MAINE TO MEXICO is a chronicle of our move from Auburn, Maine to the Lake Chapala Area in Jalisco, Mexico. I've tried to include both the benefits of living here, as foreigners, and the day-to-day challenges.
This is the view from our hotel window in Morelia, the capital city of the neighboring state Michoacan, on Sunday night, as we wrapped up our four-day trip there with our friends Vicente and Donna.
We started out on Thursday and headed straight to Paracho, the guitar capital of Mexico. This little town, which has little to brag about except its amazing guitar makers, has hundreds of guitar makers in one town. (This is typical of Mexico, where towns will routinely specialize in one craft item. There are towns that specialize in knives, particular types of pottery, copper, silver jewelry, and rustico furniture, to name but a few. It's hard to understand how anyone can make any money with so many competitors!) At any rate, Vicente and I were on the search for good guitars. Vivente had provided the cover art for my poetry book, and in lieu of pay, he wanted me to help him learn to play guitar. After playing many guitars in many shops, we ended up with guitar maker Jesus Leon, and bought sister guitars (according to Jesus) for about $240US. The guitars are made with Mexican rosewood and Canadian spruce. Here, Vicente and I pose with Jesus:
From Paracho, we headed south to Uruapan, a very Mexican town with few gringos. We did run into one very interesting gringo lady who had bought an old textile mill in Uruapan in 1952, and has been running it ever since. They make beautiful cotton fabric, hand dyes and woven on manual looms. The process of using these looms requires a very aerobic dance to keep the shuttle flying at the right speed and keep the fabric smooth. Here are some photos:
Michoacan has been called by some the most beautiful state in Mexico. The national park in Uruapan certainly supports this idea with its tropical plants, waterfalls and wildflowers. We spent time in this park on Friday, taken by its beauty:
Patzcuaro is a beautiful town well known for its Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) celebration. It is on a beautiful lake, and tourists descend on the town and the islands in the lake where the rituals and grave decorations are spectacular. We will, of course, be celebrating the Day of the Dead this year with our friends Curt and Judy, from Maine, who are making a return visit to Lake Chapala, so we won't be in Patzcuaro for the festivities. We were there to enjoy the ambiance of the town and see the amazing crafts for which Michoacan is famous. Here is the interior courtyard of our hotel in Patzcuaro ($41US): Patzcuaro has a very different, wide plaza, with no gazebo and lots of trees: Nearby Patzcuaro is Santa Clara de Cobra, a copper mining town which specializes in all types of copperware. We were able to visit a workshop and watch the artisans pound the copper into beautiful plates, vases, and other household items. Here is the process of hammering the hot copper ingot. This piece would eventually become a copper sink:We ended up our trip in Morelia. Morelia was the site, on Spetember 15, of a bombing during the celebration of the "grito," the declaration of independence from Spain read evey year on the eve of Independence Day. Eight people were killed and hundreds injured. It has been blamed on a drug gang who wanted to make a statement against President Calderon, who is from Morelia. The bombings took place in this plaza.
You would never guess that this was the scene of such a violent, tragic event on Sunday, when the plaza was full of people eating, buying balloons and enjoying the day. Below is a poster protesting the massacre of dozens of students in Mexico City by the government 40 years this month:
One of the most appealing things about Morelia is that it is a vibrant, clean city. We happened to be there for the final night of the Morelia International Film Festival, and we were able to catch an Israeli film while we were there. Perhaps the most striking aspect of Morelia is the abundance of well-preserved colonial architecture. Here are some examples:
We returned, safe and sound on Monday, in time for me to race off to class. Here are Vicente and Donna, our travel companions, my book collaborators (Donna did the translation), and good friends:
Well, this is a somewhat reluctant post, since it seems a bit self-aggrandizing, but I thought it would give a flavor of the response to my book down here. I am duplicating two reviews of the book which appeared in a couple of online publications.
This first article is from the October issue of Living at Lake Chapala, a publication primarily written for those considering a move to this area. Judy King, the editor, also seminars for people who are considering retiring here so they'll get a realistic view of what to expect.
Community
A Lyrical Look At Lakeside
By Judy King
When Karen Blue and I founded Living at Lake Chapala, our goal was simple. We agreed that we would strive to provide solid information and a clear view of life here in Mexico in every article published in the monthly magazine.
There have been 93 issues of this publication—that's over 1100 articles. While other local publications frequently publish the poetry of local writers, we've not found poems that adequately described life at Lakeside…until now.
Recently at a meeting of the Ajijic Writers Group, Bill Frayer stood behind the microphone and began to read from Sacred Lake, his newly published book of poetry. Before he could sit down, I'd bought a copy of the book. I was hooked with the way Bill has captured the essence of the way we, as foreigners, live in the midst of Mexican villages.
As Bill explained on the back cover of his slim volume of poems—most with a Lakeside theme—he retired after 31 years as a Maine community college humanities professor, and while he spent many years teaching writing, communication, and critical thinking and has enjoyed poetry for many years, this is his first volume of poems...and he's written all 34 of them since he moved to Mexico with his wife, Pixie, in 2007.
Former Maine residents Bill and Pixie Frayer are delighted with their new Lakeside life.
In just over a year, Bill and Pixie have both found their places in the Lakeside community. In addition to their circle of friends, reading and writing, they are devoted volunteer teachers of English as a Second Language class at the Wilkes Education Center in Ajijic. Pixie started her educational career teaching children with special needs and later taught English as a Second Language at the community college level. Due to the Frayers' commitment to the program, Bill is donating the proceeds from the sales of Sacred Lake to help with WEC's ongoing expenses.
Once you've read the sampling of poems we're publishing here, we think you'll want a copy of this book for yourself, and it's nice to know that you'll also be helping educate some of our Mexican neighbors.
Bill's volunteer teaching position and his devotion to his students is reflected in the "Learning English with the Gringo" from Sacred Lake.
Learning English with the Gringo
They are patient with me
The gringo who no longer works
While they struggle to learn new sounds
Which hurt their mouths
So they can understand more clearly
What these old gringos really want.
They arrive in our tiny classroom
On Mexico time, straggling in,
Always pausing at the door, smiling
Until I invite them in
To join our loose group.
I butcher Spanish words, they politely correct
Sometimes in unison, articulating with wide mouths
Showing their teeth, but all together
So the sound is muddled to me.
"Que?" I ask; they obediently repeat
Until they are satisfied with my approximation.
They talk about their families
As they try to fathom
Our language, where objects are sexless,
And pronunciation follows no rules.
"Not bideo," I implore, "viiiideo!"
"Veeeeedeo!" they repeat, eyes twinkling.
When learning geography words
We come across "Paris."
"heh heh," chuckles Juan José, "Paris Heeeelton!"
"Oh," I declare, "She's a bimbo, you know."
"Pan?" they look bewildered
"No," I laugh, and swish.
"This is a bimbo!"
They roar and I love this moment.
Reading Bill's poems is not just a joyful experience. He has twisted the lessons of his adjustment into the stanzas. In each of his poems I see him reveling in his exploration of his new world and new culture. "Foreigner, Walking" captures a moment in time. It is a vignette of life here and also reveals how we feel so much at home here—and slightly out of place.
Foreigner, Walking
Stepping out into the surprising heat
Whitening my skin, it seems
As I navigate the uneven stones
Of our Rio Zula
Past a dark-skinned boy
Drinking Coke and mixing sand
Into cement. "Hóla," I offer,
And he responds more lyrically.
Mangos fallen to the street
In the overnight rain
A flat-faced madre
Picks them up, bruised and unripe alike,
Into a faded nylon mesh bag
Another beautiful "Buenos Días"
Enunciated slowly, carefully,
With a slight smile.
Passing a tienda, glancing into
The dark space
Lined with small packages of snacks,
A cooler with soda, juice
Milk and cerveza.
A small boy, ebon hair,
Busy red fingers dancing
Counts berries into small bags,
His grandmother cutting melon
At a white, plastic table,
Teen boys with greasy hair,
Gold chains, swagger by, ignoring.
A man with a leather-lined face
Pushes an incongruously white
Straw hat up his forehead
As he leans intently, under
The open hood of a twenty year-old
Plymouth, proud but helpless.
He waves and smiles,
As I trudge past,
Exercising,
No place to be,
Plenty to eat,
Here by choice,
And grateful,
But foreign.
Perhaps the reason I so appreciate the poems in Sacred Lake is that through Bill's eyes and words, he has returned to me the feelings of wonder I felt in my first year at Lake Chapala. He has so beautifully captured the colors, the sights, the sounds, the surroundings of Mexico in his poetry. "In Squeezing Lime on Jicama" he also helps us capture some of the tastes of this new adventure.
Squeezing Lime on Jicama
Squeezing lime on jicama
Dusting with chile
Fresh taste bursting
Into our new life
And our newfound hours.
We chop plum tomatoes
Onion, cilantro, jalapeños
Salt and lime
Concocting a new salsa
For our anticipated sunsets.
From the Tianguis, a symphony of color
And unfamiliar tastes
Sour, sweet juice
Dripping on the bright tile
Of our simple, intentional life.
Savoring grilled goat stew with red grease
Chewing a suspicious texture
Brings us to another plane
Our days no longer the same
Challenging us to live larger.
Leaving cautious taste behind
Our new palate paints vivid
Delicious days, taking nourishment
From the rich, thick fruit
Of our newly-minted moments.
Over the years I've tried to explain to other parents how it is that I have chosen to live so far from my grown children. In the future, I think I'll just let them read "Worries from Afar Seem Diminished," Bill's incredibly clear take on the topic.
Worries from Afar seem Diminished
Children, as adults, are difficult.
They heed their own voice
Even when I know their paths
Will lead to ruin and tears.
We raise them to think
And they do, not as I would
Of course. But why should they
Listen to me?
When living close
I hear their problems intensely
And stand helpless before their tears
Occasionally grimacing as I
Provide rescue funds
And watch them continue
Down my idea of
A futile path.
But, worries from afar seem diminished,
Theirs to me and me to them
Now distance provides liberty for all
To live unobserved.
They don't need to please
I don't need to see
And with this comes
The perspective I craved.
If you want a copy of the book to quote "Worries From Afar Seem Diminished" to your friends and family, Bill will be reading, signing and selling Sacred Lake during a October 7 Book Fair, Sale and Signing which will feature more than a dozen local writers in the back patio at the Lake Chapala Society.
The published members of the Ajijic Writers Group and many of the other area published writers will be on hand with their books from 11 a.m. to 1:45 p.m. This event is a fundraiser for the ACA Eco Training Center in Jaltepec. The entrance fee is $75 pesos, all of which will go to ACA, which will also have a good supply of their fresh, organic produce on hand for sale. Don't forget that the proceeds from Bill's book are going to help with WEC programs.
This next review is from Mexico Connect, Mexico's largest online magazine which covers all of Mexico. Jim Tipton is an established poet who has published in many publications and won the Colorado Book Award for his collection of poetry. He is also a member of the Ajijic Writers' Group, and he has done a lot to encourage me to keep writing. Here is his review for Mexico Connect.
Life in Mexico observed by someone who is bursting with affection for his new country.
I have reviewed a lot of fiction and non-fiction books for Mexico Connect, but I have been hoping to eventually discover a collection of poems written in English by an expatriate living in Mexico.
Now I have in hand Bill Frayer's book, Sacred Lake, and it is a lovely book, nicely produced, with lots of fine poetry. All of the poems were written since Bill arrived in Mexico last year. Bill, who lives in Chapala, Jalisco, has fallen in love with LakeChapala, and with Mexico. In the opening poem, "Sacred Like," the author announces that:
Yes, as I came upon this lake
So resplendent with spirits
Of many lives lived, I found my muse
And it quenched a thirst
I never felt till I fell at its bank
And drank deeply of its richness.
These poems are filled with charming details of life in Mexico observed by someone who is bursting with affection for his new country. I have often thought that a country, and land itself, really belongs to those who love it most. Bill, although he feels himself a stranger, a "Foreigner," finds himself more and more being hugged by the big brown arms of Mother Mexico. In the second poem, "Foreigner, Walking," Bill steps out into the heat and passes a boy "Drinking Coke and mixing sand/Into cement." Later on that same walk he sees:
A man with a leather-lined face
Pushes an incongruously white
Straw hat up his forehead
As he leans intently, under
The open hood of a twenty-year-old
Plymouth, proud but helpless.
This is part of life in Mexico. Only today while I was walking along with Bill's book in hand, I saw a man working on his ancient truck in Calle Zaragosa here in Chapala - the white decals on the dusty back window read "¡Jesús vive!" (Jesus lives!).
Other poems celebrate the Mexican palate, and the unfamiliar juices "Dripping on the bright tile/Of our simple, intentional life." ("Squeezing Lime on Jicama"). In "Opening My Fruit," the poet has awakened at dawn, and alone in the cool air he can "Work on my fruit." As he exposes the sweet inner flesh of mangoes and papayas and melons and bananas, he becomes eager for more, and even squeezing "prickly fruit/Over-ripe" releases, unexpectedly, "Thick, white globs of life/Over my hands."
Likewise, Bill learns to bow before the Mexican attitude toward death, so different from that of his own culture, or perhaps better to say the culture he lived in before he moved to Mexico and began to discover his "own culture." He decides he wants to be remembered the way Mexican people remember their deceased loved ones. In "Remember Me with Good Dark Beer," Bill has discovered that…
In Mexico, when people die
Their stay on earth does not expire,
Extending on in memory
As concrete offerings require.
Flowers, photos, food, tequila
All that they loved their families share
And gather o'er their loved ones' bones
To eat, to weep, to laugh, to bear.
But a few short stanzas later the author steps back to take a look at the attitudes of his own (and we need to begin to say former) country, and compares Mexican practices with those we had been more familiar with before his move south.
And as I watch this ritual
With skulls and food and special bread
I think of mother's bare, cold grave
Unvisited, of course, she's dead;
She couldn't know, nor could she care
If we brought her garlic bread,
Or beer, or shrimp, or needlepoint
Or tell her, "Mom, we're all well fed!"
But, that is his "former culture," and Bill now is begins to hope that when he dies his friends will, in good Mexican style, remember what he held dear: "like chips and good dark beer."
In other poems, Bill is intent upon discovering "What Makes Them Sing" in spite of the expatriate culture that now "clogs" their streets, "arrogantly," forcing them to be "accommodating." Still, though, the Mexicans are both laughing and singing as they carry "heavy white buckets of cement/Up old and splattered ladders/Again and again in the heat." Bill longs to (and rather obviously is learning) "to live/Among their songs." As others, I suspect, are learning to live "among Bill's songs."
For many of us, once we have been in Mexico for awhile, and particularly for those of us who have made a permanent move to Mexico, something "shifts" inside and we can begin to more easily revisit and rethink and reflect upon past relationships, including those difficult relationships that can only be healed by love; indeed, most of the closing poems in Sacred Lake are about love. "How Profound is my Love?" begins this way:
How profound is my love
For the father, who,
By his gentle example,
Taught me how to live
And to think,
So that I could live,
As he,
In a world
Where character matters?
In "My Mother Dying," Frayer is "waved… away one last time" but he is able to acknowledge to himself that she had been a difficult mother.
She had not been an easy mother
And now… alone - she needed my help
To shop, to manage.
I couldn't sense much warmth
Or gratitude. With guilt, I knew
Her death would bring relief.
In contrast to that mother who simply "endured" him, Bill and his wife have left the "stale debris/Of yesterday behind them." Bill and his wife have made a long journey together, ultimately to Mexico. Here the poet is rediscovering not only his own life, but his beloved wife as well.
And now we awake together to breathe the same air
And brew our tea from the same pot
Somehow having arrived in paradise
At the same time.
Earlier in the book, Bill wrote about "As I Carry the First Box into the New House," and in that poem he and his wife are "full of hope/For years left unlived." Reading the poems several times, I begin to feel that for Bill that "New House" is really all of Mexico, and most particularly the Mexican people. That poem ends this way:
I am content to be here
In this moment
With our future, unrevealed.
This past weekend, we took a trip with some of our friends: Steve and Sue, Jeanne and Paul, and Fred and Mardele to the town of Tequila. Tequila is in Jalisco, about two hours from here. As its name suggests, it is the center of the tequila industry, with the Herradura, Jose Cuervo, and Sauza distilleries all nearby, along with countless other smaller distilleries.
We chose to tour the Jose Cuervo factory. It's right in town and one of the most esteemed distilleries. Tequila is such a presence in Mexico; I was curious to learn a bit more about the industry and the process of making tequila. As you probably already know, tequila is made from the nectar of the blue agave cactus. Jalisco is the center of the tequila industry, and the vast majority of tequila is made in Jalisco. (The are apparently a few manufacturing facilities in towns neighboring Jalisco, but they have been certified by the Mexican government.) When you drive through the area west of Guadalajara, you see hillsides covered with blue agave plants. It is quite striking.
The first step of the manufacturing process is the cutting of leaves off of the agave plant to expose the head, or core of the plant. Each plant takes about 8 years to mature. Here is a statue of a worker using the traditional method of removing the leaves.
The shorn heads, or pinas, are then gathered and prepared for baking. The heads are then baked in an oven for about 36 hours, and squeezed to produce a sweet nectar. It takes approximately 6 pinas to produce one liter of tequila. Here the baked pinas are being conveyed to be squeezed.
Yeast is added to the juice, and the juice is fermented for about several days to produce an alcoholic brew. This is then distilled twice to produce a white tequila which is 55 percent alcohol. This is diluted with water to become "blanco" or clear tequila, the lowest quality tequila. When this is aged in oak barrels (oak from the US or France) for 3-4 months, the tequila takes on an amber color, and is considered "rested" or :reposado." This is a smoother tequila, better for sipping. Tequila that has been aged for a year or more is considered "anejo," the highest grade tequila. We were able to taste all grades including the 5 year anejo, Cuervo "Familia" brand which, until the 1990's was only for the Cuervo family. It was very good, but at $80US a bottle, a bit steep for my tastes. It discovered that I prefer reposado, which is good since it's less than $20 US a bottle. Here are the distilling tanks. (The image is a bit blurry since I could not use a flash, and it was difficult to hald the camera steady enough.)
Here are the oak barrels in which the reposado and anejo are aged:
We finished the tour of the factory with a tasting where we were taught to appreciate the finer points of tasting tequila. It was fun, although most of us are not going to become regular tequila sippers!
The young people at the end of the table are university students from Lyon, France who are studying in Morelia. There was a grenade attack during the Independence Day grito in Morelia, President Calderon's hometown, on September 15; seven people were killed. This was a terrible attack by the drug terrorists trying to intimidaete the Mexican government which has been finding and arresting the drug lords. These students reported they were just 50 meters from the blast.
I was surprised that Tequila was such a small, unsophisticated town. I guess it's my American mindset; I thought that a town with such a tourist gold mine would be more like a theme park. Instead, it's just a moderate-sized town where Mexicans live and work in the tequila industry. Here's a view of the town. The red, white, and green flags in the plaza are left over from Independence Day.
On the house front, we are enjoying having our privacy back. However, a new problem has emerged. We have noticed that we are going through our propane quickly (We use this for cooking, hot water, and our dryer, which we hardly use). A tank of gas, which costs about $100 USD should last 3 months; ours is used in a month. We think we have a leak in the line somewhere. Problem is, the lines are all buried within our concrete walls. Hmmmm. We need to contact a plumber, according to the gas guys. We'll see how much of a problem this is!
Here's a poem I wrote which was inspired by the tequila trip:
The sixteenth of September is Mexican Independence Day, and my observation is that Mexicans celebrate it with abandon; they are very proud of Mexico and show it with the phrase, "Viva Mexico!"
On the evening of September 15, at 11PM, municipal officials all over Mexico ceremoniously read the "grito", the words read by Miguel Hidalgo on the evening of September 15, 1810, to publicly declare Mexico's independence from Spain. All the plazas in Mexico are clogged with patriotic citizens partying with tequila and cerveza, eating tacos and sopes, dressed in red, white and green. This year, runners with torches ran to points throughout Mexico from Guanajuato, where Hidalgo and his confederates were captured and beheaded in 1810, and from where the War of Independence was launched. (To avoid confusion, the Mexican Revolution started in 1910, and overthrew the dictator Porfirio Diaz, and implemented many land reforms and socialistic labor laws still in effect today.)
We went to a unique event in Ajijic which included the parade of the robozos. Rebozos are the colorful shawls Mexican women wear. Peasant women use their robozos to keep warm, as a blanket at night, and to swaddle their babies. This night was a night for celebrating the Mexican women and girls of all ages. Here are some photos:
Well, the school year has arrived, and I am teaching another level one English class at the Wilkes Biblioteca. I asked that I could be assigned a time earlier in the afternoon, since my last year's schedule was 5:30-7:00, right during the dinner hour. This year, I have a much more desirable 3:30-5, but, as a result, my students tend to be younger, perhaps 70% teenagers from 13-17. This year I got smart and had them make name tags, then photographed them so I can learn their names. Here are four of the sweet faces I have in class:
Daniel and Dora, our friends from our rental last year, are both enrolled in my English class.
Our house painting has been completed. Now every inch of the house has been painted. Pixie, who has worried mightily about the color selection, is pleased and so am I. Here are some photos:
Finally, I'd like to show one last photo. Juan Jose, one of my former students, works construction, and his wife runs a small taco restaurant out of their Ajijic home. They have two sons. Juan Jose recently had the photo of one of his sons tattooed on his arm. He is saving up money to tattoo a photo of his other son on his other arm. He proudly displays his tattoo here:
This photo shows some of our friends, from left: Paul, Sharon, Norm, Lew, and Trudy, as we made it back onto the bus after a downpour in Guadalajara after watching the annual parade which kicks off the city's Mariachi Festival. Mariachi music was popularized after the 1910 revolution and was founded in Jalisco. Each year, mariachi bands from all over the world gather in Guadalajara. We saw mariachis from as far away as Asia.
We were able to sit on the balcony of a local restaurant to view the parade. Here are some photos of our friends and some of the parade:
Clockwise from top left: Pixie, Steve and Sue; Fred and Mardele; Sharon, Angela, Bebe, and Trudy; Lew, Jeanne, Paul, and Norm. These are some of our best friends from our UU Fellowship, probably all Obama voters.
These are photos of the parade festivities. (You can click on the images to make them bigger.)
On a more serious note, you may have been hearing about increasing violence in Mexico these days. This is definitely true, and it is almost all drug-related violence. There have been many kidnappings and brutal murders. Mexican President Felipe Calderon has "declared war" on the drug cartels, who are moving drugs from South America through Mexico to the USA border. He has ordered the Mexican army to lead the fight, along with the federal, state and local police. Most of the people being targeted are rival drug gangs, police officers and journalists. Although there has been crime in the lake Chapala area, it is mostly theft. Security is a concern, and most of the gringos here take it seriously, but we are not worried about our safety here. The only incident I have heard of recently is a drive-by shooting in Chapala, which was drug-related , and a kidnapping in Jocotepec of a loan shark. The victims in both of these cases have been Mexican. So far, there seems to be little concern for retired expats, other than theft. I will post more about this in the future because it does concern relatives and friends up north, and especially those considering moving here themselves.
We have a crew here this week finishing up the last of the immediate work we are doing on the house: painting the exterior. Picking colors has a been difficult here in Mexico because none of the old rules apply. We see so many wild colors that would look ridiculous in Maine but are just fine here. We want to select good colors for this type of architecture, but with so many choices, it's difficult to decide. We spent some time riding around looking at houses and comparing the colors to our color charts. We finally selected a dark tan with terra cotta trim, with a lighter tan for the outside wall. It's looking great so far; I'll post photos soon!
Below is a photo of our dinner club group celebrating Jeanne's birthday just before we all sat down to watch Barack Obama's splendid speech last Thursday.
Note: The following paragraph is for mature Democrats and Liberal Independents. Some Republicans may find this content offensive.
Since the weekend, we've all been astonished at the selection of Gov. Palin to be McCain's running mate. Although I originally thought it was going to be a disaster for MCain and help Obama be elected, I have come to my senses and realize that this is the same electorate which elected George W. Bush twice! Could they put this young governor a 72 year-old heartbeat away from the most powerful position in the world?!
This is the view from our hotel window in Morelia, the capital city of the neighboring state Michoacan, on Sunday night, as we wrapped up our four-day trip there with our friends Vicente and Donna.
Patzcuaro has a very different, wide plaza, with no gazebo and lots of trees:
Nearby Patzcuaro is Santa Clara de Cobra, a copper mining town which specializes in all types of copperware. We were able to visit a workshop and watch the artisans pound the copper into beautiful plates, vases, and other household items. Here is the process of hammering the hot copper ingot. This piece would eventually become a copper sink:
We ended up our trip in Morelia. Morelia was the site, on Spetember 15, of a bombing during the celebration of the "grito," the declaration of independence from Spain read evey year on the eve of Independence Day. Eight people were killed and hundreds injured. It has been blamed on a drug gang who wanted to make a statement against President Calderon, who is from Morelia. The bombings took place in this plaza. 
