My First Trip to Mexico

My first visit to Mexico was a mix of positive impressions and culture shock. Bright colors and flowers met the eye in every direction. The city vibrated with movement and noise. Colonial buildings and huge plazas were awesome. Black glass windows in beautiful modern buildings were duplicated in automobiles. Street vendors selling everything from grilled chicken, balloons, lottery tickets, fruit drinks and hand woven rugs were prevalent everywhere. Indigenous Indian women sat on busy sidewalks constantly arranging and re-arranging pyramids of oranges for sale. Views of the snow capped volcanoes, Popocatepetl, spewing smoke, and Iztaccihuatl, called the sleeping woman, dominated the far distance sky line.

Some months before I made the trip, an invitation to a private showing of paintings by an artist from Mexico City was fortuitous. Aside from my oil painting, I was also working with lithographs, and meeting an artist from Mexico City gave me a chance to ask about the work being done by artists at Taller de Grafica. I, along with several other painters, volunteered to show him some of the tourist sites and take him to various studios to meet other painters during his short visit.

When I told him I planned a visit to Mexico City, he made reservations at Casa Del Maestro for me. He and his wife graciously met me at the airport even though it was near midnight when my plane landed. They helped me register at the hotel and said they had arranged for a young woman to act as an interpreter for me the next day.

The next morning a very pretty young woman, who only spoke Spanish, met me in the lobby. What little Spanish I attempted to use got corrupted with French words and I found myself speaking gibberish of pidgin Spanish, English, and French, punctuated with lots of hand gestures, none of it intelligible to my new friend. I finally understood that she was taking me with her to a friend’s wedding.










We were joined by several other girls. As a group, we rushed to pick up dresses from cleaners, and then rushed to their home so they could change clothes. Constantly keeping an eye on the clock while a lost button was replaced, the girls were finally ready. We had to run to catch a taxi, but made it to the church in time.

The reception was held at a private home. The family had hired an elderly woman from Guadalajara to prepare a traditional Barbacoa. As the party got underway, she told me the food had been cooking for several days. Goat or lamb is wrapped in maguey or banana leaves. A cauldron of hot water is placed over hot coals in a pit 3 feet deep. Beans, vegetables and spices are added to the cauldron; a grill is placed on the cauldron and meat placed on it. More maguey and banana leaves are added, a few sticks of burning mesquite are placed on the leaves and all is sealed and covered with damp earth. The meat is ‘falling off bone’ tender when served and has a smoke flavor not achieved in any other way. Barbacoa is served at weddings and other festive occasions. If anyone has an opportunity, I hope they can experience an authentic Barbacoa!

The next day a young man, a friend of the artist, volunteered to take me sight seeing. He told me he was a dancer. About mid morning, we went to a small café where he ordered Atole, a common beverage in Mexico, made with cornmeal and served hot or at room temperature. It’s delicious with a consistency of thin pudding.

I was invited to watch his dance group practice ancient Aztec dances. They danced in a circle around incense smoke coming from burning copal. Wearing elaborate headdresses, they shook gourd rattles as they chanted in Nahuatl.

Before I returned to the states, I was invited to my friend’s studio to meet other artists. The studio was small but the group helped push easels and paints out of the way and stacked paintings against the walls. Makeshift seating was created with a crate and a pillow for me but everyone else sat on the floor. A board placed on a stool made a table for the potluck snacks and bottles of wine people brought. Small tins were opened and someone prepared a small plate of crackers with mounds of something white on them and handed it to me. The white mounds were tiny little white things with black eyes. I did not want to eat them. They said it was fish, but I had never seen fish like those on the crackers. I used every excuse imaginable, but no one would taste anything until I had taken a bite. It was obviously a delicacy and served in my honor, so I closed my eyes and took a bite. Big surprise! It did taste like fish and was exquisitely delicious! That was my introduction to Angoullas/Anguilas/Angulas a delicacy not often seen by tourists.

Click here for a recipe on how to make Angulas