Multicolored Tlacotalpan town reminded me of a Mexican "Umbrellas of Cherbourg." It was a dazzle of brilliance just washed by the recent downpour, and it gleamed in the sun even while a light rain continued its soft fall to earth.

It was raining as the Grand Marquis left the main road south of Veracruz, turned east and drove the last 12 kilometers to Tlacotalpan. The windshield wipers swished at full speed but the clatter and splash of the tropical raindrops hit the windshield as if we were the target of a paintball attack. Arriving at 11 a.m. in this river port town, Victor and I seemed to enter the 18th Century. Tlacotalpan is a beautiful town -- so beautiful it is on the UNESCO Historic Registrar -- of curving streets, waterfront restaurants, buildings fronted by arched porticos, colonnaded verandas and façades painted in a rainbow of pastels contrasted with bright blues and dark reds.

The windshield wipers swished at full speed but the clatter and splash of the tropical raindrops hit the windshield as if we were the target of a paintball attack.

Multicolored Tlacotalpan town reminded me of a Mexican "Umbrellas of Cherbourg." It was a dazzle of brilliance just washed by the recent downpour, and it gleamed in the sun even while a light rain continued its soft fall to earth. I looked for a rainbow. Finally the rain stopped and within an hour the streets were dry.

Mutlitcolored arches on a Tlacoltapan street

Two churches stood catty-corner across the plaza with a bandstand in the center sporting a pinched-domed bandstand with musical lyres decorating the cupola.

A lady with a child stopped me and asked if I would take their picture. "Course, I would be delighted, " I said. I thought she wanted the church as a background.

"No, please the main street, I'd like a picture of my daughter and I with all the front porches, all the columns and arches disappearing down the curved street in the distance." She was most exact and had an artist's eye for beauty. (I don't have that beautiful picture because it's in her camera!)

Victor and I ordered a late breakfast at Doña Lala Restaurant. Old black and white photos of Doña Lala from the nineteen hundreds graced the walls. While we waited for our meal I walked around and looked at these old photographs that showed Doña Lala, which is now both a restaurant and a hotel, as a private hacienda with a garden and animals nipping the grass.

In the courtyard of the former hacienda there is now a small swimming pool and like the rainbow colored town, colorful balloons floated in the pool.

Agustin Lara Museum

We strolled the town and nearly ran out of film, or I should say digital chips. "When was the last time you felt there were too many beautiful vistas and not enough film?" I asked Victor. "There are never too many beautiful sites, but film may be a problem."

It was hard to go inside, but we wished to visit the museum of Tlacotalpan's famous son, the composer, Agustin Lara. We found the Agustin Lara Museum and went upstairs. Agustin lived here as a child with his parents, sister and brother. Agustin's father was a gynecologist, but in this small town there was more demand for a mid-wife than a specialist, so he moved his family to Mexico City. But it is here that the composer of "It's Impossible," "Solamente Una Vez," "Maria Bonita" and hundreds of songs, spent his early childhood.

Having worn out our eyes with the kaleidoscope of streets, houses and plazas and our camera trigger fingers also, we walked over to the river where a number of seafood restaurants were already filling up with Mexican families out for a family fish dinner.

The Agustin Lara Museum is small, quaint and gives you a taste of his residence. We left and walked around the town. (There is also a Furniture Museum, but the real joy is the town itself.) It was like visiting the inside of a multicolored jewel. We passed by the Teatro Netzahualcoyotl. The facade is magnificent, but the interior we were told is under reconstruction. The old movie house at the corner of the main plaza likewise had a special architectural character, conserved on the outside; it is being remodeled as a hotel on the inside.

Teatro Netzahualcoyotl

Having worn out our eyes with the kaleidoscope of streets, houses and plazas and our camera trigger fingers also, we walked over to the river where a number of seafood restaurants were already filling up with Mexican families out for a family fish dinner. Musicians dressed in white loose fitting outfits and white straw hats carrying harps and guitars were ready to play.

"How much for a song?" I asked a duo. "Three for 100 pesos ($10)." My pocketbook felt that was more than I wished to spend. Fortunately, a generous family spoke up and the duo was hired. (The price surprised me. Often on this trip, I found prices higher than I would have expected.)

We chose an outdoor restaurant facing the river, curving along the riverbank. I could count at least 20 attractive restaurants in a variety of colors, table arrangements, some more, others less enclosed, some with brick wall, and others with straw hut roofs. If was a delight just to sit and order a beer which was so ice cold it could have been deliverered direct from the North Pole.

Musicians entertain restaurant patrons

Victor ordered "rebalo," sea bass, white, boneless fish. It spread across his plate, seared a light brown. It was served with lime and a lettuce, tomato and bell pepper salad. Having overeaten at breakfast, I settled for an Indio beer, (ordered another )and asked for a side of guacamole and chips.

Our waitress, Daisy was as congenial as any on this trip filled with friendly people. "Oh, Daisy, that's "Margarita" in English," I said reversing the normal translation. She was a beauty, bright and indulgent in answering our questions.

Colorful Houses on another street

I told her I had a son that I'd send to meet her. Daisy laughed and that laugh made me wish I really could send him.

We asked if she knew any Mexicans who came to the U.S. for work and it seems that everyone knows someone. Migration is coming from deep inside Mexico. We said that there sure seemed to be lots of work in Veracruz and there are jillions of Mexican tourists from D.F., filling the beaches and hotels and paying prices that I find dear.

Daisy volunteered that she earned 50 pesos a day plus tips ($5 plus tips per day).

At Hotel Reforma, across the street, I inquired about the price. It was $35 a day. I pondered and said to Vic, "A bright waitress can't afford a modest hotel. Maybe we will see her in California."

Dick Davis travels frequently. He has taught in both Mexico and Spain and is happy to share his experiences. A resolute companion in his Mexican travels is his Grand Marquis. He can be contacted at:  This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it .