Zapata Was Here

Zapata Was Here (Aqui Estuvo Zapata) is the name of a new cultural venue in downtown Cuernavaca, located in the former Moctezuma Hotel, the building stands out among its neighbors. It’s constructed entirely of un-plastered brick. Between 1911 and 1916 it was Emiliano Zapata’s headquarters, that is, whenever he was in control of Cuernavaca.

A photograph of Zapata taken in its courtyard in front of a brick wall at the base of a stairway holds the distinction of being the most frequently viewed photo of a Mexican.

Last Friday, on the anniversary of the Revolution, I climbed the stairway where Zapata posed. I was on my way to a talk by Sicilian photographer Ferdinando Scianna. His exhibit “Lux in Arcana: Ferdinando Scianna’s Baroque” opened this month (Nov. 14 to March 20) in Mexico City’s San Carlos National Museum.

The famous photo of Zapata was printed on the outside of my invitation but it seems to have been there to accompany the name of the hosting institution, not the topic of the lecture. Though generous in crediting other photographers’ work, Scianna made no reference to the portrait of Zapata.

I asked Scianna to elaborate on the difference between a painter’s portrait and a photographer’s portrait. Without mentioning Zapata’s portrait, I learned more about it than if he had projected it on the screen for analysis.

“Not many photographs of people are portraits. A portrait implies that the person being photographed is conscious of the photograph, knows about it, dialogs with the photographer and willingly poses. When people interact in this way they have an effect on one another.

“Let’s use Rembrandt as our example of a painter. Probably the most important portrait painter of all time, he also painted many self-portraits. When we see his portraits, even if we don’t know the subjects, we recognize them as his. Through his art Rembrandt gives us the presence of a person in his painting. He may have painted the portrait in the span of a month or a year — going back to the same image many times to end up with the final result — he brings that image out from within himself and offers it to us.

“A photographer, on the other hand, may spend a day, even a month, preparing a portrait of a person — telling him or her ‘angle your body this way or that’ or ‘turn your head a bit more.’ All this done before the moment the shutter is released. Regardless of the time invested preparing the photo it is still the product of an instant. In that moment the feeling — entelechy — has to be deposited in the image of that person.

“When photography works it is the miracle of an encounter which can be published and which a third-party can recognize when lining up the eye, mind, and heart. That’s complicated. Not all photographers are good portrait photographers. Nor are great photographers necessarily good portrait-takers. A good portrait photographer has to have passion for people — empathy. That could seem to say that one can only make good portraits of people one likes. However, making portraits of people the photographer detests also requires empathy. Some portraits can be manifestations of hate, others of love. Good photographic portraits tell us much about the person portrayed — just as they tell us about the photographer.”

The photograph of Zapata meets Scianna’s criteria of a great portrait. No wonder photography historian John Mraz says this photo has become a revolutionary icon. Mraz adds, “The image is of intriguing complexity and represents a startlingly graphic depiction of triumph. Zapata is dressed with the sash and sword that General Manuel Asúnsulo wore as a symbol of his status as the authority in Cuernavaca.” Asúnsulo headed the 1911 revolutionary assault on Cuernavaca but was killed shortly afterwards.

By wearing Asúnsulo’s sash and sword, Mraz explained, “Zapata was demonstrating the prerogative he’d acquired to determine who would govern the city and the state of Morelos. Wearing these emblems could also represent an attempt on Zapata’s part to legitimize his movement. He and his campesinos had been portrayed in the Mexico City press as cruel and ferocious savages. Zapata may have been attempting to counteract that mindset, presenting himself as a professional soldier, with the rank of general, and thus deserving of political recognition.

Seventeen years later, Diego Rivera would use this photo to paint Zapata in Cuernavaca’s Cortez Palace. The photo is in black and white but we assume the colors of the sash were the state colors of Morelos. Rivera uses the tri-color, thus promoting Zapata as the leader of the nation.

The portrait is attributed variously to the German Hugo Brehme or to U.S. photographer F. Wray. It is interesting that Zapata posed for a foreign photographer, perhaps because of his aversion to Mexico City’s press.

Zapata certainly made his statement in the portrait, but what was the photographer’s message with campesinos hunkered in the stairwell?

Bringing together the dead

The Days of the Dead are quickly approaching. Marigolds have already been planted in the flowerbeds lining Paseo de la Reforma. Truckloads of the bright yellow flowers are making their way from farmers’ fields to towns and cities all over Mexico They will be used to decorate tombs as well as home altars.

This year there is a new destination for these fragrant flowers, the Cinerario Comunitario (Community Cinerarium) in Cuernavaca.

The Cinerario Comunitario was inaugurated just last month. It is located inside the chapel of Our Lady of Sorrows in Cuernavaca’s Catholic Cathedral compound. It is the first in Mexico.

Unlike a columbarium, where cremated remains are each in a separate niche or urn, in the community cinerarium ashes are poured into a huge vault where they mix with the ashes of others. There is no charge for depositing ashes and the cinerarium is open to people of all faiths.

Cuernavaca’s cinerarium is the brainchild of Catholic lay missionary Raymond Plankey, a native of Massachusetts and a longtime resident of Cuernavaca. It required the backing and approval of the municipal and state authorities as well as the clergy.

In a generous exhibit of ecumenism, the cinerarium was inaugurated by two bishops, Roman Catholic Ramón Castro y Castro and Protestant Anglican Enrique Treviño.

Father Ángel Sánchez said at the inauguration, “It may seem strange to mix the ashes of the dead but there have been many cases of this documented in Church history.” He told us how English Cardinal John Henry Newman (1801-90) was buried with his good friend Father Ambrose St. John.

The cinerarium has benefits at many levels. It takes pressure off overcrowded cemeteries. For the poor, it represents a tremendous financial savings. And, from a theological point of view, as Father José Luis Calvillo said, “It is rich in symbolism about the communion of the church in showing that what little is left of the human being on earth can join with remains of other brothers and sisters, beyond religious beliefs and social positions in a respectful and dignified setting.”

Inside an austere 16th century marble- floored chapel devoid of pews, or chairs, Cuernavaca’s cinerarium is a marble vault 2 meters high, 2 meters wide and 5 meters long. Three small steps allow access to a 15 centimeter-diameter aperture where ashes are poured. Plankey calculates the cinerarium is large enough to hold ashes of 50,000 bodies.

Although Plankey came upon this idea on his own and has mulled over it for three decades, he readily admits googling to find out if community cinerariums exist anywhere else. He found that former Archbishop of Buenos Aires Jorge Bergoglio built several in his archdiocese where cinerariums are an economical option for poor families to bury their dead and still have a place to return to honor their loved ones.

With company like that I doubt there will be any criticism of the mixing of the ashes. But, if there is, I’d refer those critics to ancient Mesoamerican lore, which maintains that our humanity owes its existence to the commingling of bones of the deceased.

Ancient Mesoamericans knew that the gods are dependent on people for their sustenance. When the fourth sun refused to return, the fourth humanity died off and the gods’ existence was in jeopardy.
Once the gods had created a fifth sun, Quetzalcoatl — the feathered serpent — traveled to the realm of the dead at the lowest level of the underworld to find the bones of his father and mother and from them create a new humanity.

The god of death did not willingly give up his acquisitions and was prepared to catch Quetzalcoatl on a technicality. “You are authorized to take the bones, but you were never authorized to touch the bones. If you can take them without touching them you’re welcome to them.”

Quetzalcoatl decided the ends justify the means and stole the bones. His dog identified the two sets of bones he needed and Quetzalcoatl carefully picked them up. The god of death chased him; Quetzalcoatl ran. In darkness he tripped on a rock in the path. Mother’s bones got mixed with father’s bones and some shattered. Hastily Quetzalcoatl gathered them into a bag hanging over his shoulder, making it out to this level of flat earth we live on, just in the nick of time.

Quetzalcoatl sprinkled some of his own blood on the bones bringing them to life and creating the humanity of which we are a part. But because the bones got mixed up a mother never knows if her baby will be a boy or a girl. Because some broke some people are shorter in stature and some are taller.

Nevertheless, rich or poor we can go to the graves of our loved ones, cover them with flowers and for a moment bring them back to memory and to life.

Each year during Days of the Dead I honor John Spencer an English ex-pat, artist, poet, who is buried in Cuernavaca. Decorating his tomb is a festive occasion to which all are invited. If you’re interested in participating please email me.

Highlights of an Acapulco road trip

Road trips to Acapulco have long been a part of life for residents of Mexico City. In viceroyalty times it could take a week along the royal highway. In the 40s one might overnight in Taxco. In the 80s it was a whole day affair.

Since the 1994 inauguration of the modern autopista, the trip has been streamlined and now a door-to-door trip can be as fast by car as by plane. Nevertheless, most people still make the drive an event in itself. They look forward to their favorite landmark stopping places along the way — perhaps breakfast in Tres Marías and cecina for lunch at Cuatro Caminos? I used to look forward to hamburgers and ice cream cones at the dairy shop in Iguala before Iguala was bypassed by the new highway.

In addition to its many culinary attractions there are other worthy destinations along the Acapulco route. Cuernavaca, Xochicalco, Taxco, and the Grutas de Cacahuamilpa are some of the more notable. Now there’s a new place to add to the list — the Cuernavaca campus of the Tec de Monterrey (Monterrey Institute of Technology).

Though stunning from either direction, the Tec’s signature structure is most spectacular when approached from the south. Upon entering the Valley of Cuernavaca the campus rises on a rocky promontory encircled by a native deciduous forest and overlooking fields of rice, roses, and sugarcane. Its majestic, four-sided, four-story, green-glass building is framed and capped by sharp-edged concrete with an open courtyard the size of a city block at its center.

Inside the courtyard there is more of the native forest — irrigated throughout the year. It provides an interesting contrast to the same non-irrigated trees immediately outside.

The campus was inaugurated in January 2008. Soon after, it won a prestigious international award as the “Best University/Higher Education Facility” for its “spectacular scale, innovative use of technology and for its design taking into account the location and natural flora of the region.” I’m impressed by it’s proximity and similarity in scale to some of the ruins at the archeological site of Xochicalco. Just as ancient Mesoamericans used limestone in innovative ways, the Tec de Monterrey Cuernavaca campus takes concrete to a new level of scale and creativity.

The campus was primarily designed by architect Juan Carlos Pérez. Pérez is a graduate of the Tec and it is the intent of the campus design to reflect the cutting edge technology being taught to its students. The campus is an environmental model for water use and treatment and electrical conservation.
A new student-union building houses a wonderful, glass-enclosed, new art gallery. The inaugural exhibition opened last Friday and is titled “A Family of Artists.” The artists are all Cuernavaca based and all from one nuclear family!

Paintings, drawings, and sculptures, all in the magical realist style, are executed by parents Adriano Silva Castañeda and Yolanda Quijano and their two sons Alejandro Quijano and Adriano Silva Pantoja. Magical realism, where the supernatural blends with the natural, is a term frequently associated with a genre of Latin American contemporary literature and is increasingly being applied to art — especially Latin American art.

The artists are not only members of the same family they are also all members of the Salón de la Plástica Mexicana (Hall of Mexican Fine Art), established in 1949. Membership in the Salón is by invitation of their peers.

Its purpose is to expand the Mexican art market through exhibitions of fine art in two prestigious galleries in Mexico City. One of the founding ideas of the Salón was that it would be an art forum able to circumvent the large commissions charged by art gallery owners.

There are about 400 members of the Salón counting those no longer living. Membership, like the members’ art, is for life and beyond. If that figure is correct, the Silva-Quijanos represent 1 percent of the membership. I wonder is there is any other family so well represented?

Based on the prices I saw posted (everything is for sale), it seems that the Tec’s gallery, like the Salón, is not charging a commission on the pieces displayed in “A Family of Artists.” If so, it is commendable.

In these gorgeous days you might contemplate a road trip where you can combine food, marvelous sites, and fine art. Though there is a food court as well as a restaurant at the Tec de Monterrey, the courtyard of the Tec has tables just begging for a picnic basket.

“A family of Artists” will be open through March 15, Monday through Friday 9 a.m. to 5 p.m., Saturdays 9 a.m. to 2 p.m. Closed Sundays. Free admission. Located at the Tec de Monterrey adjacent to the Mexico City-Acapulco Autopista del Sol at kilometer 104.

The campus gatekeeper will point you to the art gallery. Some highway signs refer to the campus as ITESM (Instituto Tecnólogico de Estudios Superiores de Monterrey). Easy off-and-on the toll road.

Rivera at the Cortés Palace

Eighty-four years ago today artist Diego Rivera was polishing both a speech and a pistol.  He was making sure everything was ready for the Communist party meeting two days later where he would expel a prominent party member.  It was all part of the theatrics that Rivera loved.

Writer Hayden Herrera describes the events at that Thursday, October 3rd meeting -- yes, 1929’s calendar was the same as this year’s.  “Diego arrived, sat down, and took out a large pistol, and put it on the table.  He then put a handkerchief over the pistol and said: ‘I Diego Rivera, secretary general of the Mexican Communist party, accuse the painter Diego Rivera of collaborating with the petit-bourgeois government of Mexico and of having accepted a commission to paint the stairway of the National Palace of Mexico.  This contradicts the politics of the Comintern and therefore the painter Diego Rivera should be expelled from the Communist party by the secretary general of the Communist party, Diego Rivera.’”  Having proclaimed himself expelled he stood up, removed the handkerchief, picked up the pistol and . . . smashed it!  It was made of clay.

Recalcitrant Diego Rivera went even further.  In December of that same year he accepted the commission to paint the walls of the Cortez Palace terrace with the history of Cuernavaca from the conquest to the Revolution of 1910.  It was a gift of Dwight Morrow and his wife Elizabeth to the city they enjoyed so much while he was U.S. ambassador to Mexico.   Planning to be away for most of the following year the Morrows even lent the Riveras their weekend home in Cuernavaca.

In the National Palace in Mexico City Rivera painted the leaders of the Mexican Independence movement in a crowd. But the Cortez Palace in Cuernavaca was the headquarters of all three branches of the government of the state of Morelos. There was no way around it--he had to paint a prominent portrait of independence fighter José María Morelos.

There are statues of José María Morelos all over Mexico.  He is easy to identify, Morelos always wore a bandana tied over his head.  He had bandanas for every occasion – silk bandanas, embroidered bandanas, simple cloth bandanas.  Like ten percent of the population at the time, Morelos was Afro-Mexican.  It seems he wore the bandana to cover his Afro-textured hair.

Most artists are reluctant to depict Morelos accurately. We come across his portrait every day on the fifty-peso bill, but we’d be hard-pressed to think the person portrayed on that bill had any African ancestry.

When it came to painting Morelos into his mural, Rivera resorted to more theatrics.  Before applying color to the portrait of Morelos he invited the governor, his cabinet, and the press to view the mural and listen to the artist himself describe the scenes.

On the scheduled day Diego described the portion of the mural he had painted so far and what the rest, which was only outlined, would contain.  Then, pointing to a pillar in the center of the long wall, he said, “I’ve reserved this important spot for a portrait of José María Morelos, a man of universal stature!”  Rivera’s well-rehearsed friends started to applaud. The governor joined in.  Before the applause died down Rivera bellowed “His face could be anyone’s!”  His friends cheered and stood up.  The governor did too.  Rivera wrapped up his talk and sent his audience home.  He had gotten what he wanted from them.  If Morelos’ face could be anyone’s, why not have it be that of the artist himself?  And if a self-portrait of the artist, then it should be the artist’s skin color.  It was only Morelos’s hands that were accurately painted.

The rest of the year-long project transpired smoothly until close to the end.  While Diego painted his wife Frida Kahlo was a daily visitor.  She was always generous with praise of content and historical accuracy.  That was except in the very last scene he painted.  In it Emiliano Zapata dressed in white peasant’s clothing holds his white horse by the bridle.  Frida reportedly shrieked when she saw it.  “Diego, what are you doing?  Zapata had a black horse.  His horse was legendary.  There are songs and poems about Zapata and his black horse.” 

Rivera replied: “I like white better than black and, besides, a white horse will go better with his white pants and white shirt.” 

It became a heated argument that also involved the horse’s heavy legs. Diego came down from the scaffolding, tossed his palette down the hallway, and as he kicked over the scaffolding shouted, “Frida, you paint the horse!  But it must be white.”

The horse remained white, but Frida drew the horse’s legs the way she thought they should be.  Diego would later tell his friends, “I had to correct that white horse of Zapata’s according to Frida’s wishes.’”  Good that he did because it has become the best-known scene in the Cortez Palace series of murals. 

Ducks are back in Borda Gardens

The weather we’ve been having is fit for ducks. And I’m glad to be able to tell you that the ducks are back and thriving in the rowing lake in Cuernavaca’s Borda Gardens. Six years ago they were banished by the director of Morelos’ Culture Institute because she said “the ducks and the fish get things dirty.” The current administration has welcomed them back. Private citizens are supplying the ducks.

This is wonderful news because it just wasn’t the same without the ducks. The Borda Gardens is one of Cuernavaca’s hidden gems — it’s right across the street from the Cathedral. I consider it a sanctuary in the center of busy downtown. No one pesters you inside the gardens. A small admission fee keeps the vendors out. You can sit on the grass, a bench, or at a garden table and read a book. You can even have a picnic on a boat in the rowing lake.


It’s the ongoing legacy of an immigrant to Mexico, José de la Borda (1699-1778) and his son Manuel. José was born in France to a Spanish mother and French father and was baptized as Joseph de La Borde. When he was 16 his mother did to him what many Spanish mothers still do to their teenage boys — she sent him to America “to become a man.” At that time Spanish mothers purchased passage for their sons on a ship from Cádiz to Veracruz. Today they buy their sons a one-way ticket on a flight from Madrid to Mexico City. They arrive on this side of the ocean with a little bit of money and a long list of relatives who have already made the trip. Many of them have done very well. Borda was one of them.

Upon arrival in this Spanish viceroyalty Joseph hispanicized his name and signed in at Veracruz as José de la Borda. From there he went directly to Taxco where he caught up with his brother Francisco. Both brothers had a knack for finding silver. They did so well that they married two daughters of the mayor of Taxco. The Verdugo sisters became Mrs. Borda and Mrs. Borda.

It was after Francisco’s death that José discovered Taxco’s richest vein of silver. He had mule trains carry the silver from Taxco to the mint in Mexico City. Cuernavaca was a good resting point. The cargo would be unloaded at Borda’s Cuernavaca estate to give the overseers, guards, muleteers, and the mules themselves a couple of days rest before continuing to Mexico City.

In appreciation for the tremendous wealth the silver bestowed on him, José de la Borda built the Santa Prisca church facing Taxco’s zocalo. It’s the only church of its size built in the 18th century Mexico for which there was enough money to finish when construction began.

It was José’s son Manuel who transformed the mule train depot in Cuernavaca into a botanical garden. He had a landscape architect lay it out with a French design of crisscrossing walkways with fountains where they intersected. He extended Cuernavaca’s aqueduct to end in the rowing lake which doubled as a water tank at the highest part of the property. Water flowed by force of gravity through the planter beds. I imagine the lake was filled with ducks then too.

In the 1860s the Borda family felt it appropriate, perhaps taking into account their French ancestry, to make the property available to French-imposed Emperor Maximilian and Empress Carlotta. Maximilian made plans to use the Borda home and gardens as his summer palace but his empire didn’t last long enough to do that more than once.

In the 1970s, while restoration work to the Borda Gardens was underway, I read a newspaper article about an Austrian woman who traveled to Mexico on a diplomatic passport.

When she returned to Austria a short while later she was decorated by the Austrian government for returning a collection of Emperor Maximilian’s jewelry and medals. If the story is true, the Austrian government had known the location of the stash for more than a hundred years but had not had access to the gardens without risk of being caught.

Last weekend as I thought of those ducks in the rowing lake as the only ones enjoying the endless rain I decided to see if I could confirm my recollection of that story. I went to see long-time Borda Garden employee Heberto González who has authored a book about the gardens. I remembered him and he remembered me as a frequent visitor with students in tow and always with food for the ducks.

You see the ducks learned to recognize me and would gather around whenever I stood on the edge of the rowing lake. He’d heard the story about the Austrian woman too but couldn’t confirm its accuracy.

That’s okay. The story adds to the charm of this wonderful spot in the heart of Cuernavaca. And I’m happy because the ducks are back.

The best of Tlaltenango

The Tlaltenango fair, which runs through next Monday, has been an annual event for 293 years in what is now northern Cuernavaca. I have long thought of it as a nuisance that closed Cuernavaca’s main north-south boulevard, causing traffic congestion and detours for ten days. But thanks to political science professor Adriana Hernandez I now recognize what a wonderful blend of religion, politics, tradition, and commerce it is.

The draw at the Tlaltenango fair is the Virgin of the Nativity. People more commonly refer to her as the Virgin of Tlaltenango or the Virgin of the Miracles. "Let me tell you two of her most famous miracles," Adriana said enthusiastically.

"A hundred years ago there were open fields between Cuernavaca and Tlaltenango.  Emiliano Zapata was being chased from Cuernavaca by the federal army.  The federales were gaining on him but he could see Tlaltenango’s church.  Zapata prayed to the Virgin for her assistance.  She raised such a dust storm that the federales lost sight of Zapata and he was able to find refuge and protection in the church.  In appreciation he gave the Virgin of Tlaltenango a scepter and a crown which she still wears."

Another miracle has caused the far off community of Iztapalapa, now part of the Federal District, to play an ongoing roll in the annual fair. According to Adriana, "some say Iztapalapa was suffering a drought, others say there was an epidemic.  But whatever it was, the townspeople gathered to plead with the Virgin of Tlaltenango to save them and she did.  In appreciation they promised to visit her every year on the Feast of the Birth of Mary (September 8) and offer her a floral arch over the entrance to her church.  Iztapalapa has been fulfilling that "manda" (promise) for close to 200 years.”

Now this is no small gesture. Sixty or more people travel from Iztapalapa to assemble the floral arch. Tradition maintains that during the time they work on it there shall be a band playing continuously and fireworks shot off. They also need someplace to stay overnight. Here’s where things have recently gotten sticky.

For many years the Iztapalapans stayed in a lot that had bathrooms, showers, and a shed under which they slept. But last year that lot was lost due to a lawsuit. The ayudante municipal (a liaison between a community and the municipal government) and the local priest lacked the foresight to prepare other lodging for the pilgrims. The Iztapalapans were understandably offended and said they would not return this year.

Tlatelolco's current ayudante municipal, elected on an independent ticket, is Adriana’s son Daniel Vazquez. It fell on his shoulders to repair the damage. With an offering in hand and accompanied only by a coach in traditional Indigenous protocol, Daniel set off to Iztapalapa. He was granted an audience with Iztapalapa's elders and seven mayordomos.

It amazes me that even though now part of Mexico City, Iztapalapa has active cofradías headed by mayordomos.  During the colonial period Spanish authorities restricted communication between Indigenous groups as a control mechanism.  However, they were allowed to establish “cofradías” (brotherhoods) headed by “mayordomos” for the purpose of taking care of the image of saints.  Religious festivals were one of the few places people from different ethnic groups were allowed to interact.

Tlaltenango, on the other hand, has lost its cofradías and hence its mayordomos.  As ayudante municipal twenty-seven year old Daniel represented the community.  At the meeting his coach stood on the other side of the room and indicated through hand signals when Daniel should enter, sit, and stand. The coach signaled him to wait until he was given the right to speak and pointed out to him who was the proper person to address.  The audience was such a success that Daniel was addressed as the Señor de Tlaltenango (Lord of Tlatenango)!  Adriana reports that there were tequila toasts (no drunkenness), tears, and embraces.  This year the Iztapalapans will be hosted in local peoples' homes when they visit Tlaltenango.

The Iztapalapans are not the only ones who return to the Tlaltenango fair every year. Merchants arrive bearing receipts from previous years and expect to get the same spot back in which to set up their stall. Some report that their families have been participating in the fair for generations.  Many speak Indigenous languages with Spanish as their second language.  Adriana finds they already know their neighboring stall-keepers.  She refers to them as "ferieros" (merchants at fairs).  "They go from festival to festival throughout the country as part of a steady occupational group.  In the case of this fair, a thousand vendors and their dependents speaks of about 5,000 people whose income is directly linked to traditional religious fairs."    

A new feature at this year’s fair is talks by noted residents of Cuernavaca.  The topics include history, human rights, gender, anthropology, and economics. They are scheduled at 5:00 p.m. in Tlaltenango park every day through Monday, September 9.  Send me an email for the schedule.

Retired chorus director making Cuernavaca sing

Though not one of my talents, I find myself surrounded by those who not only love music but love to sing and sing well.  For 15 years a Cuernavacan local treasure, relocated Canadian Andrea Carr (“Maestra Andrea”), has made singing available to the entire community – expat and native Cuernavacan alike.

Maestra Andrea formed the choral group called Agrupacion Coral “Deo Gracias” (Deo Gracias Choral Group) after her retirement in 2012 as head of the Music Department at Cuernavaca’s La Salle University. The community choir draws talent from throughout the State of Morelos with ages spanning six decades. The singers represent Mexico and eight other countries of origin. Maestra Andrea comments, “Our chorus strives to blend languages, cultures and voices into one harmonious sound, serving as an example of unity amidst diversity, harmony out of dissonance.”

This month the Agrupacion Coral is performing an ambitious concert titled with the name of one of the pieces they will sing, “Va Pensiero”.  The chorus will present 20 pieces from the 16th through 20th centuries sung in five different languages. They will perform in two churches in northern Cuernavaca, just a 45-minute drive from the toll house on the Mexico City-Cuernavaca expressway.

Va Pensiero, the title of the concert, is from Giuseppe Verdi’s opera Nabucco. “Choristers have worked tirelessly to master the music we’re performing,” Maestra Andrea said. "I chose the title Va Pensiero because it is a particular highlight of our program, and it is my hope that our music will spark the public's imagination to fly."

“I’ve sung in large church choirs my entire life,” says Charlie's Digs collaborator Carol Hopkins.  “Imagine my surprise and delight when a few members of Cuernavaca's St. Michael’s and All Angels Church came together in 1998 to form a Christmas choir under the direction of Andrea. In only a couple of weeks we sounded like we’d been together for years.  When Christmas passed we demanded a permanent choir. Andrea has directed us ever since.  She’s a phenomenal director, pianist, organist and soprano soloist. What a gift she is to this community.”

Maestra Andrea was a piano prodigy as a child.  Born in Montreal, she spent most of her childhood in Mexico, performing from the age of 10 in major recitals and concerts.   She traveled to England for high school and continued both musical studies and concert performances.  Returning to Canada, Andrea received bachelor and masters degrees from McGill University, studying under piano greats Luba Zuk and Charles Reiner. She then went on to a postgraduate program in Advanced Performance Studies at Concordia University studying with the great piano pedagogue Phil Cohen.

While always pursuing her love of piano, Andrea took voice lessons and sang in choirs wherever she lived.  At the age of 19 she began to accompany those choirs, eventually leading to sectional choir direction.  From 1990-94 she was director of the Montreal West Presbyterian Church choir.

In 1994 Andrea permanently (we hope) returned to Mexico.  At first she did freelance accompanist work and taught private lessons. “Getting resettled in Mexico was frustrating.  No one knew me, knew my training.  It took a long time to establish my credentials as a musician and music educator.”  In 1996 Maestra Andrea began teaching at La Salle. She was later made head of the music department.  Through the ensuing years she taught hundreds of music students.

“I attended Andrea’s first choral concert at La Salle”, Hopkins reminisced. “It was an amazing event considering six months prior there was no chorus. That night two dozen young musicians sang their hearts out in multiple languages. The choral concert was combined with instrument soloists giving student musicians a forum for a true public recital.”

“Throughout her life Andrea has battled Marfan Syndrome, a genetic disorder of the connective tissue.  Since 2003, Andrea has had 6 surgeries to repair her eyes and to maintain her limited vision; nothing slows her down,” Hopkins continued.

Morelos’ new Secretary of Culture, Cristina Faesler, spoke recently of the need to strengthen the fabric of society through cultural events.  Those words spoke directly to Andrea.  With her recent retirement from La Salle she was looking for meaningful work and decided to take Faesler’s goal to heart. The choir is her way and the way of her choristers to do what they can to strengthen and 'create' community.

I invite you to hear the Agrupacion Coral "Deo Gracias" present their Va Pensiero concert this month.  On June 14th they will perform at 7 p.m. at St. Michael’s And All Angels Parish, Calle Minerva #1, Colonia Delicias, Cuernavaca. On June 20th they will perform at 7 p.m. at Parroquia María Madre de la Misericordia, Calle Río Tamazula #25, Colonia Vista Hermosa, Cuernavaca.  Durring the June 20th concert Maestra Andrea will sing mezzo as part of the vocal trio "Ensamble CantARTE" with piano accompaniment.  I hope to see you there.

Second Vatican Council

The most visited spot in the state of Morelos is the simple and austere Roman Catholic cathedral in downtown Cuernavaca. Built as a church in the early 1500’s, Franciscan friars served as its amateur architects and its indigenous laborers had never built a Roman arch or a vaulted ceiling. Look carefully and you will see Roman arches lacking keystones and other glaring architectural mistakes. But these don’t take away from its beauty. Wonderful modern stained glass set in 16th century windows. A single nave with glimpses of rescued murals. Monastic construction combined with mid 20th century modern church interior design.

It wasn’t always this way.  It used to be ornately decorated with side altars and images of saints. In 1957 Bishop Sergio Mendez Arceo closed the sanctuary and completely remodeled it.  In his words, "we removed all the deformations that had been added over time.  It was an exemplary historical reconstruction, in which I put in place my ideas as a doctor of church history.  In the resulting interior space we placed modern furnishings that go along with the liturgical renovations that have been adopted by the Church. " The result?  "It shook up public opinion."  

It shook up public opinion so much that Bishop Mendez Arceo had to write a pastoral letter explaining the changes.  Not only had he renovated the building, but he had also removed all images of saints, leaving only Jesus on the cross and Mary looking up at Him.  In his newly remodeled cathedral Don Sergio started celebrating Mass in Spanish instead of Latin and he replaced German organ music with Mariachi musicians playing church music composed in Latin America.  Referred to as the Mariachi Mass, its proper name is the Panamerican Mass.  It continues to be celebrated Sundays at 10:30 a.m. and 8:00 p.m.     

Bishop Mendez Arceo was ahead of his time. While he was renovating his church in Cuernavaca, the newly elected Pope John XXIII convoked the Second Vatican Council, to begin in October 1962. Ultimately this council would encourage changes to the liturgy similar to the ones Mendez Arceo had already made.

As part of this year's 50th anniversary celebration of the Second Vatican Council, the Don Sergio Mendez Arceo Foundation will publish Don Sergio's thirty-five letters home from the Council on the anniversary of each letter.  Not only will we be treated to an insider's view of the proceedings, but church historian Father Angel Sánchez will preface each letter with historical context of the events the Bishop describes.

According to Fr. Angel, Cuernavaca's bishop was one of the most active participants in the Council, attending all four sessions spanning four years.  Bishop Mendez Arceo was one of only two Latin American bishops who wrote home to their dioceses about the goings-on at the Council.  He sent his letters to the editor of a statewide newspaper, Correo del Sur, not to the diocese.   In doing so he was addressing all the people in the diocese, not only Catholics. 

Pope John XXIII set out to improve dialogue and relations with non-Catholic Christians with the Second Vatican Council.  Six hundred Protestant and Orthodox church leaders participated in the inaugural ceremony on October 11, 1962 in St. Peter's Basilica in Rome.   

I felt the effects of this ecumenical resurgence while growing up in Colombia.  My father, a Presbyterian missionary, studied the persecution of Protestants by Catholics throughout Colombia in the late 1940s and 1950s.  He documented hundreds of burnings and bombings along with the closing of Protestant churches, schools, clinics, and orphanages.  It was a dark chapter of Colombian history. All that abruptly came to an end with a photo published on the front page of Colombia’s newspapers. The photo showed Pope John XXIII with his arm around the Archbishop of Canterbury. 

This ecumenical embrace, and the outcome of the Second Vatican Council, not only brought the persecution of Protestants to an end but started a new era of cooperation. My parents, James and Margaret Goff, later found it easier to work with progressive Catholics than with Protestants. They were invited by the Maryknoll Order to run their press service in Lima, Peru. Later they worked in Nicaragua with the Antonio Valdivieso Ecumenical Center, headed by a Dominican priest.

Bishop Mendez Arceo submitted his resignation to Pope John Paul II at the age of 75. He reminded his congregation that he had been a delegate at the Synod of Bishops in Rome where he voted in favor of Paul VI's proposal that bishops retire at age 75.  He also told them he had made a proposal that wasn't approved by his brother bishops -- that popes also resign at age 75. 

On another matter, next Tuesday is celebrated as the anniversary of the Mexican Revolution, although it will be observed on Monday.  There are three Charlie's Digs -- posted in November 2010 -- on the topic of the Revolution posted at <charliesdigs.blogspot.com>.

Making a Better Mexico

Mal de Pinto is a disease that leaves white splotches on dark skin.  It used to be endemic in the Mixe region of Oaxaca.  In the late 1950s the Mixes brought it under control to the point that a bounty was offered to anyone detecting a new case in the region.  The heroine behind that story is Lini de Vries, who came to make Mexico her home.

Lini was born in 1905 in New Jersey to Dutch immigrant parents. In 1935 Lini joined the Communist Party and in 1937 she volunteered to serve as a nurse in the Lincoln Brigade in the Spanish Civil War.  After World War II wound down she was trailed and hounded by the FBI.  Fearing a subpoena by the House Un-American Activities Committee, she packed her duffle bags and with $100 in her pocket, her 4-year-old daughter Toby holding her hand, she boarded the midnight flight from Tijuana to Mexico City in the early hours of December 12, 1947, day of the Virgin of Guadalupe.  

She was offered a place to live in Cuernavaca by Constancia de la Mora, daughter of a prime minister to the former King of Spain. Lini covered her expenses by teaching English.  Her passion was nursing and public health.  She taught English for five pesos an hour and taught nursing for free.  

She moved to Oaxaca in 1952, taught English and nursing and soon was working for the Papaloapan River Commission, a federal government development program patterned on the Tennessee Valley Authority in the U.S. The plan was to build roads, bridges, schools, clinics, powerplants and flood-control dams. 

Three diseases threatened to bring the project to a standstill.  Malaria was prevalent in the lower regions, Mal de Pinto in the area around the largest dam, and onchoserciasis caused by the bite of a black fly in the mountains. Engineers and even public health workers were leery of entering the region for fear of contracting river blindness or the disfiguring blotches on their skin.

It was Lini's idea to train the rural school teachers -- federal employees with a good rapport with the communities -- to provide the necessary treatment for each one of the diseases.  Mal de Pinto required three vaccinations.  After the first, the symptoms disappeared and the patient felt cured.  However the disease progressed without the other two follow-up vaccinations. Teachers kept track of the dates for the second and third vaccinations and went out in search of the patients if they didn't come in for them.  

As the Papaloapan project reached completion, Lini accepted a position at the University of Veracruz in Jalapa where she taught anthropology and public health and set up a program for foreign students.  

It was in Jalapa that the FBI caught up with Lini.  Her friends and colleagues knew her fear and soon President Adolfo López Mateos learned of it too.  He reportedly told his Secretary of Foreign Relations that he would deal with the extradition request himself. As I recall the story, the president drew two parallel lines diagonally across the request and wrote between them "Lini de Vries is a Mexican citizen and cannot be extradited for political reasons."  On May 10, 1962, Lini received a telegram from the president requesting she report to his office to receive her citizenship papers from him personally.  Lini's autobiography ends with "all fears of the FBI seemed to lift off my shoulders.  Suddenly I felt free.  I was home."

I met Lini seven years after that.  Her Cuernavaca home was a bed and breakfast. She sold Oaxacan arts and crafts in a shop in her garden.  She hosted events in her living room.

Lini told of hiring a man to paint her living room walls.   She returned from shopping that morning to find a red splotch on her wall.  Raising her voice she said "I wanted it white, not red!"  "Don't worry Señora, it is just the rear end of a horse.”  Lini had the whole wall scraped revealing a mural underneath. Turns out that Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo lived in that house at the corner of Motolinia and Humbolt streets while Rivera painted the mural in the Cortez Palace. Lini suspected that her mural was an experiment with technique by Rivera and a Russian friend.

It was around the dining room table in Lini's home that my Spanish language school, the Cemanahuac Educational Community, was planned and took shape.  Lini insisted "You can't teach the language in a cultural vacuum.  You must also teach about the people who speak the language."  She helped us do that. As dean of students Lini contributed with her intelligence and wit and taught classes in public health and anthropology.  

The Days of the Dead make me think of Lini and the book frequently called the Book of the Dead -- the phone book.  Lini worked her way through nursing school as a telephone operator and had a keen ability to remember phone numbers.  When I couldn't find a number I knew I could call Lini and she would know it by heart. 

The Watermelon House

Some years ago my Digs collaborator Carol Hopkins invited me to "The Watermelon House" in Xochitepec, Morelos. She promised me a magical afternoon reminiscent of Gabriel Garcia Marquez' "One Hundred Year's of Solitude." I was not disappointed. Entering the world of "The Watermelon House" is a combination of Macondo, Wonderland, and Oz.  

A marvelous meal was served.  Each dish had watermelon as an ingredient, was served in a watermelon dish, or both. Everywhere I looked I saw a kaleidoscope of red, white, and green with watermelon art literally exploding from the walls and furniture.   

Now you too can experience this watermelon world created by artist Wilberth Azcorra. An exhibit of his art, "Fractales de Sandias" (Watermelon Fractals), is on view at Cuernavaca's Borda Gardens until October 21.  I attended the opening of the exhibit and arranged to have lunch with Wilberth a few days later.

Wilberth's current exhibit makes use of textiles, wood, tin, canvas, oils, and acrylics; all of it is watermelons, in every form.  Applying the literary and musical term for a recurrent theme to art, Wilberth refers to watermelons as his leitmotif. Having chosen only one topic for his art "has meant that I've found many ways to portray it, and I'm always finding more."

"I'm always challenged and find something new in my leitmotif.  If I said I'm satisfied with what I have created and I have found what I was searching for it would be as if I were no longer living."

Wilberth remembers watermelon farms near Valladolid, Yucatan, the city where he was raised.  "As children we were given the heart of the watermelon, its sweetest part.  A great treat, even though adults said 'it's just water.'" 

Not wanting to study to be a primary school teacher, which was Valladolid's only educational option, Wilberth applied, and was admitted, to the Escuela Nacional de Agricultura (ENA) at Chapingo.  At 16 he set off alone to Mexico City. 

A characteristic of the ENA, even under its new name of Chapingo Autonomous University, is that all students are on full scholarship and most live in student housing on campus -- a boon to a teenager needing to cover all of his own expenses.  Wilberth studied there two years before deciding that as much as he loved watermelons, growing them was not in his future.

He left to study philosophy and letters at the National Autonomous University. Wilberth entered artist Angela Gurria's weekly printmaking workshop where he worked to cover his tuition. Most of us have seen one of Gurria's grandest sculptures, the black and white 18-meter high "Señales" at the intersection of Mexico City's Periférico expressway and Avenida San Jeronimo. 

Gurria's assigned homework was to bring a print to the next session.  After a few sessions the other students teased Wilberth with "you're not going to bring another watermelon next time; are you?"  But, sure enough, his art was watermelon after watermelon. 

Gurria then said "If you want to continue in this workshop you must have an exhibit." 

"But where will I exhibit, Maestra?" asked the student.

"Find somewhere," was the teacher's reply.

Down the street from where Wilberth lived there was a restaurant called "La Sandia".  It gladly made wall space available.   

Maestra Gurria then told him, "That's not enough.  You need to exhibit frequently.  At least once every two years."  And with ever more varied exhibits, Wilberth has exhibited, in big cities and small towns.  His current exhibit is in the State of Morelos' most prestigious location for an art show. His next exhibit will be in Chiconcuac Morelos during the Days of the Dead.

By interesting coincidence, Gurria's exhibit "Tiempo de Trabajo" (Work Time) is overlapping that of her former student and continuing admirer at the Borda Gardens.  In fact the introductory text posted on the wall at the entrance to Gurria's exhibit is signed Wilberth Azcorra.

After last week's lunch at the cecina restaurant on the autopista to Acapulco, I drove Wilberth back to the Watermelon House.  The Watermelon House not only features Wilberth's work but hundreds if not thousands of watermelon gifts received by this avid collector. He asked what I'd like to drink.  Spotting a watermelon on the kitchen counter I knew there was only one appropriate answer:  "agua de sandía".

Wilberth's home in Xochitepec, with it's Yucatecan ambience, is open on request to groups of 10 or more for an exceptional Yucatecan meal with a watermelon flair accompanied by marvelous, thought-provoking conversation.  Keep it in mind when traveling to Xochicalco, Taxco, Acapulco, or as an excursion from nearby Cuernavaca.

Old Photos Rediscovered

In the 1950s in Hendersonville, North Carolina, Ellen Macdonald accompanied her mother on summer evenings to visit Mary Davis, a retired high school art teacher. Ellen remembers sitting spellbound as Ms. Davis recounted travel adventures on the back roads of Mexico -- stories accompanied by color slides and black and white photographs.  As a high school student Ellen, now a Cuernavaca resident entering her 70s, dreamed of travel adventures of her own in that beautiful country.  

Her wish was granted:  Ellen refers to Mexico as "the place of my dreams." Her dreams are still evolving and fifty-five years later Davis' photographs are still part of the story. At Ellen's instigation an exhibit of Ms. Davis' photographs taken in the 1940s and 50s will  soon be on display in the library of the Tec de Monterrey's Cuernavaca campus. 

Ellen's story unfolds as a southern tale worthy of Eudora Welty.  The setting was sultry southern summer evenings spent sipping sweet tea enjoying carefree chatter swinging on the wide porch of a rambling old home passed through generations of the same family.

Mary Davis incorporated some of her photographs into a 1963 book titled Mexican Jewelry.  The pictures in the book are black and white yet Ellen recalled the originals "were Kodachrome slides, with the sharp colors and clearly-defined images that made that process famous."

Ellen traveled to Mexico to study Spanish in the winter of 1977 and returned in 1987 for a year of graduate internship.  She married in Mexico and didn’t return to North Carolina until the marriage ended in 1995. 

Back in Hendersonville, Ms. Davis' house remained in her family's hands twenty-six years after her death.  When finally sold in 1997, a family member found a cardboard box on the floor of Ms. Davis' closet.  There were nearly a thousand slides taken on her trips to Mexico!  Most had notations on the mounts about the person or scene in the photograph.

"This was a treasure of memories and it was given to me!" says Ellen, adding "I resolved to go through the box carefully one day."  One day wasn’t that day; Ellen stored the unopened but treasured box close by. 

Ten years later Ellen sold her own home in Hendersonville and discovered the box of slides on the floor in her own closet.  She had forgotten all about them.  A month later she was diagnosed with breast cancer and after surgery faced months of chemotherapy.  "I was thin, weak and scared, and during the long winter nights of that year and the next I began to look at the slides.  I was astounded by the beauty of the images.  It comforted me to hold them up to the light, one by one, and imagine myself well again, sitting in the Mexican sun on a flower-filled patio.  I resolved to return to Mexico as soon as I was able."

Happily she was back in Mexico the following fall with the slides and photographs and a resolve to get them published.  Her first attempt was to print fine note cards.  The editor with whom she worked suggested a coffee table book instead.  The project became more and more overwhelming -- and expensive -- as time progressed.  She chose the best slides and separated them into themed chapters.  A breakthrough came last year with a visit with the chairman of the Communications Department of the Tec de Monterrey. Her book project was accepted as the project for a photography course to be offered in the Spring 2012 semester.  Tec students would select and restore the slides and the end product would be a prototype to show to publishers in Mexico and the U.S.

“I had a choice.  Continue to try and do it on my own or give it away to young, talented Mexicans who never saw this world.  It was a world that for the most part disappeared even before their parents’ memory.   I chose the later and watched excitedly as Imelda Hernandez's students became interested, then committed.  I now have a relationship with these young people and their professor, so proud of their project.  It's no longer only Mary Davis’ story, or my story, it's theirs as well.  I feel like I passed on the gift given me."  

“Each student restored thirty photographs.  The exhibit will be the before and after of the photograph that most caught the eye and heart of each student accompanied by an account of getting to know the photograph, having a relationship with it. 

“The box and the thousand slides have taken me on a journey with twists and turns that I never imagined.  I think that behind the book there is a story that is even more interesting than the book itself."

Ellen, who I know as a regular attendee of my Wednesday night current events class at Cemanahuac, is active in both Spanish and English writing workshops in Cuernavaca. The Mary Davis photo exhibit will move from the Tec de Monterrey to other locations.  I'll keep you informed of dates and locations.

Bishop Sergio Mendez Arceo

Thirty-one years ago April 17 fell on Friday of Holy Week.  Bishop Sergio Mendez Arceo led the Good Friday Mass.  Sitting in a pew in Cuernavaca’s cathedral that day I couldn't foresee the long lasting effect his words would have.

Don Sergio, as he was affectionately known, was comfortable in his setting, a sanctuary he had designed. And he was comfortable with his congregation; he had been their bishop for almost thirty years. 

Though the cathedral building had been completed in 1552, Mendez Arceo led the remodeling of the sanctuary with tasteful mid-twentieth century modernity.  He often said that without "clutter" the church could get down to the basics of what Christian life is all about in a simple and austere cathedral. His thinking was very much in tune with the cathedral’s original Franciscan design.  With changes to the interior, Mendez Arceo transformed the old sanctuary into a liturgically correct cathedral for contemporary needs. 

Likewise he was in tune with contemporary social needs. 

He was a leader in Latin America's contribution to world-wide Christianity, the Theology of Liberation.  It's a theological model based heavily on the books of the Old Testament in which the prophets so frequently tell their kings that what they were doing was evil and offensive to God.  

Mendez Arceo, like other theologians of liberation, believed that it is the role of the Church to speak out on behalf of those whose voice is rarely heard -- especially the poor and the oppressed. 

For his followers and admirers he was a Bishop of the Poor. For his detractors he was the Red Bishop of Cuernavaca. Yet all knew that he always treated liturgy with utmost respect and followed cannon law to the letter. 

Detractors and admirers alike were stunned by what he did thirty-one years ago today at that Good Friday Mass.  Before walking the aisle to the altar area Don Sergio took the microphone, welcomed the congregation, and then told us that he expected the ceremony would last much longer than we had expected -- perhaps three or four hours!  He asked anyone who did not have three or four hours to spend with him to please leave because all exits would soon be closed.  He told us where the restrooms were located but added that going to the restroom was not going to be a way to slip out of the church building.  All access to the outside would be locked.  Some people did get up and leave.

Only after the massive doors were bolted shut did he tell us he was going to carry out an excommunication ceremony.  I'd never been to one before and have never been to one since.  He described the severity of the ceremony, what those to be excommunicated would have to do to return to communion with the Church, and what would befall them if they participated in the sacrament of communion while excommunicated.  

He proceeded to excommunicate anyone who tortured another human being in the Diocese of Cuernavaca, the only area over which he held jurisdiction, whether in a government building, the back set of a police car, or in a family home. He mentioned no names and to me his decree seemed to have no teeth -- but that lasted only a few moments. 

Then he issued a decree that reverberated throughout Mexico and was heard in Christian circles worldwide.  He went on to excommunicate all people in government who knew torturing was occurring, who could stop it, but who chose to do nothing. 

The Don Sergio Mendez Arceo Foundation which carries his name honors similar courage in speaking out against abuses and injustices by giving out two human rights prizes each year close to April 17.  The 2012 awards will be presented this Friday.  This year marks the twentieth anniversary of Don Sergio's death as well as the twentieth awarding of the prize.

The group prize will be awarded to Citizens in Support of Human Rights (CADHAC) of Monterrey which offers effective legal assistance to victims of human rights violations.     

The individual prize will be given to Javier Sicilia for his work since 1980 on behalf of human rights and being a bridge between social classes.   Through poetry, news analysis and theological commentary his voice is heard by sectors of society that normally don't interact with each other. 

Friday’s events will start with a Human Rights Forum in the Federal District's Human Rights Commission headquarters at 9:30 a.m.   The keynote speaker will be The Reverend José Luis César Pérez Guzmán of the Mexican Methodist Church.  The awards themselves will be given out at 4 p.m. at the San Pedro Martir church in Tlalpan, D.F. where Bishop Raul Vera of Saltillo, Coahuila will be one of the speakers.  I will be at both the forum and the awards ceremony and will be glad to translate for those needing it.  I hope to see you there.

Further details are available at <http://www.fundaciondonsergio.org/esp/inicio/inicio.html>.  Round trip transportation from Cuernavaca is available through the Don Sergio Foundation. 

Xochicalco's ancient observatory

A mere 45 minutes' drive south of Cuernavaca, Xochicalco's underground astronomical observatory is again open after almost three years of closure.   I was fortunate to visit it twice last week while leading study trips for four visiting North American university groups:  Carleton, McMaster, and St. Francis Xavier Universities of Canada, and the University of Minnesota.

We usually think of observatories as domed buildings where astronomers look into the center of the night sky with accurate modern telescopes allowing comparison of photos of the sky taken years ago with those taken tonight.  Lacking such precision if, with the naked eye, we look through a hole in the ceiling of a building there is no guarantee that when we return next year to confirm the observation, we’ll again look along the same sightline -- our point of reference, the ceiling, is so close that any change in our position distorts observations.  However, if we make our observations on the distant horizon from a high point, such as the doorway of a temple at the top of an ancient pyramid, it won’t much matter whether we lean against the temple’s right-hand doorjamb and next year the left-hand doorjamb.

It’s likely most ancient Mesoamerican astronomical observations were made watching for astronomical events occurring between peaks or landmarks on the horizon. Heights of pyramids at various archeological sites seem determined by how high a building must be for clear views of the horizon.  At Tikal, with 50-meter high forests, temples appear perched on treetops. At Chichen-Itza, with only 15-meter high trees, buildings also seem perched on the treetops.
 
Unlike other Mesoamerican astronomers, Xochicalcans were apparently not content with observing the horizon and wanted to record accurate observations in the center of the sky.  They accomplished this feat by creating underground observatories, with ceilings so thick you can only see the sky when directly beneath what I will call a "shaft". The almost vertical shaft of Xochicalco’s reopened observatory is about 7-meters long. Adding three meters from floor to ceiling of the observation chamber makes the focal distance, from the floor of the observation chamber to the outside, 10 meters.  The shaft angles slightly north to where the sun is at noon on the summer solstice, allowing direct sunlight to hit the floor of the underground room on that day.

Additionally, since the diameter of the shaft is about 45 centimeters, the sun shines directly into the underground room for 52 days before the solstice and 52 days after. Add to this the solstice itself and for 105 days a year, starting on April 30, the sun shines directly in. For 260 days it does not. Interestingly Mesoamericans had a 260-day ritual calendar!

During daylight hours a one-meter wide circle of diffuse light forms on the floor of the observatory chamber.  On days when the direct sunlight hits the floor, shortly before noon a needle point of direct sunlight appears on the west side of the diffuse circle and makes its way across the circle from west to east.  As it travels it gets larger until it resembles the size and shape of an American football in the center of the circle. Continuing east it becomes smaller until once again a needle point of light on the east side of the circle. All this in less than an hour.  Direct sunlight on the observatory floor will not reappear until the following day.
 
The fact that direct sunlight makes its way across the floor from west to east as the sun moves through the sky from east to west always made me think of a pinhole camera, in which everything is inverted.  I wanted to try to focus it and see if we'd be able to see an image of the sun.  In 1991 there was a total eclipse of the sun at midday in July -- the time of day when the sun shines into the observatory.  Imagine my excitement at the prospect of focusing the image of the eclipse in such an ancient observatory!
 
To prove the possibility of this I enlisted volunteers to go into the observation chamber and place posterboard on the floor creating a smooth white surface.  In the plaza above the observatory I covered the top of the shaft with cardboard with a ten-centimeter diameter cut-out covered with aluminum foil.   I had various diameters of wire with me -- a needle, followed by a pin, a paper clip, a coat hanger and, as a last resort, scissors.  I poked the needle through the foil and shouted down "Anything happening?"  The answer from below was "Nothing."

I enlarged the hole with the pin.  Still, "Nothing."  When I pierced it with the straightened paper clip, I heard an exultant cry, "It's in focus!"  I raced to the tunnel entrance and into the chamber.  There, on the floor of the observatory was a 12 centimeter diameter image of the sun in perfect focus; we could even see its sunspots as it moved across the floor from west to east.  Spectacular!  Imagine Xochicalco's observatory housing a focused and accurate telescope for solar observations 105 days a year, and year-long nighttime observations.  I celebrate it’s reopening.

Poinsettias

As soon as the last Day of the Dead’s cempazuchitl were swept away, noche buenas appeared by the roadsides.  By now they bedeck stores, office buildings, gardens and homes. Because the cut poinsettia quickly wilts, we see them in pots of all shapes and sizes, or planted in the soil in park settings or boulevard medians.

Surprisingly, poinsettias are a relatively recent addition to Christmas tradition outside of Mexico.  Native to central Mexico, likely the areas around Cuernavaca and Taxco, the poinsettia was known by its Nahuatl name, Cuitlaxochitl and valued for the curative nature of the milky substance in the stem as well as the red leaves’ natural dye. Requiring repeated periods of 12-14 hours of darkness, the poinsettia’s bloom cycle serendipitously coincides with Christmas.

Early in Mexico’s Christian church the poinsettia became linked with Christmas through a myth of a poor child traveling on Christmas Eve to visit the nativity scene but without a gift to take to the baby Jesus.  Believing Jesus would welcome any gift offered in love the child stopped by a field and picked up some dry branches.  When carefully laid before the nativity, the branches transformed to crimson noche buenas.  It was the first manger scene adorned with the beautiful poinsettia.  It would not be the last.  

Like the bougainvillea, the brilliant red “flower” is actually the leaves of the plant, more properly known as bracts.  The flower, in the center of each leaf bunch, is tiny and yellow.

Joel Roberts Poinsett (1779-1851), first U.S. minister to Mexico after independence from Spain, popularized the flower, and in doing so, managed to have his name become a household word in the English-speaking world.  He first saw the plant in 1823 when visiting a church in Taxco.  By all accounts the flower became his life’s passion.
  

Poinsett sent plants from Mexico to his home in Charleston, South Carolina. Soon the “star flower” was growing in his neighbors' gardens.  Poinsett, an ardent amateur botanist, spent the latter years of his life propagating flowers and making the “poinsettia” a symbol of Christmas. Whatever it is called, poinsettia, noche buena, star flower or Cuitlaxochitl, it is one of Mexico’s many gifts to the world.

In the early 1900’s German Albert Ecke immigrated to the U.S. and also succumbed to the poinsettia’s seduction.  For three generations the California Ecke Ranch has promoted the poinsettia as a Christmas flower.  Albert’s son Paul developed a secret grafting technique that allowed for the fuller plant we see today.

More recently, in the 1990s, a Canadian priest, entrusted with Cuernavaca's Church of the Three Kings, asked English sculptor John Spencer (1928-2005) if he would design some gates for the 17th century church.  He was startled by Spencer's reply.  "How can I design gates without walls?"  Spencer accepted the commission and designed many gates -- though only two are functional.  Just as the poinsettia's flower is outshone by the showier bracts, Spencer's gates are marvelous pieces of sculpture that are often overlooked because of the immense, intriguing, fantasy of the walls.

In his designs for both gates and walls Spencer focused on events revolving around the church's annual festival, Epiphany, when the visit of the three kings to the Christ Child is celebrated.  They were guided by the star of Bethlehem and Mexico's star flower is featured.

The grandest of Spencer’s gates is the Poinsettia Gate, with enormous steel bracts and brass flowers.  Towering over the gate is the Star of Bethlehem with an interesting twist.  Rather than the traditional five-pointed star, Spencer designed a three dimensional Star of David -- made of two intertwined pyramids, one right side up, one upside down.  Beneath it are three crowns.
  

The gate is the beginning of a path laid out in the shape of the cross.  The path appropriately leads to and ends at the altar inside the church.  Only by including the portion of the path doubling as the aisle in the sanctuary does Spencer's cross have the proportions of a Latin cross.  At the end of each arm of the cross are two other gates. It is likely that Spencer’s design was meant to incorporate the poinsettia’s relationship to the crucifixion.  The deep crimson color of the poinsettia may be a reminder of the blood of Christ.

These next few weeks leading to Epiphany are appropriate ones to visit Spencer's walls and gates.  They are easily accessible to all visitors traveling to Cuernavaca.  They are located at the north end of town and easily accessible from both Mexico City highways.  If you'd like a locater map please send me an email.

Until two weeks ago Spencer's tomb in the churchyard was covered with an intricate design made of cempazuchitl petals.  The seasons pass. From now til Epiphany I'll try to keep a potted poinsettia on Spencer's tombstone in the churchyard.  Perhaps you’ll bring one too.

Scenic drive offers look into the past

This is my favorite time to make the drive between Cuernavaca and Mexico City.  I am always transported in both time and place to 16th century Flanders and Pieter Breugel's famous painting, The Harvesters.   

At the top of the Chichinautzin ridge one forgets the tropics of the valleys on either side.  With a cold climate and frequent rain, there are no lush swimming pools and no bougainvillea. Sheep outnumber people. Instead of shorts and t-shirts, residents are more frequently seen in warm jackets. 

Though the entire area looks like one big farm it is cooperatively-cultivated ejido land and for the ejido farmer, the oats harvest is now in full swing.  Just as the oats were planted and fertilized by hand they will be harvested by hand. Then the are left in the field to dry in conical stacks without separating the grain from the stalk. Though oats, not wheat, the golden stacks of the 21^st century are no different from those of Bruegel’s 16^th century landscape.

There are no fences between farms but each farmer knows exactly where the boundaries are and harvests only his or her crop.  It is only during the harvest that one can see how many holdings there are.  On some farms stalks are still standing, in others they are in the process of being cut. In still others, they are already stacked in conical piles.  The only difference in the harvesting methods used in Bruegel’s time and that of modern farmers on this ridge is that in a few weeks stationary baling machines will be brought to the fields and bales will be hand-loaded onto trucks.  Harvesting remains a very labor-intensive process.  

The ejido farm is a uniquely Mexican type of land holding system. Although the government of Mexico parceled out fields to landless peasant farmers, giving them the right to use it is as their own, the nation retains the title.  An ejidatario cannot use his land for any purpose other than farming, nor can it be rented or sold.  If it isn't cultivated or farmed appropriately it reverts back to the community and is given to one who will.  Lázaro Cardenas, perhaps Mexico’s most beloved president as well as a general in the Revolution, believed the tremendous number of landless peasants was the spark that led to the violent social upheaval. He embraced Zapata’s ideas for land reform and the ejido is a legal concept that was his answer to the question "How do we give land to landless peasants and make sure they don’t turn around, sell it, becoming landless peasants again?"  Finding an answer to the question could provide insurance against a future revolution.  The ejido, modeled on prehispanic land use, without ownership, seemed to be an answer. 

  

This is a grand time of year to travel over the ridge.  From either direction on a clear day, both on the ascent and descent of the highway, one can see snow-capped Popocatepetl and Iztaccihuatl.  Though much of the ridge is part of the Federal District and well-protected, when one enters the Valley of Mexico, one of the most densely populated areas of the world, trees and forests give way to miles upon miles of human habitation.

Along this storied Cuernavaca-Mexico City route are also the paths of Zapata and the Revolutionary Army, dozens of inactive volcanoes, even burros walking along modern superhighways.  For the acute observer, there is always that moment when the centuries blur.  With a little imagination you can enter Bruegel’s 16^th century European world.  Or, even Jose Maria Velasco’s 19^th century landscape portrayals of Mexico as an amalgam of modernity and tropical naturalism.  Bruegel’s painting even depicts a large distant lake.  If the lakes of the Valley of Mexico had not been filled in would The Harvesters even more closely resemble today’s Chichinautzin ridge?  

Take your choice.  At great expense and dislocation you can fly five hours to New York City and see the original Bruegel painting or you could drive to the Chichinautzin ridge and be in the painting itself.  In the lower right of the painting are picnickers and nappers.  I suggest you take a picnic and a blanket and share a torta.