TERESA PUENTE (journalism professor) writes:
I rented a car in Guadalajara and before my travel writing class started drove to the neighboring state of Michoacan for a few days of vacation with my boyfriend Doug.
The landscape from Guadalajara to Morelia was breathtaking. Rolling green mountains unfold along the two-lane, well-paved autopista, or toll road. The ride is smooth, but just as we exit the toll road I hear a funny sound.
"What's that noise?" I ask Doug. "Is that the car or the road?"
"Pull over," Doug urges me. "I think we have a flat tire."
He was right, and I'm thankful he's with me because I've never changed a flat tire, or ever had one for that matter.
Our plan was to drive through the colonial capital of Morelia and down to the coastal beaches. Some of those roads are one lane in each direction with no shoulder and a drop off of hundreds of feet. If the tire blew in the city, we would have caused a major traffic jam in the medina of one-way narrow streets.
"Thank God this happened here," I said as I watched Doug change the tire in the sweltering sun.
In a half an hour we were on our way and we found a parking space behind the luminous cathedral of Morelia. Inside they were tuning a gigantic organ and its haunting sound echoed through the air.
We peeked inside doorways. Some revealed amazing courtyards and Spanish-style archways. Behind elegant 500-year-old facades were Internet cafes and restaurants.
As we walked through the market full of handmade guitars, local sweets, and rebozos, typical scarves worn by local women, it started to storm. It was sunny and clear when we parked the car and we took cover in the market. A young couple in front of us kissed as they waited out the rain.
We waited a while and when the rain let up dashed out. We stopped in a cafe under the archways facing the cathedral. A young band of men in velvety black minstrel outfits serenaded the customers. They looked about 15 years old and we admired their sweetness.
We walked back to the car smitten by the romance of the city and drove to another town, Patzcuaro - near a lake of the same name - where planned to spend the night.
As night fell we walked along the cobblestone streets where all the houses were painted white with red tile roofs. The smells of vendors cooking chicken and enchiladas in the market made my stomach growl. We spotted a crowd around a taco stand and I knew it must be good.
"That's what I miss living in Chicago - street tacos," I told Doug. "Tacos just don't taste the same as they do here."
I knew he was wary because on a trip to Mexico City several years ago, Doug got sick eating from street vendors. It lasted five days and and he lost 10 pounds.
We walked around the two town squares and 20 minutes later came back to the taco stand. Doug caved into his desire and we ordered three steak tacos each.
I've been told that squeezing lime will help kill any germs and Doug squirted it on his taco along with a helping of salsa.
We gobbled down the tacos and shared three more with onions, cilantro, and a guacamole salsa. I assured him that he wouldn't get sick.
"If you do, it will be worth it."
Posted by awiens at July 18, 2007 5:21 PM
