Last Day in Hermosillo

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I keep telling myself that I'm going to get up early and hit the sites early. But of course, I slept in until just after 9:00. Luckily, there aren't that many sites in inner-Hermosillo, so I still had plenty of time to saunter about the city.

After walking only four blocks, I was out of my comfort zone, literally and figuratively. I was in new territory and it looked rough. Not trashy-dirty, though it was a little trashy, but dirt dirty; abandoned buildings, a lot of stucco walls chipping away, uneven sidewalks. And what people I did see, also kept an eye on me. These weren't the sites I was looking for, just the scenery along the way.

I had thought about walking up the near-by Cerro de la Campana, the tall hill to the south that overlooks the city. I pictured me, sweating profusely, walking the dirt road by myself up and around a big hill where nobody seemed to be. I thought better of that little venture and decided to go and see the Sonora state penitentiary.

Along the way was the Capilla del Carmen, a gray chapel with its doors open. As I stood there contemplating entering, I noticed a few cars driving by, the drivers of which would give a percinar as they passed by the chapel. I'm not Catholic, but I didn't think God would mind if I stepped inside and had a seat for a few minutes...and take a picture for the road.

As I reached the bottom-right corner of my map, at the base of the Cerro de lo Campana, I saw her, the state pen. Actually, it was the former state pen, which was now primarily the Meseo de Sonora, It contained offices on its second of two floors but the first floor was the museum. The numbered path I was to follow weaved throughout the walls on three sides of the courtyard, without me ever stepping outside. The museum contained exhibits on the geology, anthropology, and history of Sonora. I was not allowed to take any pictures of the fossils, rocks, old photographs, guns, or money in these exhibits but they let me take all the pictures I wanted of the old cells down in the basement, some of which I have included here.

From the museum I hit the side-streets and walked around the base of the hill to the other side and found some lunch. No, not a hot dog, just a fresh ham sandwich on fresh bread. At the Plaze Zaragoza I found, along with more shoeshiners and hot dog vendors, the Palacio de Gobierno, a huge gray na dwhite building that took up half the block. There were a lot of security at the main door facing the plaza and, 25 feet from the base of the front stairs, some sort of silent protest, I think. They were silent and sitting in shaded chairs between two large banners that I have not bothered to translate. Would somebody translate them for me, please? I turned my camera on, walked past security, and into the large courtyard.

Two statues in the middle, facing each other, about twenty feet apart, each with trees and foliage backing them up. A dozen or so people in one corner waiting to get in to see somebody or something. And the inside walls were completely muraled, from top to bottom, even on the second floor. I quietly walked around taking pictures, not wanting to be a disturbance to the people loitering or any official people behind the over-sized doors leading into offices. I quickly finished and returned outside.

It was after lunch and it was getting even more miserably hotter so I started to head back to the Hotel Washington. Along the way was the Universidad de Sonora. Being a college professor, I thought I'd go by and at least walk through a university in Mexico. I pictured old, historic buildings, a lot of trees, greenery and lawns. But, remember, I am in Mexico. Turns out I found stucco. I noticed some newer looking stucco and, not seeing anybody to stop me, walked into, or rather between the buildings into an area with benches and walkways leading to each of the buildings. And I also found a question.

"You speak English, German, Russian, what? What do you speak?"
"English", I said.
"You from England?"
"No, United States."

I then spent the next 20 or so minutes listening to John, I think was his name. He spoke so quickly and with such gusto it was hard for me to keep up. John had spent twenty years in the United States, mostly in Los Angeles. He was an illegal alien in the U.S., got his green card, joined the army (or was it that he joined the army and then got his green card?), left the army, got his Master's in some sort of Psychology and taught in L.A. He had returned to Mexico and taught in Hermosillo for the past 17 years.

He continued to tell me all about the Sonora area and Mexico, places I should go and see, what these places were like. He was spoke about the Baja like it was something I shouldn't miss, about La Paz and Cabo, telling me about all the stars that have two-million dollar houses there like Paris Hilton, Sly Stallone, Arnie, Ronald Reagan. I told him I wanted to venture over that way but I didn't think I had enough time to do it properly.

With John was Josefina, a fellow professor at the university. She was quiet; don't think she spoke English quite as well as John, and couldn't keep up with John's conversation pace. He was voicerous and talked with enthusiasm that I sometime wish I had...sometimes.

I ventured on through a corner of the campus and returned to the hotel. I had done enough site-seeing and socializing and needed to prepare to move on further south in the morning, which I definately planned on starting early.

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