Spoonbridge and Cherry

Travel writers can be a judge-y breed. And that’s not always a bad thing. You have to be critical when you’re giving your readers the information they need to make important vacation decisions. So you take out your microscope, you examine what makes a destination tick, and you compare and contrast it to other places where people could spend their money.

But what happens when you turn that critical eye on your hometown? Such was my dilemma two weeks ago, when I joined fellow travel editors and writers in Minneapolis for their annual conference.

Cheese curds

I’m not a Minnesota native, but I speak the language, minus the telltale accent. I grew up walking around the Lakes and wearing down jackets over Halloween costumes and going outside at recess, even when the temperatures were 10 below. I practice Minnesota nice, even if I’m now Philly brusque. It’s a region with distinct quirks that remain in your psyche, long after you’re gone.

And, my feelings toward the Twin Cities are similarly parochial. I love Landmark Center because I went to Prom there. First Avenue remains one of my favorite clubs simply because it’s one of the first ones I ever went to. Uptown will forever be the place where I went to see Stop Making Sense on Friday nights, no matter how many trendy restaurants may be there now.

Landmark Center

With that much Proustian baggage, I had no idea how to explain Minneapolis to others. So I watched, nervously, as the tourism board took writers to the Guthrie Theater, the Mall of America, and the Walker Art Center. I fretted as my friends froze; May is an iffy month for weather in Minneapolis, as anyone who has experienced a Mother’s Day blizzard knows.

I wanted editors to consider the Twin Cities as more than flyover country. I wanted them to see the charm that lies in the understatement, the honesty in the Midwestern practicality. I hoped they’d find something to share with their readers. And in the end, it seemed that they did, primarily by accessing memories of their own.

Mary Tyler Moore. Yep, even after all these years, she remains one of the Twin Cities’ most famous residents, albeit fictional. I realized how much her legacy lives on a tipsy ride home, where several of us sang the theme song, Love is All Around, at the top of our lungs:

Love is all around, no need to waste it
You can have a town, why don’t you take it
You’re gonna make it after all

Just like that, I stopped worrying about what others thought of my hometown. Minneapolis may not be New York or LA or even Chicago. But even the most cynical travel writer can be susceptible to the simple, now grainy image of a young woman throwing her beret in the air.

The Local: Explaining Minneapolis is a post from: Chris Around The World: A Journalist's Travels on the Road

I didn’t expect too much from Leipzig when we arrived for the second portion of the SATW convention.

After all, Dresden had been such a delight – and we had very little time to see it all. And while Leipzig has some cool historic buildings, such as the Altes Rathaus (town hall) above, they are more spread out around the city so they don’t have the impact of many European cities.

But sometimes it’s good to arrive in a place without expectations. We found ourselves charmed by the modern art and sculpture that we found in Leipzig streets.

There’s been enough artistic momentum coming out of Leipzig’s Art Academy in recent years for academics and collectors to refer to the works as The New Leipzig School. Most of the more famous artists under this banner are painters, but there’s a fair amount of sculpture as well.

Even while it was under Communist rule, Leipzig had a flourishing art scene, primarily because of the Academy for Visual Arts, which has been around since 1764. While we admired the artwork in the street, the city also has a large Fine Arts museum as well as a Contemporary Art Museum.

We did have a bit of a personal connection that I wanted to explore. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe studied law in Leipzig from 1765 to 1768. During his tenure in the city, he frequented a beer hall called Auerbachs Keller, which he later used as a setting in his famed play Faust.

First mentioned in records dating back to 1438, Auerbachs Keller is still an operating restaurant today. To get there, you go through the Mädlerpassage, an old shopping arcade in Leipzig’s historical district. We had a set dinner here in one of the historic rooms and while the buffet food wasn’t the greatest, the atmosphere made it worthwhile.

The legend of Dr. Johann Georg Faust predates Goethe. Faust was a real figure in the German Renaissance, and worked as an alchemist and magician in the early 1500s. Because of his ventures into astrology, the church denounced him as a blasphemer in league with the devil. This reputation led to stories such as the one that claimed Faust rode a wine barrel up from the cellar at Auerbachs Keller to the street, something that could only happen with supernatural assistance. Scholars believe this legend is what inspired Goethe to make Auerbachs Keller the first stop where Mephistopheles takes Faust.

My husband was excited to be at a restaurant where his name had such history. At one point, he and another travel writer went into a private dining room occupied by a group of men in their 50s and 60s. The writer introduced Don as Herr Faust and Don held up his name tag to shouts of laughter.

Auerbachs Keller may have an ancient reputation for debauchery, but we noticed that Leipzig had an active nightlife throughout the city. Some members of our group found a hookah bar; others reported a Soviet-themed dive. We sneaked away and had our own date night in one of the packed cafes on Barfubgabchen, a narrow cobblestoned street near the historic center.

The stop gave us a welcome break from the bratwurst and meats we had been eating. This salad had huge mushrooms that tasted delicious to our veggie-starved palate.

Although the night was chilly, we were warmed by the massive heat lamps employed by most of the cafes. We were surprised at how full many of the restaurants were on a Monday night. But our server scoffed. “You should see it on the weekend,” she said.

Perhaps Leipzig’s most famous historic resident is composer Johann Sebastian Bach. Born into a musical family in Eisenbach, Bach moved to Leipzig with his family in 1723 to take a job as cantor at St. Thomas Church (Thomaskirche).

At the time, Leipzig was one of Germany’s cultural capitals, and the appointment at St. Thomas, known for its boarding school for choir singers, represented a prominent career point for Bach. Although he often traveled to act as an organ consultant, Bach spent the majority of his life in Leipzig with his large family (he had 20 children with two wives, although only 10 survived to adulthood). Some of Leipzig’s other famous composers, including Felix Mendelssohn and Richard Wagner, performed and studied here. Wolfgang Mozart even performed the organ at St. Thomas in 1789.

Thomaskirche is a Lutheran church that is just as elaborate as many Catholic cathedrals. There’s been a church on the site since the 12th Century and Martin Luther himself preached here in 1539.

Bach’s remains have been interred in the church since 1950.

Every year, Leipzig hosts BachFest that attracts more than 65,000 classical music lovers from around the world. And this year, the city opened a state-of-the-art Bach Museum in March, just in time for Bach’s 325th birthday.

The Museum is a great way for a music lover to spend an afternoon. There are historical musical instruments, including an organ console that Bach examined himself, as well as original sheet music written by Bach.

Admission to the museum is 6 Euro and it’s free on the first Tuesday of every month.

Bach is by no means the only composer celebrated in Leipzig. Felix Mendelssohn’s private home is also a museum, where you can see artifacts and sheet music. There’s also a performance space in his apartment where concerts are occasionally held.

Besides its cultural legacy, Leipzig has played an important role in modern history. In September 1989, East Germans began gathering in front of the St. Nicholas Church in protest against the Chinese Communist regime’s crackdown on demonstrators in  Tienanmen Square.

Because the Lutheran Church supported their efforts, the demonstrators eventually became more bold and started campaigning for rights in their own country. Eventually the non-violent resistance spread to other East German cities such as Dresden and Berlin.  This Peaceful Revolution led to the fall of the Berlin Wall on Nov. 9, 1989.

Our final stop in Leipzig? A visit to the space-age Porsche plant just outside of town.

Even the most jaded travel writers couldn’t resist getting their photo taken in the sweet Porsches – myself included!

If you’re a Porsche enthusiast, you can drive on the Leipzig test track and take a factory tour. It’s a big thing in Porsche circles to go to Leipzig or Stuttgart and pick up your Porsche in person. So maybe I’ll be back some day. Hey, a girl can dream!

Bach, Faust, Porsche – and Other Leipzig Tourist Attractions is a post from: Chris Around The World: A Journalist's Travels on the Road

Visiting Dresden proved to the biggest surprise of our week-long trip to the cities that had been a part of the former East Germany.     

I knew that Dresden had been considered one of the most beautiful cities in Europe before World War II – which is allegedly one of the reasons why the Allies targeted it in a devastating 1945 bombing raid (while Dresden did house important military targets, these were mostly on the outskirts of town and remained largely untouched). More than 25,000 people, many of them refugees as well as women and children, died in the resulting firestorm.     

With that kind of history, you’d expect modern-day Dresden to be a depressing place. But the Germans have rebuilt many of their destroyed landmarks in the same Baroque style that made the city famous, in a decision made while still part of East Germany. The historic Frauenkirche – an elaborate domed Lutheran church that sat in ruins for decades after the war – is again the center of the old city, thanks to a rebuilding effort that culminated in 2005, just in time for Dresden’s 800-year anniversary a year later.     

If you look at the photo above, you can see how the darker bricks from the original structure have been incorporated into the building.     

The Kreuzkirche, Dresden’s largest church, is another example of how the city preserved its look. While the interior is modern, the exterior maintains the Gothic style that it had when it was built in the 1400s. In its more modern history, the Kreuzkirche was the site of “peace prayers” in 1989, which led to East Germany’s ”Peaceful Revolution” out of communism.     

We didn’t get a chance to hear the famed Dresdner Kreuzchor, a boys’ choir that has been around for 700 years (the best time to see them is at Vespers, held at 5 p.m. in the winter and 6 pm. in the summer, or at a Sunday worship service). Ranging in age from 9 to 19, many of the boys live at a nearby boarding school and give concerts around the world. But the church’s musical reputation draws guest choirs, so we did hear this group from Asia sing.     

Most of the buildings in Old Dresden’s center are actually new, but built in a way that conjures up the atmosphere of a historic town. In some cities, this could seem fake and Disney-esque. But in Dresden, once known as “Florence on the Elbe,” it’s poignant, given the tragic history. You can’t help thinking how beautiful the city would be if it hadn’t been bombed.     

As we walked around the city, we wondered how Dresden became so prominent. Turns out that the city was the seat of power for Saxony, a fairly wealthy electorate in the Holy Roman Empire. Most historians know that the Holy Roman Empire was neither holy nor Roman; in fact, the Saxon electors were among the first to give protection to Martin Luther during the Protestant Reformation in the 16th century (Wittenburg, where Luther studied, lies within Saxony; I wish I would have had time on this trip to go there).     

Dresden became even more important in the late 1600s, when Augustus the Strong became Elector of Saxony. Never heard of Augustus the Strong? Neither had I, and I have a minor in European history. An ambitious ruler, Augustus became King of Poland during his tenure. He also turned Dresden into a cultural and architectural beacon within Europe, and also sponsored (by force, through imprisoning a noted alchemist) the founding of Meissen porcelain.  His jewels, as well as a 41 carat green diamond owned by his son Augustus III, are on display at the Green Vault, which you can visit (tickets are given for specifc time slots, so factor that into your planning).       

  If you’re taking a trip between Prague and Berlin, Dresden would be a great place to stop overnight. We really only had a few hours to walk around, and I felt cheated a bit, as there’s a lot of interesting history to take in and some beautiful plazas to hang out in. If I ever go back, I’d love to see a performance at the Semperoper, another historic building that was rebuilt in the original style and reopened in 1985.    

In some ways, though, it seems Dresden has gotten in its own way as far as tourism goes. UNESCO declared the Elbe Valley a World Heritage Site in  2004, only to revoke the status five years later when the city built a highway less than 2 km from the historic center. It’s the only UNESCO site in Europe to lose its status this way. Given that UNESCO status puts many places on tourists’ radar, one wonders what the city residents were thinking (the bridge issue passed through a referendum).     

Another aspect of Dresden that we loved: the plazas and open spaces. One of the largest is on the grounds of the Zwinger, a Baroque palace complex with a large inner courtyard. Augustus the Strong commissioned the Zwinger back in 1710, and a new wing was added in 1847.   

As with much of the city, the Zwinger was destroyed in the 1945 firebombing, but rebuilt in the years following. The complex houses several museums, including one dedicated to porcelain. Again, I wish that we would have had more time to look around. Dresden is worth more than a few hours.     

On the day we were there, a crowd gathered outside one of the palace entrances to watch costumed dancers.    

Aren’t we all glad that dancing has evolved over the centuries? As well as men’s pants.     

I suppose it’s a good thing to leave a city wanting more.  I came away from Dresden both pleasantly surprised at what the city had to offer tourists, and stricken by what history had done to it. It’s a worthwhile stop in central Europe, even for those who wouldn’t normally put it on a itinerary.     

Have you ever been totally surprised by a place that you thought you weren’t going to like? Tell me where in the comments!      

Dresden: Baroque Downed Palaces is a post from: Chris Around The World: A Journalist's Travels on the Road

I’m trying to play things cool today. But inside I’m jumping up and down like a kid. I won, I won, I won! (a silver Lowell Thomas award for best travel blog)

The Lowell Thomas travel writing awards, sponsored by the Society of American Travel Writers Foundation, are the main writing awards in the travel world. They’re judged by journalism faculties around the country – this year, by folks at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.

I’m thrilled that my little blog stacked up against those put out by my former employer, USA Today (Ben Mutzabaugh’s industry leading Today in the Sky blog took the well-deserved gold). The independent Travel Savvy Mom won the bronze honors. It’s been tough to be out here on my own, so the recognition feels really good.

And of course, no blog succeeds without interested and engaged readers. I love you guys, and have enjoyed sharing travel stories and tips from the road together. I love the comments and conversation that have come out of this, as well as the advice I’ve received from other bloggers along the way. So a big thanks to all of you for sticking with me this past year. That’s what’s kept me going through it all.

Here’s the full list of winners. Some great company on there, including SF Chronicle travel editor Spud Hilton (who puts out a section all by himself), CruiseCritic who I’ve written for and Laura del Rosso who first talked me into writing an iPhone app. And also actor Andrew McCarthy, who is apparently a travel writer now (who knew?) Congrats to all!

Lowell Thomas Travel Writing Awards – We won! is a post from: Chris Around The World: A Journalist's Travels on the Road

With everything that’s been on my plate, it’s taken forever to write up the final notes from my October trip to Colonial Mexico. For our last stop on our four-day tour through central Mexico highlands, we spent two days in San Miguel de Allende. I had actually joined the tour primarily so I could visit this town, well-known as an artist town/expat haven.

With cobblestone streets and little modern construction, San Miguel is extremely quaint, almost too much so (I liked Guanajuato, a lesser known university town about two hours way from SMA, better). Still, I can see why so many American Baby Boomers are choosing it for their retirement.

Read the San Miguel de Allende report here.

And read the previous installments, Guadalajara and Guanajuanto, here and here.  

San Miguel de Allende is a post from: Chris Around The World: A Journalist's Travels on the Road

I’ve put together two trip reports so far from my week in Mexico: Guadalajara and Guanajuato. San Miguel de Allende is still to come (and may have to wait until I get back from the Caribbean). I really loved this region of Mexico, Guanajuato in particular. I would love to go back and study Spanish here. I’m also inspired to visit other Colonial Mexican cities such as Oaxaca and Campeche.

To read about Guadalajara, click here.

To read about Guanajuato, click here.  

Mexico trip reports is a post from: Chris Around The World: A Journalist's Travels on the Road

San Juan de los Lagos, about two hours outside Guadalajara, is famous for its Virgin – one of three in Mexico that rank just behind the Virgin of Guadalupe. (The other two are the Virgin of Talpa and the Virgin of Zapopan – to read about Romeria, the religious festival I witnessed in Zapopan for their “Lady,” click here).

Each has their own legend; while the Virgin of Zapopan keeps Guadalajara safe, the Virgin of San Juan de los Lagos (named for St. John the Baptist) allegedly restored a dead child to life.

The town centers around the Catedral Basilica Santuario de la Virgen de San Juan de los Lagos, a large pinkish church.

The plaza outside the Catedral is filled with vendors selling all sorts of Virgin paraphenalia, from rosaries to icons to tablecloths. An estimated million people visit the Virgin in San Juan de los Lagos each year.

Inside the church, worshippers drop to their knees to “walk” down the church aisle toward the altar housing the Virgin. I first saw this demonstation of faith at the Scala Santa in Rome earlier this year. It can be a little heartbreaking to watch the elderly struggle down the long aisle. But for the faithful, the suffering is considered “Christ-like;” they suffer for what they see as in solidarity with Jesus.

Walking on your knees is nothing , however, compared to the devotions that take place at Atotonilco, a small dusty town between Guanajuato and San Miguel de Allende. There, pilgrims come from all over Mexico to visit Santuario de Atotonilco, a beautiful church and a spiritual retreat, and ask for penance by donning crowns of mesquite thorns and flagellate themselves with seven-tailed whips. There are cells nearby where pilgrims sleep to replicate Christ’s prison experience.

On the day we were there, we saw no such displays of devotion. The vendors in the sleepy plaza, though, were selling the thorn crowns, as well as rope whips.

The thorns were sharp (I had to touch them, of course).

The church itself was worth seeing. While it looks simple on the outside, the inside is completely covered in frescoes, many of which are under restoration. There is no surface in the building that hasn’t been decorated or covered.

The paintings were done by an artist named Miguel Antonio Martinez de Pocasangre, in a style that’s been called ”folk baroque.” They were declared “endangered” by the World Monument Fund in the late 1990s and have been deemed a UNESCO World Heritage site since 2008.

True to the leanings of the pilgrims who come here, some of the paintings are a little on the dark side, stressing Christ’s suffering. This statue of the bloody Christ is known as Our Lord of the Column. During Holy Week, it is taken from the church and carried in a midnight procession to San Miguel de Allende, where it remains through Easter.

Mexico: Pilgrimage Towns is a post from: Chris Around The World: A Journalist's Travels on the Road

The following is a guest post, written by fellow SATW member Amy Weirick. The day that I went to Tequila, she visited a traditional Huichol temazcal, or sweat lodge, located outside Guadalajara. I asked her to write something about the experience – especially after our group discovered that two people (now three) had died in a similar sweat lodge in Sedona, Ariz.

UPDATED: NYC Architect Timo Lindman noticed from Amy’s picture that the sweat lodge that some in SATW attended in Mexico was made from natural materials that breathe, instead of being covered with a plastic tarp. Says Lindman: “Sweat lodges/saunas/banya can be really terrific things, but coercion is not part of the process, and badly built (non-permeable) lodges run by yahoos are dangerous.”

“Most people don’t take this tour.”

So says our guide, Esmeralda, as our bus pulled out of Guadalajara. On our agenda: a mud bath, a sampler of native healing rituals and a meet-up with a Shaman. All of it – along with copious sweating – is designed to provoke a mystical episode, and Esmerelda repeatedly tells our group of two dozen how special we are for embarking on such a spiritual adventure. 

 I should have known we were in for a wild ride.

In the tiny village of Buenavista, barefoot babies stared as our tour bus rumbled down the mucky, rocky road.  Old men in chewed up hats offered sideways glances.  Cows and chickens scattered as we bobbed and weaved past once-proud brick country houses , now mere walls that protect - or hide - humble hovels. 

We arrived at a large fenced lawn ringed by igloo-shaped dwellings.  One, the temazcal, is crafted from brick and cement. Another, called an inipi, looks like a grass mat soccer ball emerging from the yard.  We’re welcomed at a large fire with a soul-cleansing wave of feathers and traditional copol incense. Its piney resin smoke wafted around our heads.

Esmeralda then introduced us to our healer, Teresa. With Esmeralda acting as translater, Teresa invited us in her native Huichol language to sit in a circle nad spun wildly colorful tales of Huichol ritual and belief.  She would eventually direct one of the groups in their spiritual quest.

Then Teresa presented the leader of my group: fellow spiritualist and native dance expert Rosalio. I stared. To me, Rosalio looked exactly like Charles Manson – wearing a loincloth. This does not bode well.

In a staccato cadence, Rosalio shared his beliefs, as Esmeralda translated. There is no race, he murmured, only the human race.  We are not Indians, he chided, Indians live in India.  We will reborn, he predicted, as we emerge from the temazcal.

Oh, were we.

But first we’re directed to a corner of the yard, where large buckets of mud are doctored with sandalwood and lavender oil.  We dipped into them, slathering the slate-gray muck on our bodies (we had been told to wear swimsuits and bring a towel).  We laid down and embraced Mother Earth, mud baking on our bodies and, we’re told, drawing out impurities – anything bad or unwanted.

This exorcism continued as Rosalio gave us each a handful of tobacco, encouraging us to put all of our negative energy into that sprinkle of dried leaves, and then toss it into the fire. We toss it into the fire to burn away.  Illness and bad habits will be cleansed by the mud and the fire, we’re told – and oh yes, the sweat.

Crawling on our hands and knees, we entered the inipi. On the way in, we dipped our head to the earth in thanks and prayer. Little did we know that in a few hours, we’d be praying for relief.

A large pichfork bearing red-hot rocks the size of a human head was shoved in the door. The rocks were dropped into a deep pit in the inipi’s center.  Rosalio beat his drum and chanted, then fiercely tossed cups of herbal tea onto the rocks.  Thick, hot steam filled the lodge.

Soon, sweat flowed from every pore, rinsing away much of the mud - and our inhibitions. Noses ran, tears welled. A member next to me apologetically asked me to wipe her gooey face. “That’s a new twist in media relations,” I thought.

We continued to sweat. Several members of the group began to feel faint, their hearts racing from the temperature. It’s just too hot, they told Rosalio. But Charles Manson is not having it.

 ”Touch your body,” Rosalio said. “It is your strength.  You can do it.”  The members stayed, although it was unclear if it was strength or Rosalio’s chiding that kept them there.

Finally, the door opened.  Some people sighed, some gasped. All of us thought we were getting out. No dice.

Instead, another pitchfork of sizzling rocks is loaded into the lodge. More tea.  More steam. With a ferocity that seemed unexpected in a spiritual leader, Rosalio hurled cool cups of the herbal tea.  It felt cooling, yet shocking at the same time.

Just when we thought we could take no more, the door opened.  We emerged the same way we went in – head first, forehead to the ground in prayer.  We’re rinsed with icy well water.  It felt invigorating and bracing, pretty much a metapher for the entire experience.

Cool at last, we drank herbal tea and rested on grass mats – natural, we’re told, from Mother Earth. And finally, after hours of deprivation, a dazzling spread of colorful fruit was put before us.  Watermelon, pineapple, papaya, cucumbers and apples never tasted so cold and fresh. Our sweat lodge experience endsedwith a circle hug, meant to represent the endless coil of a snail’s shell. 

So was I reborn? Hm. Maybe not reborn, but revitalized … if only by the incredible weirdness of it all.  I was really relaxed, the way you feel after a butt-kicking workout. And what the heck, I do believe my skin looks just a tiny bit healthier.  The experience provided me with a mental escape that I can reflect on for some time, like a strange and interesting movie that stays with you for awhile.

Had I known of the fate of those who died in Arizona, I’m uncertain whether I would have opted for this tour.  I think back to Esmeralda’s “This tour is not for everyone” caveat and shudder a little.  Interestingly, those Arizona New Agers paid some $10,000 each for their weekend, while our day-long “authentic experience” cost only about $35.

Follow Amy on Twitter: @AmyMWeirick

A Mexican temazcal: Mud, sweat & tears is a post from: Chris Around The World: A Journalist's Travels on the Road

Shrimp ice cream and the Mexican War of Independence. They go together like….say what?

It only makes sense once you’ve been to Dolores, Mexico, a town of about 55,000 halfway between the colonial cities of Guanajuato and the expat haven, San Miguel de Allende

Poor Dolores is nowhere near as gorgeous as either of these jewel-box cities. But as Mexico celebrates its Bicentennial next year, expect Dolores to garner its share of glory. That’s because Mexico’s top rabble rouser, Father Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla, issued his famous cry for revolution (known as the Grito de Dolores) at the city’s church on Sept. 16, 1810.

With his army of disaffected criollos (creoles, or people of Spanish descent who were born in Mexico) and poor villagers, Hidalgo marched through the Sierra Bajio area toward wealthy Guanajuato, where he forced many of the town’s wealthy Spanish inhabitants to take refuge in the Alhondiga de Granaditas, the town’s granary. Just as the mob stormed the Bastille in Paris, Hilago’s band broke down the door of the Granary and executed several hundred men, women and children (an act that was protested by his fellow revolutionary, Ignacio Allende).

Considered the Father of the Nation of Mexico, Hidalgo’s personal fight didn’t last long. He was captured in 1811 outside Chihuahua, and his head hung on a pike outside Guanajuato’s Granary for 10 years as a warning for other revolutionaries. But his legacy lives on. The town of Dolores officially changed its name to Dolores Hidalgo and every year, Mexican dignitaries come to the small city to read the Grito de Dolores in the square and ring the bells in the historic church – a practice that is then repeated in towns across the country.

In Dolores, the top attraction is Hidalgo’s church, also known as Our Lady of Sorrows. It’s a gorgeous example of churrigueresque architecture, carved from rose-colored quarry stone.

Out front, a clock ticks down the seconds, minutes and hours to Mexico’s bicentennial. The town also has a museum dedicated to Hidalgo and an Independence Musuem.

So what about the ice cream? On the town’s lush plaza, ice cream stands are parked on each corner. They have the regular helado flavors such as vanilla, pistachio and chocolate. But they also serve unusual flavors such as corn, avocado, cerveza and yes, shrimp.

Each stand tries hard to sell you their specific flavors, and the vendors hand out tasting spoons with a generosity you’d never find in the US. I sampled tequila, cerveza, guava, and shrimp (well, someone had to!) The latter tasted fruity instead of fishy, which makes me believe the name may be used more for its shock value than anything else. In any case, the city is definitely worth a stop if you are in the area.

Dolores: Hidalgo y Helado is a post from: Chris Around The World: A Journalist's Travels on the Road

Imagine nearly a million people packed into a square, waving white handkerchiefs, singing and dancing as they cheer the return of a foot-high Virgin Mary icon  to their home cathedral, and you’ll understand the joy behind Romeria, the biggest festival day in the Guadalajara region.

Pronounced row-MA-ree-a, the holiday – held Oct. 12 every year – is also known as the Day of the Lady of Zapopan. It centers around “Our Lady,” a statue that spends half of the year at the Basilica of Our Lady in Zapopan (zah-POE-pan), a small city just outside Guadalajara.

Legend has it that in 1525, Franciscan friar Padre Antonio de Segovia wore a cornhusk image of the Madonna around his neck. When he brought it out on the battlefield during the Spanish conquest, the native Indians grew fearful of the icon’s powers and stopped fighting. Thus the miracles attributed to Lady – otherwise known as The Pacifier – began.

Since then, she has taken on greater significance as a protective figure. Guadalajara is known for its floods and electrical storms (apparently death by lightning strike is not an unusual way to go in Jalisco). To keep each neighborhood safe during the rainy season, the Lady leaves her home in Zapopan and travels around to the different churches and cathedrals in Guadalajara. Everywhere she goes, she is greeted with celebrations and fiestas. Believers attribute numerous miracles to her; it’s said that she rescued nearby Lake Chapula from a drought.

But all travelers must come home sometime, and the Lady is no exception.

On Oct. 12, she returns every year to Zapopan, and the Franciscan monks that still serve her. Her homecoming is marked with a massive festival, celebrated by pilgrims who come to Zapopan from all over Jalisco. The procession has been going on for 270 years and has never been interrupted. Schools and banks are closed as families gather together near the Lady’s route.

I saw Romeria as part of a special SATW tour, arranged by the tourist bureau of Zapopan. When we left Guadalajara around 7 a.m., some of the streets were already crowded. That’s because the Lady had spent the previous week at the Guadalajara cathedral, and many pilgrims make the 5- mile trip to Zapopan with her, the most faithful going the distance on their knees. Men on horseback – known as charros –  rode along the media toward Zapaopan. Many looked tired; our guide, Lilly, said that many had been riding all night to pay their respects.

Outside the Basilica, people were spread out on blankets with pillows and food. Some had slept there all night. Many of the celebrants were dressed in white, to show respect to the Virgin. Others were dressed to party, wearing colorful Indian costumes and feathers to mark the Lady’s history as a peacemaker. And still others brought elaborate masks they had made in her honor; they would wear them as they danced into the night.

Thanks to our hosts, we were able to watch the Zapopan plaza fill up from a vantage point on the Basilica roof. Because of swine flu fears, the bishop decided to hold the celebration Mass outside; celebrants were also urged to avoid hugging and kissing each other. The crowd roared as a gold house constructed especially for the Virgin proceded from the Basilica to the Zapopan city gates to meet the home-bound icon.

“It’s very Sister Act,” a member of our group said. And indeed, this was no solemn festival. Think chants set to a synthesizer beat, accompanying by raucous dancing and clapping. At various points, a woman serving as an emcee of sorts would shout from the Cathedral balcony,

“Are you tired?” she called out to the crowd in Spanish.

“NO!!” yelled the crowd.

“Do you love our Lady?”

“SI!”

The tenor of the celebration grew louder as the Virgin passed through the city gates. Corps of drummers and buglers walked through the Plaza into the Basilica, all paying homage to the Lady. Groups of eight men or more bore massive flower arrangements into the Basilica, and the smell of lilies permeated the church courtyard.

Finally the Lady appeared on the plaza, atop her elaborate house carried by chosen faithful. As she passed, people cheered and waved white handkerchiefs. “Viva la Lady del Zapopan!”

High above the courtyard in the Basilica’s tower, a man rang the bells with a mallet, sending peals throughout the city.

The  Bishop released white doves as the Virgin approached the altar.

Finally, in front of an audience of civic and religious diginitaries, the Lady was taken from her mobile home and placed on a pedestal. The songs turned from escatic to reverential. And so the Mass began.

Outside the Cathedral gates, people listened to the service on their radios, as they lounged on blankets with their families. Some picnicked on food sold by vendors wearing hospital masks, while others napped. The celebration would go on throughout the night, and we saw several dancers preparing their costume masks for the long party ahead.

Romeria! Festival for the Lady of Zapopan is a post from: Chris Around The World: A Journalist's Travels on the Road