I arrived in Malinalco after the typical succession from big bus, to local bus, to combination mini bus. This seems to be fairly routine now that I’m visiting towns more off the beaten track. That’s not to say it wasn’t a tourist town. It certainly earned the title more than the last charlatan on the list, Yuriria.
When booking my place, I was surprised to see that prices were significantly higher than other places I’d stayed so I booked a cheaper hotel a little farther from the city center. I was still on a quest to find a place to spend a few weeks just living like a local, but I erred on the side of caution and only booked two nights initially. As it turns out, I needed no more than a couple of hours.
As I headed down the steep cobblestone street from my hotel, I heard thunder in the distance. I imagined the return ascent would be challenging when I headed back upstream against an accumulation of water cascading down the hill.
No sooner had I arrived at the main plaza then the rain began to fall. It was relatively light, though most people seemed unprepared and huddled together in doorways or beneath the large trees surrounding the plaza. I was fortunate that it was a little cold when I left my hotel so I was already wearing my hat and jacket, and I made my circuit of the town while the light rain bounced off my clothing.
I had hopes of finding a bar I could seek shelter in while the storm passed, but it seemed that this town, too, only allowed takeaway, and even if a cocktail might be available to go, I didn’t see how bringing it back to my room was much different than just buying a bottle of whiskey at the corner store.
The only stores actually open for visits were the many artisan craft shops, and admittedly these were the best I’d seen in a long time. There were some with hand woven baskets, herbs, and even one that made metal candlesticks. I wonder how a town decides to become artisan.
You really could see the difference from the colonial style buildings to the colorfully painted walls and murals. None of the shops I passed contained any of the typical tourist trinkets. It was clear people came to buy with purpose, not out of spontaneity.
Traveling out of a small backpack for months at a time, I never have the space to add an unwieldy woven basket or metal candlestick holder. The only time I make an exception to procure these things is on the last week of my trip, but that was still far away and is usually in a city large enough to have international flights. I didn’t dare walk into the empty stores to appreciate their wares as I assumed, given the pandemic and the foul weather, they would be frantic to sell me something as possibly their only walk in client of the day.
Realizing that heading further from the center square would probably not yield any better opportunities to eat or drink, I headed back to the center to explore the other side of the village. I came across a restaurant that looked promising, that is to say it had the look of a restaurant that could prepare something without using a tortilla. The menu was the kind that makes you want to order everything on it, and I decided I would definitely return later since it was still only 4p.m.
I continued up the street to the tourist attraction that everyone comes here for: a Aztec pyramid. I passed by the entrance but decided to save the visit for the next day since I’d already exhausted all of the town in about an hour, and I needed something to occupy me the next day.
The road that passed by the pyramid continued to climb, and so did I. Eventually it became less of a road and more of a path, but it was still clear that the path had been constructed for pilgrimage to something. About the time the path began to switch back up a hill, the heavy rain arrived with giant booms of thunder. I decided that no matter what treasure the path had at its end, it would be hard to enjoy in the pouring rain so I turned around.
I’d managed to waste enough time that I went back to the restaurant and again began a pour of my own over the menu choices. The owner of the restaurant came to me and asked what I wanted, and I shared that it was impossible to decide. She told me that salmon was the specialty of the house, a detail I found comical since the town was, at its closest, 300 miles from any body of water that could provide fresh salmon.
As it turns out, she was from Veracruz, so preparing seafood was probably something she’d done her entire life, however she managed to procure it in this mountain village. Still, being from the Pacific Northwest, I had to decline the offer of a dish readily available on the shores of my own home, and I continued to browse the other menu choices.
She asked if I was alone, and when I said yes, she told me that if I wanted, I could sit down to eat as the takeaway restriction was really designed to keep people from gathering, and one person eating alone was not a Covid risk. I happily accepted her offer as I no more wanted to eat on the edge of my hotel bed than I wanted to have a cocktail there.
In fact, the place had a full bar, and I was able to order a whiskey while I continued to struggle with the menu. To acknowledge my indecision, they brought a school bell with my whiskey and placed it on the table telling me to ring it when I was ready.
I finally decided on a chicken dish as I knew chickens were available locally. It was prepared with wonderful spices and peppers, a little spicy but nothing intolerable. I enjoyed my dinner for one until it got dark out, thanked the owner for her kindness, and headed back towards my hotel.
The rain had stopped, and the sky was the kind of cobalt blue I think provides the most romantic backdrop for city pictures. I greeted a few people on my trek up the hill and checked in for the evening.
The sky was still gray when I first opened my eyes so I closed them and woke up again an hour later. The woman at reception filled my thermos with hot water so I could make some tea, and I headed out as the sun began to break through the clouds. In the sunlight, the village became more vibrant, at least its colors. The people were still sleeping in, and I shared the streets with only stray dogs who sniffed me as I passed.
When I got back to the center of the village, food vendors were beginning to set up for the weekend market. One of the aforementioned dogs even managed to help himself to a plastic bag filled with chorizo and was running full bore towards me with the bag gingerly held in his teeth while another tried to tackle him, biting at his head.
Following the dogs was the vendor who’d taken his eye off his belongings a moment too long. I wondered if he really intended to serve the meat even if he was able to get it out of the dogs mouth, but the dilemma was quickly resolved when the second dog’s mouth made purchase and spicy red sausage spilled upon the street from the disemboweled bag. It was the dog version of a pinata, and every dog in the vicinity descended upon the prize. His hopes of salvage dashed, the vendor turned around and headed back towards his stall. One less meat would be available for tacos that day.
I walked through the waking market and was surprised to see an open coffee shop across the street. As I mentioned before, Mexicans seem to prefer their coffee in the late afternoon, and it’s hard to find a coffee shop open before noon. I took my coffee to go and settled on a bench overlooking the market for some people watching.
It wasn’t long before a woman dressed in the woven clothes of the natives of Mexico stood beside me and put down several of the large baskets she’d hauled across the square. A second woman arrived and they began to look around worriedly. I realized that the bench I’d chosen for people watching was also the best for setting up a makeshift basket stall. I yielded the bench to the two ladies and they thanked me, with smiles of relief. If only I’d room in my backpack for a woven basket!
It was still early, and the only thing left for me to do was visit the pyramid so I headed up the little hill out of town. I was surprised to find the admission price to be twice what I’ve paid to visit most other historical exhibits in Mexico, and honestly, I’d already been flagellating on whether to visit at all. The pictures online showed it to be no bigger than an animal barn with the only difference of it being made out of adobe and covered with a thatched roof.
I’ve seen many of these and at more reasonable prices so I decided against the visit and decided instead to see what treasure lay at the end of the trail I started the day before. I was immediately pleased with my choice as I enjoyed the sounds and smells of nature, an experience enjoyed for free.
The path narrowed and became more steep with no real indication as to what waited at its end. The hand laid stones that made up the path continued so I suspected it ended at a church. I’ve found these treks to be common in Catholic countries, as they believe that suffering is a part of any good goal. While my assumption turned out to be true, I was a bit disappointed at the unfinished concrete block of a church I encountered at the top.
There was a part of me that hoped to find a pyramid I could visit for free, but I was rewarded with a great view of the town below. A second reward was the road heading down the other side of the mountain saddle I’d just peaked. A quick look at my map, and I surmised that this road would lead to the highway I’d taken in the combi minibus the day before.
Why walk back down an hour when I could walk just a few minutes and catch a ride for slightly less than a dollar? So I descended the road through several orchards and found myself indeed on the highway to Malinalco. The mountain road dumped me onto a curve so I had to hike up a bit further so that the combi had time to slow down, and I had time to read the destination on the sign hanging from the inside of the windshield.
Five minutes later I was on my way back to town. I would be just in time for lunch and a nap. Now all I had to do was figure out to do with the rest of my day!