Oh my

Oh my, I drive into town this morning, following the signs for "Centro", passing a huge, beautiful park with what appears to be a large lake inside it - and maybe parking for tonite - and reach what seems to be a really old pueblo.

Zacatecas appears huge, with small connected pastel houses sprawling from the common valley up the sides of several mountain peaks. The road I take into the city looks newly paved and is scattered with topes. Suddenly I drive through huge archways and the pavement ends and the ‘cobblestone’ roads begin.

I park my truck here in what appears to be the “centro”. I am overwhelmed with something that is moving me to tears. I am touched by the simple beauty, by the obvious old age, by the colors. I don’t know what it is, but I do know that I am not leaving this town today. Maybe not even tomorrow.

The streets are made of square, maybe 14”x14” blocks of granite or some terribly hard rock. At first they look rectangular but when I take a closer look, they are square with cement or clay in between each stone.

I attempt to fathom how people were able to cut these stones and lay them so perfectly yet so obviously hand-made. I think maybe only these main streets in the centro are stones, but as I look up narrow side streets, they are all made of stone. And so are the sidewalks.

I go into the nearest hotel – the only businesses that appear to be open at this hour and on this day. I ask the womon behind the desk for a map of Zacatecas.

The buildings are one or two stories, maybe a couple are 3 stories, and are pale pastels, mostly pinks in color. There are several ‘castles’ or cathedrals, churches maybe, that look older than god. And many museums, all closed.

I walk around, having the entire centro almost to myself. There are only a few other people walking about and first I think it is because it is deserted like streets in the u.s. on xmas. But the streets will fill eventually with people, it’s just early!

Every building is attached to the next building and they are mostly small with doorways that stand 15 feet tall maybe. I can’t resist running my fingers over, admiring the old doors, the iron works covering tall, narrow windows, the amazing designs on the sides and corners of buildings.

I read every sign. There are shops of every kind, dentists, veterinarians, schools, and several really old hotels. Museums. And a few protest flyers pasted to walls and doors. I take a picture with my cell phone and will have to translate them later.