Puebla
We’d heard mention of Puebla many times before arriving. Most of
the Mexican immigrants to New York will tell you they are from Puebla.
They usually don’t mention they are from the state, not the very
cosmopolitan and charming capital.
This is the city of hundreds of churches, including some of the oldest,
largest and tallest.
It’s also where mole was born (nuns had enough time to figure out which 20 ingredients would taste best.) There’s also confections and fried things galore, along with cafes and one of the most beautiful central parks. It’s lit up by green lights at night for the strollers and lovers. The college kids fueled the night scene, diverging between raunchy bootie shaking and a more intellectual folk music scene. We opted for the latter.
Ornate churches are everywhere.
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Heaven and an angel.
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A church near our hotel and one downtown.
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This dead priest was a destination for pilgrims, but creeped us out.
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Passing the time with papers and pigeons in the central park.
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Puebla’s facades are so ornate.
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Out on the terrace.
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In a seedier side of the city, one can find porn movie houses and buildings in stages of decay.
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The thriving café scene and an occasion to celebrate.
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Nene
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Nopales and flores outside the central market.
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More scenes outside the market.
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I wish I could have taken home some of Puebla’s distinctive pottery.
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A unique street vender stands in the spotlight.
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