Guanajuato, Mexico - Mummies the Word
A colonial treasure
“Welcome to Guana-Washington.” our guide said, as we filed into the tour bus. His analogy may not have been totally accurate, but it reflected the pride citizens of Guanajuato take in their unique city in Mexico.
Guanajuato (gwah-nah-HWAH-toh), capital of the state of Guanajuato, is without a doubt one of Mexico’s most eccentric tourist destinations. Stacked in a narrow river gorge like a pile of alphabet blocks, this remarkable colonial town harbors attractions ranging from the perverse to the sublime.
Our bus crawled along Guanajuato’s crowded main drag past the huge market building which, with its decorative iron work, resembles a Victorian railway station. We then groaned up steep cobblestone streets to El Panteon, the municipal cemetery. Here, perched on a hill overlooking town, is a museum no one ever forgets - El Museo de las Momias or “Mummy Museum.”
Due to overcrowding in the cemetery, bodies are exhumed after five years if families cannot afford to pay a rental fee for the graves. Chemicals in the local soil have mummified the cadavers and many are on display inside an adjoining museum. The result is a gruesome but fascinating sight. In room after room, glass cases display the shriveled remains of the old, the young, the rich, and the poor of Guanajuato’s past. Mexicans love to joke about death, but you won’t see anyone laughing here.
Guide books often call Guanajuato “a colonial treasure,” and they are not far from the truth: the Valenciana mine on the outskirts of town sits atop what was once the world’s richest vein of silver. En route to Valenciana, we passed by the fortress-like Alhondiga de Granaditas, site of one of Mexico’s bloodiest revolts. In 1810, royalist supporters held out behind this former granary’s impenetrable stone walls against an army of rebels.
A local miner, nicknamed “El Pipila,” tied a flagstone to his back and braved enemy fire long enough to burn down the building’s massive wooden doors. Hundreds of government soldiers inside were slaughtered. Eventually the rebellion’s four leaders were shot and their severed heads placed in iron cages mounted on the corners of the Alhondiga.
A twisting ascent into nearby hills soon brought the red tiled dome of San Cayetano into view. This opulent church was built in 1765 by the Count of Valencia with the fortune he garnered from his mine.
True to Churrigueresque (Mexican baroque) style, the church has floor-to-ceiling gilded altars dripping with saints, cherubs, and angels winging their way heavenward. Rumor has it that the Count added silver dust and Spanish wine to mortar used for San Cayetano’s construction, giving rise to the adage that he was “not only bribing the Lord but getting Him drunk as well.”
Across the road sprawls the Valenciana mine. At its peak, this operation supplied one-fifth of the world’s silver. Today, swaths of bougainvillea cloak idle smokestacks and crumbling brick walls. However, ore is still being extracted and hauled up from the black depths of the mine’s vertical shaft.
Back in town, we bumped along meandering streets past the imposing stone facade of the state university. We then lingered for a peek at the Callejon del Beso or “Alley of the Kiss,” a passageway so narrow that its flower-decked balconies almost touch.
The bus also paused next to the elegant Jardin de la Union. This triangular patch of greenery is Guanajuato’s nucleus. During the day, people wile away the hours chatting in outdoor cafes or relaxing under sculptured laurel trees. At night, strollers by the hundreds circle the Jardin’s narrow pathways turning it into a merry-go-round of activity.
Two grand old buildings, embodying very different architectural styles, face the Jardin: the Teatro Juarez, a stately 19thcentury opera house embellished with columns and Hellenic statues; and the 300-year-old Church of San Diego with its fanciful baroque exterior.
Abandoning downtown, we set out east along El Paseo de la Presa, a broad avenue lined with Spanish, French and Italian mansions erected during the 19thcentury by wealthy silver barons. Our driver then turned onto the Carretera Panoramica which skirts the city’s edge. After an arduous climb, we arrived at El Monumento al Pipila, a statue dedicated to the revolutionary hero who died storming the Alhondiga.
From this vantage point, it is easy to see why maps of Guanajuato tend to be useless. Streets spiral out from the city center like galactic arms then lose themselves among clusters of tiny parks and plazas. Houses cascade down precipitous valley walls, ending up in a colorful jumble at the bottom. Prominent landmarks are the only reliable signposts in this celebration of chaos.
The last leg of our journey plunged us into the Subterraneo Miguel Hidalgo, a bewildering network of underground roads crisscrossing the city. We entered a dark cave-like opening, and suddenly found ourselves rolling along dank, dimly lit tunnels. Roughly-hewn ceilings and walls give these former mine shafts the air of medieval dungeons.
Miraculously, we emerged into daylight only a few blocks from our starting point. As I stumbled off the tour bus, reeling from all the sensory input, two local children asked me where I was from. When I replied “Canada,” their eyes opened wide. No doubt, exotic images of igloos and Mounties swam in their heads.
Author: John Mitchell
| Add your comments |
