by Sybille Bedford, 1953
I got this book from the Little Free Library on Locust Street. She is too educated for me. Many chapters started with a quote in French, with no translation for those of us who don’t know French. She also assumes the reader knows a lot more about history. So many things went over my head. But, she does paint a picture of Mexico in the 1950s, and she does give a detailed history of Mexico that I was able to grasp, just barely. The Spanish conquered Mexico from the Aztecs, destroyed much of the culture, sold much of Mexico to the United States, then fought against Juarez, who tried to reform Mexico for the natives. Before the in-depth history lesson, and after it, she takes you with her and her friend from New York City to Mexico by train – what an ordeal that was. Then to Mexico City. Then to Don Otavio’s villa next to Lake Chapala. Don Otavio is from a rich Spanish family in Mexico. He has a villa and a hacienda. He is gracious and accommodating and generous. Elizabeth and Sybille are welcomed there with open arms and treated like royalty. They enjoy many, many months in this beautiful, comfortable place. They take forays to Mazatlan, which was a nightmare – ugly, decrepit seaport in the 1950s. Everything rotting and derelict and so extremely difficult to get there (by train, about 18 hours late). Sybille also goes to Mr. Middleton’s for tea one day – an Englishman who is controlling, opinionated, obstinate. He wants them to leave the gracious host Otavio and come live in a cottage without running water, and none of the beauty and conveniences they have with Don Otavio. He wants them to have their caskets built – because if you die in Mexico without one, your body will rot before its casket can be built. He is the first Englishman I haven’t liked.
Near the end of the book, Sybille goes on a jungle trip with two gentlemen friends, against the timing recommended by this Mr. Middleton, because the gentlemen do not like Mr. Middleton and refuse to let him have any sway in their lives. They have an absolutely miserable trip. They never make it to the seaside. Sybille gets really sick after a few days back to Don Otavio’s and takes months to recover–not until Don Otavio gets her some penicillin does she actually recover.
She is really good at describing places. Here’s how she describes Don Otavio’s place at San Pedro Tlayacan:
“Wide French windows opened from the domed, whitewashed room on to a sun-splashed loggia above a garden white and red with the blooms of camellia, jasmine and oleander and the fruits of pomegranate, against a shaped luxuriance of dense, dark, waxed leaves; and below the garden lay the lake, dull silver at that hour…Three tall, tall, tapering palms swayed lightly on the shore. The air was sweet with tuberose and lime, and dancing like a pointillist canvas with brilliant specks, bee and moth, hummingbird and dragonfly. Birds everywhere: slender birds with pointed scarlet tails, plump birds with yellow breasts and coral backs, smooth birds with smarmed blue wings; darting birds and soft birds and birds stuck all over with crests and plumes and quills; tight-fitted and striped birds as fantastically got up as cinquecento gondoliers; ibis and heron, dove and quail, egret and wild duck, swallows and cardinals, afloat, in the trees, on the lawn, dipping and skimming, in and out, out and in of a dozen open windows…”
Another town she liked was Oaxaca: “I went for a morning walk. Mornings in Mexico are always serene. The young blue air floats lightly upon the arid land and one is wafted along with the empyrean balloon.”
The area she stayed with Don Otavio was a paradise and he was the kindest, most generous host for almost a year. He was going to open a hotel but it never got off the ground – very difficult to get to (no road), and money running out. It is now a popular place for expats and retirees. It’s about an hour south of Guadalajara in the state of Jalisco, on the shores of Lake Chapala.