What's What

Sleeping was rough because of getting used to a new bed in a new house in a new city. Also, there was a storm. Sally mentioned the wall of windows facing the east might leak so I got up in the night to check but all was well. Needless to say, Chris slept on.

Today was long and good. We were up and out by 9 a.m. and wandering around San Miguel. There is a pedestrian path that cuts through several blocks towards the center of town which we took and then continued farther than we did last night. The first church in which we stopped was more European in style--more gilt and chandelier praise rather than the wax and wood worship we've seen in other parts of Mexico. Beautiful cupolas. Chris mentioned the Mexican tendency towards mannequin-like statues. Of course, I've noticed that in this area they do not use stone or marble, but now I'm stuck thinking about Jesus in multiple parts, arms and legs all akimbo in a back storeroom at the Macy's. Beyond the church was the remnants of the convent, cells around a lovely and lush courtyard. Now each cell is used as an artist's studio--weaving, music, painting, ceramics. We had breakfast in a little cafe on the first floor and there was decaf which was a great treat for me since Guatemala offered none, even in the nicer hotel restaurants we visited. In addition to the good cup of coffee, there was a mural on the wall of vaqueros with lassos trying to capture a vampire bat up in the sky above them that was at least as big as the horses the men rode. A little light art to accompany your meal.

We went to church after church, making me think it would be hard to decide where to worship in this town with such an abundance of choice, and we saw two things of particular interest. When we were in Guatemala last year, we went to a church whose patron was Judas. We couldn't recall another time either of us had even seen iconography of Judas in a church, but today we did again and this time with an explanation. Because of his most vile act, Judas suffered the greatest anguish man could and thus is the patron of those most desperate and sad among us. I guess it makes sense to see more of him in second and third world countries than we do at home and in Europe.

Later, we went to another church which had a huge landscape painted on the wall in dark grays and black. You could just make out mountains in the background and people in the foreground. Hanging on the wall with the mural as it's backdrop were three crucifixes: Jesus in the middle flanked by the two criminals with whom he was crucified. The churches here may be more fire and brimstone.

We made it to the Jardin Principal which is lovely, with iron benches all about and shaded by sculpted trees circling a gazebo. It reminded me of Antigua, in part because the square is surrounded by colonial archways on three sides and a church on the fourth.

We spent a chunk of the day finding out what's what. We discovered an abundance of things to do from classical guitar recitals to plays to the film festival later this month. We went to the tourism office to investigate day trips and to the Institute Allende to find out about Spanish classes for Chris and to the public library to learn about what seemed like any and every other thing going on in this joint. We took a bus to figure that out and kind of did, although in a stroke of remarkable fortune the bus simply stopped in front of where we were standing. It isn't really clear if we were at a bus stop. We found the open air market closest to us and it was full of things we'll go back and look at more closely and then buy and then eat.

We stopped at home to empty our bags and head out in search of a supermercado when we happened on a shriveled woman on our doorstep, who was anxious to find the part-time housekeeper, Lupe. Her name was Patricia and she stayed in the unit upstairs from ours last year and made great friends with Lupe. Not so great, apparently, that she knew how to get in touch with her but good enough that she wanted to, I guess. She's been here several summers in a row and began to tell us all sorts of things to do but then discovered we would only be here for a month and promptly declared we wouldn't really have time to do anything. Her best bit of advice: gallery openings may have only mediocre art but they do have free wine so they are worth attending. (Really this is the same as our experience at home, but there was something charming about this little old woman wearing a fanny pack saying it.) She pointed us in the right direction of a regular old PB&J market which was helpful. We got this and that and those and these and on our way back ran into our downstairs neighbors (Lydia and her daughter, Juno--who looks like she may have been born before the film which would make me like her mother more) on the street. They are here from California for July and August but lived here for eight years previously. Lydia does graduate research in medical anthropology and works with midwives in Mexico. She invited us to a gallery opening (mediocre art, free wine) this evening but it began at 5 and by the time we got back with our groceries it was already 5 and we both needed a break after walking for basically seven hours in a row. She got one of her degrees in Chicago, though, so I'm sure we will find a way to visit with her again.

Since then, hammock time rolled into showers rolled into happy hour rolled into the dinner hour rolled into guitar time which is quickly rolling into bedtime. Our lives are good.

P.S. There are really big snails here slug-slug-slugging along.