Parras de la Fuente, Coahuila: where vineyards bloom in the desert

 Story by : David Agren

As the second-class bus neared Parras de la Fuente, Coahuila, an oasis town midway between Saltillo and Torreon, lush vegetation began to appear. Children splashed around in local swimming holes. And the air felt much cooler; a welcome respite from the oppressive heat of nearby Monterrey.

The Pueblo Magico, or Magic Town – a designation bestowed on select Mexican villas by tourism authorities – just five hours drive from the Texas border, offers a seemingly endless assortment of surprises, which contrast with its harsh surroundings.

In the middle of the Coahuila desert, the oldest vineyards in the Americas bloom at Casa Madero. Across town, the Hacienda del Perote distills sotol, an earthy spirit, from the agaves native to the northern deserts of Coahuila, Durango and Chihuahua. And in small stores around Parras de la Fuente, confectioners make sweets from the abundance of locally-grown pecans.

But Parras de la Fuente, awash in history and attractions, serves up much more than just fine food and drink.

Revolutionary hero Francisco Madero was born in Parras de la Fuente. The church, Capilla del Santo Madero, built atop Little Sombrero Hill and accessible only by foot, provides stunning views of the local area.

But more than Madero or the climate, wine put Parras de la Fuente on the map. Although it lacks the status Mexico’s better known wine regions in Baja California and Queretaro, Parras de la Fuente’s vineyards date back to the 1500s. Legend has it Hernan Cortes ordered the first Mexican vineyards planted in 1524.

Fine wine in Parras de la Fuente begins with Casa Madero, the oldest winery on the continent. It bottled its first wines in 1597.

Set in the gorgeously-restored Hacienda San Larenzo, Casa Madero makes numerous wines for export, sending most of its production to Europe and Japan.

The Spanish first planted mission grapes in Parras but an 18th century plague wiped out much the industry. While some left the wine business, planting pecans instead, those who persevered switched to lenoir grapes, which were resistant to the plague. A small grape with large seeds, it produces sweet wines - for which the region became famous. But with changing consumer tastes, Casa Madero began planting other grapes, which produce better table wines.

“It’s impossible to drink a dry red wine [made from lenoir grapes],” said Daniel Hernandez, operations manager for Casa Madero.

Nowadays, Casa Madero makes popular varieties like cabernet sauvignon, Merlot and a Chardonnay, which lacks the excessive oak common in American-made vintages.

“Casa Madero makes wine for the European market so unlike California wine, it has more fruit flavors instead of oak,” Hernandez explained.

The winery also produces a Shiraz, a newly-popular variety in North America, imported from Australia. With its semi-arid climate, Shiraz grapes grow well in Parras de la Fuente.

Besides Casa Madero, the region’s largest producer, several others make wine and grape spirits.

Hacienda del Perote makes sweet wines from lenoir grapes like Jerez and Moscatel along with a port. It also produces a sweet vermouth.

It also began distilling sotol, a regional specialty in Northern Mexico.
“Sotol here is what tequila is in Jalisco or mezcal is in Oaxaca,” said Veronica Marrero, a Hacienda del Perote employee.

Like tequila and mezcal, sotol comes from agave-like plants. And like other spirits, distilling techniques determine the quality of the beverage.

Hacienda del Perote double distills its sotol, removing many of the hangover-inducing esters and alkaloids.

“We make a clean product,” said Ignacio Chacon, owner of the hacienda.

His blanco Sotol, sold under the brand name El Mejicano, has little aroma and mixes with other beverages like a neutral spirit. Just recently, he began exporting Sotol.

“It’s a product that’s becoming popular because of the quality,” he said.

Chacon recently renovated his 407-year-old hacienda, converting it into a 19-room hotel. It boasts comfortable rooms with high ceilings, a large swimming pool fed by the oasis and complimentary beverages – made onsite.

Back down a bumpy road towards Parras de la Fuente, the Capilla Santo Madero is a can’t-miss attraction, deserving a stop before finishing a visit to the area. Although requiring a steep, but not too difficult climb to reach it, the tiny church draws the faithful in search of a blessing – along with those wanting to take in the view. On one side wall inside the three-row deep sanctuary, people post photos of loved ones and notes, requesting divine intervention.

Although simply viewed as a pit stop for many making a run for the border, Parras de la Fuente deserves a thorough exploration. Between the wine, climate and festive friendly small-town atmosphere, it’s a hard spot to avoid and even more difficult place to leave.

Gringo tequila maker unsettles Jalisco's regulatory officials and connoisseurs

Story by : David Agren

J.B. Wagoner initially wanted to beautify his Southern California property with a low-maintenance plant, ideal for the region's dry climate and steep terrain. So he planted 25 acres of blue agave, the source of tequila, Mexico's famed firewater.

"It just seemed like the reasonable thing to do," he explains. "It was a plant that I didn't have to water; it would grow on my hills."

Planting blue agaves -- and later entering the "agave spirits business" -- also launched him on a collision course with tequila producers and their influential regulator.

Wagoner recently distilled his first batches of a tequila-like drink from his agave harvest, putting the 100-proof liquor in red, white and blue bottles with "Made in the U.S.A." labels. He'll produce approximately 120,000 liters in his first year of operations -- an amount he calls, "A drop in the bucket," when compared with the vast amounts bottled by tequila giants like Jose Cuervo and Sauza. He also named his beverage "Temequila," a word play on Temecula, the Riverside County suburb where he cultivates blue agave.

"It seemed to be a logical name," he explains with a laugh.

His joke fell flat in Western Mexico's agave growing regions though, where the prospect of Gringo tequila unsettles many regulatory officials, producers and connoisseurs, who consider the iconic drink a national treasure. The Guadalajara-based Consejo Regulador del Tequila (CRT), which protects tequila's appellation of origin status, took issue with Wagoner using a similar sounding name.
"(The name) could deceive consumers, regarding the nature of the product," says Bertha Becerra, a spokeswoman for the CRT.

But non-Mexican agave beverages are creeping into the market, capitalizing on tequila's recent surge in popularity and its growing acceptance as a premium drink. Along with Skyrocket Distiller's product, now called J.B. Wagoner's Ultra Premium 100% Blue Agave Spirits, a South African firm began bottling "Spirit of Agave," which it markets as an alternative to higher-priced Mexican offerings.

Tequila is an immense source of pride in Mexico, especially in Jalisco, where residents from all social classes toast successes and drown sorrows with a shot of the locally-distilled drink. The Jalisco state government even adorns its license plates with an image of blue agave, which grows abundantly in its dry highlands.
The region's red soil and geographic setting give blue agave its unique qualities, according to the CRT, making the tequila they certify the real deal.

"In the first place, the location is everything," Becerra explains. "It's the soil conditions, it's the terrain, it's the climate, it's the altitude, it's the maturation period, it's the amount of rain, it's the whole cycle."

By law, all tequila must originate in either Jalisco or designated regions of Guanajuato, Michoacan, Nayarit or Tamaulipus states. Mexico first obtained an appellation of origin designation in 1974 for mezcal beverages from the region surrounding Tequila, a pueblo 50 kilometers west of Guadalajara. The rules are so strict, distillers in Mexican states surrounding the designated regions ceased operations after the appellation of origin laws were passed.

The designation is similar to those given to Cognac, a type of brandy from the French region of the same name, and to Champagne.

The CRT jealously guards its rights to the tequila name and even cracks down on distillers using brands it deems might damage the beverage's image or reputation. Several years back, it banished Tequila Cabron (loosely translated: Bastard Tequila). Earlier this year, disgruntled competitors and a local politician maligned Tequila Asombroso for supposedly using a phallic-shaped decanter. Now Mexican officials have Temequila and Spirit of Agave in their sights.

"They took advantage of tequila's worldwide image to promote their products," Becerra says.

Wagoner shrugs off the controversy, "I'm clearing stating, 'This is not a product of Mexico.'

"I've got a red, white and blue bottle. I don't want people to be confused by this at all."

Furthermore, he clarifies one thing almost immediately about his new line of work: "I'm not in the Tequila business ... I'm in the agave spirits business."

Despite Mexico's love of tequila, Americans drink more than half of all production. Tequila sales grew by more than five percent in 2004, making it the fastest growing product in the hard liquor category, according to the Distilled Spirits Council of the United States.

Taking advantage of tequila's popularity, Wagoner has found plenty of buyers for his agave beverage, quickly selling out his initial batches, which he markets as a premium product. A 750-ml bottle sells for 58 dollars. A quick scan of his customer list reveals many Latino names. He also employs many Mexican immigrants in his business.

"We probably have the highest-paid jimadores (agave harvesters) in the industry," he says.

With the tequila's popularity growing, water shortages in Southern California becoming more acute and markets for the avocado and citrus farmers in the region shrinking, Wagoner sees more agave spirits coming to liquor store shelves.

"I think the market is big enough to allow for [non-Mexican] competition"

Published in the Ottawa Citizen.

Moving in the fresa circles

CBC Online published one of my pieces for its expat files. My essay takes an amusing look at Guadalajara's snobs - commonly known as fresas (strawberries in Spanish). I'm probably a little too naco (tacky) for these people

Cockfighting is a bloodthirsty but lucrative business in Mexico

Story by : David Agren

A conservatively dressed gallero (rooster owner), wearing clean Levi's, a white collared shirt and white tennis shoes carried one of his prized fighting birds into the round ring. He caressed the rooster as he waited, even kissing it gently on the head. An official then tied a curved razorblade to the rooster's foot with red string, identifying the bird by colour -- like a boxer. Once fastened, the referee squeezed a lemon over the glistening blade, ensuring any foreign substances were cleaned away. Finally, the gallero unleashed his rooster into a fight for its life.

The rooster in the green corner pounced first, however, mortally slashing its opponent's leg. Less than a minute later, the white-necked rooster from the red corner lay dying in the ring. With the rooster unable to stand, the referee declared the fight over the moment battered bird's head touched the dirt floor. A boy, probably no older than ten, scooped up the carcass, carrying it from the ring upside down. A caretaker later swept up the feathers and blood-soaked dirt.

The scene played out 14 times that night at the palenque de gallos (cockfighting ring), a stuffy building on the fairgrounds in Tlaquepaque. The cockfights usually go before some sort of entertainment. In Tlaquepaque, it preceded a nine-piece mariachi band dressed in garish avocado green costumes. Besides Mexico, which usually only sanctions the events during large fairs, Louisiana and New Mexico remain the only jurisdictions in North America where cockfighting is legal.

"This is a very cool pastime," said Jose Vila Lorente, a stockbroker from neighbouring Guadalajara, who brought business associates visiting from Mexico City to the palenque.

Tough might better describe the event and the atmosphere, attended mostly by beer-swilling men wearing cowboy hats, who wagered large sums of money. The high rollers all sat ringside -- drinking imported liquor and flashing high-denomination bank notes - placing bets with corredores (bookmakers). The minimum bet: 1,500 pesos. Less-affluent fans sat on narrow seats further up from the ring, making side bets among themselves. A Pepsi vendor flashed a 200-peso note, but found few takers in our direction.

"People with money come here," said Jesus Grimaldo, a security guard who attends the cockfights when visiting from California. "I only come to watch."

But even he couldn't resist betting on No. 4 during the inter-match roulette.

"Sometimes I win," he said, making an excuse for his repeated bad luck.

Vila, on the hand, came to bet big, pooling his wagers with a buddy. He kept picking red, but for reasons he couldn't fully explain. He offered some tips though on what type of rooster to bet on.

"When you look, the legs are the first place," he said, pointing at a rooster on a leash, being led around the ring by its handler. "Look at the legs, if they're tall, that's an advantage."

Another advantage is a muscular appearance (he didn't explain how he ascertains that).

"If there's a lot of fat, then no."

Galleros raise hundreds of roosters, training each one like a prizefighter. A good rooster can sell for hundreds of dollars -- only to be reduced to a heap of feathers in mere seconds by an equally vicious opponent.

"A rooster is like an athlete ... (like) a boxer," said Jose Arceo, a cab driver who occasionally attends the cockfights. According to Arceo, the roosters "exercise," working out under the gallero's watchful eye.

Galleros also develop a reputation. The event program in Tlaquepaque listed four galleros who entered their roosters in the high-stakes showdowns. At the larger fairs, they compete for 100,000-peso jackpots.

Although not a popular diversion for urban Mexicans, cockfighting still permeates the culture. Taking a cue from the roosters, many tough guys dub themselves "gallo." Basically, guys who have huevos (literally translated: eggs, but colloquial for testicles).

"It's really macho," Grimaldo explained. "(Those guys) fight easy. If someone doesn't respect them: (the gallos) fight them."

As the night wore on, the roulette wheel never stopped on No. 4.

"I lost 650 pesos," Grimaldo complained. "Sixty-five dollars is too much for me."

The last match lasted less than five seconds with one rooster slashing its opponent's throat. When the losing gallero casually dangled his dying bird upside down, blood rapidly gushed out.

After pocketing several large bets (his share of the winning wagers) Vila surprisingly acknowledged, "For me, (cockfighting) is cruel.

"But in Canada, [they] kill seals."

A version of this ran in the Ottawa Citizen.

Villagers unruffled by volcano's discharges

The nearby Volcan de Fuego, which is threatening to erupt at any moment, hardly scares Maximi Ramirez, a lifelong resident of La Yerbabuena, Colima, a rustic pueblo just eight kilometers from the fire-spewing peak. But the rumored intentions of the state government to relocate the local population worry him a lot more than the prospect of being swept away by a fast flowing stream of molten lava.

"(The fear) isn't so much of the volcano," the father of six explained in his small open-air convenience store, on a calm evening, cooled by a gentle breeze and the elevation. "It's the economic interests that want to take our land."

Despite frequent small eruptions over the past six years and living so close to the volcano, Ramirez and the hamlet's other residents refuse to leave. Small farmers, growing beans, corn and coffee in the regions rich volcanic soil, expressed similar sentiments, never fully abandoning their small farms, despite repeated evacuation orders. A steady stream of curious tourists, armed with cameras and binoculars, have also ventured up the region's narrow twisting roads, which often lack shoulders, guardrails and proper pavement, to view the volcano's intermittent bursts.

The Colima Volcano ranks as one of the ten most active volcanoes in the world. It has had six major eruptions since the Spanish settled in the area in the 1500s. Located in an active seismic zone, a large earthquake rocked the state capital in 2003, claiming more than 20 lives, and a tsunami washed over Cuyutlan in 1932. The last big eruption occurred in 1913.

The most recent volcanic activity began on May 23, with the largest eruption in more than 20 years. The 12,533-foot volcano blew its top again on May 30 and last Sunday morning as well, producing a "spectacle" that many curious locals crawled out of bed to witness.
"It woke me up, but I wasn't scared," said Vicente Guzman Cueves, a La Yerbabuena resident sporting long hair, a mustache and gotee and wearing green and blue robes like Jesus Christ -- who Guzman said sent him to the mountain town. "I was curious."

"It's something normal," said Antonio Alonzo Oseguela, the hamlet's representative in the regional government based in Comala. He added that most of the 38 inhabitants are "accustomed" to the loud bursts.

The blasts, though, frightened at least one soldier stationed in the town in case of an emergency. He acknowledged the fear, but said little else during a break from an informal soccer game between teams of competing soldiers on a basketball court, citing Mexican military rules, which forbid members to speak with the media.

During a previous eruption in 2002, the military fled La Yerbabuena, leaving without any members of the civilian population except a local man who transported a group of soldiers out of the volcano zone in a pickup truck. The soldiers later returned, a move that angered many in hamlet.

"There's no reason for (the soldiers) to be here," Alonzo Oseguela said, citing article 729 of the Mexican constitution, which says soldiers are to remain in their barracks during peacetime.

"We're struggling now because they're occupying a community place," he said in reference to the community hall, which the military uses as a temporary headquarters.

Along with wanting the military out, Alonzo Oseguela said, "We're struggling to survive," a reference to suspicions the state government has ulterior motives for the community and surrounding countryside once La Yerbabuena's residents leave.

Ecotourism is gaining popularity in Colima and many tourists visit the area for daytrips and camping excursions. A former hacienda and coffee plantation in nearby San Antonio is now a five-star Aman resort, charging its guests room rates of more than 1,000 dollars per night. Alonzo Oseguela also suggested the town could become part of the nearby volcano research center.

Back down the narrow, bumpy road connecting La Yerbabuena with San Antonio, the operators of a RV park and private fishing hole said it was business as usual, despite the volcanic activity. The owner of a small convenience store on the road up to the volcano from Colima reported a surge in sales after the latest small eruption.

Meanwhile, across the border in Jalisco, Civil Protection authorities evacuated 48 people from Juan Barragan, an ejido just 7.8 kilometers from the volcano, on Monday morning, housing the displaced residents at a temporary shelter in nearby San Marcos.
Still, most of the residents returned to their farms during the day to feed their animals and sow corn before the rainy season commenced. When the military served lunch last Wednesday, consisting of beef stew, rice, beans and agua fresca, only children -- taking a break from a nearby tent-school -- and several elderly women attended.

Over the meal, several women reminisced about previous volcanic activity, but no one expressed any trepidation about returning.

"Some people live by the beach," said Maria Vega, who has been evacuated six times since 1998, in a reference to the recent tsunami in Southeast Asia. "It's the same danger. We're accustomed to it."

Published in the Guadalajara Colony Reporter.

A tough day at the bullfights in San Miguel de Allende

Novillero (novice bullfighter) Juanito Chavez shows off the ear of a bull he killed at the Plaza de Toros in San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato. As for the blood on his torero suit, the bull gored him. But being ever the bold teenager, Chavez continued and eventually won.

While an enjoyable pastime - made even more enjoyable by 15-peso Coronas - the event was rather bloody and cruel. The final bull that afternoon was hacked to death with a small knife, much to the outrage of the mostly foreign audience.

Chavez didn't receive an ear after that fight.

Rebelde with a cause - Rebelde en Canada

Hot Mexican TV soap opera becomes an ad for Alberta tourism

By David Agren

When Lorena Rochin, a university student in Guadalajara, Mexico, flipped on her television set recently to watch her favourite telenovela (soap opera), images of the snow-capped Canadian Rockies flashed across the screen.

"It's gorgeous," she says of the Lake Louise scenery, used as a backdrop for a clandestine make-out scene.

Through a partnership deal with the Canadian Tourism Commission, the hit teen telenovela Rebelde (Rebel in English) filmed episodes in Calgary and the Canadian Rockies in early March, which aired in Mexico in late April.

The show is so popular, even guys are into it, says Rochin. "(At least) 80 per cent of my friends watch it."

The show's success and audience demographics captured the attention of the Canadian Tourism Commission, which saw it as a vehicle to launch Canada's immense popularity to even greater heights in Mexico.

"Rebelde has a very nice peculiarity… middle classes are watching, also (upper-class) Mexicans, including parents," says Jorge Morfin Stoopen, Mexican director for the Canadian Tourism Commission, who is based in Mexico City.

More than 10 million Mexicans watch the show weekly and it's aired throughout Latin America. "This is exactly the target we are looking for," says Morfin Stoopen.

More than 173,000 Mexicans visited Canada in 2004, making it the nation's sixth largest source of tourists. "In 2004 we increased our number of Mexican travellers to Canada by 22 per cent," says Morfin Stoopen. "For Canada, Mexico is a very important market."

In the Canadian-made episodes, Rebelde actors frolicked in powdery snow, skied in the Rockies and rode on dogsleds. Along with capturing Alberta landmarks like the Banff Springs Hotel, Lake Louise and downtown Calgary in Rebelde episodes, cast members posed for Maxim-style photo shoots – complete with bikinis and fur coats – and filmed a music video.

Some of the cast members recently formed a pop group called RBD, whose sappy hits top the Mexican pop charts. In Alberta, the RBD members donned western duds for their videos: jeans and leather trench coats for the guys and a pink cowboy hat for the female lead singer. The show's theme song is incessantly played on the radio and in clubs in Mexico.

Set in an exclusive private school, the show captures the melodramatic antics of teenagers often locked in class-driven feuds and delivers a heaping dose of eye candy in nearly every scene.

Take, for example, Diego, a baby-faced kid whose dad thought his son was gay.

"He's super hot," gushes Rochin, adding she would watch the show less often if Diego weren’t a cast member. In a typical telenovela twist, the father set his son up with his trophy girlfriend – who, says Rochin, "looked like a slut" – to ensure Diego wasn't gay. Predictably, the pair fell for each other, creating a rather bizarre love triangle.

Rebelde also exposes class schisms in Mexican society, pitting the fresas – snobs from rich families – against the becados (scholarship winners). Never mind the nacos, the newly rich who try too hard to fit in with the old-money set and come across as gauche in the process.

Rebelde naturally draws comparisons to popular teen series like Beverly Hills 90210, Dawson's Creek and The OC, but surpasses them all in sheer tackiness. Only in a telenovela would the school uniforms consist of short denim skirts, super high boots, white- or blue-collared shirts, red neckties and jackets for the girls. The guys' uniforms, which feature a similar necktie and jacket combination, are somewhat bland in comparison. Even the heartthrob teacher resembles a rebel, with his long hair and casual work attire.

Besides the racy plot lines, the show sets trends for young Mexicans. Shortly after premièring last fall, guys began wearing red ties similar to the show's school uniforms. Girls put star stickers on their foreheads, mimicking Mia, Rebelde's lead fresa. Both genders began sporting yellow Lance Armstrong Livestrong bracelets after some characters on the show donned the bands.

Canadian Tourism Commission officials expect to capitalize on the show's incredible trend-setting ability, increasing Canada's lustre among young Mexicans, who already possess positive attitudes towards the country.

In a recently published magazine profile, Diego – played by Christopher Uckermann – called Calgary his favourite city. After reading the piece, Rochin says, "It's my favourite (city), too. That's where I'm going next year."

Actually, her student exchange will land her in Edmonton in January.


Published in FFWD (Calgary).

UPDATE: Rebelde went off the air in Mexico, but it continues in other countries.