Jesus H. Street!

It's neither the most scenic nor the most ugly street I have seen. It was all orchards once, even Now, the trees all grow behind courtyard walls. Such walls are often guarded here by shards of glass on top. It's not as though people avoid each other though. With sidewalks on both sides of the street, you're bound to meet people anyways.

Such is the street on which I have all my classes, spread out through three buildings. Jesus H. Preciado in full, but H. Preciado to just about anyone referring to it. It sits somewhere in the middle class, or what I might consider middle class, compared to the mansions a ways above and the shacks a ways below. When I use above and below, the terms are almost literal. H. Preciado is the place I will start this blog-tour of Cuernavaca.

The courtyards can be a whole different world sometimes, gardens resembling jungles.

The road is lined with small shops. "Abarrotes," mostly, "corner stores" as one might say (except that they aren't just on the corners). Others specialize in school supplies, perhaps knowing full well that students attend classes here.

The owners live in apartments above. Signs are often hand-painted, with a fair amount of skill, I might add, but still the use of actual paint on walls threw me off at first.

It was once part of its own town. Despite being so close to the center, it was divided by a deep ravine, until Puente dos mil (the 2000 bridge) was built.

The houses are cheaper down in the ravines than up here on H. Preciado. They are closer to a river containing raw sewage and trash from above. Also, they have no road, just stairs, which one has to climb in order to reach the top.

Ravines like this can be seen all around Cuernavaca, a city where nature seems to have decided the zoning laws. Unlike some other travelers, I perfer not to ignore poverty, these barrancas (ravines) remain on my mind.

Many of the people who live there migrated from other parts of Mexico. They may soon find themselves heading to Mexico City, then on to the border, before migrating often to the United States. Such ravine houses are nearly always hidden from view, until you start crossing the bridge. As seen here, trees take over whatever spot the humans don't claim.

Just beyond the bridge is the spot that the orchard town of San Anton once ended.

I wouldn't have recognized it as a significant spot were it not for its almost meaningless marker, the shrine to the Virgin of Guatalupe. In legend, this was a miraculous image of Saint Mary that appeared to an Aztec in Mexico City. Strictly speaking the one here is just a copy, larger than the original, I think.

Some Mexicans call her "Our Mother" or Tonanzin, rather than the more orthodox "God's mother" which explains her psychological appeal. She is sort of analogous to having a mother around to to help you through the tough times. An effective opiate of the people one might even say. She is the symbol that people put in front of towns as protector and welcomer. In the war against spain, Hidalgo, himself a former priest, grabbed the image and improvised by usning it as a flag.

When I came here, I found her to be just another foreign obsession, but now she seems familiar somehow. I can set aside the rather annoying insistance on virginity that for some she embodies. It's probably a sign of how long I've been here.