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 Travel & Outdoors | December 2007 
Veracruz Beckons With Color, Music
 Victor Walsh - American-Statesman
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| | Visiting Tlacotalpan, Veracruz, is like stepping into a painting: You'll see buildings in every color on the palette. (Victor Walsh/American-Statesman) |
Tlacotalpan, Veracruz — The windshield wipers swish at full speed, but the clatter and splash of the tropical raindrops hit the windshield as if we are the target of a paintball attack. The squall finally passes as we drive into Tlacotalpan, an old river port on the Gulf Coast listed as a World Heritage Site.
Multicolored and dazzling in the morning light, the town is a museum piece. Its wide streets, courtyard gardens, open plazas and brightly painted buildings fronted by arched porticos, colonnaded verandas and facades represent a melding of Spanish and Caribbean traditions. But the color — scarlet and terra-cotta reds, rose pink, lemon green, cobalt blue, mustard yellow, sandstone brown — is simply staggering.
"It reminds me of 'The Umbrellas of Cherbourg,' " my friend Dick says.
On the far side of the zócalo stands the Cathedral of the Virgin of the Candelaria. It has a creamy orange-textured finish, splashed with marshmallow-white scroll reliefs. It looks like cake frosting. The church's architectural design — the Latin cross with a central dome and mid-vault — is typical of many 18th-century Spanish colonial churches. The vaulted, coral stone interior looks like a giant mosaic jewelry box of fiery reds and browns.
An older stooped man, holding a cane, asks me why I'm taking pictures.
"Is it not allowed?" I ask hesitantly.
"No, it is permitted," he says. Then he proceeds to tell me that the entire town labored for 30 years before completing the church in 1769. Distance, lack of materials and money, threats of armed revolt — nothing stymied the people's resolve.
"They had the faith of angels," he says before shaking my hand and limping off.
Each year, beginning Feb. 2, a festival is held in honor of the Virgin. A procession headed by equestrians wearing loose-fitting white pants and shirts and white straw sombreros — the symbolic dress of the Jarochos (folk name of people from Veracruz) — carries a statue of the flower-bedecked Virgin to the river.
There are other parades, including the "Mojiganga," which is represented by giant figures dressed in elaborate papier-mâché costumes. Regattas on the river, Masses, dances and much drinking punctuate the eight-day festival, which concludes with the running of the bulls through the town's main streets.
The heat in Veracruz is wilting; the pace of life languorous. We order a late breakfast at the Posado Doña Lala. From the outdoor café, we can see boys poling their small boats across the murky, wide-flowing Papaloapan River. At a nearby table, two Jarocho musicians — a guitarist and harpist — are entertaining a large family with Andalusian ballads. A half-hour later, we wander along the embarcadero with "Guantanamera" echoing in our eardrums.
Tlacotalpan was settled in the mid-16th century by Spanish sailors, mestizos, African slaves, free blacks and Indians. Its people mirror a vibrant multiracial heritage. The vernacular architectural styles and, perhaps most importantly, the Jarocho folk art and music bear witness to the region's remarkable melding of cultures.
After breakfast, we walk down Calle Venustiano Carranza. Near the zócalo, we find the Agustín Lara Museum and go upstairs. Lara, who spent his childhood here, was 20th-century Mexico's greatest composer. He wrote more than 700 songs, including such classics as "Imposible," "Solamente Una Vez" and "Madrid."
The museum is small and cozy. It has a low ceiling, and ceiling fans, timbered beams, potted plants and dark wood furniture give it a rustic Spanish touch. The mustard yellow walls are plastered with memorabilia from his exotic life: photos of the tuxedo-dressed pianist, cigarette in hand, with a bevy of beautiful women; framed passages from his many poems; and broadsides showcasing his performances. A piano occupies the far corner near a wrought-iron balcony.
Later in the afternoon we walk to the river, which is lined with seafood restaurants. Jarocho-dressed musicians already have begun playing, and the restaurants are fast filling up with Mexican families out for a fish dinner.
We sit down at an outdoor café called "Los Jarochos." I order a white boneless sea bass, called "rebalo," and a cold beer. Our waitress, Daisy, is a congenial woman with radiant skin and soft, alluring eyes. Dick tells her that he has a bachelor son whom he'll send to meet her. Daisy laughs, and I ask her what she thinks of Agustín Lara.
"He got married seven times; women were his passion," she says.
After a second beer, we say goodbye to Dick's future daughter-in-law, and head back to Veracruz.
On the outskirts of Veracruz, we notice a huge carnival-like celebration in Boca del Rio. We park the Grand Marquis and weave our way through the crowds toward the beach. On the far side of the street, in front of a sidewalk café, a large crowd has gathered around a street performer.
"This is as good a place as any to sit and watch the action," Dick says.
We sit down at a table and order two cold Indio beers. Within minutes, a child appears at Dick's side and begins singing. She sings in a high soprano voice, but her dark eyes, fixed on the table, show no emotion. Dick asks what her name is, but she just stares down at the table.
"Can you tell me the name of the song?" he asks. She says nothing.
"Can you repeat the words so I can understand?" I ask.
She whispers, "Somos amigos" (We are friends).
We don't know if that's the name of the song, part of the lyrics, or if, in fact, "We are friends."
Dick asks her how old she is, and she says, "Diez" (10). He tells her that he wishes his 8-year-old granddaughter could sing as beautifully as she can. Dick then gives her five pesos (about 50 cents), and asks, "What will you do with the money?"
"I will take it home and give it to my mama," she replies. She says, "gracias," and disappears into the darkness.
A short time later, an older man with a lean face walks slowly by our table. A cigarette dangles from his mouth, and he is carrying a guitar. Dick asks him if he knows any of Agustín Lara's songs.
"Of course," he says, "I'm one of his sons!"
"I wasn't aware that Lara had any children," Dick replies.
"He had 40 sons," our newfound friend says. "Why, don't I look like him?" he boasts as he runs his long fingers across his angular face. His name is Alberto Reyes.
Over the next half-hour, Alberto regales us with stories and songs by Lara. For an instant, I'm transfixed by his baritone voice, echoing into the night. He continues, weaving a tapestry of stories about the women Lara loved, the land's tropical beauty and its polyglot musical traditions. All inspired maestro Lara.
We drink a final round. A wisp of cigarette smoke curls in front of Reyes' face. He is content, a troubadour from a time when stories and songs measured a man's worth.
Walsh is a freelance writer from California.
If you go ...
Getting there:
Mexicana (800-531-7921, www.mexicana.com) and Aero México (800-237-6639, www.aeromexico.com) fly from major U.S. cities via Mexico City to Veracruz, which is about 60 miles north of Tlacotalpan. Continental (800-523-3273) flies from major U.S. cities via Houston to Veracruz.
Highway 175 runs from Tlacotalpan inland through the Papaloapan valley to Tuxtepex, then climbs over the mountains to Oaxaca. ADO offers service to Mexico City, Puebla, Veracruz and Xalapa, while Cuenca and Transportes Los Tuxtlas (TLT) buses cover local routes.
The tourist office is at the Palacio Municipal under the green and red portals facing Plaza Hidalgo.
Accommodations: Doña Lala, located near the river at 11 Venustiano Carranza, is a restored 70-year old hotel. The rooms are spotless and spacious, and the restaurant, especially its seafood, is superb. The Reforma Hotel at 2 Carranza and Hotel Tlacotalpan at 35 Rodríguez Beltrán are clean and comfortable, but lack Doña Lala's persona.
Tourism information: www.visitmexico.com. |
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