The Hindu Business Line : Colours of Cuernavaca

Swathes of bright Mediterranean blue, rose pink and rust red swirl on the walls. The lush green of trees and bushes, the scarlet of poinsettias, the rainbow hues of macaws and peacocks flaunting their tails in Las Mananitas, where we had our lunch, the multicoloured balloons in the small plaza next to the Cortes Museum, the pink of the stucco in the old church, the blue of Mary's robe in the Nativity scenes all over town... . — the colours stun the eye.

Cuernavaca — the name rolls off the tongue in rounded resonant syllables. I savour it as we speed from Mexico City, already over 8,000 ft above sea level, over a beautifully maintained highway over the mountains to Cuernavaca, about two hours away.

Our driver, Hermando, is a handsome Mexican, in a plaid coat and tie. He is more than driver, he tells us the layered history of Mexico. His face lights up when he talks of Juarez the reformer and he is able to answer the questions my history-oriented brother asks him.

There is not much traffic on the highway. It is a Monday, so we know that the museums in Cuernavaca will be closed. But we decide to go anyway for that it is where one of my favourite authors lived — Anne Morrow Lindbergh, wife of the world-famous aviator Charles Lindbergh; my brother, because of its connections with Herman Cortez the Spanish conqueror and Morales, the revolutionary who fought for Mexican independence.

It is a charming colonial town with narrow sloping streets. We go to the church, which is well known for its mariachi band service Mass every Sunday at midnight.

We cannot enter the church, for Mass is going on and the notice says `No Tourists'; we wait until it's finished. They stream out of the church, the elderly with graceful snowy wings of hair, on canes or the arms of their sons, women and children in tow or elderly single men and young men with a swagger so typically Latin American.

Some have sombre faces; some others are laughing and talking. I see three women, Mestizos, the Spanish in them glistening in their olive skins and extravagant gestures, the dark eyes and hair. I smile at them and wish them, and they wish back, teeth flashing.

Inside, the church looks rough-hewn and simple, with walls on which are scenes of a Japanese Crucifixion of the 16th-century Mexican saint Felipe de Jesus. I sit quietly in a pew for a few minutes.

Sunlight falls on one side of the cloisters. This was a seminary for the monks. In the centre is a charming Nativity scene. It is odd to see brown figures, they look Indian to me.

People mill around, commenting and pointing. They make way for me and my camera, subtly vacating a favourable spot. The people are friendly.

Outside is the old Chapel, open on three sides to encourage the local tribal Indians to come, as it simulates the open space in which their rituals are held.

On the facade is a surprising sign, the skull and crossbones. Hermando says that is a sign that savages have been tamed. It is an interesting slant, but I do not know whether he is joking.

Another nativity scene outside — the streets are replete with them. Hawkers vend religious artefacts, beads and baskets.

In a small crowded plaza, people enjoy themselves, eating off carts, which sell eatables and drinks made of corn, on donkeys shrouded with coloured ponchos as a sales gimmick, children darting among the pigeons and the squirrels. There is a quirky pink church, its serrated spires reaching up to a bright blue sky.

What is noteworthy of Cuernavaca, and indeed of what we have seen in Mexico City too, is the number of old houses that have found new uses.

Herman Cortes' house is a museum, Dwight Morro, who gave his name to the street where he lived, was the American Ambassador who did much to cement relations between the two countries — his house is called Casa Manana.

Story has it that when Morrow's wife used to complain about the slow pace of building, the architect kept saying, `Manana Senorita'! It is now a restaurant with a charming central courtyard. In the foyer is a series of photographs showing the stages of the construction.

Actor Cantinflas has a house on the outskirts, which is now a hotel and a restaurant. And actress Barbara Hutton also owns a restaurant and hotel on the edges.

We go for lunch to Las Mananitas, a large house with extensive grounds on which extravagant macaws of eye-popping colour screech and peacocks roam. We sit under a spreading tree and sip our drinks before repairing for lunch.

No wonder the rich and the famous take refuge here. The weather is warm — the Aztecs called it the city of Eternal spring. Even the Emperor Maximilian and his wife Carlotta retired here. They lived in the Jardin Borda named after a French silver baron.

The town is said to be one of the best communities to live in. With its mix of ancient cultures and colonial buildings, workshops of important artists and language schools and the balmy weather, it has become an increasing source of tourism.

Cuernavaca — the name rolls off the tongue. Would be good to visit it again and see the Diego Rivera and Frieda Kahlo murals and works.

PICTURE BY THE AUTHOR