Picture postcard perfect

As you approach San Miguel de Allende, winding down one of the numerous hills that surround this pretty colonial town, it is the pink spires of La Parroquia (the parish church) that stand out. The façade was added to the original 1683 church by local stone mason Ceferino Gutierrez in 1880. With no formal training as an architect, this is Gutierrez’s idiosyncratic interpretation of a gothic tower. Legend has it that the illiterate mason would sketch out his instructions with a stick in the sand and his builders would follow these drawings.

It is just another example of Mexican ingenuity, a memorable piece of architecture, and I love its kitchness.

San Miguel is a picture-postcard town in Mexico’s central highlands and since the 1940s it has attracted many foreigners (mainly American) to make their homes here. Following World War II, American GIs came to the town to study at the art school run by Sterling Dickinson. Later, others followed and when McCarthy began his witch-hunts in the late 1940s, San Miguel also attracted American political expatriates seeking a refuge.

In the sixties, Beat writer Neal Cassady famously died just outside San Miguel after a wedding party in town – it is not known whether his death was as a result of exposure or because of a lethal cocktail of drugs. Cassady, together with Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg and, later, Bob Dylan, helped immortalise San Miguel’s most down-at-heel cantina, La Cucaracha (the cockroach) which still stands today.

Although the town has inevitably lost some of its bohemian edge, San Miguel remains a vibrant centre for aspiring artists. Within five minutes of arrival I found myself sipping wine at an art exhibition. San Miguel even has its own PEN centre and often hosts writers’ events. The first time I came here was for a writers’ conference in 2002.

Then, on one surreal evening, a few of us stole away for a dip in La Gruta, about five miles outside the town on the road to Dolores Hidalgo.  A popular spot for bathers, the three pools are fed by thermal springwater. Lit by starlight alone we groped our way through bushes, over a fence and into the first hot pool. We then waded through a pitch black tunnel until we came out in a cave with warm water cascading from its domed roof and down the walls. There are a number of these balnearios close to San Miguel and the experience is truly sublime.

As well as its narrow cobbled streets and slow pace of life, so different from Mexico City, I love the friendliness of the locals and the diversity of things to do and see. After the art exhibition, I was invited into the courtyard of a hotel to hear Casa Verde (GreenHouse) who were going to play original Latin tunes with a hint of reggae. When I arrived, this rather motley, seven-strong crew, were sitting around having a drink together. I had no idea they were to be the evening’s entertainment. But when they wandered onto the tiny stage and took up their instruments the end result was phenomenal. They metamorphosed into a disciplined group of musicians who played with real passion and energy.  There was an Argentinean on trumpet,  the female vocalist was French, a young Mexican girl was playing the congas and the guy who accosted me on the street played the requinto ( a miniature, more highly pitched, acoustic guitar commonly used in serenades) and employed a credit card as a plectrum.  They were hugely generous to one another – taking it in turns to introduce the songs and to sing lead vocals. It is always when you least expect it that something magical happens and I spent the rest of the night listening to this extraordinarily talented group.

The shops in San Miguel are full of interesting wares, that you are actually tempted to buy, from silver and pottery to sarapes and pretty handwoven blouses. This used to be a stopover for traders, en route from the silver mines of Zacatecas and Guanajuato, and is still predominantly an agrarian region, so it is no surprise to see men and children on horseback trotting down the streets. I had wanted to visit one of the nearby ranches to try and beg a bareback ride in the hills, but we did not have time.

The numerous church bells and firecrackers that wake you at dawn may bother some visitors but they evidently remain part of the town’s charm for the American retirees and wealthy expats who spend their winters here.

San Miguel also a bloody past for it was here that Mexico’s bid for independence from Spain first took root. Ignacio Allende, an army officer based in San Miguel, and a priest, Miguel Hidalgo, were among the conspirators to be captured and executed. The heads of Allende and Hidalgo and two other rebel leaders were brought back to Guanajuato and hung in cages outside a granary for ten years until 1821 when Mexico finally gained independence.  San Miguel el Grande was renamed San Miguel de Allende  in 1826 and his statue overlooks that of San Miguel’s founder the Franciscan Friar Juan de San Miguel. There can’t be many places were revolutionaries and friars are honoured side by side, but they often fought in the field together and it is the country’s most rebellious priests that have helped to make Mexico what it is today.

The magic mountain

Tepozteco

I have finally climbed the magic mountain of Tepozteco and the experience was phenomenal. This is part of the mountain range (sierra) that encircles Tepoztlán, a sleepy market town one hour south of Mexico city. Tepoztlán is a Nahuatl name and means “place of abundant copper” or “place of broken rocks”. There is not much copper to be seen today – either in the landscape or being sold in the market – but rocks there are a plenty.

What makes the mountain so special is that an ancient pyramid, named after Tepoztécatl the God of pulque, drunkenness and fertility, was erected on its summit around 1200AD and the ruins remain to this day. Pulque is made from the fermented juice of the maguey (a kind of cactus) and by modern standards is generally considered rather unappetising (given its resemblance to human saliva) but it was a popular Aztec drink and pre-Columbian was used in religious ceremonies. (Tepoztécatl is evidently an Aztec version of Dionysus). Pulque is still sold today, although in far less quantities than the ever popular tequila. In a nod to the cult of inebriation, market sellers continue to tout alcoholic beverages at the foot of the mountain.

Between 1150 and 1350AD, the city of Tlapechacalco flourished in a small valley surrounded by hills. The Aztec inhabitants carved out terraces from the rock  and built their palaces, and temples. Today, you can see the archaeological ruins of the city at the foot of the mountain and at the top of cerro Tepozteco is the temple ruin.

Today there is no road to the top and the only way to see the remains of the pyramid is by hiking up the mountainside for 1.3 miles (2km).

I have been meaning to climb this mountain for four years. Sunday at midday probably wasn’t the most propitious moment to choose. Hordes of people decided to ascend at that hour and at least three different generations, if not four, were climbing at the same time as us. Dense vegetation overhangs most of the path, creating natural shade but adding to the humidity, and in places, we were scrambling up an almost vertical precipice. I was amazed to see babies and dogs, quite literally, being hauled up the mountainside. All shapes and sizes and all manner of clothes and shoes were on display. Amazingly, often those people wearing flip-flops and Crocs proved the most sure-footed.

Many websites describe the climb in terms of ordered steps and this is very definitely not the case. At times our staircase to the temple was just a mound of rocks and, in places, water trickles over the rock making the climb slippery and more arduous. We applied a note of magic realism to the journey by imagining it to be the sweat of all those who had climbed before us.

All too often we, rounded a bend only to be confronted with another precipice to be scaled. At times, those descending caused dangerous bottlenecks where neither person could pass without causing risk to others. False hopes were raised when the sun broke through the foliage, fooling us into believing that we were near the top. One man scaled the mountain three times – during the three hours it took us to ascend and descend.

Inevitably, the highlight was arrival – drenched in sweat – and the awe-inspiring view. Tepoztlán laid out before us in all its glory.  The pyramid itself is stunning – even more so when you see the Mexicans camped out on its terraces – munching on their picnics, chatting and laughing. Unbelievably they were selling refreshments on the summit – someone evidently had to lug numerous bottles of lemonade and water up the mountain earlier in the day.

I was amused to see the following sign, asking for payment, at the top. All those climbing on sundays are exempt from the 37 peso fee (about £1.60) . But it was the exemption for “disabled visitors” that struck me.  I cannot contemplate how anyone suffering from any sort of injury or disability would make it up the mountain!  Having myself been partially disabled just 3 weeks ago, I was amazed at the ability of my knee and ankle to hold out and that I survived the journey intact.

As someone who suffers from vertigo, the descent was murderous. I was touched by the amount of helping hands offered to me. My rigid concentration on the stones in front of me, rather than the tremendous vista surrounding me, must have told a tale. I am amazed that there are not more accidents on Tepozteco. Just the sheer number of people at the weekend attempting to climb and descend is a hazard.

We may now be in considerable pain but remain exhilarated by the experience. The memory of the ascent, with its stunning natural architecture, foliage and small ferns flourishing in the rock is unforgettable. The summit is indeed a fitting stage to celebrate deities and kings. The temple ruins and view from the top of the mountain are ample reward for the rest of us lesser mortals.

The death of Natalia

I can’t bear seeing these pictures of a bare-chested Vladimir Putin on horseback. http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/europe/article6738969.ece As well as beefing up his macho image, the one of him feeding his mount suggests a sensitivity, a gentler, caring side that, alas, is severely lacking in Russia’s PM. It’s a very shrewd but cynical tactic to have released the photographs for public consumption. I’ve always believed animal lovers to have a compassionate streak, and when I saw Putin kissing a horse (in a previous picture) I hesitated… for a fraction of a second.

But no! This was the man (then President) who refused for three days to issue a statement on the brutal contract killing of courageous journalist Anna Politkovskaya. When he was finally drawn, he callously remarked that “Politkovskaya’s political influence inside the country was of little significance.” The writer was shot dead on 7 October 2006, her body found slumped in an elevator outside her apartment in Moscow. At the time of her death, she was working on an article about torture in Chechnya that implicated Ramzan Kadyrov, then the pro-Kremlin Chechan Prime Minister. After her murder, rumours began to circulate that Kadyrov had ordered the contract killing to coincide with Putin’s Birthday.

Russia bears comparison with Mexico; a country that, in recent months, has been referred to as “a failed state”. One can see a similar pattern of violence in Russia, and in particular in the republic of Chechnya, where violence and corruption has created a lawlessness that Moscow seems increasingly to be unable to keep in check. On coming to power, Putin ordered a ground offensive in 1999 that was to become the Second Chechen War. Russia’s superior military power, its indiscriminate bombing and sheer brute force severely disabled the Chechen resistance and Putin installed a pro-Moscow Chechen regime under Akhmad Kadyrov that lasted until his assassination in 2004. His son, Ramzan Kadyrov, succeeded him, becoming President of Chechnya in February 2007. Over the past decade, Amnesty has published a horrific list of human rights abuses taking place in Chechnya, including extrajudicial executions, enforced disappearances and abductions, torture in unofficial detention centres and arbitrary detentions. It is these abuses that Politkovskaya was so intent on reporting and bringing to the world’s attention and that, few dispute, resulted in her murder.

And now, almost three years later, we are mourning the loss of another courageous female activist who has been slayed in a contract killing for her work. Natalia Estemirova, an award-winning Russian human rights activist and freelance journalist, was murdered on 15 July 2009.

Estemirova worked with Memorial, one of Russia’s best known and oldest human rights group. She was a close friend and colleague of Politkovskaya and they investigated some of the same cases together, writing about them in the independent Novaya Gazeta and other local papers. Estemirova was half-Russian and half-Chechen and had often interpreted for Politkovskaya. In October 2007, she came to England to accept the  inaugural Anna Politkovskaya Award from the Reach All Women in War campaign group; an award established to honour female human rights defenders from conflict zones who stand up for the victims of conflict, often at a great personal risk.

On the morning of 15 July, Estemirova was reportedly seized by four unknown men as she left for work and was bundled into the back of a white car. Neighbours at her house in Grozny, Chechnya’s capital, heard her shout: “I’m being kidnapped.” Later her body was found slumped on the main road of a village in Ingushetia, the neighbouring republic to Chechnya. She had been shot in the head and chest. The news of her death, coming so soon after Politkovskya’s, is heartbreaking. Just, fifty years old, Estemirova leaves behind a fifteen-year-old daughter.

There are many similarities between the lives and deaths of these two courageous women. Both were investigating human rights abuses in Chechnya. Both would listen to the stories of Chechen victims, who would tell them how their relatives had been shot by Kadyrov’s troops, or who had been kidnapped and tortured or who had just disappeared. Both wrote articles for Novaya Gazeta, well-known for its critical and coverage of Russian political and social affairs, and both collaborated with human rights groups such as Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch.  They were scathing critics of Kadyrov, who is a close ally of Vladimir Putin. Their murders bear all the hall marks of contract killings and in both cases their colleagues have pointed the finger at Chechnya’s president.

According to the Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ), since 2000, under Putin’s tenure, seventeen journalists have been murdered for their work or have died under suspicious circumstances in Russia. They have been murdered with impunity; in only one case have the killers been convicted, and the masterminds remain unpunished.

When Dmitry Anatolyevich Medvedev, backed by Putin, became President, he pledged to enforce the rule of law by investigating crimes against the press. But according to CPJ, attacks on journalists continue unchecked. In the past year alone, CPJ has documented work-related violence against 19 journalists in various parts of the country. English PEN has reported on four journalists killed in the opening months of 2009.

One has to wonder why the most powerful man in Russia today, who is trying to soften his brutish image by posing in photos with horses, cannot stem the tidal wave of murders of journalists, lawyers and human rights activists in his country. Why do these courageous men and women keep on being killed and why do the perpetrators never get caught?

Click here to visit International PEN’s website for further info and suggestions of how you can help.

The hidden monument (Malinchismo)

The Hidden Monument: Cortes, Malinche and Martin

Malinchismo seems to have entered the Mexican lexicon sometime in the late 1940s. Octavio Paz mentions the term in his book of essays, The Labyrinth of Solitude (1950). It refers to the taste for something foreign or exotic. More often than not it is used in a pejorative sense by Mexicans against their fellow country men and women who enjoy the company of foreigners or prefer their outlandish ways and ideals over Mexican culture.

It is only natural that the spread of television into homes across Mexico helped promote a fascination with all things foreign. Apparently in 1968 Mexican President Diaz Ordáz gave a speech where he scolded the Mexicans: “Our malinchismo is holding us back. We must get over it.” The term gained currency in the 1990s when Mexico opened itself up to outside spheres of influence and began importing goods. Malinchistas were those who encouraged Mexico to open itself to the outside world (for better or for worse).

The term is linked to foreign intervention and was born out of what Paz refers to as “the curse that weighs against La Malinche.”

Malinche was the daughter of a noble Indian family; some reports suggest she was of Mayan descent, others that she was the daughter of an Aztec nobleman. Whatever the truth, the important thing is that she knew various Mayan dialects and understood Nahuatl, the language of the Aztecs. Upon her father’s death, her mother remarried and after giving birth to a son, she sold/gave her daughter to some passing traders. Malinche was taken to Tabasco where she wound up as the slave of the cacique, a tribal leader. Here, some say, she learned Spanish from the shipwrecked conquistadores that were washed up on the nearby shores. By the time she was given as a gift to the leader of the conquistadores, Hernan Cortés, she was a natural linguist. She became known as the “silver-tongued translator” of Cortés and later bore him a son. It is not known whether she willingly became Cortes’ lover or was raped and this seems to have contributed to the ambivalence with which so many Mexican hold her today. By all accounts she was respected by Cortés and other conquistadores.  In a letter preserved in the Spanish archives, Cortés wrote: “After God we owe this conquest of New Spain to Doña Marina.”

It is perhaps because of the reverence in which she is held by the Spaniards that for centuries Malinche has been considered a traitor by many Mexicans despite the fact that her interpreting and well-documented diplomacy skills helped prevent widespread slaughter and her son is, in fact, the first true Mexican. In recent years, this negative image has started to shift.

In 1926, the renowned Mexican artist, José Clemente Orozco presented Malinche as the Mexican Eve in his mural: Cortés and Malinche (seen here).

Eighty years later, in 2007, popular Mexican author, Laura Esquivel, attempted to set the record straight with her novella Malinche; an imaginative recreation of the life of the native interpreter and her love affair with Cortés.

Jaime thinks that attitudes towards Malinche have changed with the rise of globalisation in Mexico. In the 1980s, he recalls that a statue of Malinche, Cortés, and their son Martín was placed before the entrance to the main church in Coyoacan Plaza in Mexican City. It was meant to celebrate the Mestizaje (mixed race Mexicans), but was greeted by outrage by many Mexican, who evidently still considered Cortés as “the invader” and Malinche his “whore.*  So the statue disappeared overnight and there was no mention of where it had gone. Some time later, Jaime found it, completely by accident, when walking in a small park on the outskirts of Coyoacan. He was utterly surprised to stumble across it concealed behind bushes and trees.

Parque de Xicotencatl

There are impeccably researched historical and academic accounts of Cortés and Malinche that fail to mention the statue or indeed go so far as to state that there are no monuments to either that exist in the country. So today, we set off to discover one of Mexico’s best kept secrets and we were not to be disappointed. It seems there has been another change of heart. I was surprised at the grandeur of the monument. Although, situated in a pretty, anonymous park of Mexico, the statue is no longer obscured by undergrowth and is sitting on its original pedestal. The regality of the three cannot be ignored.

The insistence of their hands  had me transfixed: Are they challenging, commanding, demanding or supplicating?

The sculptor’s identity is still a mystery, so if any readers have the answer, please post below.

*To this day, there is no other monument to Cortés in Mexico. His remains are in Hospital de Jesus, in line with his wish to be buried in Mexico City, and are marked by a discreet plaque.