Passing Through Puebla
Our route takes us past Querétaro, skirts the eastern edge of Mexico City, and on through Puebla to Oaxaca. We wanted to make some stops along the way, so we're spending the night in Puebla, a big, industrial city. I think it's Mexico's #4 city, Guadalajara being #2 and Monterrey, #3.
Ordinarily, Mex 57 from Querétaro to Mexico City is a drab, tedious drive. On this occasion, the scenery was much more pleasant than usual, the countryside having greened up from the recent rains. We passed a pilgrimage strung out along the carretera—hundreds and hundreds of women marching in squads, each squad with an identifying banner at its head bearing an image of the Virgin of Guadalupe. All of the women were wearing broad-brimmed straw hats with colorful ribbons serving as hat bands. An impressive sight: a couple thousand straw hats strung out along a mile or two of freeway.
The procession was led by two men. Of course. Everyone in Mexico knows that two thousand women can't take care of themselves. As Basil said to the Colonel in Fawlty Towers, "Women. Not a half a brain among the lot of them."
Our greatest concern was the traffic cops in and around Mexico City. Mexicans call them tiburones—sharks. They stop motorists with out-of-state license plates on some pretext and threaten to impound their cars unless they cough up some bribe money. One of the most common "violations" cited is driving in Mexico City on a "no drive" day. Clint's license plate number ends with a 3 which means it's illegal for him to drive in the city on Wednesdays. Our pass around the perifico—the ring road—would take place on a Monday, but a little detail like that wouldn't deter the tiburones from claiming a violation. Those Texas plates on that shiny new pickup truck would look too juicy to pass up.
Blessedly, a robust thunderstorm struck just as we came off the freeway onto the surface streets, dispersing the lurking pack of extortionists. I thought to myself, "Any self-respecting crooked cop wouldn't let a little rain get in his way." When the muddy water running down the street reached our door sills, I realized why nobody in the neighborhood was on foot, especially the police. The feeding frenzy was called on account of rain.
Once past the cops and the floods, it was a clear shot down what used to be called the Pan-American Highway to Puebla. We saw a high-rise Holiday Inn on the outskirts of town and checked in.
The hotel was better than almost any I have stayed in here in Mexico. No, it's not four star. But it was only two months old and was designed to cater to international business travelers attracted by Puebla's burgeoning industry. Free WiFi in every room. Need I say more?
We ate dinner at an upscale Mexican restaurant that looked like one of those slick chain establishments you find in California: the kind that serves strawberry margaritas. I ordered what was described as roasted pork in adobado sauce. When it came, the waiter slapped a huge meaty limb down in front of me.
Must have weighed five pounds. You could have served all three of us with it and had leftovers. Very un-Mexican.
Puebla demonstrates that life is becoming economically better for many Mexicans. Sparkling restaurants, squeaky-clean hotels with all the amenities proves the point. A mercedes dealership gleamed smugly, sitting there across the highway from our hotel.
Of course, from a gringo tourist's point of view, prosperity makes Puebla look as interesting as Cleveland. But this generation of Mexicans has known poverty. What looks like suburban sprawl, like franchise ennui to us, looks like paradise to them. The great industrial cities—Querétaro, Monterrey, Puebla—are growing and producing an educated middle class that will ultimately break down the caste system and reduce corruption and inefficiency even as they're building shopping malls and freeways. I think I'll just shut up and congratulate them on their progress when appropriate.
Tomorrow we'll be in Oaxaca. It'll be full of charm—and full of poverty. Do the two have to go hand in hand?