Iglesia de la Petatlan~ Church of the Petatlan~

After leaving the museum behind, our long lonely dirt road took us back up to the main hyway, and we again journeyed along on our southerly direction. And, again, I hunkered down for what I thought to be a now 5 plus hour drive back home. Well, I should have known better! Chuy was sitting in the front passenger side of the car, narrating a very interesting story to our 'Commander in Chief; Julieanna'. He told her about a small little church, that was famous with the local Indians and villagers in Petalans city center (which we were only moments away from arriving at)..
As the story goes, people that came to this church to pray, started reporting a strange phenomenon after praying in it..... well, that is all it took for Julie to remark..."WHERE IS IT?" ... "HOW DO WE GET THERE?" And, from the backseat, I thought ...'Here goes another adventure, and we are NEVER going to get home at this rate!'

Well, Chuy directed Julie to the correct turn off to get to the main city center, and then continued on with his story.
Apparently, years ago, a poor, poor family had lost what little bit they owned to crop failure and severe storms. Even their little stick house had blown down, and their one donkey died. The young little family had to move in with the in laws. Times were bad, and with no immediate means of making a living, the young husband made the heartrending decision to "Go North.... EL NORTE!" It would become their only hope of surviving and rebuilding their little country farm.

The young wife, so in love with her young husband felt broken hearted and grieved deeply that he would have to leave her, and go so far away, to another land, with unknown dangers, and with no assurance that he would even survive the journey.
After the husband left, all the young wife could do was to walk miles and miles every day to this church and cry and cry and cry. She was heartbroken, and nothing could console her. After a few months had passed, she realized that she was pregnant, and that her husband wouldn't even know the baby, and the baby wouldn't have a father. This grieved the young wife even more....

In those days, (and even now) there was no mail, no letters, no way of knowing how her husband had fared with his long journey North. No way to tell him of her pregnancy. Months went by, and no news from him. NOTHING!

Finally, when the young wife thought she could bear this broken heart no longer, she went to the church and made a promise at the foot of the cross. She prayed to Jesus..... (the Church is called Padre of Jesus, or Father of Jesus). She promised that if Jesus would safely bring her husband home, and they could rebuild their lives together again on their little homely farm, she would come back to the church with a gift.
Well, you have probably guessed whats next.... in time the husband did return home. He had made a modest amount of money working in the cotton fields. When he knew he had enough to again establish his own little farm, he prepared for the long journey home....

It had been 5 long years........ and in all those years, he saved and saved what little meager wage he made. Upon returning home.... as he walked down the little dirt path to where his parents lived, and where he had last left his young wife, a dirty, little brown eyed boy ran up to him and asked him..."Are you my Padre?" (father).
Instantly the young man recognized the little boy as his own, and swept him up and hugged and kissed his little dirty face.... and said.... "YES! I AM your Padre!....." "...and sorry, (as tears flooded the fathers eyes) but, I don't know your name yet?
The little boy wasn't discouraged, but only grinned wide and answered,...."My name is JESUS! (HEH-SUS)."
"OH! What a nice name for my son...!" Again, the little boy grinned wide in appreciation of the warm welcoming..... and asked his father the question that he was very familiar with now, in his short little 5 years. ..."Do you want to know WHY I am named Jesus (HEH-SUS?)"
The father, blinking back his tears, answered his son... "Sure Son, Why are you named Jesus?"....
"Because," answered the little boy proudly as he recited his well memorized answer, ..."When I was born, Momma said that she prayed to God, and promised him that if he would bring my Pappa back home to us, she would name me JESUS, and bring me to the Church every Sunday.... and I would be a gift back to God...." "She says I am her gift back to God!"

So, as the story goes, this women got her prayer answered. Her husband came back home, safe and with enough money for them to revive their little modest farm...and the young wife kept her promise that she had made that day when she found out that she was pregnant, and prayed to God to bring her husband home. Every Sunday she would bring her little boy to the Church and pray...
Since then, this Church has villagers that come from all over to pray for lost loved ones, or people journeying to EL NORTE, or for whatever requests they have. People say that when their prayers are answered (and every prayer gets answered) that they always come back to the church with a gift.
Well, I was interested now in seeing this church. Chuy also told me that his own Mother, Carmen, takes the bus and rides all the way to Petalan to pray for him every time he heads North! I have to marvel at the faith of these people..... such pure simple faith.



As we pulled into town, and maneuvered thru the little street, barely scraping past other motorists and people walking, and just stuff everywhere, we finally found a small niche to park the car. It was the heat of the day by now, and we were glad to just park, and get out of the car! Julie and I walked over to the massive WORN stone steps that led up to the front door of the church. The doors were open, and were filled with little black haired Indian children sitting in the archway... and I thought of scenes from movies that depicted such a sight as this.....
I entered the Church quietly.... and sat in the furthermost back wooden pew. Not being a Catholic, I hadn't the foggiest idea of what a Catholic does, and I wasn't about to embarrass myself by doing something wrong, so I just sat in the back and watched the people.
It was one of the most touching things I have ever seen.
An elderly old man was at the very front, centered directly in front of the Cross that hung on the wall before him. He had an old sombrero held tightly in his hands, and old dusty huaraches (sandals) on his feet, and the bottoms of the soles showed (they were worn out) as he kneeled down on his knees. His face seemed freshly washed, and his hair combed back, and his shirt and pants were clean. He knelt there, unashamed, and unhurried. His head bowed for a long time, and now and then he would lift his worn old hands and wipe away a tear.....

I almost felt ashamed by watching him... but, as I watched this silently praying old man, I felt tears of my own. As I sat there on that hard wooden pew bench, I pondered how good of a life I have in USA, and yet still find reason to complain and doubt.
I pondered the simple and pure faith of these people, so humbly willing to come as they are to kneel in polite reverence and pour out their hearts in prayers and tears, pleading I suppose for some need they have, or a relative lost in the journey up North..... or fearing as one of their sons or husbands have made the choice to leave family and home in hopes of making some money, just to survive and to send back home.
I imagined that God was looking down on these poor, humble and desperate people.... and I imagined that he wasn't a Catholic God, nor a God of any denomination.... but a Father in Heaven that looks down on all his children equally... and hears the cry of all our hearts one and the same.

Well, I said a few prayers of my own that day, as I sensed the presence of a God that loves all his children equally. You see, I have a son of my own..... and he is so far away from home right now...... and in that respect I can identify with the prayers and tears of these people for their own sons and fathers and brothers so far away, many not ever knowing why their son never came home. Many not knowing that their son, daughter, grandchild, father didnt even make it past the desert.......
In that same respect, identifing with the same pain and wonder, I pray for my own son, so far away.
Well, God knows my prayer....... and I will leave it safely with him. But, when that prayer is answered, I afraid it will be one long journey to get back to that church with a gift! But, I am sure God will understand!
AS I felt my time of observance and personal prayer was over, I got up from that hard wooden bench, and just as I started to quietly leave out the back door.... I looked down and there was a vine about 2 feet long, just laying there on the floor. It was a green ivy vine..... and reminded me of the verse that says, I am the Vine, and you are the branch....
I picked up the Vine, and wound it around into a circle and placed it on my head, and headed back to the car to meet up with Julie and Chuy... and funny thing is, I was the one that left that special little church with a gift!
When Chuy saw me approaching, he just smiled... he knew he didnt need to say a word.

Well, we all got in the car.... and left Petalan once and for all. We followed the same winding and cliff curving hyway that had brought us here. Heading south to Pie de la Cuesta, we were treated with SPECTACULAR views of the Pacific Ocean and the beaches below. We had a few short stops, and at one roadside stop, (Mexican version of a reststop) I saw a type of oven that they use firewood to heat it with and to cook on, (which was a really neat way to cook.) But, mostly we just drove into the Sunset on a steady course...and made it home well after dark. It had been another one of my favorite days...too many to count now.
And, it certainly had cemented Petatlan in my mind and heart... and I suppose, one day I will have to return there, at least to that little Church..... with a gift in hand!

~PETATLAN~... another adventure awaits!

With our heads still spinning from the affluence of Ixtapa, and ambiance of Zihuatanejo, we headed down the main hyway heading south, along the Coast of the Pacific Ocean. The road stretched on, and again we readied ourselves for the 6 plus hour drive back to Chuys house. With that in mind, we just about missed a little hand painted sign alongside the road stating that it was the turnoff to yet another archaeological site. Of course, our curiosity got the best of us, and off we turned onto the little dirt road that promised great things at the end.

On and on we drove.... down this little one way dirt road full of bumps, and potholes, and kicking up horrendous amounts of dust in our wake. We drove and drove and drove. I felt a bit hesitant, thinking that we were driving a bit too far off the beaten path. All the horror stories of 'off the beaten trail entered my mind...'
We passed old non inhabited houses, we passed fields with stick fences, and meadows with donkeys and horses wandering around. I imagined a flat tire way out there, and pondered who in the world would help us? Yet, we continued on..... wondering what in the world would be at the end of such a forlorn and lonely country road? I couldn't imagine who would be living out here.... yet there was signs of life..... a little shack now and then. And, certainly someone must own those donkeys and horses..... they must be farmers? As the road continued to wind around little mounds here and there, we finally came around a bend and the most serene and mystical sight was before us. A beautiful Coconut grove, hung with a mist of some sort.... it looked like a scene right out of some sort of fairytale movie. We realized at that point that we were entering some sort of little village....... tucked back here in the Coconut groves........

I believe this is a temple ruin being uncovered....

The scenery that confronted our senses, stunned all three of us into a reverent quiet, as we slowly entered what was obviously becoming the village at the end of the dirt road. We felt ourselves transported back in time. way back, centuries back. And, perhaps that is a bit of the specialness of the moment. What we saw was a bit like the village that time forgot. After the splendor of Ixtapa and the abundance of riches and prosperity, here was a small village so unaffected by time.......

dirt streets, horses left at the hitching post, children wandering around barefoot, running and laughing at some childish game they were playing...stopping only to observe the intruders in the funny blue car.

I truly felt like an outsider... and didn't want to invade this special village that had somehow evaded the current century.

We pulled up to a funny little casa, and turned off the engine. As we sat there a moment, a man with a broad smile came to the car window and welcomed us to Petatlan! He motioned for us to come and see his museum.... and that's all it took. We unbuckled the seatbelts, got out of the car, and followed him into the little building he called his museum. I would never have thought of it as such, from the outward appearance, but once I walked in, and noticed the glass cases full of artifacts and ancient stone figurines and jewelry, I had to rethink just exactly what was this place?

As we glanced around, the man obviously was used to this type of reaction from his infrequent visitors.... he launched right into his well learned spiel on the museum and its artifacts. He told us a story, how he had lived in this little village all of his life. How he used to play in the surrounding fields and Coconut groves..... and how he used to find 'little dolls' in the dirt, and would bring them home to his mother. He had been doing this kind of thing since he was 5 years old, and now, as a grown man, they had accumulated quite the collection of, what has turned out to be very VERY ancient artifacts. The Mexican government has given him the approval to keep the artifacts there in Petalan, in his little house museum, and he being the museum curator, watches over them and gives the tour around the glass cases, of his one room museum. It was simply amazing. Here was a collection of artifacts, usually only seen in a book, or exhibited in some large Museum..... I just was amazed.

Then, this man launched into a story in Spanish, that Chuy translated for us. Evidently, he has a dream. He dreams of creating a museum that will attract visitors and create tourism for his little village. He dreams of paving Petalan with cobblestones, and bringing in running water..... He dreams of a better school for the little kids............ and a few little stores for the visitors to buy things. He dreams.... of one day, making a difference in his little village, way out in the middle of no-where. He then took us outside and showed us a huge stone artifact that his aunt accidentally uncovered in the ground while she was sweeping the dirt one day. Apparently as she swept away, a stone started showing...and come to find out, it was the covering for a grave.

Well, our dreamer man took that stone, and stood it upright, and proudly shows it off as part of his 'tourist attraction. It has ancient engravings on it...... very pretty stone.......

As Chuy translated much of the conversation, I learned that the Mexican government has sent archaeologists to verify all the findings and their authenticity. They are some of the oldest artifacts found in Mexico.

Well, during this time, the name of the village; PETALAN was sounding familiar. I knew I had heard that name before...... then it dawned on me..... PETATES!! The Woven matts that the Mexican Indians sleep on! SO! This village actually was named for that....

And inside the museum I saw a picture depicting this village and its people in the late 1400's, about the time the Spanish Conquistadors invaded and scouted around most of Mexico.

This man and all of the village claim to be direct descendants of the original Indians of PETALAN. This was such a treat! Talking to this man was like experiencing living history, actually it was!

As we finished our tour around this little self made museum and its immediate surroundings, the man asked us to sign his guestbook...and that was when I was shocked again as I saw that visitors from as far away as France and Germany had been to this little forlorn village. What really surprised me and Julie, was the guest that said he was from Machias, Washington! Hmmm such a small world.

We wandered around the village a bit, Julie found a single 'Corona beer for sale, and a villager came up to us with a hand rolled cigar, made from home grown tobacco right there..... the cost, only $1 (one dollar).

We were entranced with this little village...and even though the man at the museum has big dreams for little Petalan, I sorta hope it stays just as it is.......

He did give us a little tidbit of information as we tipped him for his time, and made way to leave....he told us of an excavation going on nearby, where they believe they have found a temple ruin.

I took a picture of what I believe was this ruin, as we were driving out of the village, along the dirt road back to the hyway.

What a nice day we had....and such an unexpected surprise we found at the end of the little lonely dirt road/