El Dia Seis- Mas (yep…6 +)
Real de Catorce on New Year’s Eve - Of all the places to be.
Here’s another truth in advertising thing: Meeltone knows the back roads and main roads of this area just about as well as I know my own neighborhood. JT and StingRay have both been in the Sierras numerous times and know the area well, too. Me…I’m about as knowledgeable as a small dull colored rock.
The trio got us into Real on New Year’s Eve and that was about the coolest place that a person could ever hope to find themselves on that particular day.
You know how we’ve mentioned that where ever we went, Meeltone would be known and loved by somebody there. Well…can you **** believe it?
Yep…walking down this ancient street and what do we hear? MEEEELTOOOONE! The guy should run for some kind of public office in Mexico. El Heffe Presidente Meeltone.
Real de Catorce – a curious name. It means “royal 14.” OK, but 14 of what?
The place is too darned old to have had much competition for names back when names were being handed out. It's not like they were running low and just had to start numbering places. Here’s where history and legend get a bit foggy. It may be named after 14 Spanish soldiers that got themselves royally whacked by some local Indians way back when. Or, it could be that it was royal Spanish silver mine number 14. Depends on which source you want to throw in with. Whatever…
The church there goes back to the early days. Folks were coming and going and vendors were selling candles and such out on the street nearby.
Here I have to again plead profound ignorance about the various scenes inside. Each one is for a particular saint but I’m not familiar with who did what to whom. They’re surely impressive to look at and most go from floor to ceiling…and it’s a pretty high ceiling.
As you go into the church toward the alter, these displays are in series along the walls on both sides.
It’s a shame I can’t offer more relevant info on them. Maybe one of our TWT folks more familiar with the tradition can tell us about these scenes.
My pictures really don’t do this place justice.
The floor of the entire church is made of individual wooden panels...lots of them. They’re very old, heavy and show wear from untold generations of parishioners. They each creak and move when you walk over them. Each one measure about 3’X6’ and has what look like hand holes on either end as if intended to be easily removed. Maybe there’s storage under the floor? Could be where they bury folks?
Lots more stuff to looks at here in Real…
This is the way to the hotel where JT, StingRay and I stayed. That’s the entrance at the iron gates about halfway up the hill. My legs were screaming for days after walking around Real. Remember, this place is at about 9,000 feet.
The courtyard of our hotel - a great place for the bikes.
Although the rooms are incredibly small, they were about as clean and well-kept as any I’ve stayed in. Two ladies run the place and they take pride in it.
Our hotel from the top of that doggone hill.
Meeltone didn’t stay there with us. Meeltone was on a mission. See, he needed to stay in a certain hotel at the top of a hill on the other end of town.
Why?
Because that’s where
Julia Roberts stayed when she was there filming the movie “The Mexican.”
The hotel still has her flimsy little tanktop that she wore in the movie and Meeltone wanted to be close to it. OK, he really wanted to touch it. Oh alright, he wanted to sniff and fondle the dang thing while staring longingly off into the distance.
Personally, I've had a hard time dealing with her since the Lyle Lovett thing. Maybe I’ll get over it someday.
Anyway, here’s the Hoolia Hotel. You can see the porch up on the second floor.
New Year’s Eve…this was cool.
We all gathered up on the hill at Meeltones in the Hoolia Hotel… the penthouse suite of course. And it’s a nice place for sure. The top floor has a common living area with a small corner fireplace joining all three rooms.
The balcony area overlooks the entire town and made for a very civilized spot to visit. The hotel guy came up and pointed out some noteworthy landmarks for us. First, we needed to know that this was the same room Hoolia stayed in while making the movie. ( He just couldn’t get a handle on the whole Lyle Lovett thing either but what can you say?)
Then he points over to a more contemporary compound on the side of an adjacent mountainside and says “Ess where Brit Peets state.” Who? “Brrrittt Peeetss.” He looks at us all as if we had bozo stamped on our foreheads. Just then, Meeltone - who actually saw the movie said “Ohhh…Brad Pit!” “See, see…Brit Peets.” “Hoolia stay heeer and Brit Peets stay there!” Ahhh...Got it!
We watched the evening sun set on old Real and then saw the town as night settled in.
It started raining and a strong wind blew hanging lights sideways out on the porch. The rain wasn’t so much a Texas gully washer as the typical desert or high mountain spit and sputter type that's still wet and bone chilling cold regardless.
We migrated into the old living area with the fireplace and Meeltone had the hotel guy stoke up a roaring fire while the sounds of wind and rain blew against the windows. The fire warmed that room remarkably well.
JT broke out a new bottle of Cabrito and StingRay somehow produces a bunch of Telcate from out of nowhere. We had our RdC commemorative sippy mugs to help bring it all together. It made for a thoroughly enjoyable evening that I won’t forget.
Fireworks began going off.
These were rockets that went up and exploded with a huge boom and echoed for some time inside the bowl formed by surrounding mountains. The whole place shook.
After a very enjoyable evening of spirited conversation with my fellow viejos, I excused myself and staggered back down the hill to the hotel. (Yep, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.)
Just about the time I snuggled down and started to drift off, the REAL party cranks up.
Every so often another rocket went off. They had to shake loose some stones in the hotel walls. Then the band gets going. It must have been setup just outside my window but with the whole town built like one big amphitheater, who knows. Anyway, it was LOUD.
And the worst part of it all... was they were playing some first rate conjunto licks that I really liked. The guy on squeezebox has to be famous. He was laying down some riffs that just wouldn’t quit. I honestly considered getting up out of bed and going to see who was playing and maybe get a CD or two. Sleep? NO… NOT…NADA. The rockets, the band and general carrying on...It would go on until after 5 the next morning.
The party continued but not for me…cept for enjoying some really good music. My fellow viejos got in on it front row and in the middle. They can pick up the narrative from here if they want to admit to such shenanigans. It’s a great story and you can bet I’ll be right there with them next time.
Next, A LONG hard ride.
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Now, replace the cobblestones with stones…yep big rocks. That’s what this road is. Just big rocks pounded into the ground to make a “road.” No telling how many generations of Spaniards and Indians it must have taken to build this thing.
