In the town I am staying in this week, Patzcuaro, is a small bookstore,' Don Vasco Libros', which I visited after my dentist appointment. The books were all in Spanish, and yet I could see many familiar titles. I became excited when I saw 2 copies of Victor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning. This is the book I sold when I was a bookseller, if someone asked for my best recommendation to help a person going through grief or dark nights if the soul. I immediately wanted to compliment the proprietor on the impressive quality of books he carried. He also had Emotional Intelligence, books by Issabelle Allende and Octavio Paz. I saw very little that didn't appear to be of literary merit.
It made me wonder how he chose books, and who his customers were. I did speak with him, and he was very friendly and seemed to appreciate my compliment.
Since all the books in the store were Spanish, it would seem that the large expat/gringo community here probably does not keep Don Vasco afloat. My inclination is that there is a fair population of highly educated Mexicans who live in the area.
I went to yoga again this morning with Enrique. He challenges me with strength poses. An important experience for this 54 year old body.
Later in the day our hosts took us to the puerte where the boats leave regularly for Janitcio, the island in Lake Patzcuaro. It is very famous for it's Day of the Dead celebrations, and for a huge statue of Morales, which dominates the top center of the Island. We climbed the stairs up and up through the vendors, and finally to the statue. For 6 pesos one can walk the stairs inside the statue to it's summit. The inside walls are entirely painted with murals. It is sort of like the Astor column, but 5 times bigger. The murals are more dramatic,and they actually feature lots of women in them, including a whole panel of the scene of Morales' birth. He went on to lead Mexico in kicking out the Spanish.
On our way back to the boats, we walked through the graveyard, filled with balloon, flowers real and fake, toys, rock designs, poems.. all in a charmingly chaotic jumble. This kind of cemetery seems like a fun place to go, and commune with the ancestors, have a picnic, sing and dance with the children on top of the past.
Our friendly dentist, Jose, gave us tamales for dinner, which his mother-in-law made. We ate them in the Zocolo, under this half moon. They were fabuloso.
I find meaning in homemade tamales, sweet memories of those no longer in the physical realm, and kind people.
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