At Home in Casas Grandes

It was 11 o’clock at night. My husband, Paul, and I were walking off our supper along a dirt road in this farm town of 44,000 in the northern state of Chihuahua. There wasn’t a car in sight. As we topped a small rise in the road, a large illuminated building loomed. A nightclub. When we stepped inside, we realized we were the only U.S. citizens. Someone asked what we were doing here. We replied that we liked to travel in Mexico, and that I often wrote stories about what we had seen.

Next thing we knew, we were hauled onto the stage, facing hundreds of people and a barrage of spotlights. Someone stuck a microphone in my face.

“Uh, hi, there,” I said.

The entire crowd yelled back in English: “Welcome to Casas Grandes!” and “We love America!” Then they cheered.

Nuevo Casas Grandes--the town that sprang up four miles from “old” Casas Grandes--has to be one of the friendliest places on Earth. Within 24 hours we were invited to a wedding and a quinceanera (15th birthday party), and treated to lip-smacking chicken burritos in mole sauce at Mechy’s, the best fast-food stand in town.

If you’re tired of the stress and mess of city life, this is a perfect escape. It’s an easy drive, about three hours southwest of El Paso, mostly on Route 2, the Mexican east-west highway that parallels the U.S. border.

As you approach the town, you pass through verdant fields growing bright red chiles. On Avenida Juarez, the main street, decent hotels run about $35 a night, and it’s hard to spend more than $5 or $10 on a meal. The area is so non-touristy and undiscovered that Mexico guidebooks can’t even agree on how to spell Casas Grandes. (An “s” at the end of both words is correct.)

A 10-minute drive outside town brings you to a national treasure, the astonishing ruins of Paquime, a Querecho Indian name for the lost city that the Spaniards called Casas Grandes.

The earliest habitations in Paquime were pit houses, back in the 8th century. After the first millennium, Paquime grew to importance as a trading crossroads between peoples as far north as Colorado, west to the Gulf of California and south to the mining and coastal settlements below the Sierra Madre, perhaps as far as today’s Mexico City. Trade also brought the influence of other cultures. Paquimeans made their homes in multistory buildings--casas grandes--similar to the cliff dwellings in the Southwestern U.S. The town was laid out with plazas, ball courts and temples, some resembling those of southern Mexico.

By the middle of the 14th century, Paquime had declined, and it was abandoned after an invasion or a devastating fire--or both.

Archeologists began working the site in the late 1800s. They found a trove of pottery, burial cases and other artifacts showing the convergence of several indigenous cultures. The Mexican government excavated the ruins in the 1950s and has been trying to keep up with restoration of the crumbling structures, made of compressed earth finished with plaster.

Paquime rises out of the desert with the undeniable aura of a formidable and sophisticated indigenous culture. The dozens of squat, square, tan buildings have been wind-sculpted into rounded forms, a photographer’s dream.

Inside the low walls of the village, gravel paths wind past apartment houses, granaries and storage areas for trade goods.

The site managers--Casas Grandes is a protected archeological zone--have given many of the structures evocative names, such as House of Skeletons, House of the Serpent and Hillock of Heroes.

The day we visited last October, it seemed we had the place to ourselves. Then we came upon a local woman guiding three American tourists. We listened as they stopped in front of one of the most celebrated features of Paquime--an aviary where tropical macaws were raised in a hothouse of clever construction in the arid climate.

After we and our imaginations finished wandering through the ruins, we visited the adjacent Museum of the Cultures of the North. Through slides, videos and dioramas--the information at the site is in simple Spanish, with some material in English, and there are English-speaking guides--we learned that Paquime was part of a vast network of cultures. The surviving pottery, in particular, demonstrates how artisans borrowed from many craft traditions and patterns to create a unique style.

The next day in Nuevo Casas Grandes we met a young travel agent named Olivia Ollivier Rico (she has since moved to Texas), and we told her how fascinated we were by the Paquime culture. She asked whether we would like to see their petroglyphs. Sure, we said. She directed us to a riverbed called Arroyo de los Monos. But she neglected to tell us that it’s a difficult trip over rough terrain. Our poor, dainty car wished it were a macho four-wheel drive as we pushed it over stones and gullies.

When we got back to town, we deposited our groaning car in a local body shop. There was no receipt, no business card, nada. We handed over our car keys and prayed. The next afternoon, the body of our buggy had been painted, hammered, bolted and perfectly repaired. The tab came to $50.

Olivia took us under her wing. When the car was fixed, she rode with us to the village of old Casas Grandes, less than a mile from the Paquime ruins. We wandered past quaint stucco galleries and shops and a house where the revolutionary Pancho Villa lived, according to local legend.

By chance, we entered a small store where the shopkeeper was dipping drinks from a jug of clear liquid. Inside was what looked like a rattlesnake. It turned out to be just that. The locals call this drink sotol and say it is good for rheumatism and arthritis.

I passed.

That night, Olivia got us an invitation to the opening of a gallery in viejo Casas Grandes, constructed in the style of the Paquime dwellings, with earthen walls and wood beams called vigas.

On display were the most amazing pieces of pottery--bowls, cups and animal figurines, in black on black and polychrome, made by master artisans in the nearby village of Mata Ortiz.

We decided to go there the next day, but Olivia was busy, so around 9 a.m. we strolled into a hotel on the main street and asked the receptionist whether there were any English-speaking guides around. A likely fellow came out of a back room. He introduced himself as Juan and said he’d drive us in his car to Mata Ortiz and back--an hour each way--and take us around the town, all for $35. This, apparently, is as commercial as tourism gets in Nuevo Casas Grandes.

We jounced along on the narrow road through dusty desert that blew in through the windows of our car. Ahead, tumbleweeds bounced across our path. I was just about to close my window when I saw--was it a mirage? Off the road, a huge, pink-and-orange, elaborately decorated hacienda rose out of the sand.

Juan obligingly stopped and with relish told us the story of Don Luis Terrazas, one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the area in the early 1900s. His Hacienda San Diego was like a feudal castle, with workers’ quarters, storage buildings, enormous granaries and silos, corrals, even a private chapel ranged around the lavishly furnished mansion. Then Pancho Villa came through and took it over. After the revolution it was abandoned. But it is still splendid, and no one can drive to Mata Ortiz without slowing to gawk at it.

After another half-hour of dusty driving, we reached Mata Ortiz, a village of low cement and adobe houses and dirt streets. A few giggling children wearing plastic party masks played hide-and-seek in a front yard. Other than the kids and a melodious ice cream truck, there was no sign of life.

We left our car, and Juan led us on a walk. The door of almost every house had a hand-lettered sign announcing pottery for sale. I selected one door at random and knocked. A plump housewife answered, wiped her hands on her apron and called to her husband. He came loping out of a back room, a tall, gentle-looking man with gray hair. (We never did learn his name.) He beckoned us to follow him outside into a large yard where several potters work, each with his own kiln. There he leaned down and picked up a few pieces of pottery glimmering in the sun.

Mata Ortiz first became known for its black-on-black ware, but this is not what the artist was showing us. He held out a black pot with green and red designs. Then he held up a piece shaped like a lizard, and another, a ceramic turtle.

Other potters came into the yard to socialize and show us their work. The atmosphere was refreshingly noncompetitive. No one seemed to be insulted if we didn’t buy. The town potters even accommodate their American visitors by listing prices in dollars rather than pesos. The pieces start as low as $5, and for $20 or $30 you can buy a slice of ceramic heaven that would be 10 times that north of the border.

The highlight of our trip to Mata Ortiz was a visit to the man who started it all, Juan Quezada. One day when he was a boy, 40-plus years ago, he found a piece of a Paquime pot while looking for firewood. Inspired, he learned the potter’s skills and developed a style of his own.

He spoke to us in Spanish, and Juan translated:

“I got the idea to make a similar piece to what I had found. . . . It wasn’t easy. People didn’t know how to do this anymore. It was slow and laborious learning. . . . I tried to give them to friends and family; no one was interested.”

He kept perfecting his pottery techniques, and his persistence paid off. A collector saw a photo of his work, tracked him down and took several of his pieces to museums.

Quezada is legendary because he shared his skills with anyone who was interested, and now Mata Ortiz pottery is a thriving industry and well established in the collecting world. He estimates there are 700 potters in the town of 2,500.

Quezada’s living room is lined with glass cases, all full of his pottery and the work of his siblings, children, nieces and nephews. An adjacent dining room has a huge table covered with pots.

Quezada works only on commissioned pieces, but he has not lost his passion for teaching. He even welcomes foreign potters to study with him. He starts them with trips into the countryside so that they have a total experience of the land, nature and the ancients’ techniques--just as it was done here 1,000 years ago.

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GUIDEBOOK

The Grand Tour of Casas Grandes

Getting there: The border crossing most convenient to Nuevo Casas Grandes is at El Paso; the nearest major airports are at El Paso and Tucson, Ariz. From Los Angeles, Southwest and United airlines fly nonstop to Tucson, and America West has direct service (one stop, no plane change); round-trip fares begin at $92. To El Paso, nonstop service on Southwest or connecting service (plane change) on America West begins at $222 round trip.

The Paquime ruins and museum are open daily from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m.; admission is about $3. The museum is closed Mondays. Telephone 011-52-169-4-6099.

Where to stay: Motel Pinon, 605 Avenida Juarez, telephone 011-52-169-4-0166, charges about $35 for a double. It’s basic, clean and centrally located. The Motel Hacienda, 2603 Avenida Juarez, tel. 011-52-169-4-1046, is a little more modern and runs about $65 for a double. Both have air-conditioning and pools.

Where to eat: Restaurant Constantino, 400 Avenida Juarez, local tel. 41005, has been serving good regional food for more than three decades.

For more information: Mexican Government Tourism Office, 2401 W. 6th St., 5th Floor, Los Angeles, CA 90057; tel. (213) 351-2069, fax (213) 351-2074, Internet https://www.mexico-travel.com.