Our excursions out of Pátzcuaro usually begin by driving toward the muelle, the dock where boats that ply the waters of Lake Pátzcuaro are stationed. On our way, we pass a row of woodcarvers' workshops. There must be a dozen of them.

Carved wooden columns and lintels, some quite massive, line the street for a hundred yards or more.

Most workshops are a jumble inside. Headboards, pedestals, busts, dolls, crucifixes, doors, spoon racks, clocks, murals—if you can carve it out of wood, it's here.

It's always dangerous to bring Jean into a place where handcrafts are for sale. I don't know what she's considering here, but I do know it's probably coming home with us.

Oh no! She chose this banal cute carving of a besotted friar.

This figure is common, like the trite sculptures of Don Quixote you see in every workshop. You see him everywhere. Looks like something out of Disney. It must be a character in literature. Anybody know who he is? Friar Tuck?

He's a cliché, and, thanks to Jean, he's now my cliché.