At 10 A.M. we went to Guadalupe by tram car. It took about twenty
minutes. The Church, another of those magnificent edifices erected by
the Spaniards, dates back to the 16th Century, and was in fact built
about ten years after the Conquest of Mexico. This “Shrine of the
Virgin” is the “Mecca” of the Mexicans. It is the centre every year of
great festivals, and is supposed to be endowed with miraculous powers.
The superstitious Indian regards this divine Virgin as a manifestation
of the primitive “diosa” (Goddess) they once worshipped, and on
December 12th of every year they celebrate their “Fiesta” in their own
way, unhampered by priests. At the big entrance door, as I went in, a
beggar was sitting. He looked like a sculptured “Goya” carved in walnut
wood. Emaciated, old, expressionless, immovable with an out-stretched
wizened hand and a bandage round his brow, he looked the picture of
passive misery. I photographed him. Outside the Church was a whole
encampment of natives selling the usual cheap rosaries, medals and holy
cakes, called “Gondites of the Virgin” (Little fat ones of the Virgin).
We were the only tourists and the whole town seemed to be under canvas,
selling fruits, knick-knacks and pottery--There seemed to be a world of
sellers and nobody buying.
The Chapel of the Well is another building that can rival any in Latin
Europe. It is exquisite with its domes of blue and yellow tiles. But
we should have come here on a fiesta or a Sunday and seen the fervent
Indian crowds. On an ordinary day there is not much movement.