Category: Travel

Photo courtesy of Susan Nash Fekety.
Glorious springtime jacarandas convert Morelia, Michoacán, into something close to heaven.

Those of you who have been reading Mexico Cooks! for the past few months know that I am a big fan of the state of Michoacán, the state that wraps around the eastern and southern borders of my own state of Jalisco.

I’ve written several articles about the wonderful attractions in Michoacán. In addition to enjoying the annual events depicted in those articles, it’s great spending any weekend of the year there, enjoying the ambience in the mountains around Pátzcuaro. It’s all so completely different from my life in Guadalajara. It’s an easy four-hour drive to Pátzcuaro on the cuota (toll road); the libre (free road) takes just a bit longer but is beautiful and well worth the extra time.

Last January, three friends visiting me from different parts of the United States (Alan, Jeanne, and Sara) and I jumped into my new car for a weekend in Michoacán. We’d decided this would be a great chance to see several of the towns and villages near Pátzcuaro, especially a few towns which are centers for making certain specific crafts.

Our first stop was for lunch—of course! I wanted to introduce my newly arrived friends to one of my favorite haunts along the libre (free highway), just to the west of Zamora. The restaurant is always packed with people enjoying the specialty of the house: carnitas, a heavenly platter of tender, juicy, deep fried pork meat. We ordered a kilo (about two pounds) to share. Our carnitas came heaped up on a platter and seemed like much too much to eat, but we polished it off, along with freshly made hot tortillas and several wonderful made-in-the-house salsas.

After lunch, we were back in the car for the next leg of the trip. Two hours later, we were checking into our hotel on Pátzcuaro’s small plaza. We made an early night of it after making plans to spend the next day investigating local crafts.

Tzintzuntzan

The next morning we headed for Tzintzuntzan, just outside Pátzcuaro on the road to Morelia. Tzintzuntzan means ‘the place of the hummingbird’ in the Purhépecha language, and if you’ve ever heard a hummingbird protecting its territory from other birds or from cats, you’ve heard the onomatopoeic sound. The town is small, charming, and filled with fascinating things to do and see.

Our first stop was the town artisans market. The market is on the left hand side of the main street through town—you can’t miss it. Alan was looking for a tall clay pot for cooking beans; once the unglazed terracotta pot is cured using salt and boiling water, the clay imparts its special flavor to the boiling beans. Jeanne wanted a clay comal (round griddle) for making tortillas and quesadillas. Sara got caught up looking at the locally hand-produced straw and wood items and was especially fascinated with the wooden molinillos (hot chocolate beaters). These beaters are carved from one solid block of wood into marvelous utilitarian designs just right for whipping hot chocolate in a cup or pitcher. To make hot chocolate, milk or water (or a combination of the two) is heated to almost boiling, a tablet of Mexican chocolate is dropped into the cup or pitcher and allowed to melt a bit, and then the molinillo is spun between your hands to froth and mix the chocolate with the liquid.

Alan did find just the right bean pot among the hundreds of pots for sale in Tzintzuntzan’s artisans market. His face beamed as he stowed the fragile pot in my trunk. Jeanne looked at every comal she could find but finally decided that the thin clay griddles would never make the trip back to Kansas City intact. She bought some straw Christmas ornaments instead. Sara bought seven molinillos, one for herself, one for each of her five nieces and one for a co-worker. I was the cheerleader, urging them to get what they wanted and not wait till later—these crafts, inexpensive in Tzintzuntzan, can cost up to three times the price in Guadalajara.

We took time to visit Tzintzuntzan’s two churches, an easy walk since both are in the same enormous courtyard. Although we wanted to visit the church offices, they’re currently closed for conservation of their beautiful 18th Century frescoes.

Alan, Jeanne, and Sara took picture after picture of the ancient olive trees in the church garden. Local legend says that these huge olive trees—some measuring as much as fifteen feet in diameter—were planted by the Spaniards in early colonial days. Many of the tree trunks are hollow in the center and their gray bark is gnarled with age, but their branches continue to produce fresh green leaves every spring.

We chatted briefly with an art conservator who was working on restoration of a catechetical mural in the patio. He told us that the conservation effort was funded by the state, by INAH (the National Institute of Anthropology and History), and by a group of interested people in Mexico and that all of the conservators have come from the nation’s capital to work on the site.

Our next stop in Tzintzuntzan was on the road heading back toward Pátzcuaro. I was eager for my friends to see the yácatas, the Purhépecha pyramids built above the indigenous temple honoring Curicaveri, god of the sun fire. These pyramids were apparently built around 1200 AD, when the Purhépecha kingdom was the most powerful in Central Mexico. Today, the site has a small museum showing exhibits of pottery, personal items and jewelry that have been excavated in the immediate area.

Outside the museum, the flat land on which the yácatas stand is dense with huge trees. The pyramids are built of individual stones hewn from nearby quarries. The stones were chinked together in round-edged pyramid forms that still stand sentry over the ancient temple below. The scent of pine in the air, the view of Lake Pátzcuaro just to the northwest of the pyramids, and the mental images of long ago rituals make this site a magical place.

We left the yácatas to drive back to Pátzcuaro. Once on the road, I remembered that I had commissioned a lamp shade (a similar shade is at the far right center of the photo) in a village just off the Tzintzuntzan-Pátzcuaro road. We took a brief side trip to pick it up at the taller (design workshop).  The woven reed figure in the foreground is a catrina.  Later this year Mexico Cooks! will talk at length about this traditional folk art form and its origins.

Our next stop was lunch, at around two o’clock.  This gang loved tasting the regional specialties prepared in the Zona Lacustre (Lake Pátzcuaro region) of Michoacán. Our midday meal, the main meal of the day in Mexico, consisted of Lake Pátzcuaro whitefish, Sopa Tarasca (a traditional bean-based soup with chiles, cream, and cheese), and other typical Purhépecha delicacies.

We spent the rest of the afternoon poking around in the many shops in Pátzcuaro, examining the fine crafts made all over the Lake Pátzcuaro region. Textiles, guitars, wood carvings, lacquer ware, and pottery of every kind—from full table settings to highly decorative ornamental pieces—fill every shop. It’s possible to buy items for a few cents, and it’s possible to buy items costing many hundreds of dollars. No matter what your budget, Pátzcuaro has something right for you.

Next week: In Part II of our Michoacán shopping spree, Mexico Cooks! visits Santa Clara del Cobre and yet another Michoacán market.

Early the other morning, Larry and Joseph and I piled into the car and set out
for the Mercado del Mar (Sea Market) in Zapopan, the municipality that surrounds Guadalajara on three sides. The huge fish market
that supplies all of Guadalajara’s restaurants, many supermarkets, and tianguis (street market) vendors isn’t far from the Guadalajara colonia
(neighborhood) where the I live. We’d all heard about the
wonderful fish available there and we’d been looking forward to
visiting the market.

A parking place materialized right in front of the market and we pulled
in. When I opened the car door, I was immediately assailed with the
pungent and almost overwhelming smell of fish. Honestly, I was almost
put off by the odor.

I soon realized it would have been a terrible mistake to have left. In
just a few minutes I no longer noticed the smell—I was totally focused
on the fish. The beautiful fish in this market has to be seen to be
believed. Not only is every conceivable kind of fresh (and frozen) raw
fish and seafood for sale, there are plenty of small restaurants if
you’d rather eat there instead of preparing fish at home.

According to the Mexican magazine Panorama Acuícola,
the Mercado del Mar is the second-largest center of distribution of
fish and other seafood for the entire country of Mexico. Fresh from the
sea, millions of pounds of fish arrive in Zapopan every day, ready to
be distributed to Mexico’s principal cities such as Mexico City,
Monterrey and León, among many others. In addition, fish is shipped to
tourist destinations such as Acapulco, Los Cabos, Puerto Vallarta, and
Cancún. In the Mercado del Mar, over 17,000 tons (more than 34 million
pounds) of fish per year are sold. The only market in the country that
sells more fish is in Mexico City.

We initially stopped at El Farallón, one of the 50 or so small fish
markets that edge the broad, shady walkway. We hardly knew what to look
at first. There were so many sizes and varieties of camarón
(shrimp): we saw huge bins of large, cocktail, and small shrimp,
headless shrimp and those with the head still on. Some were a rusty-red
color (called camarón café del mar) others were pale gray.

These workers are shoveling shrimp into bags ready for the wholesale trade.

As we walked, Larry explained the difference between the dark red and
pale gray shrimp: rust red shrimp come from the ocean, while the farmed
pale gray shrimp come from estuaries and rivers along the shore. He
said that the ocean shrimp are much more flavorful than the river
shrimp. This was news to me.

In the past, I’ve only bought pale gray shrimp. That’s what has always
looked normal to me. I decided to wait and then buy some of the camarón café del mar just before we left the Mercado del Mar. A taste test was in order, and soon.

Until recently, shrimp were caught in the wilds of the open ocean, but
today most shrimp are "farmed" in tropical coastal areas where
saltwater is available and where waste can be flushed into the ocean.

Shrimp prices in pesos per kilo at El Farallón:

• Without head, large, $110
• Without head, cocktail, $85
• Without head, café del mar, $95

Fish prices (whole, per kilo) at El Farallón:

• Huachinango (true red snapper), large, $60
• Dorado (mahi mahi), $45

Incredibly fresh huachinango (red snapper) are iced and ready for sale.

Parrot fish.  The male is the colorful one.

In addition to shrimp, huachinango, and dorado, El Farallón and all of the other stores we shopped also carry cazón (baby shark), mojarra (grunt), pargo (a variety of barred snapper), robalo (sea bass), pulpo (octopus), lenguado (flounder), corvina (croaker), perico (parrot fish), and marlìn ahumado (smoked marlin). Most of the fish is sold either whole or as fillets or steaks.

Carnivorous fin-fish are raised in large numbers in cages up to 200
miles off the coast. The United Nations estimates that by 2030, less
than half of the fish humans consume will come from wild stocks.
Aquaculture will dominate in production of fish. Global consumption of
fish is expected to reach 110 million metric tons per year within the next five
years.

El Farallón also stocks a raw delicacy that’s difficult to find in Guadalajara: fresh tuna by the kilo.
The whole fish, approximately five feet long, was lying on the fish
cutter’s work table. Several slabs had already been cut away. Sliced to
order, tuna costs $105 pesos per kilo.

Our next stop was at Tenacatita, a shop named for the bay north
of Manzanillo. At Tenacatita, we priced filleted fish only. By the
kilo:

• Lenguado (flounder), $100
• Robalo (sea bass), $100
• Huachinango (red snapper), $60

Next to Tenacatita is a shop named Hawaii. Most of the stock and
prices were similar to those at the other places we’d shopped, but
there were a couple of exceptions. Right at the front of Hawaii’s
display of fish were two good-sized Pacific langostas (lobsters). The lobster price was $185 per kilo. Hawaii also displayed scallops at $85 per kilo.

Just because of its name, I wanted to see a shop called Tai Wan. Prices there were:

• Shrimp, large without head, $96 per kilo
• Shrimp, café del mar, without head, $110
• Jaiba (crab), $35
• Perico (parrot fish), fillets, $100
• Perico (parrot fish), whole, $50

As the three of us walked along and looked at the various shops, we
were all struck with one thing: the place is spotlessly clean. Every
tile floor, every fish showcase, every wall, every weighing scale, every knife
is pristine. Iced cases of fish have individual drains that flow directly into
grates leading to underground drains. Workers constantly use
long-handled squeegees to keep all floors clean and clear of liquids.
The odor of fish is inevitable, but it is not related to lack of
cleanliness. It’s simply the fragrance of tons and tons of fresh fish.

Larry and Joseph and I continued to walk around the Mercado del Mar. We
turned a corner and found ourselves in the unloading areas along the
backs of the shops. Some workers were shoveling enormous quantities of
shrimp into bags for the wholesale trade. Others were heaving crates of fresh fish out of
trucks. Still others were de-heading shrimp or butchering huge fish
into steaks and fillets. Every person working wore a heavy rubber apron
and a pair of knee-high rubber boots.

We were fascinated by what we were seeing. We stopped at one unloading
dock to talk for a moment with a butcher who was filleting dorado. Larry asked him, "All of these fish are female, right?" The butcher looked surprised that Larry knew that the female dorado looks different from the male. He flipped a male out of the crate and smiled. "Here’s a macho, all right."

Larry explained to me that the females have a rounded head while the
males’ heads are squared off. You can see the difference in the
photograph of the dorado. The butcher tossed the male on top so that I could take a picture of the two.  These fish are so fresh–look how their eyes bulge and notice the color of the male’s gills.

As we walked the length of the unloading area, we realized that each
store that we’d seen from the front had its associated truck dock at
the back. When we reached the end of the long row of trucks, we turned
to meander down a front sidewalk. One fish restaurant after another
lined the street. Shops selling fishing nets, lines, and other gear
were intermingled with the restaurants. An occasional grocer featured a
big array of bottled salsas.

"Well, guys, shall we go buy some fish?" I was pretty sure we were ready to shop seriously now that we’d seen the whole market.

Larry grinned. "You know the cooler is in the trunk."

Joseph nodded. "I think I know what I want. Let’s go back to El
Farallón. It’s the only place that has fresh tuna by the kilo." Joseph
is the cook in their household and it was easy to see that he had plans
for dinner.

We strolled happily along, still exclaiming over each shop in the
market complex. Freshly shucked oysters in bags of their liquid, clams of several
varieties, and more and more shrimp caught our eyes. I looked with amazement at a man
holding the biggest shrimp I’d ever seen. "Wait, guys, let me take a
picture of these enormous camarones."

German Ceja led me into the truck he was unloading and grabbed another
handful of even bigger shrimp. From deep inside the truck, I heard
Larry say, "She went right in that truck! I know she’s in there." I
laughed to think of the places I’ve gone in the interest of culinary adventure. This was the first time I’d been in the entrails of a shrimp truck.

We made our way back to El Farallón, where we’d seen the fresh tuna.
Joseph asked for one kilo and a butcher cut exactly the piece he
requested. Larry wanted some smoked marlin. I said, "Guys, if I buy
some shrimp will you come over to my house later for comida (midday main meal)?" They nodded happily and I asked for a half kilo of headless camarón café del mar. This would be my taste test of these special ocean-raised shrimp.

Joseph opened the trunk and we stowed our purchases in the cooler. We
had a couple of errands to run before we got home, but I was thinking
of the shrimp and ham fried rice that I was going to prepare for my two
friends.

The verdict? There is no question: camarón café del mar
is extremely flavorful, even better than farmed light gray shrimp. I’ll
buy it again any time. And next time, I’ll buy some fresh tuna as well.
A trip to the Mercado del Mar is well worth the time. There’s no
fresher fish in town.

In the history and urban development of Guadalajara, the church and
neighborhood named San Juan de Dios are the incandescent center. Just
to the east of the Historic Center of Guadalajara in the heart of the
San Juan de Dios neighborhood is the intersection of Calzada
Independencia and Calle Juárez.

Since the founding of the city on this very spot, a river (in
truth little more than a stream) called San Juan de Dios has run under
the intersection, which for hundreds of years has been a place of
meeting, work, and relaxation.   

The first church consecrated in then-newborn Guadalajara was the Chapel
of the True Holy Cross, built on the spot where today we find the
church of San Juan de Dios. At one time a hospital bearing the same
name also functioned at the same location.

Around 1885, Jalisco Governor Francisco Tolentino began public
works projects in the San Juan de Dios neighborhood. These projects
included building potable water and sanitation systems, the first in
Mexico to be made of fortified concrete. The concrete tube was 12 feet
in diameter—so enormous that the street above it was built as a
beautiful promenade. To complete the roadway project, a median walkway
was added, with flying buttresses used to strengthen the structure.
Stunning benches, great monuments, and leafy trees completed the lovely
Calzada Independencia project.

Under the auspices of Tolentino’s successor, Governor José Guadalupe
Zuno Hernández, a small marketplace—then known as San Juan de Dios—was
added.

Fast forward 50 years—to 1955. The neighborhood surrounding the church
of San Juan de Dios had changed from a verdant, relaxing walkway to the
dirty backyard of Guadalajara, swarming with traffic jams, dive bars,
hustlers, prostitutes, and including a huge, permanent, and partially
covered tianguis
(street market) on its outskirts. In addition, every day enough garbage
was generated in the area that the neighborhood was always filthy and
reeked of vegetable, animal, and human waste. San Juan de Dios had
become the most visible stain on the beautifully burgeoning young
metropolis.

By luck (good as well as bad), a raging fire destroyed the majority of
that old market. Jalisco Governor Agustín Yañez authorized construction
of a new and permanent covered market, the enormous building we know
today as the Mercado San Juan de Dios, or Mercado Libertad.

Last remodeled in 1981, the Mercado has a surface area of
nearly 500,000 square feet, or slightly less than the entire area of
the old Green Bay Packers football stadium in Wisconsin, including its shops and administrative
offices.

It’s big. Really big. Housed on three floors, it has 70
entrances and is open 365 days a year from 7 AM till 9 PM. Its enormity
houses approximately 3,000 vendors. It is the largest enclosed market
in Latin America and the largest of its type (housing multiple-product
vendors) in the world.

Don Silverio, the market’s administrator with whom I talked, said that
there are larger markets in Asia and other parts of the world, but that
those larger markets sell only fish, flowers, meats, or some other
single item—while the Mercado Libertad sells untold thousands of
different categories of merchandise.

The Mercado Libertad has been the silent witness to urban and
commercial development in Guadalajara. The old Plaza de Toros (bull
ring) came down to make room for Guadalajara’s beautiful downtown
walking area, the Plaza Tapatía; Line Two of the Metro has been
installed; the central bus station was moved—and still the market looms
along the skyline.

The giant market continues to be the favorite shopping place for many
Tapatíos (residents of Guadalajara) as well as the people from outlying
towns who fill thousands of buses streaming daily into the city. In
spite of the opening of Guadalajara’s numerous modern malls and
supermarkets, the Mercado Libertad remains a center of commerce.

The Mercado Libertad has preserved for its vendors and its shoppers
some of Mexico’s best traditions even as it has followed the advances
in world commerce. Guadalajara’s identity is tied to this market, just
as the market’s identity is tied to Guadalajara.

If you’re visiting Guadalajara and would like to spend a fascinating day investigating all the sights,
sounds, smells, and tastes of the market, wear comfortable shoes and
plan to spend several hours taking in as much of it as possible.

When
you finally find yourself in ‘overwhelm’ mode, enjoy a shrimp cocktail,
a taco or two, or just a soft drink at one of the many restaurants on
the second floor. Rest your weary feet and refresh yourself until
you’re ready to head back to your hotel.

In just a few days, Mexico Cooks! will travel to Lake Pátzcuaro, Michoacán, for that state's annual Feria de Artesaní­a (artisans' fair).  The Central Highlands state of Michoacán is one of the most beautiful in Mexico.  Wrapping around the state of Jalisco to the east and south, Michoacán is a patchwork of cool pine-forested mountains bathed in freshwater streams and lakes, rocky surfers' paradise Pacific Ocean coastland, and hot, dry lowlands.  The indigenous population in Michoacán still exerts enormous influence over daily life and customs.  There will be much to report when Mexico Cooks! returns from its annual excursion to Lake Pátzcuaro during this tradition-filled week.  As an introduction to the Holy Week festivities in Michoacán, a bit of history is in order. 

In the beginning, nothing existed. Everything was total darkness. Nothing was heard, nothing was seen, nothing moved. Everything was a great circle, without beginning and without end. Much time passed. Finally from the depth of the nothing and the darkness came a tiny ray of light. The small light ray grew until it formed a huge ball of fire which illuminated the darkness. From that great fire rose up Kurhikaueri, the giver of fire, who overcame the darkness with his enormous force of light.

The Purépecha is the largest indigenous population of the state of Michoacán.  Their kingdom, centered in the town of Tzintzuntzan on the shores of Lake Pátzcuaro, is purported to have been an advanced and prosperous civilization as early as 900 A.D.

Less is known anthropologically about the historical antecedents of the Purépecha than about any other important Mexican group (the Olmecs, the Toltecs, and the Aztecs, for example).  The Purépecha had no written language and therefore kept no written record of their lives, culture, or activities.  All of their history is extrapolated from post-conquest documents written by the Spanish.  The Purépecha language was established long before the arrival of the Spanish and is in no way related to any other indigenous language of Mexico.

When the great collision occurred between the dark and the fire, four huge rays of light arose which were separated into four different points.  Where each ray of light ended, four stars remained as permanent signs and four rays remained as the four paths which divided the newborn Universe.

In the early 1500s, the Lake Pátzcuaro basin had a population between 60,000 and 100,000 inhabitants spread among 91 separate settlements ranging over 25,000 square miles.  Purhépecha government was necessarily strong, with effective social, economic, and administrative structure.  A strong religion with many gods and goddesses underlay and supported the society.

What happened to the Purépecha and their strong kingdom?

On February 23, 1521, the first Spanish soldier appeared on the borders of Michoacán.  Even before this, however, the effects of the Conquest had begun to be felt among the Purhépecha.  The previous year, a slave infected with smallpox had come ashore from crossing the Atlantic Ocean with the army of Spaniard Pánfilo de Naravaez and had triggered a widespread and disastrous smallpox epidemic.

Tzuiangua, the Purhépecha  calzonci (king) died in the smallpox epidemic of 1520.  Measles and other diseases came along with the earliest Spaniards and led to further reductions in population.  Partly as a result of these catastrophes, the young, newly-invested calzonci Tzintzicha Tangaxoana chose to accept Spanish sovereignty when the first Spanish soldiers arrived, rather than suffer the fate of Tenochtitlán, the grand Aztec pyramid city located near present-day Mexico City.  As evidence of his submission, he accepted baptism and brought Franciscan missionaries into the region under his protection.

It is unclear whether the new young king did not fully understand the Spaniards' intentions and how their system worked, whether he thought he could pull the proverbial wool over their eyes, whether he was poorly advised, or some combination of the three.

The Spanish had intended to allow him to keep some symbolic measure of autonomy for himself and his empire as a reward for his cooperation.  However, when the Spanish discovered that he was continuing to receive tribute from his subjects, they had him executed.  On February 14, 1530, the last native king of the Purépecha was put to death at the hands of the conquerers.

So begins the mystical creation history of the Purépecha people and Lake Pátzcuaro, the center of their spirituality.  Still numerous and active in the modern world, the Purépecha maintain much of their supernatural culture  in spite of the intrusion of globalization and the present-day world.  The mid-20th Century Mexican-Irish muralist Juan O'Gorman painted the history of the Purhépecha nation in the Pátzcuaro public library.  The mural, shown at right, depicts O'Gorman's vision of pre- and post-Conquest Purépecha life.

Just at this moment, Kurhikaueri began to work intensely with his light-filled hands.  He molded a sphere from a ray of light, he hung it in space, and gave it the mission to illuminate the Universe.  He named it Tata Jurhiata, the Lord Sun.  Soon Kurhikaueri noticed that the light from the Lord Sun was monotonous and still, and Kurhikaueri thought of giving the Lord Sun a wife to help him light up the Universe.  Thus he formed Nana Kutsi, the Lady Moon.  Tata Jurhiata watched while Kurhikaueri molded Nana Kutsi, and she noticed him as well.  In that way, love was born.  Like all lovers, they dreamed of a way to meet one another.  One time they met in the dominion of the moon and another in the dominion of the sun, and that is how the eclipses were produced.  From their union, their daughter Kuerajperi was born.

In 1533, Don Vasco de Quiroga, a Spanish aristocrat, was installed as the first bishop of the province of Michoacán.  At that time, the province was much larger than the present-day state.  Don Vasco governed an area that encompassed over 27,000 square miles and 1.5 million people.  Don Vasco oversaw the construction of three Spanish-style pueblos (towns), each of which included a hospital, as well as the great cathedral of Santa Ana in Morelia, numerous churches and schools, and founded the Colegio de San Nicolás Obispo (College of St. Nicholas the Bishop), the first college in all of the Americas.  Quiroga is immensely important not only to the history of Michoacán but also specifically to the Purépecha nation.

In The Christianization of the Purépecha by Bernardino Verastique (pp. 92-109), the author states that the primary task assigned to Quiroga was to "rectify the disorder in which Nino de Guzmán had left the province after the assassination of the cazonci."  Unlike Guzmán, who was a viciously murderous and enslaving conqueror, Quiroga was largely benevolent.  He assumed a pastoral role of protector, spiritual father, judge, and confessional physician to the Purépecha.

He organized the Purépecha villages into groups modeled on Thomas More's Utopia and extended his territorial jurisdiction, which brought him into direct conflict with the Spanish encomenderos (land grant holders).  Quiroga recognized that Christianizing the Purépecha depended upon preserving their language and understanding their world view.  He promulgated a multicultural, visual, and multilingual access to Christianity.

Even the Purépecha nation's name is debatable.  Erroneously called Tarascans since the Spanish conquest, in recent years the Purhépecha have begun to reclaim their original name.  The term 'tarasco' means brother-in-law in the Purhépecha language.  The newly arrived Spanish heard that term and mistakenly believed that it was the name of the entire nation.

Descendants of the Purhépecha remain in Michoacán, particularly in the Lake Pátzcuaro area.  The language is still spoken, though only by a fraction of the population.  A written Purhépecha language has been devised and is used in a regional newspaper and in books.

Olive trees planted by the Spanish conquerers nearly 500 years ago still thrive in the churchyard at Tzintzuntzan, the former capital, on the shore of Lake Pátzcuaro.  Some of the trees measure nearly 15 feet in diameter.  Nearby, Purhépecha descendants still produce the crafts of the old days: wood carving, pottery making, and tule (a kind of lake reed) weaving.  The present-day town has a population of less than one-tenth of the Purhépecha capital at the height of its power, and it continues to lose many of its young people as they migrate in search of jobs to other Mexican cities and to the United States.

Anthropologists are of two minds concerning contemporary Purhépecha life.  One group, the 'Hispanists', argues that the Purhépecha remnant has become primarily a Spanish-speaking Mexican peasant culture.  Though they have maintained their language and some of their basic Mesoamerican cultural elements (in particular their diet of beans, squash, chiles, and corn), they have become Hispanicized with regard to their religious lives, their economy, and their forms of traditional or 'folk' knowledge.  In contrast, the other group is more  persuaded by the consistencies they see between traditional Mesoamerican culture and the modern-day life of the remaining Purhépecha.  They  note in particular the areas of relationship between language and culture, gender relations, socialization, and world view.

As time passed, Kuerajperi became a lovely young woman. Kurhikaueri, the giver of light, saw her and fell in love with her.  He began to court her, and when he won her favor, he sent her four rays of light which remained on her forehead, on her womb, on her right hand and on her left hand.  The lovely young woman was changed into Nana Kuerajperi, the mother of creation, who gave birth in a tremendous storm to all natural things: the Earth, the mountains, rivers, trees, flowers, and lakes.  And that's how I was born, I was molded like a half moon with six beautiful islands.  In this world, there is nothing more beautiful than I.

Today, more than 120,000 Purépecha live in 16 municipalities in the Zona Lacustre (Lake Zone) and the Meseta Purépecha (Purépecha tableland) of Michoacán.  Within those municipalites are numerous towns and villages.  Most Purépecha are bilingual.  Generally the language spoken by the family at home is Purépecha.  Children learn Spanish when they are part-way through primary school.  There are still approximately 10,000 Purhépecha who speak only their native language.

The present-day economy of the Purépecha is based, for the most part, in agriculture.  They grow corn for their own use and grow wheat to sell.  In the Zona Lacustre, there are also a number of people who fish commercially. 

Another significant source of income is the creation of arts and crafts.  In the mid-16th century, Don Vasco de Quiroga taught the Purépecha not only Christianity but also the idea of self-sufficiency based on the refined production of items for daily use: pottery, textile weaving, copper smelting, and wood carving.  Approximately 40,000 families in Michoacán presently work at one form or another of artesaní­a.

Moreover, I have been given peaceful and crystalline waters, so crystal-clear that they are like a mirror, and that's how I am used.  You see, my grandmother, Nana Kutsi, combs her long silver hair every night when her rays are reflected in my waters.  By day, my grandfather, Tata Jurhiata, reflects his golden rays in my waters, forming sparkles of every color.  I am the lake of the ages.  I am Lake Pátzcuaro.

The ancient Purépecha  believed that the Universe was divided into three parts: the region of the heavens, the region of the Earth, and the region of the dead.  Each region had its own set of gods.  The most important gods were those of the first region–the heavens–and among those the most important were Kuerajperi, the Lord of LIght, and Xaratongo, the goddess of the moon.

Many Purépecha continue to live in small villages, in some respects isolated from culture other than their own.  Their homes, called trojes, are made of heavy, hand-hewn thick pine boards.  Each room of a troje is separate from every other room.  The kitchen, living quarters, sleeping and storage rooms are individual small buildings such as the one in the photo to the right.

Today, the Purépecha practice a Catholicism colored by their reinterpretation of the teachings of the early Franciscan and Dominican missionaries.  Many Purépecha believe that God, the Virgin Mary, Jesus, and the saints have special powers which interact among them.  The devil, in some of his manifestations, has an importance which goes beyond that of the saints.

Life for the Purépecha today is a battle for survival, both economic and cultural.  Physical survival depends on many factors, including money sent home by the sons and daughters of the pueblos who now work in Morelia (the state capital), Mexico City, Guadalajara, and in the United States.

Cultural survival is constantly assaulted by the influences of television, print advertising, and innovations brought home by the sons and daughters who work 'away'.   

Political survival is crucial to the continuation of the Purhépecha nation.   

Spiritual survival depends on the handing down of the old ways, the old traditions, by a generation of elders that is fast disappearing.  The question of Hispanization is not an idle one, but one which must be addressed if the Purhépecha are to survive as more than a curiosity in the modern world.

Mexico Cooks! visits Michoacán's Zona Lacustre during the first week of April.  We'll be at the Feria de Artesaní­a with its more than 200 vendors of the best of Michoacán's arts and crafts and at its Muestra de Gastronomí­a (indigenous foods exhibit and tasting).  Of course we'll report back on all that we see and do–and taste.