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Convent in Sombrerete. I asked how many nuns were in the convent and how they suppor-
ted themselves. She said, “We are fifteen. We have a schedule, morning mass, two hours
of prayer, and we make
rompote
(alcoholic eggnog) and
membrilla de miel
(quince jelly)
for sale.”
We pulled into Sombrerete. Sister Lourdes said there would be a celebration tonight in
honor of the Santa Cruz (Holy Cross) and a three-day festival. We said good-bye, and I
had two seats to myself.
The scenery was ranch country, cowboys on horses and herds of cattle. Slowly the ranches
gave way to more cacti. I dozed. When I awoke the bus was on a straightaway. Like many
Mexican highways, the roadbed was elevated and the road's shoulder steep. A blowout
could be fatal. The bus whizzed by three crosses that
marked a tragedy. I once wondered why crosses marked traffic deaths. “Why not crosses
in homes or bedrooms?” I asked a friend.
“It's not the place, it's the circumstance,” I was told. “The unexpected death means a death
without a final confession and forgiveness of sins. When you pass a cross, say a prayer
for the soul in purgatory.”
We pulled into Durango at 2 p.m. Durango is a large city, and I've read that it has an at-
tractive colonial center. But I was eager to reach Zacatecas. I had one hour to catch the
bus, just enough time to walk to McDonald's, get a little breather and then back on the bus.
In my mind, it was perfect timing.
The sun dipped below the horizon, and gold morphed into black as the Durango bus pulled
into the Zacatecas terminal.
I caught a taxi. The driver suggested Hotel Condesa. It was a perfect location, with an even
better price, $35 a night. Some of the old hotels, in this case 130 years old, are remodeled
and modern, are in great locations and are economical but without parking, which is why
the price is thrifty.
I checked in, washed up, and by 9 p.m. I was ready for a walk to shake the feeling of the
bus seat's indentation off my backside. I stepped outside into a nighttime photographer's
paradise.
A rainbow of multicolored dancing waters illuminated a plaza fountain. Cars passed under
a floodlit ancient aqueduct. Light accented an 18th century bullring that had been conver-
ted by an architectural masterstroke into a dream hotel. Arched portals were lit from be-
