Apr 13, 2006, 9:11 AM
Post #23 of 32
Yes, Tzuru is indeed the artist's dream come true. Here are more reasons why: Though 15 minutes from Patzcuaro's Plaza Grande, we have little in common with that tourist town just up the highway. We are humble and authentic. And inexpensive.
TZURUMUTARO, an artist's dream destination
We have no For Sale signs. Anywhere. The only two I have seen in the four years I have lived here were on my property and the property across the street. Both were snapped up rapidly by the sage and wise. The other guy is a Mexican. Well, actually, so am I, but I digress.
However, there are properties for sale. I have learned that simply asking around the area turns up quite a few. The locals have the old Mexican attitude. It will sell. Or it won't. What can we do? And they do nothing.
But they are there. Huge open lots with or without half-finished houses. Perhaps needs some work, but for what you pay for a hovel in San Miguel, you can get far more here. You would have to put in some elbow work, of course. Some extra cash. But albaniles are reasonably priced here. For the uninitiated, that is the local word for guys who build things. And before you feministas fly off the handle, it is guys, always. Our womenfolk slap tortillas and tend the home fires. The way it has always been, as God intended.
We remain very traditional in Tzuru. We go to Mass a lot. We have religious processions through the streets with candles, and they are not being done to entertain tourists either. There are no tourists. They are all on the highway over there floorboarding it directly to Patzcuaro.
About once a month, a sound stage is thrown up on the big, beautiful plaza, and we party into the dark night. For Carnival and other such days, we wear costumes of devils and evil beings, homemade wigs of horsehair. Small bands of trumpets, clarinets and a tuba roam the streets. All of this is true.
There, as I have said, are only three Gringos here in Tzuru. The long-lived artist Judith Diem, an international bookseller named Will who has a bookstore in his house (which is for sale, by the way. A nice house), and yours truly, a crank. It is what SMA was, perhaps, in the 1940s. Few people here have cars. Public transport is plentiful, cheap and, uh, very exciting.
And the state capital of Morelia is only 40 minutes away on a clean, 4-lane highway.
Tzurumutaro, the thinking artist's destination in Mexico. And, unlike Pozos, it is not sitting over polluted ground from years of mining. Nobody here has ever had sufficient initative to mine.
That's all. It's time to swing in my hammock in the cool breeze off the mountains. Watch the April swallows. A margarita and a good book at the ready. (But, whoops! I don't imbibe.) Perhaps a burro will pass by out on Zapata Street, Tzuru's main drag and street of distinction. Or perhaps I will suppress a naughty and smug chuckle thinking of artists (or anyone who is thinking of moving to Mexico) who have paid stunning sums to settle elsewhere.
From Tzurumutaro, Michoacan, "The Village of the Darned."
The nuts and bolts of moving to Mexico:
The dark side of living in Mexico:
Scintillating life in a Mexican pueblo:
(This post was edited by Miguel Palomares on Apr 13, 2006, 9:12 AM)