Where I Live

November 12, 2020

“I don’t like going to Amatlan,” my friend Ana said to me once. “It’s ugly.” I don’t entirely agree with her, but I’d never tell people to come for the architecture. It’s pleasant enough on a quiet sunny afternoon, but not much more than that. It occurred to me last night that I rarely write about the village except in passing, so, I took a few pix of it today. You can judge its charms for yourself.

The community is proud of its spirit of independence, and often disdainful of the local municipality, Tepoztlan, of which it’s a reluctant part. The association, I’m told, goes back around fifty years, which means village elders recall a time when the town had no influence at all in local affairs. There is a specific and unique ambiance to Amatlan de Quetzalcoatl, ugly or not. But what did strike me, as I tried to frame shots, is that in every one there were electrical and phone cables strung on poles: it’s impossible to take pictures here without them. One day, we might bury them, but it’s not a priority.

Another thing is that any long shot inevitably includes the surrounding mountains, which are what draws most outsiders. Being this close to verdant cliffs and steep-sided hills, with the black vultures circling around the peaks, underlines that Amatlan isn’t an urban community, but one that nature could reclaim if it was abandoned for a year or two. During the bitter 1910 Revolution, the people did pull out for some years, but they re-established it in the 1920s. The church was restored, a few old houses were fixed up and others were replaced, and over the next ninety years, it slowly grew. 

It now has around 1,200 residents, some of them weekenders who come a dozen times a year to their vacation homes on the edges of the community. On its fringe, it has a half-dozen hotels and upscale spas, while the village proper has a dozen abarrotes or grocery-cum-variety stores; a couple of specialty stores such as a hardware outlet and a barbecued chicken vendor; and a bunch of places selling traditional Mexican foods like quesadillas and pozole, the locally popular meat-broth-with-maize. Kuna, a recent addition to the village’s gastronomic options, offers more European-style foods, since the owner is German, and learned to cook that way.  Otherwise, apart from two local schools and a sports field, that’s largely all we have in a dozen blocks.

Coming into the village, there are a couple of possible routes for a driver, but outsiders follow the obvious one. Vehicles pass walled homes, so that there’s a sense of passing through an entrance gateway.

The main road leading into the village.

Then, on the other side of this short section, there’s the plaza civica to the right, and to the left a slightly raised platform where a small market is held on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The grate on the left in the photo below is to catch rainwater, since the street behind it (not shown in this shot) slopes down to it; without it, there’d be hazardous summer torrents to manage.

The paved plaza civica is to the left of the red parked car, and is surrounded by trees.

The plaza civica is famous for its statue of the plumed serpent, Quetzalcoatl. On Saturdays, a group of local re-enactment enthusiasts dance here to a simple, rhythmic tune, often for hours. People have varying degrees of belief in Quetzalcoatl’s actual continuing divinity, but there are definitely true believers among them. 

Quetzalcoatl, a little overshadowed by his protective tree. The altar in the front is used for flowers or incense.

Past the plaza civica, the Abarrotes Eben-Ezer stands out as a  modest but inescapable landmark. I seldom go in, since it’s quite small, but on weekends, it serves pulque, a traditional local hooch that has never impressed me, but which draws the customers.

Groceries on weekdays, and pulque as well on weekends.

The biggest and best-stocked store in the village, the Punto de Encuentro (Point of Encounter or Meeting Place), is where I usually buy eggs or bottled water. Felipe, who manages this family business, spent time out of the country, and has a sly wit that includes making risque jokes in English. His father, the store’s founder, was gunned down a short time after I moved here in 2010, an event that convinced me this isn’t a Mexican Shangri-La. Felipe is trying to extend the present store (to the left in the picture), but he can only do this in stages, as cash becomes available.

The Punto de Encuentro, the village’s largest grocery store.

Right opposite the store is the village cemetery, the Jardin de Descanso, or Garden of Rest. It was a busy place during the recent Days of the Dead, but it’s never a neglected site. People in this village treasure the tombs of their parents and forebears.

The gates of the village cemetery. The entrance steps are concealed in this shot, but they’re there.

A hundred meters or so up, the street makes a slight jog at the Gregorio Quintero primary school, named for a local writer who died a few decades ago. Right now, with the pandemic, it’s not used, but its striking mural of Prince Ce Acatl Topiltzin, the human prototype of Quetzalcoatl who was born just outside the village, is always worth a second glance. It’s my favourite piece of Mexican street art.

The Gregorio Quintero primary school is quiet in these days of pandemic.

The next picture was taken looking down the main street, not up, back to the primary school. The two guys in the middle were sober, but were goofing around as they walked up, so they look a little drunk. The building to the right is the Ayudante’s office, our ayudante being the sub-mayor for the village. Any time the community is upset about something, everyone gathers here to listen to local politicians’ excuses.

The main street in Amatlan de Quetzalcoatl.

Finally, the point where the combi micro-bus stops is the local church of Santa Maria Magdalena. It actually stops at the plain back wall of the church, which I didn’t photograph because it’s … well, it’s plain. The photo here shows the perimeter wall at the side, the church tower, the bandstand (most local churches have a bandstand), and a cascade of bougainvillea. People never tire of informing each other that the bright ‘flowers’ of bougainvillea are actually coloured leaves, or bracts, the actual flowers being small and white. Either way, the stuff grows all over the village, and will take over a whole garden quite easily if not regularly pruned.

The church of Santa Maria Magdalena.

And that’s the village. My house partly overlooks the church, a couple of hundred meters away from it, up a small laneway. Just turn right when you see Ysrael’s cement water cistern, the one with the cool cement version of Quetzalcoatl on it (though he insists he messed it up), and my gate is the metallic green one. 

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