Our downstairs neighbor moved in in the middle of the night and we met him first thing this morning as we headed out. He is a Mexican historian from Texas, whose focus is on education and he has lived in GTO on and off for the last nine years as he has done his research. He would love to get together and talk about everything that is wrong with the American educational system, except that I would love to do just about anything else.
Today was a museum marathon. We started by placing Museo Alhondiga on our agenda again this morning and this time we got there without fail. I mentioned yesterday that the building itself was a significant landmark in the Mexican Revolution. At the time of the Revolution it was used as a granary and when Hidalgo and Pipila led the insurgents in trying to take the town of GTO, the Spanish loyalists fled there. A massive slaughter ensued, and the Spanish prevailed. In an effort to dissuade others from further insurrection, when each of the four leaders of the revolution: Hidalgo, Pipila, Allende and Aldama died, the Spanish hung their heads from the four corners of the building where they remained for 10 years. Today, it houses a museum of Mexican artifacts that date to 1000 BC, many of which were found in excavations preceding the creation of dams. The ceramics are quite beautiful, and there is an interesting collection of stamping tools. The exhibit I enjoyed the most, however, was a photography collection that paired a contemporary photo to one of the same subject from the 1930s and each was taken somewhere in the city of GTO.
From there, we walked down the street to the Casa de Diego Rivera, which was the best place ever. It is the building Rivera was born in and his family lived there through his early childhood. As improbable as it seems, his family furniture remains and the first floor is decorated a la his late 19th century home. The second and third floors house a large collection of his work and are worth the trip to GTO. It reminded me of the Museo Picasso in Barcelona, in that it showcases the artist's early works which are so stylistically different from the works for which he is most famous. The Rivera collection here is a lot of pencil sketches and watercolors and oils that are much more traditional and realistic in their depictions. Lots of exercises in perspective and shadows and geometry. He doesn't seem to have adopted the style for which he is most known until the beginning of the 1930s, and one fabulous part of the collection are the scaled sketches for parts and pieces of the murals and paintings we all know. In short, I loved it.
Chris tells me that since we have been together, the Bulls have won six NBA championships, the Bears have been to the Super Bowl, the White Sox (his favorite team) won the World Series, the Wildcats (his college team) have been to the Rose and several other Bowls, and the Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup. I didn't watch any of it. Today, however, I watched the last game of the World Cup--the international championship for a sport Chris could not care less about. We found an outdoor cafe off of the main plaza which was packed with enthusiasts all rooting for Spain, including the waitstaff who were all wearing Spanish jerseys. We grabbed a table and ordered a couple of beers. We sat there for two and a half hours watching a sport where absolutely nothing happens at all but whose fans' pulses seem driven by every step taken on the field.
Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, seems like something, "Ah!", heads collapse in hands, brows furl, nothing, nothing, nothing.
The whole thing damn near broke Chris' heart, as he has hoped and wished and wanted over the years that I might develop a taste for sports, but I was only willing today because I figured it would be a cultural phenomenon to watch the World Cup in a soccer town, and I guess it was, although the take away message from the whole thing is that soccer is boring because mostly people run around not scoring.
All that spectating pretty well wiped out the rest of our day so we headed back home after the game and relaxed a bit before making chicken soup for dinner. Chris is playing his guitar and I'm about to pick up a new book. I just finished Murder, Mystery & Mayhem in San Miguel by Richard Crissman, which I probably never would have read at home but which is excellent fare if one happens to be in San Miguel (Susan--I'll put it aside for you!). My hopes for tomorrow have a life of their own.
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