San Martin Tilcajete (Oaxaca, Mexico)

San Martin Tilcajete is a small town (circa 1,500 inhabitants) about 25 kms outside the city of Oaxaca.  The turn-off from the Ocotlán road, where the bus drops me off, is an inconspicuous corner seemingly in the middle of nowhere.  A 20 minute walk through flat scrubby farmland takes me to the centre of town.    Framed by jacaranda and drooping eucalyptus trees the dusty town square is devoid of life except for a couple of skinny dogs panting in the shade.  Stucco single-story houses, a spanish church behind a high gated wall, municipal buildings squatting behind the curved arches of the zocolo arcade (painted jacaranda purple!). No cafes, no restaurants, no people at all.  It is eerily quiet and still.  I would think myself totally lost were it not for the giant jewel-coloured paper-mâché lizards crawling across the facade of one little house on the main street.  Across the road a bright orange wooden giraffe stands in a doorway or another.  Two doors down a fantastical creature,half rabbit half antelope, is peeping out from an internal courtyard.   And just off the square, nestled like jewels in the dusty earth-toned stucco, a row of three houses painted in candy stripes of vibrant colour: green, orange, purple, yellow, turquoise. A work of art which could have come straight from a Tim Burton film set.  Not a heat-induced desert hallucination.  All signs that I am in the right place.  

San Martin Tilcajete is a farming town, historically of the Zapotec people, but today is better known as the artesian enclave dedicated to the art of alebrije.  Alebrije are woodcarvings of animals, real or imagined, painted with intricate designs drawn from mythology and symbology of the Zapotec people.   They are the result of two artistic traditions, one ancient and one contemporary.  The Zapotec, a pre-columbian civilization which flourished in the Oaxaca Valley since 500 BC, used carved wooden animals for personal totems.  These totem animals were used in special ceremonies and also in day to day life to encourage good fortune in hunting, harvest and fertility.  In the mid 1900’s, influenced by the surrealist art movement from Mexico City (in particular that of artist Peor Linares) and a surge in popularity of Mexican folk art, the contemporary alebrije evolved.  Wonderful fantastical creatures made purely as a form of artistic and cultural expression.  

The alebrije artists of San Martin all work from their homes, hence the slightly surreal exterior decorations, and it is often a family business (gender roles seem to be pretty strongly defined.  In most cases the men carve and the women paint).  Walking the dirt roads of the town is like a treasure hunt.  I’m on the look out for a flash of bright colour which may indicate there is art work within.  In most cases it is possible to simply walk in off the street into a cool dim room, calling out “hola”, where you are welcome to browse and even watch the artists at work.  I was lucky to see one carver just starting a new carving.  He has a 2 foot section of tree trunk and a machete.  Nothing more.   It’s incredible to watch the wood chips flying as he swings that machete with total certainty and fearlessness,  following his mental vision.  The work of a very accomplished carver will depict the animal caught in a posture or gesture that is particularly lifelike and reveals the spirit or nature of the animal, often with a sense of mischief.  I saw one fantastic depiction of a typical Mexican street dog captured slinking away with such a sheepish expression. Exactly like my Sami when she has been caught lying on the couch - something she knows very well is forbidden.  

I stop to look at all the tellers I pass, but am really on my way to the house of Jacobo and Maria Angeles - a husband and wife team who produce arguably the finest alebrijes of their time.  It is my second time in San Martin so I know where I am going.  My first visit I wandered around lost for quite a while before finally finding their distinctive purple house.  I am really happy to find Jacabo and Maria home - I didn’t meet them on my last visit.  They are warm, welcoming and inclined to chat.  They express real appreciation that I would seek out their work for my gallery ( and are convincing in their sincerity despite the fact their work is shown in some of the very prestigious galleries in North America and Europe.  That’s how nice they are).   I mentioned that my love of albrijes started more than 10 years ago when I was living in Philadelphia.  There was an alebirje gallery in New Hope, PA, which I loved to visit and from which I purchased two alebrije lizards.  Since then I had always had a desire to visit Oaxaca.  Angelo is pretty excited by this news.  It turns out the gallery owner was a good friend of his and he supplied much of the alebrije art.  Cool!  Maybe I have some early pieces from the Atelier Angeles without even realising it!  I spend a happy hour browsing their recent work and watching Maria paint her trademark intricate design onto a new carving.  Its truly amazing to watch her work freehand with these tiny brushes that look like they have about 3 hairs in them.   I carefully select a few pieces for LALA.  Growing international recognition for their work has pushed prices up and I can’t afford more.   But having to to select so carefully makes each piece, which takes over one year to make, more special to me.

While they are carefully boxing my purchases I re-visit a couple of the other workshops and carefully select the pieces from the other artists that I liked and who are making high-end, quality, labor intensive and artistically original pieces (as opposed to the low-end repetitive pieces which are produced for the tourist market).  I am happy with my purchases.  Seeing that I now have two boxes to take back with me Maria offers to have her nephew, Angel, drive me back to Oaxaca City.  He keeps my thoroughly entertained with a story of how he once took a 32-member Oaxacan youth orchestra, all under the age of 12, to Utah for a concert.  He offers to come with me to two additional shipping companies to get quotes for shipping to Honduras.  I am really so warmed by the generosity and friendliness of people here.  The new quotes are consistent with the ones I have already - in other words too bloody expensive.  I am happy at least to verify the first  quotes were for real and not an inflated “gringo” rate.  For now, I opt to take my purchases back to the Casa del Sol and figure it out from there.  I have two more days in Oaxaca.  Something will work out.  It always does.

Entry to San Martin Tilcajete

The church at San Martin Tilcajete

Brightly coloured homes off the main square of San Martin Tilcajete

Alibrjes within!  San Martin Tilcajete.

Starting a new alebrije carving

Carving a new alebrije from the soft wood of the copal tree.

"Koala Watching" by Jacobo and Maria Angeles

Alebrije by Jacobo and Maria Angeles

Painting the alebrije - one of Maria's students

This shameful dog looks just like Sami when I've caught her on the couch.  A new carving waiting for painting. 

Alebrije lizard from Joaquín Hernández 

Oaxaca (Mexico)

Oaxaca is both city and state (like New York, New York) and I have high expectations of it as far as my gallery is concerned.  Oaxaca is famous for the artistic and cultural expressions of her indigenous people (predominantly Zapotecs and Mixtecs) and within the city are several small but impressively curated galleries featuring the work of artisans from across the state - in both contemporary and pre-columbian styles.  I am searching in particular for excellent examples of alebrijes (brightly painted wood carvings), barro negro (black pottery) and textiles to build my knowledge before traveling to the rural  villages to buy directly from the artists workshops.    

Searching the galleries of Oaxaca City on foot is a pleasure - the city seems made for walking.  On tree-lined streets and wide pavements you pass seamlessly by stately spanish-colonial buildings and through shady city parks. On this lovely spring morning many of the trees are covered with pink blossoms and fountains send sprays of water in  to the air.  The chilly morning air quickly retreats from the sun and I am stripping off layers of clothing until at midday the heat is too fierce and I make my way to the cool shaded arcades of the Zocolo in search of lunch.  I pick a table on the terrace with a good view of the park and order a mole amarillo.  It is delicious and the complex flavours impossible to describe -  smoky, slightly picante, earthy, nutty.  

I stay too long at my table watching the parade of shoppers, buskers, and merchants.  I do not relish my job for the afternoon - to find a shipping company that will carry my products back to Honduras. I fear that my limited Spanish is not up to the task and that, in general, logistics are going to be troublesome.  My fears are quickly proven to be well-founded on both counts.  At the first company on my list, my inquiries are met with blank looks of incomprehension.  I believe my Spanish to be at fault so start supplementing my communication with mimes, drawings and other visual aides.  This generates quite some amusement but not the “yes-certainly-Señora-we-can-ship-your-delicate-wood-carvings-safely-to-Honduras” kind of response I was looking for.   

The helpful girl at Estafeta Mexicana is very determined to get to the bottom of my request.  

HER (with an impatient tap of long painted fingernails on counter top and one raised eyebrow):  “You want to ship the boxes where exactly?”

ME: “Honduras”

HER: “Yes, but what country?”

ME: “Ah... Honduras, Honduras is the country”.

HER (looking highly skeptical): “Where is this country.....Honduras?  How far away is it?”.

ME: “Not far.  Its south-east from here.  Just next to Guatemala”

HER (with open-mouthed look of horrified disbelief): “In Central America?” 

Me (with relief) “Yes, right!  It’s in Central America”.

HER: “You want to send your boxes to Central America?”

ME (wishing I had also long painted fingernails to tap impatiently on the counter top) “Yes. Thats right. Honduras in Central America.  I want to send the boxes to Honduras in Central American”.  

Then follows a lengthy discussion with her colleagues in rapid spanish, of which I follow absolutely nothing.  Based on the horrified looks they send my way I start to worry I that something got lost in translation and I accidentally told her I want to ship my first-born child to Peru.  Or some such thing.

Finally I get a quote for a standard sized 20”x20” carton with 25 pound of weight to the Honduran port city of La Ceiba (Roatan it seems is not possible).  Its my turn to send  looks of horrified disbelief over the counter.  The estimate is wildly expensive  and far more than I have in my budget.  My feeling of despondency grows as I get a similar response (both the horrified looks and the quote) from the next five shipping companies I visit (strangely enough the quotes for air freight are slightly less than for ground transport).  It seems none of them routinely ship goods to Central America and, quite frankly, can’t imagine why anyone would want to. 

Day grows to a close.  I am tired and disillusioned.  My feet are hot and sore.   I am no closer to solving the logistics problem but have a valuable cultural learning.  Mexico is part of North America and Central America is. a. different. continent. Not part of North America. It seems this geo-political distinction, of which I was only vaguely aware, is actually very significant.  

There is an abundance of trade and supporting logistics to the north.  To the south, not so much.  Actually, none.  On learning that I live and work in Central America the people of Oaxaca are puzzled, concerned, bewildered, and always sympathetic.  They want to know “but isn’t it very poor/dirty/dangerous/primitive down there?”  “Isn’t the food very bad?”  “Are there even cities like this down there?”  

The perception of Central America as a vastly inferior sub-continent is not working in my favor and people quickly loose interest in my shipping dilemma (no doubt putting it down to yet another inexplicable gringo idiosyncrasy.  We are after all the ones who seek a better quality of life by leaving behind the developed world and traveling south).   I am loosing interest myself by this point and decide to call it a day.  I am filled with inspirations and great ideas from my morning in the galleries.  I am eager to get on with the fun business of shopping and leave the frustrating boring business of logistics behind.  I will leave early the next morning for the village of San Martin Tilcajete where can be found the most accomplished alibrije artists.  I will visit the atelier of Jacabo and Maria Angeles who are considered by many to be the true masters of this art.  I will buy many many lovely alibrijes.  I will sort this shipping thing out later.   It will work out.  It always does. 

Spring blossoms in Oaxaca City

City park El Llano

The Cathedral Santa Domingo

Calle Macedonio Alcala

The Zocolo

City park "El Llano"

Calle Macedonio Alcala

Antigua to Oaxaca... by bus

A while since my last blog, I know.  I’ve been too busy riding bloody buses and squeezing a little shopping in between.  At least that’s how it feels.  Left Antigua on Monday at 4am (!) to make Guatemala City in time for the Dorado bus to Tapachula, Mexico.  The gorgeous scenery is almost enough to keep my mind off the artic temperatures inside the bus.  I layer on every piece of clothing I have with me and huddle up to enjoy the show as the vista unrolls outside the window – miles of jungle, banana plantations, smoking volcanoes, the works.   We stop at a road-side restaurant for breakfast looking, no doubt, quite strange in our crazy mismatched layers of polar fleece and wooly hats given the scorching heat of the morning.  Arrive Tapachula around 1pm and my plans for a quick tour of the city evaporate in the mid-day heat as I realize there is no way to store or check-in luggage at the bus station.  Instead, and almost as good, I sit in the bus station café for 5 hours before, finally, it is time to board the night bus to Oaxaca. 

It has been a long day and as I board the ADO bus I am desperately hoping to sleep for most of the 12 hour trip.    It is not to be.   Blasts of frigid air kept me relentlessly alert.  I fall, from sheer exhaustion, into a cramped uncomfortable sleep only to be roughly woken by a demanding voice and a flashlight beam.  These two events will repeat, in a strange and cruel cycle, five times over the course of the night.  Four times my bleary eyes open (reluctantly) to the unfriendly face of a Mexican army officer requesting my passport (further shining of flashlight in face as he makes a lengthy comparison to the passport photo which, as luck would have it, doesn’t look much like me anymore).  The fifth time they open to a tiny but no less intimidating Mexican woman furiously shaking a bin bag in my face and shouting “Basura!  Basura!” (as much as I fumbled desperately around my seat I was unable to find any rubbish with which to appease her and she shoots me a look of contempt before marching back down the aisle).   

On one occasion (I don’t know what time but in the dark dead of night) army officers board the bus and walk down the aisle herding us off.  Sleep-dopey and light-blinded we stagger off the bus and into the harsh glare of spot-lights.  Military officers with machine guns observe from truck beds and form a gauntlet through which we must pass as they wave us to the back of the bus.  I struggle to come fully awake and make sense of the commands being barked to me in Spanish.    I can’t see beyond the glare of the spotlights but it is none-the-less apparent we are on a dark and lonely stretch of highway.   At the open door of the luggage compartment I’m asked to identify my bags.   For a split second my gut twists with fear, sure that something in my luggage has the potential to send me directly to a Mexican prison.  Then my rational brain kicks in (breathe, they did not set up this roadblock to check how many jade pendants you bought in Antigua).  We take our bags, carry them across the highway.  Wait in line.  Pass them through a mobile x-ray machine.  Get the all-clear from the observing officer (slight chin-lift and machine-gun muzzle-tilt to indicate I should move on).  Return to the bus.  Stow the bags.  Board the bus.  Is that all?  Bit of an anti-climax really.  I fall asleep again.    

Wake, disoriented, with the sense that something is not as it should be.  The bus is not moving and bright light filters through the curtains.  Did we arrive? Is it morning?   I look out window.  It is still the dead of night.  We appear to be parked in a bus maintenance yard in the middle of no-where.  Two men have the bus jacked up and are removing the wheels.  What the??  Bus driver is leaning against a stack of tires.  Loooking on and casually smoking a cigarette.  He doesn’t appear concerned and I don’t really want to know.  I go back to sleep.  Wake to a cold foggy dawn as the bus pulls into Oaxaca.  Stumble down the steps feeling pretty ordinary: tired cold hungry dirty.  6:30 is too early to go to the posada so I huddle miserably in the bus station having a cup of tea.  Looking (as a kind Dutch woman at the posada later informed me) like a homeless person on drugs.  

The reception at Casa del Sol doesn’t open till 8am, but at 7:15 relieving my discomfort becomes more important than prolonging the sleep of people who have just spent a warm and cozy night in a nice bed.  So I grab a taxi and get set to hammer on the door until someone opens up.  Thankfully I arrive at the same time as a trio of lovely German girls who have also arrived early.  I let them do the knocking and just give Guillermo an apologetic shrug as he opens the door.   Guillermo has my room ready.  I really want to hug him but am afraid it may appear overly (and perhaps inappropriately) emotional so just take the key and go silently to that blessed sanctuary.  I need a recovery program.  I take a long hot shower and spend 45 minutes under the covers watching an episode of Downton Abbey on my laptop.  I re-emerge to the sun and flower-filled courtyard where the breakfast table is laid out.  I am immediately enfolded into the chatter of the other guests.  They are filled with happy anticipation of their day in Oaxaca and so, I realize, am I.

Smoking volcanoe!  view from the bus window.

View from the bus window

Oaxaca city street scene

Antigua, Guatemala

The bus trip to Antigua from Teguicigalpa takes me through San Pedro Sula, Copan and Guatemala City.  Not very direct but the Hedman Alas bus is (as always) very comfortable.  I doze, day dream, and watch the ever-changing and intensely central american landscape roll by: verdant jungle with groves of spindly coconut palms, starkly outlined volcanoes on the horizon, dusty clusters of cinder block houses with faded Pepsi signs hand-painted on the wall, barefoot black-haired children playing football in the dirt.  I sketch out some ideas for LALA and write a couple of to-do lists.  Start a book and but keep putting it down to let my mind wander.  It’s very relaxing.  I’m happily anticipating a return visit to one of my favorite towns.    But this time, I remind myself, I’ve got a job to do :-)

I’m in Antigua to meet with a jeweler who specializes in jade.  Jade is everywhere in Guatemala.  It is one of only 10 or so places in the world where Jadite (as opposed to the softer nephrite jade) is found and the only place in which the rare lilac jade is found.  You can buy it in high end jewelry stores and also in the markets.  Like most things, there are huge variations in the quality of the stone and of the workmanship.  My Guatemalan friend, Julio, is taking me to meet a stone mason and silversmith in San Felipe.  I am really hopeful that I will see something special for LALA.  Also I will visit all my favorite galleries to seek inspiration.  Antigua is a melting pot for Central American art, pre-columbian and contemporary.   Every time I visit I see something new, presented in a special and creative way.

   

Arriving finally at the Casa Florencia after the long travel is like a balm.  The night air is fresh and cold.  My suitcase rattles over cobblestone.  The heavy wooden and metal-studded door opens to reveal a typical Antigua courtyard: mosaic paving, lush ferns, orchids and (always) a bubbling stone fountain.   In my room the warm dry air is air is scented with incense and cedar.  Smooth terracotta tile and exposed wooden beams.  Austere cedar wood furnishings softened with colourful hand-woven blankets.  Hot hot shower.  Smooth cool sheets.  SLEEEEEEP.

Desayano typico at Café Condessa.   A bit touristic but the gorgeous courtyard and guatemateco breakfast always makes for a good start to the day.   A side note on the Honduran/Guatemalan desayano typico (typical breakfast).  Soft white-corn tortillas always freshly made just before serving.  Scrambled eggs (Guatemalan variation has diced tomato and white onion), the ubiquitous black bean paste, sour cream, a square of moist salty white cheese, and sometimes chorizo or steak sautéed with garlic and cilantro (coriander).  Done well, is a delicious breakfast which leaves your appetite satisfied until well into the afternoon.  Anyway, on to check out my favorite galleries and stores.  De Coloures for beaded jewelry.  Textura, Loom Tree and Nativo for exquisite textiles (and incredible ideas for colour and presentation).  Antigua Galeria de Arte for paintings (lingering over the new Sergio Alvarado exhibition.  Can I afford to buy one more for myself?).  Panini for lunch on the sun-drenched roof terrace at Tartines.  Then, before I meet Julio, I have time for a quick visit to Jade Imperio Maya.  My favorite jewelry store and by far the best  jade jewelry in the city.  Moises, the most excellent Sales Manager, recongises me immediately.  This is thanks to Dad’s energetic negotiating during a jewelry purchase when we travelled there together well over a year ago.  “I will not soon forget your father” Moises says with a tight smile.  The  poor man is scarred for life but I am happy that he remembers me and I take advantage to get a quick refresher course on Jade.  I want some benchmarks to compare what I will see later in the afternoon in san Filipe.

I meet Julio in the Parque Central by the fountain (4 beautifully carved stone mermaids are grasping their breasts as jets of water shoot out from between their fingers. Fabulous!).  The jacaranda trees are blooming and there is a carpet of purple petals on the ground.  Julio is big smiles and warm greetings (as always)   As we go by Tuk tuk he fills me in on his children (6!) and job (he works with NGO group in the capacity of translator and guide).  He tells me his hopes that I will be happy with the jewelry of his friend.    We arrive small village of SanFilipe wth its vibrant yellow Spanish church.  Antonio and his wife Nidia are waiting to greet us and have a lovely selection of jade and silver jewelry. I would love to wear any of it.  However I feel ill-quipped to evaluate it as a business purchase – I know what I like but am no expert on gemology.  I try to view the jade objectively on the qualities that Moises has schooled me in.  Colour? Lilac is the most rare followed by a bright green.  Translucency?  The most valuable jade allows light to pass through it.  Consistency and cleanliness?  The stone should be a consistent colour with no inclusions or stains.  So far so good!  The stones look great and to my amateur eye appear well cut.  I like Antonio and Nidia and they agree to work some of my customizations into the design.  We decide to go forward with a small range of 10 pieces.  I am excited.  My first jewelry range!  I am leaving in the morning for Mexico but will be back in a week. They think the order can be ready by then.

Hmm I don’t think I’m going to share any jewelry photos at this time.  It is too special and I want it to be a big surprise!   Meanwile, enjoy some pictures of the beautiful town of Antigua.  Hasta luego!

In the courtyard of Café Condesa

Orchids placed carfully in a cafe doorway.

Creative and beautiful ideas are in every doorway.

Even the fruit is beautiful!

Mayan textiles mirror the colours of the street

One of the many fascinting stores

Many of the cobblestone streets appear to end with a volcanoe

The fabulous Mermaid fountain in Parque Central

The catholic church in San Felipe

View from the roof terrace at Tartines

La Campa and Lenca Pottery

On Wednesday Allan and I return to La Campa.  We have an appointment to meet Felicia Santos who, together with her sons, runs the “Alfareria Lenca de La Campa” – the official sales point for the potters cooperative in La Campa.  There is only one way in to La Campa by car, an unpaved deeply rutted road from Gracias (about 18kms away).  It winds through the low mountain range occasionally fording a shallow stream before dropping into the valley in which La Campa is situated.  The village of La Campa is small and surrounded by thickly wooded mountains and sheer rock faces.  The air is dry and hot during the day and cool at night.  The village is situated around a dusty “parque central” on which three single-story municipal buildings are located.  The biggest structure (by far) in La Campa is the 18th century Spanish church whose impressive façade dominates the parque central.  It reminds me of a wild west movie set I once saw at Universal Studios - the elaborate façade is propped up in the wilderness with a much smaller functional structure behind it.  The valley is crisscrossed by a handful of dirt roads (on which houses are located and which eventually fade off into the bushland) and a stream which trickles quietly over smooth river stones.  We arrive at the cooperative shop at 9am and Felicia greets us warmly. 

This is the home of the Lenca people, population approximately 5,000 (total remaining population of the Honduran Lenca is estimated at  100,000).  The town has a sleepy peaceful feeling.  We have arrived on the final day of a three-day religious festival to honour the town’s patron saint, San Cristobal, and many of the La Campa inhabitants are at the Catholic church.  The echo of canon fire is the only sound which (rather startlingly) breaks the quiet – this is something I have heard before during Catholic holidays in Central America and it’s impossible not to be startled at the sharp initial crack.     The remnants of the three-day festival are evident.  Market stalls yet to be broken down, limp paper streamers hanging from trees, bags of rubbish carefully collected into piles, and stacked crates of empty soft drink (soda) bottles.  We comment on the absence of beer bottle crates and are informed that La Campa is an alcohol-free town.  Felecia tells us it is by mutual agreement of the residents and more-or-less self-governed.  “We are a poor people” she says.  “If someone is spending money on alcohol is means children are not getting fed.  It will not help our community.  It will not make our lives better”. 

Unfortunately (for us) the religious holiday means the wood-fired kilns are closed for the day.  However we are able to see the other steps in the process and later spend a happy hour looking through the beautiful examples of Lenca pottery is the store.    The cooperative store accepts only the finest examples of pottery from accomplished artisans.  There are more “rustic” (as Felicia puts it) selections available in smaller Alfarerias on the outskirts of town.  I find it amazing that this pottery, stunning in its simplicity and symmetry, is made entirely by hand with no tools bar river stones (for achieving a polished finish) and dried corn husks (for achieving a slightly textured or combed finish).   All the clay and pigment (from which the red paint is made) is mined from the earth around the village and always has been.  It accounts for the distinguishing colours of traditional Lenca pottery , ranging from a pale pink terracotta (in its natural state) to a dark earthy red (when “painted” by smearing on coats of red pigment).  The fine pale dust that we have been struggling to remove from mouth, hair and clothes since our arrival is key and apparently very specific to the local area – after manually sifting and pounding the dirt to achieve a smooth fine-grained consistency, water is added the clay manually worked by use of hand and foot until the clay is ready.   The clay has a firm cool feel which resists the initial pressure of the hand. When ready to work, it is slightly sticky and peels away from the palm with some resistance.   In the hands of one of these skilled artists, the clay is formed, with equal success, into tiny detailed beads or free-standing pots as tall a 1.5 metres.  The traditional Lenca pottery is purely functional in intent: water pitchers, platters, tortilla dishes, braziers, soup bowls, spoons, cooking dishes.  All pieces can be used for hot and cold liquids and used for cooking on direct flame or in oven.  The pottery is amazingly light and strong.  A water pitcher containing at least 2 litres of water is lifted again and again without apparent strain on the handle. 

After examining many pieces, and with Felicias guidance, I am able to discern subtle differences in the workmanship (or rather workwomanship) and narrow my buying choices down.  I favor the pieces with well-rounded and symmetrical form.  A fine-textured clay and a smooth, high polish to the finish.  Smooth edges over scalloped or otherwise adorned. Multiple consistent applications of pigment to achieve a deeply burnished red colour.   I prefer the plain pot to the one on which white paint has been decoratively applied with a feather.  I find there is one artists in particular who is creating ceramics in the style in which I prefer.  We get directions to her workshop and are happy to meet Mercedes , her daughters and gorgeous 8-year old granddaughter, Mercy.    I spend another hour, deeply content, carefully comparing one (nearly identical) piece to another and finally selecting what I want.  Allan bears all this with his trade-mark good humor and happily translates between Mercedes and myself.  As is the tradition, Mercedes is training her daughters, nieces and granddaughter in the art.  Mercy proudly shows me her work: two small figurines of bird and turtle and a string of beads.  She insists on me taking them as a gift.

We load the Ranger and drive directly back to Tegucigalpa.  For most of the 6 hour drive I am fearful for my precious cargo as we bounce and jolt over the rough roads, rarely exceeding speeds of 20km/hour.  Earl y the next morning we go in search of packing supplies to send the pottery on its way to Roatan (via the port city of La Ceiba) and I spend the next 3 hour carefully repacking everything to try and limit breakage in transit.  I am delighted to find there was not one piece broken on the drive back from La Campa and determined not to lose any on the next leg of the journey.  The round trip has taken 4 days, more than I originally planned, but in my eyes it has been more than worthwhile to experience the Lenca culture and find such a special and unique product for LALA.  Finally we just make the 4pm deadline to ship the boxes and, after a celebratory steak dinner with Allan, I am early to bed in preparation for the long road to Guatemala on Friday.

Mountains surrounding La Campa

The people of La Campa attending church

Mercedes in her Alfareria

Happily selecting my favorite pieces

Simplicity, symmetry, strength, purpose- its what makes this pottery so beautiful

Simplicity, symmetry, strength, purpose- its what makes this pottery so beautiful