Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
low, church facades highlighted and the cathedral, carved in pink-rose cantera stone, was
splashed in light.
When I visited in 1992, Zacatecas was a gem, now it was polished to a brilliant multifa-
ceted cut diamond. “Mexico begins in Zacatecas,” I've told my friends. On the map, it's
close to the geographical center, and that's where it should be; it is the heart of Mexico.
Somewhere after I left Durango, I crossed an imaginary line, like Dorothy opening the
door after the tornado dropped her house in Oz. She saw the world turn from black and
white to Technicolor. That's how I felt. I left behind inelegant, dusty, dingy, worn towns
and battered pickup trucks and was magically set down in a vortex of energy, quality, lux-
ury, and colonial 18th and 19th century architectural beauties carved in rose-pink cantera
stone.
In Zacatecas, a UNESCO World Heritage site, there was an unsurpassed Baroque
churrigueresco
detailed cathedral and world-class museums, with Picassos, Goyas, Dalís
and Monets. The entire city was a cultural collection and a walker's town, with art galler-
ies, museums, libraries and bookstores, coffee shops and luxury goods. Crafts and souven-
irs were art treasures.
Tourists drive into Mexico, see a border town, buy a trinket and return home repelled by
the wrong end of the magnet. If only they would take the toll road south to Zacatecas. To
me it was like leaving Laramie, Wyoming, in 1950 for California. You just had to drive
across a thousand miles of desert and dust to reach paradise.
Here the streets were not paved in California gold, but in smooth, square cantera stones.
Unlike cobblestones that shake your kidneys or economy asphalt, the flat, cantera stones
provided a smooth ride and added charm, class and a sense of timeworn history. In the
morning rush, police directed traffic. Cars moved among the narrow streets instead of
trucks loaded with workers, which I had become accustomed to seeing in Chihuahua.
There was only one reason to visit Parral, Durango: Pancho Villa. There is no reason to
leave Zacatecas.
My room at Hotel Condesa overlooked the Teatro, the Cathedral and the Bufa. As I
opened my eyes and stirred at 7 a.m., I heard the roar of a cannonade salute. Soaring rock-
ets opened this day of celebration in honor of Día de la Santa Cruz (Day of Holy Cross).
It was
festival
. This was México.
