Andares to Angahuan

Once I had overcome my stomach illness Thursday afternoon I found myself at the modern shopping plaza of Andares, not far from the high rises mentioned in an earlier post. I must continue to hark upon the central theme of my entries. That being the noticeable contrast I have come to find in Mexican culture. Andares is full of high-end boutiques, shops, and restaurants I was not expecting to see before this adventure began. While surrounding neighborhoods can be considered the bane of capitalism Andares represents all that is lavish and luxurious in such an economic system. With its upper echelon patrons strutting their stuff in the latest and hip fashions the shopping plaza exudes anything but what first comes to mind at the thought of Mexico; heavily armed drug cartels and police, murder, illegal immigration, landscapers, so on and so forth. While trying to capture all of this, with my broken screened Samsung L100 digital camera, I was told by a security officer, who had been notified by the security office watching the plaza via CCTV, that anymore picture taking would result in the confiscation of my camera. He was carrying a twelve-gauge shotgun with plenty of ammo around his waist. Needless to say, I eagerly complied without trying to snap a shot of him or anything else. So, I must do with those I was fortunate enough to get (all on FB). From Andares I turn my often-fleeting attention to the village of Angahuan (Ann-ga-wan). It is a community of an indigenous Indian population found a four-hour’s journey away from Guadalajara in the State of Michoacan. I was invited to observe the village by Dr. Rosario Athie, a professor of philosophy at UP, during my orientation last week. She has made many visits to Angahuan over the past seven years and has made many friends in the village as she has a personal interest in preserving their way of life, one that contrasts furthermore from that of the stylish shoppers found at Andares. The car ride alone, once off the main highway leading from Guadalajara to Mexico City, was a sight to behold. Amidst tree covered hills, mountains, and volcanoes kissing or sitting above the clouds I found that the curves meandering through the landscape could easily be the setting of the next commercial for Audi or BMW’s latest sport sedan. Wild flowers litter the valleys where volcanoes’ abrupt protrusion and flat tops discern them from the surrounding topography while towns along the route have donkeys and dogs roaming as they please through their streets. In the car, Dr. Rosario played one of her favorite artists, Enya, and I could not help but sense the harmony between music and surrounding. I also had to share that Enya was a favorite of my Mother. Her reply was that “we are probably of the same generation.” I immediately concurred. Once in Angahuan, Dr. Athie and I had a lunch of shredded steak, vegetables, rice, and beans at one of the two local hotels. Afterwards I was introduced to a guide and a horse that would take me to the ruins of a Church located in the valley directly below Angahuan’s current location. The village use to occupy the area around the Church but the eruption of a volcano in 1943 has turned the town’s previous location into a lava field and all that remains is what is left of the Church. The ride by horse took about an hour and a half each way and I had little directing to do as my horse seemed to know the trail quite well. The now long solidified lava fields gave the impression of being on a distant planet and the only thing Earthly about the area was the Church’s structure and the intermittent greenery making it’s way through small crevices in the grey rock. After climbing around the uneven and sharp lava rock Chavez, my seventeen-year-old guide, and I made our way back up the hill. I was able to gather, as he spoke no English apart from “ready?” that the black dirt that comprised large parts of the trail has maintained this hue since the immersion of the area in volcanic ash more than sixty years ago. Back in town, I met up with Dr. Athie at the home of family who she has grown fond from her visits. I was greeted with odd looks from the younger children and the utmost kindness from the mother of the family, who filled me with a mint-like tea, bread balls filled with chili, homemade cheese, and a broth based soup whose only notable flavor I could discern was cilantro. One of the girls in the family would return with us to Guadalajara, Dr. Athie has acquired a scholarship for her and two other girls that would join us at a technical school in Guadalajara. It must be noted that the newest addition to this family, a cute and plump baby girl, has been named Rosario in honor of Dr. Athie. Rightfully, Dr. Athie was and is extremely flattered and proud of the gesture. Once my appetite was completely satiated Dr. Athie wanted to meet with another friend in the village, the local priest. I was invited to join but declined on account of my poor standing with the Catholic Faith and decided to spend my time sitting and making friends with little children in the town square. I did however accompany Dr. Athie to a meeting with the proprietors of the local school, formerly the town hospital. The conversation consisted of Dr. Athie’s suggestion that less funds should be dedicated to ensuring the Chapel on the school grounds be well decorated with fresh flowers for the Virgin Mary. Her proposal was that these funds would be better suited to help feed the elderly and less fortunate in the community and the main point of her argument was that the Virgin would agree and it seemed those in charge of the allocation of funds agreed, as well. As it is in Angahuan family is first and community is a close second in terms of importance in the hearts and minds of the people. Needs are met in that unselfish order. One lives one’s life with that in mind. Families do hold their own property but the resources of that property are allocated to support the community as necessary. Aesthetically speaking, the community prefers a more traditional way of life. Women dress in bright dresses and tops and because of the cool temperatures are generally draped a type of scarf that can double to carry a young child or other commodities such as groceries. Horseback has been maintained as a preferred source of transportation and children whose legs cannot reach the foot holsters of saddle masterfully ride up and down the rock or dirt covered streets. It may seem primitive that some to many houses are unequipped with indoor plumbing and electricity but such modern amenities mean little to the people. It is a way of life based upon the qualitative not the quantitative, it is what one has not how much of it, and as long as the family is able to live and the community maintained all are happy. Time is of little importance in the town as meetings are arranged after events as opposed to a number on a clock. As I went to sleep that night to the chants in the native tongue of Perhepechan that resound from loudspeakers dotted throughout the village I had to be thankful for the opportunity to see such a place. I had no idea what time it was when I arose to the same chants that put me to sleep but I did feel a sense of disappointment knowing that I was returning to a world where quantitative measures rule. Dates and obligations strictly set by the numbers on my watch, my cell phone being the crux of my existence, social standing holding a near top priority in my life, and the amount of money I possess controlling every ability I have.