San Miguel de Allende, Mexico

    San Miguel De Allende is unforgettable. Located in Guanajuato four hours north of Mexico City; the entire downtown is a national monument for its splendid architecture. I’ve been there twice; most recently in 2003. On my first visit many years ago, I happened upon San Miguel while roaming Mexico. After some of the dusty villages I had been through, I was instantly impressed with the rustic fairytale look of the town. A huge gothic church, La Paroquia, dominates one end of the main plaza, known as El Jardin. This main plaza is the true center and heart of the historic town. It is here that adults relax, and children play. Most evenings there is entertainment, like fire dancers, or a Mariachi group singing Mexican folk songs. On my second visit there, I found that although the town had grown some, the atmosphere had remained.

    Christmas of 2003, my brother, my niece and I stayed for two weeks in a rented house on a hill above the town. The house was not old, but its design was in keeping with the rustic feel of the entire town, down to the paint color palette - rust, yellow ochre and blue. The house was not only lovely, it was fully furnished and equipped -- full kitchen; dishes; satellite tv; bedding; and even daily maid service. Sometimes we cooked dinner, but more often we called for a taxi to take us into town. In town we chose a restaurant for dinner;  had drinks after; and then walked around and shopped.
  
    In the old part of town, there are many restaurants to choose from serving everything from Mexican cuisine, to tacos, to hamburgers. Clustered around the town center there are taverns and bars, catering to locals and tourists alike, also many shops and art galleries. San Miguel is very much an art town. The Instituto Allende, an art school founded in the 1930’s, is still very much a part of the local culture. It attracts artists and students from all over the world due to its long standing reputation.
  
    When I was in San Miguel, my traveling companions, preferred to sleep late in the mornings. Although I would never claim to be a morning person, I always rose early so I wouldn’t miss one second of any day. One morning, while they were still sleeping, I walked down the hill into town. I left them a note - Went to town, I’ll sleep when I’m dead. The walk into town was a mile or so downhill, down narrow sidewalks and cobblestone streets.
  
    As I was walking down the hill, a man stopped me and asked me if I was from Australia. Surprised by the question, I told him no in my all American southern accent. It turned out the man, Clarence, was an American artist from Virginia, and had been living in San Miguel for over twenty years. We talked a long while standing on the sidewalk, then Clarence asked me if I could please hold his dog while he went inside the butcher shop to get his dog some bones. I held the little mongrel’s leash for another long while, hoping I hadn’t become this dog’s new owner. When Clarence finally returned he invited me to his studio to see his art.
  
    So Clarence, the dog, and I wound our way through the cobbled streets, off the main road into a neighborhood barrio. Like much of Mexico his neighborhood was a work in progress, under construction all around. I’ve never been quite sure whether in Mexico people build in fits and starts as their money dictates, or whether it is just the Mexican way. Clarence’s house and studio was like the neighborhood, partially completed. Almost directly outside the front door was a pile of broken up concrete that looked like it had been there weeks, months, or years. Inside was a long galley kitchen which appeared functional, but primitive. The rest of the interior was austere open plan, a hammock where he slept, a sitting area, and studio space; upstairs was an unfinished loft. Clarence’s art work in progress was a larger than life oil painting of Arthur Ashe embroiled in a passionate tennis match. The enormous action painting spanned an entire wall; home made scaffolding allowed the reach for rendering of the top details. Clarence explained that he and Arthur Ashe had been boyhood friends, and he planned to present the painting to the Arthur Ashe Foundation. I don’t know whether Clarence completed the painting. We kept in contact for a time, but eventually lost touch.
  
    During our two weeks in San Miguel we made some day trips to surrounding areas and attractions. One day we went to Mexico City which was wonderful and another complete story in itself. We also went to the neighboring city of Guanajuato, which has the same name as the state, Guanajuato, and is the state capital. It is about four times larger than San Miguel with a population of around 400,000, and a completely different atmosphere. The expatriate population in Guanajuato is not nearly as noticeable as in San Miguel, where there are around 10,000 or more expats of various nationalities. It seems more like a typical Mexican town than San Miguel, and not a tourist town at all. There is much to see, and like San Miguel, a town made for walking. I caution anyone walking in Guanajuato to be aware of the high altitude, as it is more than 7,000 feet above sea level.
  
    One day in El Jardin we met a man selling tickets to the bullfight. My niece wouldn’t go. She didn’t like the idea of senselessly killing a bull. She had a point, but my brother and I went anyway. Mexico is one of a handful of countries where bullfighting is part of the cultural heritage and perfectly legal; a hold over from Roman gladiator times.
  
    Many times we had walked past the entrance to the bullfighting arena, just on the edge of downtown, not noticing it, or knowing what it was. There is stadium seating around the arena, some seats are under cover, and some are not. When you buy your tickets, this is your only seating choice, sun or shade, sol o sombra. Sol is cheaper. Before the fights begin, the matadors come out, bow to the crowd, then walk around the inside perimeter of the arena. As the matadors walk, spectators throw them flowers and hats, to wish them luck and support. The matadors pick up and keep the flowers, and throw the hats back into the stands.
  
    I couldn’t take my eyes off the action during the bullfights. There wasn’t just one bullfight as I had expected, but around seven or eight. Different matadors, different bulls, each time. The matador and the bull engaged in a fight, a dance, to the death. The matador always wins.
  
    On the other side of the arena, in the stands with the shade, an orchestra plays. Vendors walk through the stands selling shots of tequila and bottles of beer. Most of the spectators were Mexican.
  
    Another of our day trips was a few miles out of town to a mineral spring, La Gruta, located just off the road to the small town of Delores Hidalgo. There are dressing rooms with lockers; a restaurant; and concrete swimming pools that range from lukewarm to hot. To reach the hottest part of the springs, you walk through a long four foot wide and four foot deep tunnel, into a cave. The water becomes increasingly hotter as you go. The cave, which is naturally lit by openings in the stone ceiling, is round and about 25 feet in diameter. After wondering only for a moment, why people were lining up, I found out. Every twenty minutes or so, a spout of hot water is released from above, and people take turns standing under the spout, to let the hot water beat down on their necks and shoulders. I took my turn under the spout and found it to be more relaxing than any massage I’ve ever had. My muscles felt like jelly the rest of the day. I slept like the dead that night.
  
    My two weeks in San Miguel de Allende went way too quickly. I want to go back. Not long after that trip I rented the movie, “Once Upon a Time in Mexico” with Johnny Depp, Salma Hayak, Mickey Rourke, and Antonio Banderas. I was delighted to discover that it had been filmed in San Miguel and Guanajuato -- I had no idea. The restaurants, the streets, the internet cafes were all in the movie -- even the red spiral fire escapes in Guanajuato. Every time I see that movie, I want to go back.