The Heart Of Mexico’s Past In The Center Of Mexico And Just Enough Off The Beaten Track, Morelia Is A Rewarding Place To Visit For History, Scenery, Value And Weather

The taxi from the airport pulled up smack in the heart of Mexico’s past: in front of the Hotel Casino, across from the Plaza de los Martires and next to the 17th-century Cathedral.

This is not to suggest Morelia, capital of the state of Michoacan, has no present or future. Those are readily apparent in its vibrant streets and plazas, sprawling new suburban malls and burgeoning population - 1.3 million, up a staggering 1 million from my first visit in 1964.

But the past is everywhere. You bump into it at every turn. You can’t miss it.

Virtually in the geographic center of Mexico, Morelia is a Spanish colonial city dating to 1541. The focus of all that history is the peasant who ended Spain’s rule in the 19th century, Jose Morelos, who was sort of Mexico’s George Washington. His presence is everywhere, here and in the nearby Patzquaro lake district.

Halfway between Mexico City and Guadalajara, but west of the main traffic between them, Morelia is on the road to nowhere in particular, which has been its salvation. The town is way off the ant-trail tourist tracks and, until recently, the roads from Mexico City and Guadalajara were crummy.

U.S. tourists don’t come here much because there are hardly any of the “essentials”: swimming pools, tennis courts, golf courses. Or the biggest essential: beaches.

There are compensations, such as value. My hotel bill for five days was $126. The scenery alone is worth the trip. Situated in a wide valley 5,000 feet high and surrounded by low mountains, the landscape is reminiscent of Crete without the olive groves. The weather is darn near perfect, with T-shirts and a little sweat during the day, a sweater and maybe a fire at night. I call it “Morelia weather,” meaning heavenly. It’s like this year-round.

Value, scenery and weather are a bonus to the city’s rich history, all of it easily accessible.

Within a half mile of the Hotel Casino are at least 30 museums and historic buildings open to the public, several ablaze with some of the most inspiring revolutionary murals anywhere. At the Palacio de Justicia, a beyond-lifesize portrait of Morelos, flanked by an eagle battling a serpent in an orange sky, gloriously depicts of the revolution, a theme that continues at the Palacio Federal, directly across from the Cathedral.

At night, Morelia’s central plaza and sidewalk cafes facing it are given over to people enjoying the city buzz. Hanging out in a downtown park around midnight is not something you might want to try at home, but in Morelia, everybody’s out and nobody seems worried.

When we pulled up in front of the Hotel Casino, the sidewalk cafe tables under the stone colonnades of the block-long 18th-century building facing the park were packed with people having a late coffee or a beer, checking out the scene.

Across the street in the park, the white carts of various vendors were lit up by bright clear lightbulbs. Lovers necked on benches, and curled together in the shadows along green geometric walks among tall trees meticulously clipped like great hedges.

And this was Thursday night.

Early the next morning I had breakfast with Terry Moore, a photographer who has been all over Mexico, and whose easy manner and excellent get-along Spanish was a great help. My own is below the level of the average Mexican 2-year-old’s, but I try.

Together we set out to “find” Jose Morelos, the short, stocky, freedom-minded peasant who was excuted before he could realize his dream.

It’s still possible to visit the building where he attended school, not far from the Cathedral. Today it’s a college and library where an eternal flame burns for him. The house where he later lived, a few blocks away, is now a museum tracing the history of the revolution he led against Spain.

A pleasant early-morning walk brings you to Morelos Plaza, about a half mile from the Cathedral. At that hour, it’s a green, peaceful place dominated by a heroic statue of Morelos on horseback, with three kinds of woodpeckers working the old shade trees that surround it.

It also marks the end of the Roman-style aqueduct built in 1785, which for many years was Morelia’s main source of water. Beginning in the mountains outside of town, it once wound five miles to the outskirts of the central city. It’s no longer in one continuous piece, but the remaining sections serve as reference points for locals and visitors.

One of the really pleasant aspects of roaming downtown Morelia is that just wandering is reward enough, with or without Morelos. While seeking sites associated with the great man we stumbled across the Casa de Artesanias, a showcase for Michoacan crafts - ceramics, furniture, copperware, silverware, jewelry, leatherwork and paintings. There is a museum section, the area where the artists craft these things, and a shop where you can buy some of them. For the crafts shopper in Morelia, this is the place.

Three blocks the other way lies El Mercado de Dulces, the Sweets Market. The apotheosis is sugar in its many forms, colors and tastes. Along with spices, they also sell herbs, sandals and guitars, virtually all of them produced in Michoacan.

After a few days in Morelia, we made two day-trips to the Patzquaro lake district. We got a little of that country air and wandered the small, distinctive villages surrounding the puzzle-piece-shaped lake.

At 6,000 feet plus change, the island-dotted Lake Patzquaro is one of the world’s highest. From a distance, Isla Janitzo looks like Skyros or some other small Greek island: A single mountaintop rising out of the water, covered by white stucco buildings with red tile roofs.

Walkways (no cars) loop and twist upward past shops and restaurants toward the top, which has been flattened and made into a park dominated by a 300-foot stonecut statue of Morelos with one fist upraised. You can almost guess what he’s saying to the Spanish conquerors. He ought to be the Statue of Liberty’s boyfriend. As with Liberty, you can climb inside to the top, circling upward past more murals of the revolution.

After our trip to the island, Moises took us to the home of Juan Orta Castillo, a maker of fantastic wooden devil-serpent mask sculptures he carves and paints. Some are in the permanent collections of Chicago’s Art Institute, Field Museum and Mexican Museum, among others in the United States.

Senor Castillo, a compact 50-ish man wearing a white T-shirt, made us at home with tall, cold glasses of papaya juice and showed us examples of his work while he told us how his dreams inspired him. Although generally indifferent to such things, I was sold. Despite my non-shopping vow, I bought a small but intricate mask for about $50. It features a horned, bug-eyed, long-toothed devil with spotted green and yellow snakes entwined over its head. I’m glad I don’t have his dreams.

Later that Sunday afternoon we ended up at the main plaza of Patzquaro itself. It’s a small town with a colonial square faced by two-story stucco buildings whose bottom thirds are painted wine red, representing the earth and death. The top two-thirds are painted white, for light and life, a carryover from the Tarascan culture that was here when the Spanish arrived.

We had a delicious early dinner at El Patio on the square, and it was more than I could eat. The tab for all three of us, including “bebidas” (drinks) and tip, was under $25.

Afterward, in the late Sunday afternoon light, we wandered the small plaza. It was family hour. A kiddie train of several cars was slowly making the rounds of the square, pulled by a red lawn tractor. A strolling vendor was selling balloons and foam rubber “ratas” on a stick - yes, toy rats - that scurried around when you pulled on the string. Paintings of local scenes were for sale near the fountain and a red-nosed clown on stilts juggled a bit among the old-fashioned streetlamps, bending now and again to accept coins as he passed.

Kids were running and giggling, with us more sedentary types sitting on benches just watching it all. Was this the look, the feel, the smell of Morelia in Morelos’ day? Quite likely, it was.

David Standish is a contributor to various travel guidebooks and author of Playboy magazine’s “Illustrated History of Jazz and Rock.”

MEMO: This sidebar appeared with the story: If you go Since they’re in the mountains, Morelia and the Lake Patzquaro lake district share pretty much the same weather year-round - 70s in the winter, 80s in the summer. But nights tend to be a bit nippy, so it’s best to bring summer clothes for daytime and autumn clothes for evenings. Places to stay in Morelia range from the fancy Europeanized Four Seasons-style Hotel Virrey de Mendoza on the plaza, to such down-home digs as Hotel Casino, about 50 yards from the Virrey and a lot cheaper. The Hotel de Soledad, a former nunnery around the corner from the Cathedral, is peaceful and first-rate - and under $60 a night for a double. The choices in Patzquaro are more limited and countrified, but the nicest are modest, charming and inexpensive. Among those facing the Plaza Grande are the Hotel Mansion Iturbe, Posada de Don Vasco and El Patio. All have restaurants serving tasty comida corrida - daily specials. Overnighters in the winter should bring heavy pajamas or a close friend: These hotels have no heat. For day trips to Patzquaro from Morelia, it’s handy to hire a car and driver, since little English is spoken in this part of Mexico. At $80 a day, it’s worth it. We had great luck with Taxi Turismo in Morelia, most easily reached by phone (011) 524-315-9446 or fax (011) 524-315-8478. Ask for Moises Miranda Cortez as your driver and tell him we said hello. Moises advises against eating the little smeltlike fish simmering in pans in the restaurants on the way to the top of Isla Janitzo. The fish smell great, but they come from Lake Patzquaro, which like the rest of the world, is getting polluted. Besides, the cooked fish sit in the sun. Bring traveler’s checks. Michoacan is so far off the tourist track that most places don’t take plastic. And don’t be afraid to use your phrase-book Spanish. Even if you murder the language, trying is generally appreciated.