." "¡No digas! You don't say!" He can't imagine. Here we don't pay more than ten to maybe fifty pesos. Fortunate for us otherwise we would already have to look for a return flight. But this way we can hope to be able to fart through the extremely varied landscapes of Mexico for a long time.

Artesania in Xilitla

Through dry plains, barren hills, over misty hilltops down to the green Xilitla, our Vochito brought us safely. A few kilometers before we reach the town, a large tourist bus suddenly shoots around the bend. Much too fast. It brushes the truck in front of us, ripping off its left rearview mirror. I sit at the wheel of our Beetle and see everything in slow motion. I brake slightly, swerve a little to the right. Not much more is possible. There's a steep hill down on our right. The bus flies past us. The chauffeur just catches the curve, but can't make up for it and slams into the thicket on the slope. I, as well as other car drivers, stop at the side of the road. My heart is pounding. The coach stands still beside the road. If it had come from the other side, it could not have avoided the slope. Already the first non-injured or only slightly injured people get out, crying and in shock.
A few days later, the newspaper says that the bus left the road because of wet road and poor visibility. But the fact that he was much too fast is not mentioned. What an arrival. But we were lucky. When we find a halfway dry room in the evening already in the dark and can escape the rain, my nerves finally relax.

The room costs only 100 pesos per week for both of us, but it is also completely empty. Does not matter. Without further ado, we put up our inner tent to be protected from mosquitoes. We can cook on the grill in front of the room. And the landlady brings us tamales, polenta-like filled corn pockets, every now and then. We have everything we need.
Tomorrow Semana Santa begins and we have a lot to do. Marcos wants to show us another selling place beforehand. Half an hour away is the river spring of Huichihuayan, where he expects many potential customers. Thus, our daily schedule for the next few weeks is set.
In the morning we drive to the spring of the river, set up our stand there, cool ourselves time and again in the water, pack up in the evening and drive back to the city to offer our things there on the street with many other Artesanos.
The first week it is going quite well. Every day many tourists come to Huichihuayan and Xilitla. Marcos makes good sales, we also sell something from time to time. All the while, we have to rework, because what is sold has to be replaced. Here we learn that you should also be knowledgeable about your products. Marcos knows a lot about his stones, their origin, and effect and often leaves his customers amazed. We discovered another gap in the market. What if Seraina and I would sell ourselves? It has happened before, but today it becomes almost annoying. "Excuse me, may we take a picture with you?" Whether a family man with his son, teenage girls, or even people our age. Today they all want a souvenir from us so that they can tell their friends at home: "We had a great time in Xilitla. Look, we met two real hippie gringos!"

An der Badequelle in Huichihuayan — At the swimming hole in Huichihuayan

Bei Tag verkaufen wir an diesem schönen, vollen Ort — By day, we sell in this beautiful busy place

Bei Nacht im Städtchen Xilitla — By night in little town of Xilitla

The second week is calmer, business is not quite as good. Nevertheless, we continue to work hard. Most days it is hot. Very hot. On a Friday, parts of the surrounding hills are on fire. The temperature rises to 45 degrees Celsius. In nearby Ciudad Valles, the thermometer even exceeds 50 degrees. Good, we have means to cool down.
In the third week, we drive to Micos, where we treat ourselves to a vacation. Once again we find a gorgeous place. A river emerges from between small hills, falls over several waterfalls into turquoise blue pools, which virtually invite you to refresh yourself in them. We enjoy the peace and quiet after the last hectic weeks.

Back in Xilitla, we sit on the street again on the weekend. Most of the other artesanos and street vendors have already left. The show is over. But once again a surprise awaits us.
It is Saturday evening at half-past nine, we already want to pack up, because not much is going on. Apart from Marcos, Seraina, and me, there is only one vendor with his family on the street. I don't remember exactly how it started. In any case, suddenly a bunch of young people is standing in front of us. "Hey look, these earrings, they are great!" "How much is this necklace?" "Ok, I'll take both together right now!" We are almost overrun. "Hey Marcos, do you have a 10 left?" "No, no more change at all..." I run from store to store to change money while Seraina is busy selling. As quickly as they came, they are gone. It's never been this stressful before, but they bought half of our stall empty. Marcos just smiles. He knows the situation. "Good, you haven't left right away, don't you agree?" During all the hustle and bustle, we found out that they were tourists from Mérida, Yucatán, traveling through half of Mexico making a stop in Xilitla today.

Before returning to Xalpa, el Vochito has to see a mechanic again. Two weeks ago, it broke down on me in the middle of a curve and wouldn't budge. Only one fuse had to be replaced. A week later a tire blew and we discovered that the spare tire didn't fit. And today the spark plug wires will be replaced and the engine freshly tuned. So that we will get home carefree.

From Taxco to Mazunte

"The Vochos are able to get up everywhere because of their rear-wheel drive. That's why Taxco's streets are teeming with them." As soon as we enter Taxco, I know exactly what Chino meant. The town was literally built into the hillside, picturesquely lined with stone cottages. In the steep streets and narrow alleys, in the most impossible places, they can be seen. The white Beetle cabs and their brothers, the old VW buses.

As usual in Mexico, we wait one or two hours longer for Chino than agreed. When he arrives, we embrace enthusiastically. We last saw him in San Pedro, Guatemala. And that was quite a while ago. "Mi casa es su casa." He invites us to stay in his house as long as we want.

Chino works and trades with amber from Chiapas, which is very valuable. When we see his workshop, we are amazed. "Chino, this is the purest treasure trove you have there!" Boxes upon boxes of ambar (Spanish for amber) in both its raw and processed state are piled up in the room. "People don't appreciate its value," Chino tells us, "so I don't have to worry about thieves. But on the sales table, its demand is enormous."

Chino not only knows about the ambar and silver business (Taxco is a former silver mining town). With friends, he is building an eco-village in Taxco's surrounding mountain region. Only natural resources are being used. Clay houses and stoves, dry toilets, a water source, a garden, and bicycles converted into various machines whose pedal drive is used are planned. "In this way, we will be independent of any outside energy," he says enthusiastically. In Chino, we met an extremely interesting personality.

Die Silberstadt Taxco — The silver city of Taxco

Hier bauen wir unsere einrollbare Verkaufstheke — Here we build our roll up sales counter

After Taxco and Chino, we drive to Cuernavaca, where Alejandro and his family welcome us warmly for a few days. What a house his parents have! Large, winding, and quiet. Luxurious, almost like Jean-Pierre's in Montréal. Alex likes to show us around in his city and surroundings. Here Mexico shows its modern face. If it were not for Cuernavaca's many colonial buildings, cathedral, and the palace of the Spanish invader Cortés, we could be in any city in the world because of the young people in the streets, the many bars, Burger King and Starbucks.

"I like my city, I took my first guitar lessons here. There's something going on here culturally, not like in Sion. In the two or three years I've lived in Switzerland, I've often felt lonely. But soon it's off to Basel, where there will be plenty of variety." Alex is looking forward to it. "But my family is important to me, so I'll be returning for a month every year."

Back home with his parents, Seraina and I teach Alejandro's mother how to make "zopf", a Swiss braided bread. We feel very much at home right now; we both can't deny a little homesickness.
Alex's mother helpfully shows us where we can buy new tires for our car. We had two flat tires within one week. Before our long journey down to the coast, we want to make sure that we will not be delayed on the way by further burst tires. In short, we buy a second spare tire.

The Vocho is packed to the rafters. We say goodbye to Alex and his lovely family and start the eight-hour drive. The route leads through parched landscapes towards Acapulco. Soon the rainy season begins, the ground can use it. "Adrian", the first hurricane of the season, has already disappeared into the Pacific.
So we reach Playa Ventura in beautiful weather. The village is almost empty, we are the only tourists. Our hostess lets us camp for free on the beach under the palapa if we eat dinner at her place.
Every day we sit on the beach, knotting necklaces and bracelets, bending wire into earrings, or simply read a book in the hammock. Chickens and dogs roam around, the neighbor's pigs grunt. We like the peaceful ambiance here. The food is mainly fish and shrimp. My mouth is watering.
"The sea is wild. The wave pool is to be enjoyed with extreme caution," emphasizes not only the guidebook but also our hostess. Indeed, the undercurrent is not to be underestimated, the water pulls me with incredible force into the sea, until the next big wave crashes over me with full force.

Suddenly I see something black and round, which is repeatedly washed up on the beach, then grabbed by the water again and pulled back into the sea. It is quite large. Fins, shell ... A turtle! But it seems lifeless. I snatch it from the water and drop it into the sand. During my examination, I discover an injury on the neck, which suggests a deadly attack. A shark, perhaps? I think she has just died, as she is still quite fresh and warm. Impressive animals!

Eventually, I hand her back over to the sea. Only a few dozen meters further along the beach I see a small cluster of people standing. Approaching, I realize what they are observing and photographing. Another turtle, this time alive, is digging a hole in the sand. Over the next two or three months, these animals will lay and scrape shut thousands of eggs, hoping that as much of their offspring as possible will make it back to the sea.

It looks laborious how the heavy turtle slowly digs itself deeper. So that she can lay undisturbed, I leave her alone and hope the others will do the same.
Shortly after, I find something dead on the beach again. A fish with an injury on the head, which comes from a harpoon. The fisherman did not hit it properly. It got away from him but then succumbed. My luck! I pick it up and marvel at its weight. Probably a ten-pound thing. That's going to be a feast!

We left Marcos and Aline in Xalpa with the idea of going to Mazunte on the coast of Oaxaca. After a week in Playa Ventura, we want to get a little closer to this destination. The next place on our list is the lagoon of Chacaua. It is a bit off the beaten track and we have to cross a 30-kilometer long sandy washboard to reach it. The Vocho doesn't like the rough shaking very much.

The alternative would have been a one-and-a-half-hour boat ride, which is much too expensive, depending on the time. We all survive the bumpy ride well and, arriving in the village of Chacaua, are ferried to the other shore of the lagoon.
This area is a national park and is known for its rich flora and fauna. Many species of birds, amphibians, and reptiles live in the mangroves. Even crocodiles can be found here.

That same night, on a rowboat trip into the darkness of the mangrove jungle, we learn why people come here. The full moon is covered by dense clouds, now and then it drizzles. There is still some light coming from the sky, yet we get to see a glittering spectacle. We stop at a particularly dark spot, canopied by wild mangrove growth, and reach our hands into the water, circling them, swashing around. A glow begins to appear around our hands. It sparkles and blinks as if there were hundreds of fireflies in the lagoon. But it's a type of plankton that gives off a phosphorescent light as soon as you get the water moving.

Seraina doesn't think twice, the crocodiles are harmless, they say, and jumps into the dark water. I can hardly spot her. Only because it keeps sparkling do I know where she is.

Not only the lagoon attracts tourists, but also the waves of the Pacific. Surfers from all over the world meet out here. That is why we hear many speak English here.
But the surf scene is not really our thing. We stay more among the locals. Again, our hosts are owners of a beach restaurant who allow us to camp under their roof for free.

Here we set up our stand for the first time since Xilitla. There are not many people at the moment. It is June and therefore low season. Nevertheless, we get rid of some of our stuff and get one or another order. Thanks to some Mexicans, Austrians, and Australians we manage to get some of our expenses.

Although we are assured by Lionel, the restaurant owner, that this is certainly the most beautiful spot on earth and that he knows where we can buy land, we travel on after a few days. Also, the weather is increasingly worsening. At times it storms and rains heavily.

On the way back over the sandy track we already have to cross big puddles and mud holes. Without problems. Our Beetle hasn't announced itself for quite some time (more than two weeks, after all), but just now, when a waterfall pours over the roads, the windshield wipers give up the ghost. Even with them, it was difficult to keep the car on the road. Now it is almost impossible. We stop and wait. Soon we find out that only a nut is loose.

This is the beginning of the rainy season. Already water enters the car and when we arrive after a few hours in Mazunte, we are all soaked. For us, the matter is clear. We will not camp here anymore. In Chacaua, they recommended Don Tocho to us. He is easy to find, Mazunte is small. We immediately like the room he offers us. We decide to stay here for a month. Although it is not exactly quiet because of the dogs and Don Tocho's wife, who tries to chase them away, we like the family and the village. You can see right away that for some years now they have been focusing on backpacker and escapist tourism. As in San Pedro on Lago de Atitlan, there are many restaurants, bars, and yoga centers here. Instead of lakes and volcanoes, the sea and lush greenery dominate the landscape here.

What we are looking for is space where we can work undisturbed and time where we can stay in one place. We have found both here.
On certain days, we sit on the boardwalk behind our table, which we put together with Chino's help, and present our growing jewelry offerings on it. A handful of other artesanos have set up their stalls. They offer mainly macrame, knotted goods. Looking at their jewelry, we quickly realize that we still have a lot to learn and practice.

Nevertheless, they don't seem to sell more than we do. The few strollers that roam our stalls are not particularly interested in our stuff. So it remains pretty quiet the whole day.
We often stay at home and make do with our homework. The summer vacations are just around the corner. It is said that the village then fills to the brim. This would be the busy time of the sale.
On the way back from an excursion to Pochutla, it suddenly starts to smoke under the steering wheel. The engine stops and quits. At the roadside, we open the trunk in front, where it hisses and sparks in the cable tangle. An old cable has caused a short circuit and is totally fried. "Hmm, and now what?" asks Seraina. "Look, that looks like a repair shop over there on the other side of the street. There are even two Vochos there," I note. "Even though these bugs always have their quirks, they seem to know where to have them."
Well, it's not quite true this time. The mechanic replaces the cable, but the car won't start. Therefore, he calls the electronics engineer from the city, who replaces a part after a long wait and dismisses us with a fat bill.
"Well, we must have high season in front of our sales stand to get this money out in one day," I think aloud. "Never mind," Seraina says, "if the car is using that much money, we may as well treat ourselves. Tonight we're having pizza!"
It would be about time to sell a little more. Time flies by. We have already been in Mazunte for a month. For one week we undertook a fast cure: tea at noon, pineapple juice in the evening. During that week we had a lot of time to work. We also repainted parts of our Beetle, because the bumpers, rims, and other things started to rust because of the salty sea air. Another time we went to the mechanic to have the brakes and engine readjusted. So all three of us are freshly cleaned.

What is missing now is the beautiful weather that attracts people to the streets and past our stands. For the first time since our arrival, it is raining cats and dogs; and only once today, it seems. Not that it rains for the first time ever, we have after all temporada de las lluvias, rainy season, only so far the heavenly wet has been limited to falling at most in the evening and at night. Today, however, we are allowed to enjoy a typical Swiss summer day. Gray, cool, and soaking wet.

Seraina and I are slowly but surely fed up with Mazunte. After six weeks here and the promises that the tourists would come soon, it is still quiet. Nice to have a vacation, but too quiet to really sell much, although the weather has improved.

We have not been able to sleep so well for quite some time. In addition to the noise that the dogs, cats, and chiggers make every night, the mosquito bites itch, and the sultry heat makes us bathe in our own sweat. Still, we haven't given up completely. We have already made many friends among the other artesanos. There are only a few Mexicans, many from Argentina, Italy, and a few from the States. With them, we spend a nice, sometimes very funny time. Many among them, know how to juggle and earn their money with circus and clown shows. For example, the eight-month-old Zoé has two clowns as parents. Such a cute family!

Now that the summer vacation will soon be over, we will be moving on. Further north, away from the rain, away from the numbing heat, away from the sea.

Ausflug zur Lagune von La Ventanilla neben Mazunte — Excursion to the lagoon of La Ventanilla next to Mazunte

Zoe hat gut lachen mit Clowns als Eltern — Zoe has a good laugh with clowns as parents

Zirkusshow für die Kinder von Mazunte von unseren Artesano-Kollegen — Circus show for the children of Mazunte by our Artesano companions

From Mazunte back to D.F.

We left for Oaxaca City interrupting our journey in the cool mountains that cut off the Pacific Ocean from the hot interior of Oaxaca State.

From artesanos friends in Mazunte we learned about the first Feria de los Hongos in the small village of San Mateo, not unlike a Swiss mountain village.

For a few days, we cooled off in the higher elevations until we were ready for the heat of Oaxaca again.

There we visited new friends, had our bocho fixed from time to time, tasted the different flavors of the local mezcal, and made big eyes at a huge cypress tree.

Later we closed the circle and drove back to D.F., more precisely to Xalpa at the edge of the huge juggernaut Mexico City.

There we planned to have our Bocho stay with Oswaldo while we traveled back to the States for a few months.