Helloooo Momma (for all the rest of you out there wondering Mom has first
email priority)
Batopilas first became a spot on the map when Spain established a colony
here in 1642 to get the silver out of the ground and back to Spain. Of
course getting the silver back to Spain was an incredibly difficult task.
First you had the man killing job of mining. Mining and processing the ore
was relatively easy compared to the task of shipping the silver. Certainly
mining the ore was physically harder and more dangerous than the shipment,
but there were injun slaves to do this dirty work. If it cost the lives of
2 or 3 injun slaves every week to get the ore out that was acceptable.
Losses like this were acceptable for two reasons. First the King of Spain
had more injuns in New Spain (Mexico) than he wanted. Second in 17th century
Spain injuns were not considered human. They didn't possess a soul and
therefore it was completely just in the eyes of the King and the Church to
treat the injuns like animals. Which of course they did. OK so now that
we've off'd an injun or two for every ounce or two of silver now we need to
get that silver back to Spain and the good King. Now the task becomes
difficult because you have to risk the life of Spainards and the life of a
Spainard counted. You couldn't trust a mule train load of silver to the
care of a bunch of injuns, right? So a mule train loaded with silver,
manned by injuns, and commanded by Spainards would set off on a journey of
hundreds of miles across deserts , mountains, and canyons while facing injun
raiders and Mexican bandits before reaching the coast. Once at the coast
the bullion could be loaded aboard a ship and begin dodging tropical storms,
uncharted reefs, and Carribeean Bucaneers. Once the silver that made it
through this gauntlet and arrived in the coffers of the good king he could
put it to good use for the people. He could use it for things like
supporting the Spanish Inquisition or buying nutmeg (yes the spice) from the
Portugese. At one time nutmeg cost more than its' weight in GOLD.
The colonial architecture and abandoned mine shafts are all that remain of
those heady colonial days. The silver left Batopilas and Spain a long time
ago. Left behind was a colonial town at the bottom of a canyon. A town
that at one time boasted of a population of 10,000. Local legend says that
Batopilas was the second city in Mexico to get electricity. The way I
figure it they turned the lights on here about 1975.
They turned on the new lights to illuminate this old typical Spanish
colonial town with its typical Spanish colonial construction. Thick massive
walls (2-3 feet) built from stone and adobe form a continuous wall along a
street with no division between residences or businesses. Just a thick wall
with doorways. The doors constructed from massive wood planks and held in
place with forged iron hinges that complemented the massive adobe walls in
which they were hung. Between the walls are cobble or cut stone streets
which are great for riding a horse on but terrible for any type of wheeled
vehicle. The overall feeling this construction exudes is heavy, thick,
enduring. It would have been enduring if the roofs would have held up.
Without fail the weak point of all these structures was the roof. When the
roof gives way those thick adobe walls get wet and when a mud brick gets wet
it reverts back to mud.
Just as omnipresent as the mud brick in Spanish colonial construction is the
plaza. The plaza, typically a space about the size of a city block with
lots of trees and bench lined pathways. Most often a church and government
office will occupy fronts adjoining the plaza with shops filling the
remaining space. There filling the space between the pews and the pathways
are people. People of all ages babies, mothers, fathers, lovers, and haters
all congregating in one location in every Mexican city, town, and village.
Oh, it's a romantic scene with the kids kidding, the lovers loving and the
sidewalk vendors vending. It's sort of a dark skinned Norman Rockwell
painting with lots of litter everywhere. Indeed it is a romantic scene
until it dawns on you one Wednesday afternoon. Hey why aren't those kids in
school? Why aren't those lovers at work? And just how many damn sidewalk
taco vendors do you need in one city block? How can it be that so many
people have nothing to do and seem content to find nothing to do? The first
day these questions came to me I didn't have an answer but after some days
of observation I developed the answer. It's "PLAZA LIFE"!
If I was in the United States and saw people engaging in plaza life I would
say they were being lazy, but in Mexico it must be viewed differently.
Plaza life has all the traits of laziness except that it is occurring in
Mexico. Laziness transplanted into Mexico with its different culture and
mindset becomes plaza life. Simply put plaza life is just sitting around
idly chatting with other plaza lifers. The conversations go something like
this:
"Hey Jose did you do anything yesterday?"
"Nah"
"Are you going to do anything tomorrow?"
"Nah"
"Do you think it will rain?"
"Nah" Northern Mexico "Yah" Southern Mexico
Plaza life consists of sitting around watching the world move around you.
It doesn't require patience because patience requires the anticipation of
some future event. Unless that future event is death there is no patience
involved in plaza life. It's worth repeating that plaza life cannot be
viewed with the negative connotations associated with the term laziness. I
use the term lazy because as an American you understand what it means to be
lazy. What you don't and I don't understand is what it means to be Mexican.
I do know that their culture and values especially those relating to work
and education are powerfully different than ours in the US. It is
understanding that I do not understand that forces me to use a term other
than laziness or idleness to describe what I see. Different cultures will
view the world radically different than my culture. Concepts of acceptable
behavior that you have been taught since childhood may be invalidated by
crossing a river or stepping off an airplane. I am a believer in accepting
as much of a culture as you can while in a that culture. Not that any of
what you accept there needs to return home with you, but while you are there
it will help you to be accepted by the people and thereby understand them
better. So in a place like Batopilas I wear long pants everyday and
everyday the temperature reaches 100+ and I sweat by the gallon. I wear a
straw hat and sandals because that's what to locals wear. I remove that hat
when I pass in front of a church or roadside shrine because that's what the
locals do. I sit in the plaza enjoying plaza life because that is what the
locals are doing, but alas I grow impatient and find something to do. I
guess it will take more than a straw hat and willingness to make me Mexican.
