Viva Mexico 1810-2010

Two totally packed days: Susan gets up early, stays up late and doesn't waste a lot of time stopping for snacks. We definitely did more than we would have if she weren't with us; as a result, we are so very glad she is.

Yesterday morning we got up early to take the bus to Guanajuato. We hadn't purchased tickets in advance and erred on the side of caution in our arrival time but enjoyed some good people watching at the bus station. Once we arrived in GTO, we grabbed a cab to the Museo Alhondiga. Our cab driver was a character: as myopic as Mr. Magoo, he leaned over his steering wheel, elbows akimbo, peering through coke-bottle glasses, talking the whole ride in. He's lived in GTO his whole life, has never been to the United States, has driven a cab since 1968, loves it, thinks laughter is the best medicine, something about Santa Claus, keeps his own family at home during the Cervantes Festival when people get so drunk they can't walk and cabs are free, doesn't speak any English other than hello, doesn't like it when people smoke marijuana, doesn't like the idea of the temperature in Chicago falling below zero and mentioned seven times that he likes to talk a lot. It was an exhausting cab ride, but he spoke slowly enough that I was able to follow which I liked. It started to spit rain while we were on the bus and continued throughout our cab ride.

The Alhondiga either had a new exhibit or had rooms open that were not when Chris and I were there previously, so everyone enjoyed something new. It started to drizzle while we were in the Alhondiga and continued throughout our walk to the Diego Rivera museum at which an entire floor of rooms was open that had not been when we were there before. I'm glad we went back; I had thought both museums were pretty great to begin with but they're even better when you are privy to all the rooms. Chris and I were hopeful we would be able to pick up a print of Rivera's depictions of the Popol Vuh in the gift shop but were unable. As it began to pour while we were there, it probably wasn't the best day to go poster shopping, anyway.

It wasn't easy to look up to see the monument to peace in front of the basilica due to the rain, but I think Susan got the gist: peace is good. For the second time this trip, we were in a church when it appeared that mass was about to begin and instead we found ourselves at a funeral. Awkward. We stopped for lunch at a place Chris and I had enjoyed while we stayed the week in GTO and had the traditional enchiladas mineras in honor of the miners in the region. From there, we took the funicular up to the Pipila monument so Sue could see the incredible vista from that vantage point.

We had good luck and the Teatro Juarez, which we were unable to visit last time, was open. This, as it turns out, is the single most beautiful theater I have ever seen. The outside is neoclassical with doric columns and is crowned by statues of the Greek muses, but the inside is Moorish: gold and navy and red inlay in sunburst patterns and small interlocking geometric shapes. There isn't a place your eye can fall that isn't pleasing. Unlike so many theaters, it is simply beautiful and stops just short of being ostentatious. Odd fact: it is the only theater in Mexico that still has and uses its original furnishings. The seats are lovely brown wood frame with leather upholstery. The lobby is grand and is flanked by a cantina, the second floor is split between an old fashioned smoking hall for men and a lounge for women. Even the ticket windows are dramatic. I'm glad we were able to cross it off our list after all. It was still raining when we came out.

We walked through the market and Templo del Inmaculado Corazon de Maria and then up and down the street through vendors and accordion-playing children and birds for sale and our last stop was a candy shop where we picked up an assortment of things that we weren't too sure about and which ended up being delicioso. We made it back to the bus station in time to get the last three seats on the bus.

Once back in SMA, where it was also raining, we picked up cheese and crackers and created a small-bites feast at home where we dried off and talked which is surprisingly difficult to do while walking down single person sidewalks in the rain. Our downstairs neighbor, Lydia, had mentioned a bar with live music and it seemed like a good idea at the time, but when she came to collect us we were bone tired and wet tired and food tired. We decided to go. Something about only staying a half hour. Something about only one beer. So we headed out into the rain again at about 9:30 to see a drumming band. It was a surprisingly good show with a lively crowd: people were jamming out to the drumming and, assisted greatly by alcohol and drugs, there were three women who created a triangulated zone of perpetual motion that involved all limbs moving at once to the beat in a frenetic and intense manner. To be clear, there was no dance floor; this was in a restaurant the size of our living room with an abundance of tables and chairs. One of these women was wearing a unitard and was adorned in scarves and kept knocking into the waiter and all three were well into their 50s, maybe a bit past 60. I haven't been somewhere with so many people so far over the age of majority enjoying themselves with quite such abandon (read that drugs) probably ever. We had some linguistic mishaps: like when Chris ordered a whiskey and soda and the waiter brought him an almost full glass of whiskey and a soda, topped of the glass and took the rest his soda away; like when Susan tried to explain to the waiter that she and I would share our next beer with an elaborate pantomime which involved her pointing at both of our glasses and saying cerveza over and again: needless to say, we each got our own glasses and our own beers. We ended up staying more than a half hour and more than a beer apiece, but we had a great time.

We met this morning at 9:15 to get a 10 a.m. trolley tour but were foiled by the trolley woman who maybe, just maybe, says something a little different each and every time we talk to her. For instance, last time we spoke with her, she said there was a bilingual tour at 10 a.m. every day and today she said there wasn't. We bought tickets in advance for the noon tour and went for a walk and coffees. There was a little something Susan wanted to pick up as a souvenir that we had seen in a shop her first day here and so we retraced our steps to find it to no avail. Have I mentioned it was still raining? It has rained so much that while having our coffee this morning, Chris's chair sunk into the earth below him. It was like quick sand: he was sitting at the table with us one minute and the next his head was at table level. The soil here is sandy to begin with and simply erodes with so much rain.

We had the same tour guide for today's trolley tour as the last, and he's a good spirit, full of information. Between the hog rally and the film festival, there are hundreds of extra people clogging the streets and the tour was supposed to be an hour and a half but was closer to two because of the rain slowing traffic. We had a hearty lunch and were trapped in a store by downpour, although the roof of the store was shoddy at best and we were rained on inside, so we hailed a cab to return home and wait out the storm. The cab already had a driver and a nursing mother in it, so the six of us barreled along through the nearly flooded streets and by the time we arrived at Calle Marte we were all soaked. Approximately one minute after we raced in the door--Hallelujah!--the rain stopped.

We waited until our drawers were dry before going out again, at which point our roads forked. Chris went off to a party he was invited to by some guy named Rob who is a musician and lives I don't know where and he isn't home yet, so who knows? It either means the party is very good or very bad. Susan and I were on a mission to find a doorknocker. Because of the fabulously inventive door hardware nearly everywhere you look here, you might think the stores actually sold doorknockers but you would be wrong for thinking that. Unfortunately, I couldn't remember the word for doorknocker so every shop we went in where we determined they didn't sell them, I asked "Donde esta la tienda para comprar" and at this point I pantomimed knocking using the palm of one hand as a door and my fist as the knocker and finished with, "para la puerta?" Susan often jumped in with the actual word for doorknocker and repeated it until people nodded that they understood and then said there were no stores. Between the two of us we can really ask a question.

We went to the Jardin Principal for the kick off of the bicentennial celebration here in SMA. We sat through speeches from the mayor, the director of tourism, the head of the planning committee for the bicentennial celebration and when their words concluded, all of the lights went out. All of them. The lights in the church. The lights in the trees in the park. The lights in the streets. Because of the rain clouds, the moon was obscured and it was pitch. The music began and a light display was projected onto the church in vibrant and discordant colors. There was movement and faces and bodies were projected. At one point it appeared that the church was engulfed in flames. Words are lacking. The multimedia show was a half hour long and ended with a frame that made it look as if VIVA MEXICO 1810-2010 was spray painted across the face of the church. People were cheering like mad and the plaza was so jammed full of people that you could physically feel the pride of the San Miguelians and other Mexicans in the crowd. It was as if God orchestrated the event because the moment the light show was over, the sky split open again and rain showered the people. We were soaked by the time we returned home and having been wet for two solid days decided to call it a night. More tomorrow.

P.S. Prayers to our friend Jeff.