It was after arriving back from our trek to Volcan de Paracutin and the visit to the cathedral that survived the lava flow, we found ourselves stuck in the town of Angahuan. We dropped off the horses, paid the young guide, and went to the little market to wait for our ride back. Because we thought we’d need all day to climb the volcano, I arranged for the driver to pick us up at the end of the day. But we did not climb the volcano and got back hours early, about four hours early. I looked around at the small town of Angahuan and got a bit despondent thinking we had four hours to spend in this town. It turned out an insightful and memorable time spent in Angahuan.

The town is occupied by a little-known indigenous people called Purepecha. The town is a pueblo or village. We walked the town and found those living there a bit distant. In fact, we didn’t talk to anyone during our wait. Renting and returning the horses were done with few words. They speak their native tongue. On our initial walk, I analyzed a wall that had breaks. The bricks were baked with straw, the straw clearly visible. I skirted a courtyard and watched a woman weaving on a machine. She is shadowed out and my poor camera work did not adjust the exposure properly. These were the days of having film developed well after taking the picture. The only “auto” on the camera is for the light meter. I still blew it. I used a Honeywell Pentax 35mm; long ago boxed and stored away.

Most of the time were spent on a bench at the market drinking sodas. I looked up the road and a unattended horse came directly our way. It had two large beams of lumber on either side of the saddle. The wood was stripped of bark. One end dragged on the ground while ropes held the wood in place near the saddle. The wood did not get in the way of their fast trot. Next to it was a mule carrying a similar but smaller load. With no one directing them, they made a left turn on their way to a construction site somewhere in town. Several more teams came down the street, all running along the same path.

A bus showed up and many came running to enter it. I hardly noticed but standing around us were those waiting for the bus. A little girl came running. She had on a traditional outfit that included a hem line that almost went to the ground. Just before reaching the bus her foot hit the hem and she went down face first. I know that she knew of our presence. I felt her embarrassment. She picked herself up and entered the bus. She must have been seven or eight. She’d be over 40 at this writing.