I drove south intent on reaching Santiago Ixcuintla. I wondered where I might lodge for the night. My guidebook listed neither hotel nor restaurant in Santiago Ixcuintla. Apprehension tightened my stomach muscles. What if I found a hotel but no security parking for the Grand Marquis?

I located Santiago Ixcuintla, the Huichol Indian Cultural Center, on my AAA map. There were two choices; I wondered about "The Road Less Taken," but I chose the slightly longer route that was the thicker, darker line on the map. I chose thinking safety.

I drove south intent on reaching Santiago Ixcuintla. I wondered where I might lodge for the night. My guidebook listed neither hotel nor restaurant in Santiago Ixcuintla. Apprehension tightened my stomach muscles. What if I found a hotel but no security parking for the Grand Marquis? Is Huichol Culture worth this danger?

To my surprise, the edge of town was lighted with street lamps and the first thing I saw was "Motel Buganvilla." It was secure. A white concrete wall protected the entire property, and a security guard stood in the entry. I asked for a room and he pointed me to the far side where I could see another man waiting. I skipped the registration desk and just followed directions. The second man waited for me to start the conversation, which I did with a pleasant "Buenas noches. Como esta?" "Bueno," his short reply, then silence as he let me make my request. I asked the price of a room "80 pesos," he surprised me. That's only $8.00 and even in Mexico that's cheap. "Could I see a room?"

About that moment his walkie-talkie interrupted. A voice, which was loud enough for me to hear, asked if he had quoted a price. He replied, "SÍ, eighty pesos." So at least I knew I had a deal. But whoever had called sounded gruff when he heard the price.

He took me to room 18, opened the door and allowed me to enter first. The room was neat and adequate. I stepped into the bathroom, clean, fair, modest old 1940's design with not enough shelf room for an overnight kit, standard for the period. Then I noticed, built into the wall opposite the entry door, a lazy Susan, a half drum on a spindle, which alternately offer you a shelf, then sealed off as you turned the drum.

"What's this for?" I inquired. "Refreshments, or if you want something to eat" he let the information hang. I got the idea. At this motel you might like privacy and even your drinks and snacks could be discretely served. I had stumbled into a Love Motel, or what one might compare to a "Casa Chica."

A mistress or "second" family is not unusual from what I'm told. The "first" family lives in the "Casa Grande." The euphemism for the mistress, or the place for an affair, is "Casa Chica." (Small house, in this case "chica" means small not girl.)

Yes, in the heart of town, there was a central hotel and restaurant with security parking.

HUICHOLS: Next morning I visited the Huichol Cultural and Art Center and gathered much information. The Huichol Cultural and Art Center is located in Santiago Ixcuintla. The two names seem to say that Catholicism and paganism accommodated each other. Like masks, dual features are incorporated. Santiago means St. James: Ixcuintla, I'm told, means "hairless dog." (St. James hairless dog," sounds like a curse. Did I miss a joke?) Indeed the hairless breed lives here and with the heat and humidity, it's a blessing, although strange to see. I videoed the art, talked to a number of Huichols, purchased masks, bead and yarn "paintings." In the 90 degree plus steaming humidity, moisture condensed in my video camera, blew out the camera completely and left my film fouled with unwanted lines and static.

Annually Huichol Indians trek hundreds of miles to gather peyote buttons in the Mexican High Desert for religious rites. It is said that their art, their multicolored, symbol rich works, interpret and display their visions. Intense colors dominate their medium, yarn pictures and bead works.

Huichol masks are made of carved wood, covered with beeswax, the glue, then layered with zillions of glass beads picked up by the keen-eyed artist-craftsman and placed one-by-one in symmetric designs. Colors and symbols dominate.

I purchased a beaded mask, a graceful female face adorned with a peyote button symmetrically placed across the nose and cheeks with stylized milpa, the life sustaining corn plant, and deer, one of the messengers to the spirits. An eagle, the supreme messenger, crowns her, and the light blue-white border, upon inspection reveals a repeated pattern of scorpions, the protector against disease and danger.

Masks are important in Mexico due to both ancient beliefs and modern interpretations. The ancients believed that their gods possessed dual personalities, perhaps good and evil, (I don't know enough to say.) But in the Aztec calendar there are twenty religious days, one for each god, and each god has two aspects. You can find this dichotomy also expressed in stone, in carvings where the principal figure carries a mask over his head ready to be pulled down over his face. Some figures look like a second face is coming out of where the mouth should be.

More modern interpretations emphasize the need of the lower classes to conceal beliefs, emotions, and feelings. For the humble to avoid the whip of privilege, the ritual of courtesy may cover true sentiment. The adaptation of Catholic saints as substitutes for the pagan spirits is another theme explored among anthropologists.

I wrapped my treasures, stored them in the Grand Marquis' trunk and headed east.

This story is from my Forty Days in Mexico.
The previous story in the series is Mexcaltitán: Home of the Aztec People.
The next story in the series is The Coastal Road to Nowhere.