Deep Down in Silver City

I knew things were getting desperate when I realised I was laughing out loud at an American comedy that was so ´good´ it was never released on dvd, let alone the cinema, in the UK. The film was Repli-Kate (university student clones cute girl by mistake, teaches it how to behave only to discover he´s created a sex-addict beer swilling beauty - and he prefers the original.... OK I´ll stop right there). By this point I´d been travelling for approximately 20 hours including a few hours stop-off at Chihuahua bus station. I´m still not sure if the film is an undiscovered gem or whether my brain had started to short circuit. The only other stimulation it had had in the previous few hours was a stunning sunrise over the Mexican desert and some truly tragic Mexican music blaring out of the driver´s stereo a couple of rows in front of me.

Eventually the bus pulled into its destination - Zacatecas, Mexico's elegant and prosperous city of silver. The city´s existence came about by what was undoubtedly a regretable action. One of the local Chichimec tribesmen gave a Spanish conquistador a piece of the precious metal sparking off a search for its source. The Basque Juan de Tolosa found the vein in the Zacatecas mountains in 1546 and two years later the city was settled. At one point more than fifty silver mines were in operation and the Spanish had to import African slaves as they´d run out of Indians to work the shafts.

The city was temporarily New Spain´s third largest city and the legacy is a very Spanish city with wide streets, ornate architecture and a bustling sense of fun. Unlike most of the places I´d been so far the city looked well cared for - pavements and roads in good order and a good selection of consumer goods on sale in the city centre. The locals also looked very Spanish, dressed in the latest fashions and much paler than their Eastern cousins. However those I spoke to strongly identified themselves with Mexican rather than Spanish roots and showed more interest in the idea of visiting London than Madrid.













At the city´s centre is a pink stoned cathedral with incredibly intricate baroque carvings on the outside walls, although inside the decoration was quite plain. I guess the merchants were too busy sending the silver south to Mexico city to spare any to decorate the walls.

Curiously I noted on the building´s side entrance the sun and moon had been carved into the woodwork. These were the symbols of the indigenous Indian´s gods and have become mixed up with Catholic symbolism - even so I was surprised to see them appear so blatantly.

Having arrived later afternoon I had little time (or energy) for sightseeing on the first day and instead spent my time converting photos to cd and buying my flight to the Yucatan peninsular for later in the week.

After buying the ticket I asked the Mexicana sales assistant if she could tell me where I could get a haircut. "¿Quiere que te lleve?" she asked. "Si, gracias" I replied - I´d just been offered a lift!

Velvet´s car was parked 10mins down the street so I had a good opportunity to try out my Spanish and though the conversation was fairly basic - no discussions about quantum mechanics - I seemed to manage OK. Good job Solexico/Rosa and Patricia (my Edinburgh Spanish teachers)!

Soon I´d been dropped off outside a Mexican barbers shop. Sitting down I watched the barber shear his customers close to the skull as Mr Bean played on his portable television. What had I let myself in for? As the people in the queue in front of me dwindled I saw him slash his blade across a strip to sharpen it at the end of each cut before scraping away any errant hairs on the back of their necks. Luckily the Spanish paid off again and I managed to explain what I wanted and ended up with a pretty stylish looking tidy-up rather than the skinhead I feared. The price was 35 pesos (approx 1pound fifty/three dollars)- around ten percent of the cost back home. Of course I left a health tip.

On leaving I realised I had absolutely no idea where I was, but after a fifteen minute wander found myself back at the hostel door after a quick trip to one of the local cd shops. I´m going to write a seperate chapter on music later on but there´s some brilliant Mexican rock music that I´d never heard of even after so many trips to Spain.


Rested and refreshed I got up fairly early the following morning to explore the city. First stop was Museo Rafael Coronel - a sixteenth century convent converted 15 years ago into a museum to house work by a local artist as well as his spectacular collection of Mexican masks. Room after room these faces gawk. smile and stare back at the visitor.













The variety of styles is striking - wood, paper mache, animal hair, ancient and modern materials are all used. In some cases mirrors are worked into the face disturbingly reflecting your own expression back at you. Although there is also a collection of ancient Mexican pottery and a selection of puppets from across the world it is the masks that really make the museum worth trekking out to. A seriously weird experience.

My next unsettling experience was a trip down into the Eden mines. The mine, near the centre of town, was worked until the 1950s and was once one of the country´s richest seams of silver. Along with five others, all in bright yellow hard hats, I descended deep into the ground and began the tour. A spotlit model of Santo Niño is set not far in surrounded by painted cards showing the various miracles he is supposed to have performed saving the lives of many miners. Nevertheless at the height of the mine´s activity around five people died every day from accidents or illnesses - so I guess the saint was only on a part time contract. OK that´s me going to hell....

It´s a bit freaky being so deep in the ground surrounded by hollowed out rock - especially as the surface easily crumbles when you rub your hands across it. The tour goes along the third and fourth levels of the mine - there are seven in total but the bottom three are now all full of water which has trickled down through the hills. Several of the walkways are metal grilles allowing views into the floodlit (boom boom) manmade caves beneath. Surrounded by the sounds of miners at work it´s bloody eerie. A mini-train took us back out to the light and fresh air after a quick peek through the door to La Mina club - a nightclub which operates in one of the shafts Thursday to Saturday!

I was quite happy to be above ground again and decided to head up Cerro de la Bufa - a large hill overlooking the city. Normally you can get there by the Teleferico, a cable car that leaves from near one of the mine´s exits. However strong winds meant the service had been suspended so I had to walk. Although the centre of Zacatecas is pretty level, as soon as you stray far beyond the hills start to slope steeply upwards and the pavements turn into sharply angled staircases. Not a great combination with the Mexican diet of carbs and cerveza. But seeing crooked eighty year old pensioners and mothers laden with children making their way up and down the stairways was motivation enough to venture upwards at a brisk pace.

The view from above let me appreciate the city´s setting. Beyond the sprawling outskirts were the dry dusty hills of the northern desert. Well worth the effort getting there. After a quick pause to catch my breath I walked through an old chapel to find a carpark full of tourist buses for those too lazy/sensible to take the route I had.

More impressive was a huge statue of Pancho Villa. While Europe was reacting with shock to the asassination of the Archduke Franz Ferdinand the Mexican bandit turned revolutionary general was making his name across the Atlantic. Having recruited a force of thousands of volunteers he took control of the Zacatecas in 1914, beating the official armed forces and forcing the resignation of President Victoriano Huerta. Near to the statue is the Museo de la Toma de Zacatecas which houses photos and newspaper reports of the battle as well as some of the weapons used.

There´s also a photo of Pancho Villa´s sister, Martina. Francisco ´Pancho´ Villa had led an unremarkable peasant´s life until a landowner tried to abduct his 12 year old Martina. Villa shot the man and fled to the hills where he became a thief. For more than 15 years he was part of several gangs, earning the cunning and leadership skills that made him such a charismatic leader of the revolution. And here ends the history lesson.

Having noted the other tourists wandering around the site I decided to leave the public paths and climb up the summit of the hill. In retrospect it was probably quite a daft thing to do alone - it was windy, the rocks were steep and it´s likely there were snakes in the undergrowth. But the satisfaction of being higher up than anyone else and looking down over the town more than made up for any risk. Nearly sprained my ankle after slipping on the way down though - if anyone else fancies the climb I´d advise proper walking shoes rather than the thin soled pair I was wearing.

In the hostel (the excellent Hostel Villa Colonial) that evening I bumped into a mad Italian and Austrian girl I´d met at Creel. Whilst chatting I discovered the latter had also studied at Solexico, but had left a few days before I arrived. However she knew most of the people I´d been friendly with - either a bizarre coincidence or more likely further proof that there aren´t actually tons of people travelling round the country at the moment.

That night I briefly joined a callejon - a group of musicians who´s music attracts large crowds of party people attracted by the tunes and cheap tequila on offer. Everyone would follow the musicians, like a modern day Pied Piper, from square to square causing absolute havoc as they blocked roads and caused major tailbacks of traffic.

But by 11pm I was back at the hostel as I´d booked a 5.30am bus to Guanajuato - my penutlimate destination - the next day...