a day of refreshment

Let’s see.  I have played Honored Guest.  Gawking Tourist.  Slack-jawed Yokel.


It is about time I slip on my Short-term Resident personality.  After all, that is one reason I came here.  To see what it would be like to serve time in San Miguel.


I know I am staying here for less than a month, but I want to spend some time learning how this town works.  So, that is what I did on Wednesday.


I set out from the casita with only one task in mind -- to buy the tickets for the chamber quartet concert for the end of the month.  The tickets I could not buy Tuesday.  But having only one task is as it should be.  It made me feel as if I lived here.


Buying the tickets turned out to be a social event.  The young man selling the tickets remembered me from Tuesday.  He asked how my day was going.  If I was enjoying San Miguel.  If the weather was better for me.  Only then did he tell me the computer was now working.


Then we got down to business.  I picked out my seats.  He borrowed my pen to write the seat number on the tickets, handed me the tickets, and I handed over my 900 pesos.  It was a pleasant exchange of perhaps fifteen minutes.


But I quickly discovered not all ticket sales are as social.  I noticed posters around town announcing the Third Stream Ensemble was presenting a Gershwin, Bernstein, and Bolling concert Wednesday night.  Because I came here for a dose of culture, I decided to start right then. 


Off to the theater box office I went.  Using my Spanish of a three year old, I told the cashier I wanted a ticket for that night’s performance.  “Preferred or general?,” she responded rapidly in Spanish.  I knew that only because those were the only two seating choices.  As I handed her my 200 peso note, she slapped the ticket in my hand.  We were done.


No chit chat.  Money changed hands for services promised.


Other than my welcome dinner on Saturday, brunch on Sunday, and the culinary disaster of Sunday’s picnic, I have eaten all of my meals at the house.  I decided to put an end to that.

 

When I posted I was coming to San Miguel, Don Cuevas had a dining suggestion: La Grota for pizza.  He has never steered me wrong.  But this time I was not so certain.  The restaurant is located a block away from La parroquia -- the very symbol of tourist San Miguel.


It turned out my doubts were unfounded.  I ordered a pepperoni and onion pizza -- far more Italian than American.  It avoided that over-pasted taste that destroys any subtle tastes up north.


This pizza was extremely good.  Thin, but crisp, crust.  Pepperoni that was not Boar’s Head, but was what pepperoni should be.  And with just a hint of garlic in the sauce.


It was good enough that I returned that evening for a delicious plate of fettuccine Alessandro.


I would usually stop my blog here.  But that would leave you hanging about the concert.  And I wouldn’t do that to you.


Just as the posters announced, the entire concert was Third Stream pieces.  That delightful fusion of “classical” and jazz forms.  And who better than George Gershwin, Leonard Bernstein, and Claude Bolling to display the best of the form.


The Third Stream Ensemble is a mixture of expatriate and Mexican musicians.  With violin, flute, bass, percussion, and piano.  The type of group you might expect to find playing in a smoky Manhattan bar.


It was a short performance.  Ninety minutes.  No intermission.  Four pieces.  Gershwin’s Preludes; selections from Bernstein’s West Side Story; and Bolling’s Suite for Violin and Jazz Piano Trio, and Suite for Flute and Jazz Piano Trio.


There were two vocal selections (Maria and Tonight).  The night would have not missed their omission.  I assume they were added to placate the “Know what I like; like what I know” crowd.  But the vocalist’s talent and range simply were not up to the task.


But that was the sole clinker in the evening.  The vocalist quickly redeemed himself with his expertise on the flute.


In fact, the entire ensemble, with the exception of the violinist, found the heart of the music and served it up to us with jazzy style and stylish jazz.

 

The star of the show was Mauro Ledesma, a young pianist who grabbed the audience by their brains and glands with his performance of Bernstein’s Cool.


The fact that the Gershwin and Bolling pieces were not pieces usually heard in concert won me over immediately.  I want to hear new music.  And it is even better when the new music is played as well as it was Wednesday night.


I can honestly say both my stomach and soul were well-fed. 

church day

I played tourist on Monday.  After all, even though I live in Mexico, I am a tourist in San Miguel.


When I was here in January, the one-day visit was far too rushed to get any feel for the place.  Part of that was due to the fact that I did not get to meet any of the people I know here.  I simply walked around looking at churches and markets.


And that is what I did on Monday.  But this time I took my time.


I started taking photographs as if I would never see a church again.  Of course, I will.  But I made a discovery that may put my photography on hold until I return in two weeks.  I forgot to bring the charger for my camera battery.  And the battery is slipping into one-bar territory.


Barbara lives high in the hills over San Miguel.  The view is beautiful.  And the walk down hill into town is simple -- if steep.  It is the walk back up that is the challenge.  So, I try to combine as many things into one trip as I can.

My first errand was to buy tickets for the chamber music festival -- to be presented in the Teatro Angela Peralta (to the left).  The Parker Quartet will be in town at the end of the month.  And I should be able to see two of their concerts.


I say “should” because when I arrived at the ticket desk, the president of the board (who I met at church and had lunch with on Sunday) was trying to assist the ticket seller in rectifying a computer system that had gone on work stoppage.


I will try again tomorrow.  After all, culture was one reason for this visit.


But there was plenty of colonial culture to see.  And today it was churches.


My first stop was the tiny Templo de nuestra señora de la salud.  When I was hear in January, a group of nuns were singing in a side chapel.  On Monday, there were no nuns.  Just an interesting old church where I sat and prayed briefly.  After all, that is one reason for the place to be built.

 

I then wandered over to the neighboring Santa Casa de Loreto.  A larger church whose exterior is far more ornate than its interior.  (Pictured on the right.)


Templo de san francisco is one of those churches that are very common in Mexico.  A façade from one era, a dome in a compoletely different style.  In this case, the towers are Mexican Baroque (Churrigueresque) and the dome is classical.  But the interior is pure Classical.


I am going to hold off on my comments concerning La parroquia – the icon of San Miguel.  I have some observations that may get me ridden out of here on a rail.  Maybe tomorrow.  For the comments -- not the rail.


The last place I stopped was La parroquia’s next door neighbor -- Santa escuela.  When I was here in January, this was the church that stayed in my memory longer than any of the others.


Many churches in Mexico have figures of saints dressed in actual clothing.  This church goes a step further with wigs and beards, and then outfits every figure in full regalia.  At first, it stuck me as a bit creepy.


But on this trip, it made me chuckle to myself.  I finally figured out what it looks like.  It appears as if a repertoire company’s van had broken down and they needed a spot to store their costumes.  The church even designed one backdrop to look exactly like a proscenium arch.

I believe God loves laughter.  And Santa escuela certainly meets that need in my soul.  It also helps that the tiles in the church are a color that seems to appear only in municipal swimming pools.


At each church, I had an opportunity to sit and think.  And pray.


And what could be a better way to spend a relaxed tour day?

coming in fourth

I owe an anonymous woman in Ajijic an apology.


She wanted to know if someone was going to put together a Canada Day celebration in Ajijic.


The question surprised me.  There just seemed to be something unusual about celebrating a national holiday in a foreign land.


I know where that comes from.  Most of my years overseas were in the service of the American federal government.  We were taught to keep a low profile.


Of course, there was always a Fourth of July party at the American Embassy.  But that was a diplomatic tradeoff for attending every other nation’s holiday at their embassies -- under the legal fiction that each embassy is built on its own sovereign soil.


I felt rather smug in my logic.  Until I was confronted with one of my first social engagements in San Miguel de Allende.  Did I want to attend a Democrats Abroad Fourth of July picnic at a Mexican hotel?


A deconstructionist could probably spend a week developing the odds on why I wouldn’t attend.  I have a strong dislike of politics.  The weather was a bit blustery for a picnic.  And the event was sponsored by Democrats Abroad – and I am neither.


But I am here to meet people.  I joined Babs earlier in the day for a coffee klatsch with a group of Americans who live either full time or part time in San Miguel.  It would be an interesting group to meet up with each Monday.


Babs and I were then off to join Fred and Ron at the picnic.  To be honest, it was a bust.  If the sign had not announced the event was sponsored by Democrats Abroad, it could easily have been confused with a Rotary Sunday brunch buffet in Pocatello.


Other than a couple of American flags, there was nothing to indicate this was the fourth day in July – or why the day has any caché.


The four of us sat down and were joined by two other men I had met at church.  I have been here four days, and I have discovered one of the dirty little secrets of any social gathering – no matter the size of the city.  The same group of people move from party to opening to concert to church.  What Stephen Sondheim jokingly called: “The blob.”


And because I have been focusing on relationships, I really did not give much thought this year to what this celebration of independence means for The States.  Several fellow bloggers have commented that the country seems to be obsessed with fear.


I am not certain that assessment is correct.  I have seen something quite different on my trips north.  Maybe it is just the flip side of fear.  But what I see is an odd demand by Americans for certainty.  Guarantees that we will be healthy, safe, financially secure.  That we will not have our feelings hurt.  And with each demand for a guarantee, we give up just a bit more of our freedom.


And where did this notion come from that failure is not an option?  Whatever happened to the attitude of doing your best.  Maybe getting the stuffing knocked out of you.  But getting back up and trying again?


I have great hope for The States.  As I do for Mexico.


Both countries have a lot going for them -- always have.  Failure is an option.  But it should not be the goal.

tasty days

I have recovered my taste.


And I did not even recognize it had gone missing.


On Saturday night, I took an aspirin – as I do every night before wandering off to bed.  The same type of tablets from the same bottle I have been using for several months. 


When I popped the aspirin in my mouth, I tasted vinegar.  Just what I should taste.


It was only then that I realized I have not tasted aspirin in a while.  I take them, but there has been no taste.


That was just the beginning.  All day Sunday, I discovered every food item had a new taste.  A strong taste.  Cheerios.  A banana.  Eggs Benedict.  A slice of provolone (and that was a rather disgusting chemical taste).


Somehow coming to the mountains has restored my ability to taste the varied layers in food.  And I had no idea it was not there at the beach.  I suspect the altitude has opened my sinuses and liberated my tongue.


And, from an experience this morning, I may need that tongue in San Miguel.


On early Sunday, two men I had met through Babs when she visited Melaque in January, Fred and Ron, picked me up to attend church services at the Community Church of San Miguel de Allende.  Like my church in Melaque, it is non-denominational.  Even though, as you can see by their meeting place (pictured above), the accomodations are a bit more slick than our beach palapa.


Before the service started, I wandered around meeting new people.  A woman was very interested that I lived on the coast.  She said they go to La Manzanilla (a village just north of mine), and she finds it delightfully primitive.


The church collects cans of beans to distribute to the poor.  When I mentioned to the woman that I was surprised they were handing out cans of beans, instead of dried beans, she responded: “I know.  Who would eat those?”  She then added: “So, how does your maid cook beans for you?”


I must have adopted the look of an earl who does not have a Rolls Royce being addressed by an earl who does.  She responded, with pity: “Oh.  Are you one of those people who cooks for himself?”


Well, I am certainly not in Melaque – where no maids, as far as I know, cook for their employers.


But there is good cooking here.  And restaurants will always cook up good food for the wallet-weary.


And I can now use my newly-found taste for a good purpose.

 

chatting it up

I need a robe.  At the beach, the mornings are hot enough that shorts will do.  And with the promise that the day will simply be hotter.


Not so on this July morning in San Miguel.  This is the second morning I have been up to revel in the cool.  But cool requires something more than shorts.  And my robe is hanging in an Oregon closet.


The most obvious difference between Melaque and San Miguel is the weather.  But it is a superficial difference.  Weather is weather.  It is something to be tolerated.  To be adjusted to.  To be thwarted.


A difference just as superficial are the large stores that service this area.  The Mega is huge.  But it does not seem to carry anything more than Walmart, Soriana, and Comercial Mexicana in Manzanillo.  Just more of the same stuff.  Ditto for the massive Bodega Aurrera.


That is not what is different about San Miguel.  As I mentioned yesterday, I am finding this trip enjoyable because of relationships.  On Saturday night that was exemplified by a dinner party to welcome me to town.


Babs and Billie are both bloggers.  I knew both of them electronically before I came to Mexico.  Knowing that I like being around people, they arranged a party starting at Billie’s house for drinks and then off to a local restaurant for dinner.  Twelve of us.  Just the right size for a gathering like this.


Billie and Ned own a stunning house in the hills of San Miguel.  Those of you who read her blog know she is an outstanding photographer.  But she has used that same eye to collect art objects that truly complement the spirit of her home.  They are good people.


Babs and I arrived early enough to chat with Billie and Ned – letting me get caught up the type of things that do not always show up in blogs.  And then the other guests started arriving.


John Woods and his wife, Laura.  I had never met John or Laura, but I felt as I knew them through his blog.  He stopped blogging while he battled brain cancer.  I was extremely pleased to see how well he is doing with his medical treatments.  He was every bit as engaging as I had expected.  Laura is also a writer with a wide range of interests.  We had one of the best conversations on poetry I have had in some time.


Jennifer Rose I had met before in Morelia.  She is always a pistol.  I think I learn more about the personal level of Mexico from her than I do from anyone else.  She also introduced me to a non-blogger.  A lawyer friend of hers, Robin Page West, who splits her time between San Miguel and Baltimore, and is a published author in her own right.


I thought I was meeting Suzanne, another blogger, and John for the first time.  It turns out that Suzanne and I shared email while I was still in The States trying to decide where I wanted to move in Mexico.  We laughed about how most of the questions simply have no answers.  She is also very interested in her family tree.  So, we shared some genealogy tips.  On top of that, they also run a folk art importing business.


Stewart and Alfredo, also bloggers, moved here from Chicago after retiring about five years ago.  I didn’t get to talk with Stew much.  But Alfredo and I sat next to one another at dinner.  He is Cuban-American.  That gave us an opportunity to talk about my trip to Cuba and the Salvation Army’s work.


Conversation in gatherings where people do not know one another often seeks a rather low interest level.  People try to stay within safe boundaries.  And that was true of this group, as well – at the start of the evening,  But we quickly got to the meatier topics.


And the proof of that is I feel as I learned something about each of the guests that night.  Something that lets me better understand the human condition.  And isn’t that what life is about?

lazarus in san miguel

I am dead to the world.


Or I was.


My nine hour drive yesterday from Melaque to San Miguel de Allende was the equivalent of driving from Portland to Montana.  With about the same gain in altitude.


Mexico’s toll road system (and that was by far the majority of the drive) are a joy.  They are easily the equivalent of Germany’s autobahns.  Well-engineered.  Well-maintained.  Rapidly-traveled.  And with the number of Mercedes, BMWs, Audis, and Volvos whizzing past at 100 miles per hour, it would be easy to imagine I was on my way to Stuttgart for a purchase.


I got away from Melaque at 6:30 -- almost in time to avoid another rain-induced power failure.  And was on my way in the dark for the first hour of driving.  Around 3:30, I pulled into San Miguel to find one of the world’s best hostesses.  Our own Babs.

 

During my month stay here, I will publish more photographs of this lovely casita she has rented me.  It is almost twice as large as my place in Melaque.  And the subtle hand of a professional interior designer is everywhere.  Babs is a multi-talented woman.  But we all know that from her blog.


After settling in, I had dinner with another blog friend -- Kim of Boston.  He just happened to be visiting San Miguel for the first time, with his friend from Mexico City.


Kim and I have met before -- when I visited Mexico City in February.  But I had never met his friend.  The three of us knew the logistics were going to be difficult.  Kim has learned a good deal of Spanish.  His friend speaks a bit of English.  And we all know my Spanish ranks right up there with a three year old.  We wanted to avoid a re-enactment of the classic Lucy episode where everything gets translated back and forth to comic effect.


We spoke slowly and patiently in Spanish and English.  And it worked.  I know it worked because we quickly abandoned the safe topics of the weather and tourism.  Kim is involved in the financial world.  His friend is a Mexican high school teacher of literature and Spanish.  So, there was no reasion for us to let our minds sit fallow.  Small chat was not going to be the botanos of the evening. 


Instead, we had a rather invigorating discussion on Mexican and American politics, the continuing impact of the Mexican Revolution, the vagaries of electrical economics in Mexico City, the Mexican character with a rather long discussion on how Jorge Castañeda uses the term “individualism,” and modern film.  They were not topics for people who were adverse to taking on unfamiliar words.


The evening was over far too fast.  But I needed to get back to the house while it was a bit light.  San Miguel's hill streets are as windy as those of Guanajuato and as steep as San Francisco’s.


After huffing and puffing up the hill (a month of this and my right ankle may actually be back in shape), I was ready for bed.


After all of that, I thought I would fall fast asleep.  Apparently, my mind had other ideas because I ended up (subconsciously) in a strange prime minister’s question time about the various virtues of Guanajuato, San Miguel de Allende, and Pátzcuaro.  Somewhere around 2 or 3, I finally drifted off to sleep.


Babs had told me the days recently had been rainy and the mornings cold.  There is no doubt about the rain.  It rained all night long.  But the morning was blissfully cool.  It felt like a spring morning in Oxford rather than a summer morning in Mexico.  After the heat of Melaque, it was a pleasant relief.


I jumped in the shower, closed the shower curtain – and found this.

 

A mother scorpion.  That is not a growth on her back, it is her family brood.  After she was so patient to show off her family to me, I was rather rude by shoe-ing off both her and her young-uns into what ever afterlife scorpions may have.


It was a good reminder that checking clothing and shoes is not just a cliché from safari movies.


I am now off to explore San Miguel.  Already I have a far closer connection with the place than I did with my brief Stay in February.


And there is no doubt that personal relationships –- Babs, Kim, his friend, but probably not the scorpion -- are making all the difference this time.

the road to rendition

I am on the road to San Miguel.


That is, if you read this any time between 6 AM and 5 PM (Melaque Daylight Saving Time). 


I hope to be rolling by that time.  The arrival time is a bit mushy.  It is about an 8-hour drive.  But there will be stops.


None unscheduled, I hope.  I am counting on the Escape to deliver me to the magic of San Miguel de Allende.  I literally got no feel for the place on my last one-day visit.  But, this time, it will be serious dating.  I will be there for a month.


Well, three-quarters of a month.  When I scheduled this trip to San Miguel, I momentarily forgot I have guests coming to Melaque for the second week in July.


So, I will stay in San Miguel for a week, drive back to Melaque for a week, and then return  to San Miguel for another two weeks.  Call it serial dating.


My land lady for the month, the inestimable Babs, has been sending me notices about two festivals that will open at the end of July.  The International Chamber Music Festival.  And the Guanajuato International Film Festival (with presentations in San Miguel).  Just the type of cultural events I have been missing in my little fishing village by the sea.


If all goes well, I should be back on line in a day or two.  And I may even have some additional highland visits to announce for later in the summer.  We shall see.


For now, I will roll out of here with the CD player blaring away with a bit of Silence of the Lambs – just to set an interesting tone for the trip.


Why?  Were you expecting the soundtrack from Titanic?