Cruising through Puebla around Día de Muertos. A strange feeling trembles. I arrived in Puebla by bus from Mexico City on the 1st of November. It was sultry, it was thronging, and it was appropriately festive in that vibrant Mexican way that captures the soul. Traditionally, November 1st honours children who have died while November 2nd is Day of the Dead "proper" and honours everyone else who has passed on. However, as I strolled around beautiful Puebla, I noticed tension in people's faces. I mean it. There was a tightness on its streets. It didn’t feel good. What was causing this quivering mood? The general weariness of holidaymakers? Are the crowds getting irritated by the crowds? Or was the thinning between the borders of this life and the beyond, despite the celebratory attitudes that surround Día de Muertos, affecting everyone? Stop it. Turn to something else. Here are some churchy snaps from Puebla. Enough of sniffing out omens. I came to Puebla for its beautiful architecture, delectable cuisine, and inspired religious sights. In fact, I’m confident that no atheist under the holy light of the heavens enjoys visiting churches as much as I do! And the highlight of highlights of my ecclesiastical efforts was visiting the extraordinarily baroque and intricately gold-leafed Chapel of the Virgen del Rosario. But not even this decadence beyond decadence could hide it. Not even blemishless gold could gild over the fact that something felt off, however imperceptible. Something was disturbed. Hush now. Show some photos of Cholula. Next to the city of Puebla (and, arguably, one could think of it as effectively part of Puebla) is the city of Cholula. It is best known for "Tlachihualtepetl", the Great Pyramid of Cholula, which — though largely hidden by the hilltop — is technically the largest pyramid by volume that exists on the planet. All this dead stone from a dead civilisation dedicated to a dead god. It certainly left a heaviness despite the loveliness of the weather. It left a shadow on the earth. Darkening and growing. No. Ignore the portent. Write some obligatory food notes:
And lastly. A cold vision on my personal Day of the Dead. Here it is... on the dusty trail to a clearly signposted hell... Like the alcoholic British consul in Malcolm Lowry’s novel ‘Under the Volcano’, I too can sense the weight of Popocatépetl. I stand at the Iglesia de Nuestra Señora de los Remedios parish church in Cholula on the morning of November 2nd. There is a touch of sadness on my forehead. An unidentifiable grief shivers through me. Am I standing on the edge of something terrible? But unlike Lowry’s protagonist, no one is willing to save me. And even if someone did come, I would refuse it. “Quiere usted la salvación de Méjico?” suddenly asked a radio from somewhere behind the bar. “Quiere usted que Cristo sea nuestro Rey?”
“No.”
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Trudging along the relaxed, sunny, red-ochre-and-burnt-yellow American retirement village of San Miguel de Allende... Lazily bouncing from church to cafe to art gallery to church to cafe to art gallery... Here are some photos of my lovely, hot, and dusty one day visit. Obligatory food note. While in the city, I enjoyed a very hearty chile relleno - that is, roast pepper stuffed with cheese. My verdict: Can’t go wrong with this, I reckon. Even better, I had it slopped on my plate at a local fonda (i.e., a tiny, family-run restaurant). Anyway, that's literally all I have on San Miguel de Allende! Nice to visit but glad I only stayed for a day.
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AuthorMing is an economist, traveller, and creative writer from Melbourne, Australia. He’s a nebulous collection of particles on the lookout for a good corner to sit with a book and a cup of coffee. Archives
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