Flight into Morelia uneventful. Except my ink pen exploded all over my Customs & Immigration paperwork, right where it warns with such firm and official authority, "DO NOT MARK HERE." Brief panic!! as I envisioned my life of hard labor in a Mexican prison camp alongside scary felons who tore off their mattress tags. But the worldly flight attendant just sighed and handed me several more blank sheets, until on the fifth try I finally got it right. Whew. I am now a member of the Jet Set.
Arrived in town around 8pm and by sheer luck of the draw I ended up in the coveted Alfredo Zalce suite at the hotel. Each room is assigned an artist: the Van Gogh room, the Gauguin room, the Miró room, etc. Alfredo Zalce is the famous-son painter from Michoacan with whom I have recently fallen deeply in love, so imagine my delight upon discovering that a reproduction of his work is decoupaged onto the headboard of my hotel room! Also on the walls and other furniture as well.
Headboard in hotel room
Since Morelia is in the same time zone as Deep Inferno (small world, eh?), I didn't have any jet lag so I tossed my luggage in the room and wandered outside to explore the city. Morelia was teeming with night life. It seems very cosmopolitan, and obviously a university town: people of all ages wear black and sit in open air cafes, shouting passionately about art, music, and above all politics. I quaffed a margarita at a sidewalk cafe and enjoyed myself immensely.
(Note to self: please try to remember, especially after several margaritas, that the 'C' in the shower stands for caliente, not cold.)
A few days later I ogled this Zalce engraving in the Alfredo Zalce Museum of Contemporary Art in Morelia.
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