tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9374999170370959572024-03-05T14:06:22.915-08:00Sol en el tiempo de lluviaA Summer Sojourn in San Miguel de Allende, MexicoKatudi: Kat and Turohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02467449848052893120noreply@blogger.comBlogger8125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937499917037095957.post-54099719808204446282008-07-21T15:21:00.000-07:002008-07-22T20:23:42.816-07:00A Sense of Place<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-0Ww15ABZlYOs4tGlZe_rbzPlKxKPIOSCpDtAegBy4XPTrI-O74wz_YaOG2oeq4-tW0UzCdVIvhNrmHMUYzStd3VzxVdv_v0OSSvIWJjzXo_lng67T-Aat0SGZHM_ra6iWTbSQ1A-2Z2r/s1600-h/smablog1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-0Ww15ABZlYOs4tGlZe_rbzPlKxKPIOSCpDtAegBy4XPTrI-O74wz_YaOG2oeq4-tW0UzCdVIvhNrmHMUYzStd3VzxVdv_v0OSSvIWJjzXo_lng67T-Aat0SGZHM_ra6iWTbSQ1A-2Z2r/s200/smablog1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225597014282494386" border="0" /></a>I decided to write the last entry for this blog on my month in San Miguel de Allende from Austin, my home. For much of the time I was in San Miguel, especially as I was engaged in a directed independent study of Mexican literature, art and culture, I struggled with my relationship to the place—sometimes feeling myself forced into the role of tourist, which is quite different from being a visiting writer and scholar, someone who comes to be some place, to learn, thoughtfully and respectfully about the culture, history, arts, and people. I am always self-conscious in my role as traveler, but in San Miguel, I was particularly so.<br /><br />Part of the difficulty I encountered in San Miguel is that it is, as many of my friends remarked, “Gringolandia”—the population of U.S. ex-patriots is large, so large one of the local guides referred to it as the “third wave of <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXXAjrxXI2Q7s5XISJGQWxIq82PkB9iJxBRVgjoAqNRNA8qkbHGDu5DpTJzDgh1G3H5qDi32KANzoqzwOxISDq57xIiM9NfxVMRtE2ZkT7C_RnxIAL-aurxGrRHOFGjImsyS9KoMVpM7pZ/s1600-h/smablog4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXXAjrxXI2Q7s5XISJGQWxIq82PkB9iJxBRVgjoAqNRNA8qkbHGDu5DpTJzDgh1G3H5qDi32KANzoqzwOxISDq57xIiM9NfxVMRtE2ZkT7C_RnxIAL-aurxGrRHOFGjImsyS9KoMVpM7pZ/s200/smablog4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225598264323261330" border="0" /></a> colonization.” There are many ex-patriots who have lived there for years, who have learned Spanish, Mexican customs, arts, and ways of being, who have Mexican friends, even Mexican spouses and children. Many people in the immigrant population sponsor scholarships and other services to support Mexican children and the poor. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk_rM4iAqeSaxjWQ1-kAGPD70eVJDfnUUvuGmNUX666xy3wZUk6MiiGWCTaT48vyY-S0OcbWEtlNYqm0zegQIooDdtkw0pz7baV1_RM4iN6LVuUwDbD5Paf9mDRjE4n5MR9ezWcY6VZUHN/s1600-h/smablog9.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk_rM4iAqeSaxjWQ1-kAGPD70eVJDfnUUvuGmNUX666xy3wZUk6MiiGWCTaT48vyY-S0OcbWEtlNYqm0zegQIooDdtkw0pz7baV1_RM4iN6LVuUwDbD5Paf9mDRjE4n5MR9ezWcY6VZUHN/s200/smablog9.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225599741206824706" border="0" /></a>Many U.S. immigrants assimilate into the Mexican culture, forming a new culture, a new mezcla.<br /><br />But there are also large numbers of immigrants from the U.S. who “coexist,” living in primarily English-speaking colonies, U.S. immigrants maintaining American lifestyles— perhaps more luxurious lifestyles than what they could afford north of the border. Here they can have a maid, a gardener, a <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2tqzIJ_ouzr0e7cqz28cNTtMohFpUhXdau_YUjd53VcbPf1ocAY8xoXeDgpXGMk1ro2OPzS6cglGn03gCkbJ9i7fIT7PGHE6QfFEdbOkx_BK7BBHjpPoXhwTfBQv5BzouSksZ9cJcsua4/s1600-h/smablog10.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2tqzIJ_ouzr0e7cqz28cNTtMohFpUhXdau_YUjd53VcbPf1ocAY8xoXeDgpXGMk1ro2OPzS6cglGn03gCkbJ9i7fIT7PGHE6QfFEdbOkx_BK7BBHjpPoXhwTfBQv5BzouSksZ9cJcsua4/s200/smablog10.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225600132503556770" border="0" /></a>tummy tuck or a big house with a view for a fraction of what these would cost in the U.S.<br /><br />And there are, of course, American tourists, especially tourists a bit nervous about Mexico. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWFHRBqPqm_r7dqEncbQGj_eHwzl8BwLiYRVqdD6xoH7JaslTZ4U8HSaNFR1rJISMi8OxQ3nz9hK-QulBTmc_es-24gpgtFyEJgDv11ba-mQvLHvMurtXnS_sW9Tt92m0xKFEh34fA0_FF/s1600-h/smablog2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWFHRBqPqm_r7dqEncbQGj_eHwzl8BwLiYRVqdD6xoH7JaslTZ4U8HSaNFR1rJISMi8OxQ3nz9hK-QulBTmc_es-24gpgtFyEJgDv11ba-mQvLHvMurtXnS_sW9Tt92m0xKFEh34fA0_FF/s200/smablog2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225597179727354354" border="0" /></a>(What have they heard? <span style="font-style: italic;">You can’t drink the water, but tequila is great. </span><span>And apparently everyone knows the Mexican word for beer</span>.) Of course, there are tourists and there are tourists. And then there are the powerhouses of economic colonization: passing by the Starbucks on the corner of the Jardin made me queasy, and Wal-Mart’s evil empire is apparently coming. But surely some of the money that U.S. immigrants, tourists and even greedy corporations bring to San Miguel finds its way into the local community.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPejmFx-NlDYA7QRKKPXi6mFAeRl2IZZx5j8mGz3bWpBEdaWFB_lKkWjvRe7WRobEz1RfFpPzBUKbXN3YJ3EZ6Lt3OieppxUgxkc-W7YaqKqeS2a7bRPk8Xz8N479pigbzp3xXttOjiIwy/s1600-h/smablog8.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPejmFx-NlDYA7QRKKPXi6mFAeRl2IZZx5j8mGz3bWpBEdaWFB_lKkWjvRe7WRobEz1RfFpPzBUKbXN3YJ3EZ6Lt3OieppxUgxkc-W7YaqKqeS2a7bRPk8Xz8N479pigbzp3xXttOjiIwy/s200/smablog8.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225599355097692866" border="0" /></a>How the significant numbers of American tourists, colonists and immigrants impact the local economy and people remains unclear and uncomfortably so for me, though. Has <span style="font-style: italic;">gentrification</span> made it even more difficult for Mexicans to own land, to build homes in San Miguel? Has the price of food been affected?<br /><br />The U.S. presence is an integral part of what it is to experience that sense of place that is San Miguel de Allende today, but it is<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5OTZYVyX2SQkL1bUdE8jqN2GAYRCvutlpKecLDpn_jOK7mIIdOafbRtcEKRnw9oTW8cCL88lgDskqQKzhZXM_NiljdcQqmaoKCL9f7Tn0BFoeMcgu6Ykt6-aeGttqfuiCuD4CE8Lo45vA/s1600-h/smablog7.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5OTZYVyX2SQkL1bUdE8jqN2GAYRCvutlpKecLDpn_jOK7mIIdOafbRtcEKRnw9oTW8cCL88lgDskqQKzhZXM_NiljdcQqmaoKCL9f7Tn0BFoeMcgu6Ykt6-aeGttqfuiCuD4CE8Lo45vA/s200/smablog7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225599074460492418" border="0" /></a> still the Mexican San Miguel de Allende, that sense of place that I sought, sometimes found and most appreciated. Yet sometimes that sense of place was elusive because of the way much of my time was structured, the places I had to be, aspects of major activities organized for me.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX6YtrZM0SU4N2AT95bprRtNkiWESY3yi2EP39Rx2fSAfvQoz1E9LObW5rViZNzCtebsjuqCbmBU8_7ebjRZQ9hWbwQWb_fbKNx9Maq-PCozSKiFLUvFZqa1We_B5qNWslUarlwIAWuTTU/s1600-h/smablog5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX6YtrZM0SU4N2AT95bprRtNkiWESY3yi2EP39Rx2fSAfvQoz1E9LObW5rViZNzCtebsjuqCbmBU8_7ebjRZQ9hWbwQWb_fbKNx9Maq-PCozSKiFLUvFZqa1We_B5qNWslUarlwIAWuTTU/s200/smablog5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225598512426321090" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I’ve spent equally long and longer periods of time in other parts of Mexico, in Guatemala and Puerto Rico with groups of scholars and artists, with other travelers interested in culture, so I have points of comparison. Not only what activities and where but the way that activities and trips are organized affects the sense the traveler has of the place.<br /><br />I was fortunate to have lived in San Miguel de Allende with my dear friend Brenda, a bilingual Mexican American woman from the Texas borderland, whose mother was from nearby San Luis Potosi. And there are others with whom I experienced and learned about this region of Mexico, including Horacio, the guide who took a small group to visit the private Frida Kahlo collection and who drove us to the airport in Leon as we departed for home. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtCdes_zbQi6inr4luh0YeEiiRYbohtoAIwAVBDuyTNMIWS1XnoLP1Y4i1PMkEqPv2Jnren5Ou0X0wz1J8JidQJxxLYHlRb-IcY9prfh1W9H1EcMr83UEbFGijXKguYd4hak55Igk2_PvB/s1600-h/smablog6.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtCdes_zbQi6inr4luh0YeEiiRYbohtoAIwAVBDuyTNMIWS1XnoLP1Y4i1PMkEqPv2Jnren5Ou0X0wz1J8JidQJxxLYHlRb-IcY9prfh1W9H1EcMr83UEbFGijXKguYd4hak55Igk2_PvB/s200/smablog6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225598796090770802" border="0" /></a>Someone like Horacio, someone like the artisans in the market who would take the time to talk about how to make a tin heart, a nicho, or to dye and weave a rug, the taxi drivers who told of local festivals, the cook who showed a friend how to pat out a tortilla and smiled at her clumsiness and desire to experience—they are at the heart of that sense of place in San Miguel. Their intimate knowledge, experience and love for the place enriches the experience of those who experience it with them.<br /><br />What I felt missing in the organized program were such opportunities to work with Mexican artists and artisans, scholars and writers and to work in spaces, to be in places that Mexicans would choose and share with cultural pride. There is a deep sense of place that only someone who lives and loves the culture from within can share with those of us who come eager to experience what we can, as sojourners.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNwdHuB3THSfyzUsMCM9IJg91BmM4sddXOwkamJ6ZEYnblb0mg3vqafUJzZic5OpvqM9CZO8PO26mJDHzLOACmcecLKHtV00atB4OBexVUkqKSBkcKwzCcy3n6sTw-OYKKq_2syATDkdQ4/s1600-h/smablog11.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNwdHuB3THSfyzUsMCM9IJg91BmM4sddXOwkamJ6ZEYnblb0mg3vqafUJzZic5OpvqM9CZO8PO26mJDHzLOACmcecLKHtV00atB4OBexVUkqKSBkcKwzCcy3n6sTw-OYKKq_2syATDkdQ4/s200/smablog11.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225600596046214866" border="0" /></a><br /><br />If I were to have the opportunity to lead such an independent seminar (or a writing workshop or literature seminar), these are among what I would want—to bring in experts on Mexican culture and Mexican writers, talk to the guides so that they understand the educational purpose or goals of and audience for the excursions, include a language component in the culture study, have the culture study group <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKP9P2OZcaBv9gTFcn5LCqL5yCZ1GyLBi-zBgWo7vJyIk0OFOjW_flxv0T_dCImkQO7dm7eWuVWfEb8BftrtnMCUH3xrFn1iAh2g7Mey0ufl-NFGFEXHwHffWkFoVc7xAQaq92LwpwCTfg/s1600-h/smablog3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKP9P2OZcaBv9gTFcn5LCqL5yCZ1GyLBi-zBgWo7vJyIk0OFOjW_flxv0T_dCImkQO7dm7eWuVWfEb8BftrtnMCUH3xrFn1iAh2g7Mey0ufl-NFGFEXHwHffWkFoVc7xAQaq92LwpwCTfg/s200/smablog3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225597418655744322" border="0" /></a>meet once a week for lunch to discuss the readings, activities, individual interests, etc., hold readings and seminars in places that inspire connections with Mexican culture, and work with the writing workshops so that there is some connection between all of these activities and why we are there as writers.<br /><br />That self-reflection I believe is crucial: Why <span>are</span> we <span style="font-style: italic;">here</span>? Why hold writing workshops in another country? Do we hope to experience <span style="font-style: italic;">displacement</span>, to get away to write-- or does a sense of place matter to us and our work, our writing <span style="font-style: italic;">where</span> we are?Katudi: Kat and Turohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02467449848052893120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937499917037095957.post-30540135811196711712008-07-17T06:49:00.000-07:002008-07-22T07:44:09.319-07:00Frida Kahlo in San Miguel de Allende<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoZpEUoKLhlJNDbza9fIj8mWmA-uyFo-U9H-KEsQr1Zs4JmZSJPqWHBwglOrDhWnE_dBJMsUylTRHW-R4XJZH0txiSrEV8v_q613aeUxUlHORJzjYRzPOhpZmAm4D4hcMVhPusPBhCo0y1/s1600-h/frida3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoZpEUoKLhlJNDbza9fIj8mWmA-uyFo-U9H-KEsQr1Zs4JmZSJPqWHBwglOrDhWnE_dBJMsUylTRHW-R4XJZH0txiSrEV8v_q613aeUxUlHORJzjYRzPOhpZmAm4D4hcMVhPusPBhCo0y1/s200/frida3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224016113336067938" border="0" /></a><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7x5k56vnf8buhT52UPlcTQ-GCfNd4D50XN97W1ogy3Pq4PbspAZPAcO18QPy6O4xU1D3h9adlh8Q9i8ecfhTn4j69CI-824cSyCcNOSlGXX1PMcTcbcGOnE3i2o9M56AOiSzOQi9qHfte/s200/frida1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224015674622827858" border="0" />A tourist and pop culture commodity as much as a world-renown figure of high art, images of and by Frida Kahlo are everywhere in San Miguel de Allende, on t-shirts, bottle cap earrings and keychains, in nichos, shopping bags, decoupaged boxes. . . . I had the opportunity to visit two Frida Kahlo exhibitions, both of art work, personal papers and objects mostly discovered after the artist's death in 1954. One of these exhibits, "The Heart of Frida," is currently open to the public in a gallery on Calle Jesus. The other, a collection in private rooms of a gallery in another part of San Miguel, is viewed by-appointment-only. <img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbPtOuZ0PbNXwPRIh75bWe28qk3TKMsQsjVXp4ZVw4_jcz4ia4117BPoiS-rxdFvdcKRHqXxXeDCA2vsKUBHQd7K2-wjwk6BxUKb8zJBwK7nExIpi1v1pzfc1ff3upVebrHbSfRloiAAJ8/s200/frida2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224015854689423298" border="0" /><br /><div>According to the accompanying brochure, "'The Heart of Frida Exhibition' is a collection of 37 intimate notes and letters and six drawings that have been hidden for over half a century in Mexico City. " These private papers were found in a laquered Michoacan box, on the inner lid of which is painted "Coyoacan Frida Kahlo 1950." These objects include illustrated letters, notes and poems to herself and to Diego Rivera. <br /><div><br /></div><div>The private collection has many, many more objects--including Pancho Villa's </div><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifRqtnYChVLbMU8AvtLjzpaysnbVj5l0qG85UuFKxvGyH-A01NPycSRAkAaJzIT0dDe8eTQg3TETsT4mOaS7cR11ebj5BYpTnSD9JOxPXTWfLTQSBX01sY52WMa3670J1QwfeWeX0IvH4I/s200/frida5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224016346783377698" border="0" /><div>revolver, gifted to Diego, and a box of preserved hummingbirds--as well as letters, boxes, paintings, and drawings on a variety of subjects, including Frida's relationship with Diego, her surgeries, intense pain, and premonitions of her death. One of the curators explained that Diego had captured the hummingbirds and speculated that he had used them to seduce women. He pointed to Frida's letter beside the box, in which she wondered how someone so sensitive in so many ways could be so insensitive. One of many powerful works is a wooden box in which Frida painted her body in the bottom and dressmaking forms on the inner lid. Another painting shows a shrouded body on a hospital gurney with her head floating over it. "What will I do without you? what will you do without me?" in Spanish scrawls beneath.</div><div><br /></div><div> The curators of this exhibit, clearly scholars with special knowledge of Frida Kahlo's life and art--are preparing a book on the collection, due to be released in 2009. (I was not permitted to take photos of any of the objects except the revolver and so I am describing from memory. How wonderful it will be to have the book!)</div></div>Katudi: Kat and Turohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02467449848052893120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937499917037095957.post-56734408135026542312008-07-16T20:17:00.000-07:002008-07-22T20:22:15.249-07:00Ritual and Dance<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigvjx0Q5TFP4wpdfNe_MmGRq1KPYzY7xwupd3JUz7J0QzFzYCILy2HF1TH7NCGOj6AIZpn5sSNfVRJ8UJMgK41GnIDAzlg93sWgQ-jCckiTZuyFvtglD0PHJ1i8sXD64Xmx3PFgbAzbJeU/s1600-h/jardinbotanica12.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223975251221748018" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigvjx0Q5TFP4wpdfNe_MmGRq1KPYzY7xwupd3JUz7J0QzFzYCILy2HF1TH7NCGOj6AIZpn5sSNfVRJ8UJMgK41GnIDAzlg93sWgQ-jCckiTZuyFvtglD0PHJ1i8sXD64Xmx3PFgbAzbJeU/s200/jardinbotanica12.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div> On Sunday, July 13, we went to <a href="http://www.laneta.apc.org/charco/index-english.htm">El Charco Ingenio</a>, the expansive botanical garden on the edge of San Miguel de Allende. We'd heard that there would be traditional dancing and music and a religious ritual, the Santa Cruz festival.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO9ueRXMNXZ5YYFS9SSw5T90VrgsSVivoEB9thcfa6cJo73rTkkOMZrsGtIGhpJCyM1KfRPi6M-vdE8wMnNwY9aMI0hx8rh8LPnb7QwkHTqulpLF-aL9tLEH_Zu2NgQTFIj3nx4s6w6uiY/s1600-h/jardinbotanica11.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223822334195905362" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; width: 166px; cursor: pointer; height: 110px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO9ueRXMNXZ5YYFS9SSw5T90VrgsSVivoEB9thcfa6cJo73rTkkOMZrsGtIGhpJCyM1KfRPi6M-vdE8wMnNwY9aMI0hx8rh8LPnb7QwkHTqulpLF-aL9tLEH_Zu2NgQTFIj3nx4s6w6uiY/s200/jardinbotanica11.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKKeMXJAQHqjy-oErN3iEBVenvtP3tpKXArOITJwJZ87C3DAIi7I3V_mGJdPYtHEn0yswfSIHGV_JlVg-vSxOcOIgO4YfVIVerjGpfi_zf12eYuu_sVW7382vb0MHND-KZB6tM4K5D2pmB/s1600-h/jardinbotanica10.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223975038385549618" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKKeMXJAQHqjy-oErN3iEBVenvtP3tpKXArOITJwJZ87C3DAIi7I3V_mGJdPYtHEn0yswfSIHGV_JlVg-vSxOcOIgO4YfVIVerjGpfi_zf12eYuu_sVW7382vb0MHND-KZB6tM4K5D2pmB/s200/jardinbotanica10.jpg" border="0" /></a>When we arrived about 3 p.m., we could hear the music down the hills. After a glass of fresh squeezed grapefruit juice and a slice of mushroom pizza from the juice bar at the gift shop, I headed down the path through the gardens of magnificent cacti, to find the dancers in one of several circle clearings.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHkWvs-dXUS9fAzCAB44nemFvnhyH4-thbtPIg_x1TIoOBdSgZP1M0yWMqjFJYctpi7lFaVaJgaYIQCgacUsCo3L9c2oqc1Sae-nPdCfhyTPAyPodgRBD_wmFEAkGNO2M9YUAaUnbyP6sw/s1600-h/jardinbotanica2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223820513206204898" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHkWvs-dXUS9fAzCAB44nemFvnhyH4-thbtPIg_x1TIoOBdSgZP1M0yWMqjFJYctpi7lFaVaJgaYIQCgacUsCo3L9c2oqc1Sae-nPdCfhyTPAyPodgRBD_wmFEAkGNO2M9YUAaUnbyP6sw/s200/jardinbotanica2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHrdN6J1P-IAlleTv90dhFq-sLa3-krA0Onxq_5nmDHc7FzYzUU6Srd2kSFClRVzuTqXhJZKQ7y3I0lPATZ9ln1k9PyR2163c9kr34wX9fOBX3__mTW7NXLWxYn07R6pz8kHc3Gmf7ViUZ/s1600-h/jardinbotanica1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223820355443897442" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; width: 89px; cursor: pointer; height: 100px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHrdN6J1P-IAlleTv90dhFq-sLa3-krA0Onxq_5nmDHc7FzYzUU6Srd2kSFClRVzuTqXhJZKQ7y3I0lPATZ9ln1k9PyR2163c9kr34wX9fOBX3__mTW7NXLWxYn07R6pz8kHc3Gmf7ViUZ/s200/jardinbotanica1.jpg" border="0" /></a>People of all ages were gathered under umbrellas, mesquite and cactus--anywhere a bit of shade could be found--to watch the <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjchG5tgtMz3Q1FKj5k_dqkUviswwJNwatD3eOlHt7PumEerW2obPBkxheH7I6qOijjumWiArp0wTMGhdMMZScNInCp3TU5JrVm7WenvhWtmKVZSz0ENawlvhnohLLOW_GVbwck_TUJ4GBZ/s1600-h/jardinbotanica3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223820810901092306" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjchG5tgtMz3Q1FKj5k_dqkUviswwJNwatD3eOlHt7PumEerW2obPBkxheH7I6qOijjumWiArp0wTMGhdMMZScNInCp3TU5JrVm7WenvhWtmKVZSz0ENawlvhnohLLOW_GVbwck_TUJ4GBZ/s200/jardinbotanica3.jpg" border="0" /></a>dancers and participate the events of the day. Food vendors sold roasted corn, fresh-cut fruits, juices, tortas and other foods from booths under bright <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU3f4KpqS43vgqErmJyv0h1aJfnIl3qsEkkZ2zFZlXme7EF18IFl1SXekJMhfK0NoCdte6cAXcSWmGTrFT3UqJyxzLDfdDawlq7OnyEtw_q9duA7Eso0RlF6YgJW-6qRyHPY_gUDRwO20w/s1600-h/jardinbotanica4.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223820945719795842" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU3f4KpqS43vgqErmJyv0h1aJfnIl3qsEkkZ2zFZlXme7EF18IFl1SXekJMhfK0NoCdte6cAXcSWmGTrFT3UqJyxzLDfdDawlq7OnyEtw_q9duA7Eso0RlF6YgJW-6qRyHPY_gUDRwO20w/s200/jardinbotanica4.jpg" border="0" /></a>awnings.<br /></div><div>In the midst of the afternoon a beautiful religious ceremony, the <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWpBDtE9SWKECfBHchP4kY5FRbEuY6Fp_JVqQdboWdJxD1rY03zQP9lgIB_S8weiU3YWcIAtXtReW7o2qmNdeajRObfz8i7fKFcMFrz-a04axat5NiGx-opKHyLxaVZu78al8FneaP43-x/s1600-h/jardinbotanica7.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223821672065252194" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWpBDtE9SWKECfBHchP4kY5FRbEuY6Fp_JVqQdboWdJxD1rY03zQP9lgIB_S8weiU3YWcIAtXtReW7o2qmNdeajRObfz8i7fKFcMFrz-a04axat5NiGx-opKHyLxaVZu78al8FneaP43-x/s200/jardinbotanica7.jpg" border="0" /></a>installation of the cross, took place. A procession, led by a man playing a flute and drum, brought the cross to an altar near the plaza where the dancers paused. Prayers, incense and flowers blessed the cross, Santa Cruza, and then a dialogue ensued between two older women, apparent leaders in the community,<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz7X5fvasZUkAOG0ry7tWl2lKyKZAysBhFKfocr6FCmjG0_DHilny8jXk69r6RgfU3bK-UUZirZR4EFRi4pJ3cnS0kFZXwO88Ll0tHVX7pqS_KG93SY1_pzW1p-PfHqdSMrRSP53-nxZ54/s1600-h/jardinbotanica5.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223821145954080978" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz7X5fvasZUkAOG0ry7tWl2lKyKZAysBhFKfocr6FCmjG0_DHilny8jXk69r6RgfU3bK-UUZirZR4EFRi4pJ3cnS0kFZXwO88Ll0tHVX7pqS_KG93SY1_pzW1p-PfHqdSMrRSP53-nxZ54/s200/jardinbotanica5.jpg" border="0" /></a> and an older man, who was, we thought, a local politician. This dialogue seemed to be about bringing to the surface problems facing the community and establishing the intent to work together, with the help of God, to address them.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3bzPC4PFxfgkDz1fGKPsedgX1JschZLBzhParyZoBVbyuags7QpfPkaxJCLfekFXKfOj33_RBUSTyg3MtH2TBkpcyNJjGh8I6ALsEMCAJGR6APJFSH8mK90Sd7aAZ4zvFo12I9fn0p08F/s1600-h/jardinbotanica6.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223821476841272466" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3bzPC4PFxfgkDz1fGKPsedgX1JschZLBzhParyZoBVbyuags7QpfPkaxJCLfekFXKfOj33_RBUSTyg3MtH2TBkpcyNJjGh8I6ALsEMCAJGR6APJFSH8mK90Sd7aAZ4zvFo12I9fn0p08F/s200/jardinbotanica6.jpg" border="0" /></a></div>Katudi: Kat and Turohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02467449848052893120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937499917037095957.post-70835751482695316522008-07-16T11:26:00.000-07:002008-10-06T19:44:59.693-07:00Molcajetes & Nichos<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwqYioPQkrmhTcDS3iH_pSdln1hyphenhyphenc4QOYjLXS3mKdKr9S0LyQGLbMaKRzowLv-GOt0yXymF8pPtrlb7U89SbOkNiSAwsm7fOoczwdGC-FHs1SgITI55AmI5VsYVsM0_MR_qzUuDoQMoDsT/s1600-h/foodartsma11.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223685319300489874" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwqYioPQkrmhTcDS3iH_pSdln1hyphenhyphenc4QOYjLXS3mKdKr9S0LyQGLbMaKRzowLv-GOt0yXymF8pPtrlb7U89SbOkNiSAwsm7fOoczwdGC-FHs1SgITI55AmI5VsYVsM0_MR_qzUuDoQMoDsT/s200/foodartsma11.jpg" border="0" /></a>Mole! Nopales! Salsa de Tomatillos! Jamaica Tea & Margaritas. . .<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEittMROtJsLUtSrWYrh7DmxuEHnub2trRsTWdobX3S6ogOC6_Pt75GzKYpwRnSev_V_6BrsYa41ybF6n8K6fQI2DGSVX2aIYhMJ-8Wi9Jli2oOJVyHE2Dpj_O_mLTWjlaTGt17-5u47I0V8/s1600-h/foodartsma10.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223684162267368306" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEittMROtJsLUtSrWYrh7DmxuEHnub2trRsTWdobX3S6ogOC6_Pt75GzKYpwRnSev_V_6BrsYa41ybF6n8K6fQI2DGSVX2aIYhMJ-8Wi9Jli2oOJVyHE2Dpj_O_mLTWjlaTGt17-5u47I0V8/s200/foodartsma10.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />In San Miguel de Allende, I'm quick to sign up for a cooking lesson, offered by owner of La Cocina, who turns out to be from Houston. . . another member of San Miguel's very large ex-patriot population (estimated at as many as 20, 000 permanent residents) and assisted by a Mexican woman, who did most of the cooking while our host demonstrated the various<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9TtUkd2UxDeNpBQ038Aw14NqGOcJYOs6DtK58yYqxpFts1UL5zWXOdHZwLixzOXH2pKN4qOKYcXLI8a5_MyFt6EY5QJRjCXTGKrL5jqRH17Oop19PFShRjszgmhfngsuvv1jrK8FzDwsa/s1600-h/foodartsma9.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223683957351041186" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9TtUkd2UxDeNpBQ038Aw14NqGOcJYOs6DtK58yYqxpFts1UL5zWXOdHZwLixzOXH2pKN4qOKYcXLI8a5_MyFt6EY5QJRjCXTGKrL5jqRH17Oop19PFShRjszgmhfngsuvv1jrK8FzDwsa/s200/foodartsma9.jpg" border="0" /></a> dishes and tools and talked us through the preparation, including how to clean chilis and nopales and roast tomatilloes on the comal. She also gave an interesting talk on the history of chocolate, a subject on which she had done recent research. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYX9E4W816zZrLsn7wQ0SjathTBUzD6G2_k1uurc7PnVur7eeP1m8_K3VdG7ohySUHGMDIBl24hNSh_dlpnfTxNI0M7h6SMhwmLTKfwBKMR7TD0G9Fk4Gq0Gw9BA24bGaHbflG0S184qdP/s1600-h/foodartsma6.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223683548005688482" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYX9E4W816zZrLsn7wQ0SjathTBUzD6G2_k1uurc7PnVur7eeP1m8_K3VdG7ohySUHGMDIBl24hNSh_dlpnfTxNI0M7h6SMhwmLTKfwBKMR7TD0G9Fk4Gq0Gw9BA24bGaHbflG0S184qdP/s200/foodartsma6.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We were greeted with cold jamaica (hibiscus) tea and platters of colorful ingredients to make mole, nopales salad, and tomatillo salsa. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhORkctug2fGQ-46Zt__8IPsH-E47wzWXbECHpKidz533XZyeulU0easMEZRbRp4_aiw0-idef6knWKKEmGLs7HLEmDwj-dzhWJtjfm3ngchsmUijQ51rODiIYpbITgtqlQ9D-vbmdAejaI/s1600-h/foodartsma5.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223683365247642738" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; width: 157px; cursor: pointer; height: 104px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhORkctug2fGQ-46Zt__8IPsH-E47wzWXbECHpKidz533XZyeulU0easMEZRbRp4_aiw0-idef6knWKKEmGLs7HLEmDwj-dzhWJtjfm3ngchsmUijQ51rODiIYpbITgtqlQ9D-vbmdAejaI/s200/foodartsma5.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidbqendlJFzMSadGdF75jzNhLcka6iZrlGfbMWQj7m5Ag_xFxP4L5VcCByIXNzB5N5dXLuVOiD89YkIWf9bxL-1goZVcuoin38NlOrQp7DLZALuNiqSInuF4x9SRGkM_XABt2nVa_bFcLY/s1600-h/foodartsma7.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223683752665552450" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidbqendlJFzMSadGdF75jzNhLcka6iZrlGfbMWQj7m5Ag_xFxP4L5VcCByIXNzB5N5dXLuVOiD89YkIWf9bxL-1goZVcuoin38NlOrQp7DLZALuNiqSInuF4x9SRGkM_XABt2nVa_bFcLY/s200/foodartsma7.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />The chefs had prepared most of the ingredients ahead of time, although we did chop onions and nopales (cactus pads) and ground roasted tomatillos and chilis in the molcajete to make a delicious fresh, uncooked salsa verde.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRoqmIi2c3tgd4hGIC8Pq2z-4IAS3KmYc8fEO5tVWaGUdouEWC-AhC8bVUpmf8DSynrmAQsz2CS81NTEj2WndhVHqJFC_SDyPo4yyza9pEA9BTc3gu8Wmp61AJAbgvgR5bHy0jnxqFLqmX/s1600-h/foodartsma3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223689135140932850" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRoqmIi2c3tgd4hGIC8Pq2z-4IAS3KmYc8fEO5tVWaGUdouEWC-AhC8bVUpmf8DSynrmAQsz2CS81NTEj2WndhVHqJFC_SDyPo4yyza9pEA9BTc3gu8Wmp61AJAbgvgR5bHy0jnxqFLqmX/s200/foodartsma3.jpg" border="0" /></a>We returned a week later to the same neighborhood, Barrio San Antonio, to take a workshop on creating "nichos," collages built into tin boxes. This workshop is <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyJ2gyMaJnpN4Tn2YjKS6aW1z-Pb77R0l3F7B8Hp6dEJj3TDSEqha7wBLU6oaXuUvaidns2jTTZeZYU3tjVmobdbKlNv-QydGoQZ9Qe_BL7Lw1WBvkynxqteqEwItJmRi-OjZTYN5ml7Rf/s1600-h/foodartsma4.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223689440483939346" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyJ2gyMaJnpN4Tn2YjKS6aW1z-Pb77R0l3F7B8Hp6dEJj3TDSEqha7wBLU6oaXuUvaidns2jTTZeZYU3tjVmobdbKlNv-QydGoQZ9Qe_BL7Lw1WBvkynxqteqEwItJmRi-OjZTYN5ml7Rf/s200/foodartsma4.jpg" border="0" /></a>offered by artist Rebecca Peterson, originally from Santa Fe, New Mexico. Rebecca truly encouraged our creativity and exploration, offering a wealth of materials from which to choose, as well as clear information on what glues and paints work best for different surfaces and objects. Each of us created a very individual nicho; mine featured the Loteria card "la Garza" and a tiny cat, shells and an abundance of other objects.Katudi: Kat and Turohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02467449848052893120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937499917037095957.post-14600191386275684562008-07-16T10:26:00.000-07:002008-07-22T07:51:34.198-07:00Patria, Penitence, Peace<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQF-b8VtjgMAg7gKDBi1-bhWnzzxxoqePxhubmWWcygkBIuLtr8yhXBcIcHKafj6zGGCDa8pV5aC3l2EpyeQxDK2svCEM7sQeu2FulI-QuoIjVaBpbRbBkrDmcyBoV9zYW8M300Fyg3JXB/s1600-h/doloreshidalgo5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQF-b8VtjgMAg7gKDBi1-bhWnzzxxoqePxhubmWWcygkBIuLtr8yhXBcIcHKafj6zGGCDa8pV5aC3l2EpyeQxDK2svCEM7sQeu2FulI-QuoIjVaBpbRbBkrDmcyBoV9zYW8M300Fyg3JXB/s200/doloreshidalgo5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223666771050611362" border="0" /></a>On Friday, July 4, we attended a lecture, given by Peter Thompson, on the Mexican Revolution. Dr. Thompson presented important dates and persons of the Revolution, framing it as “Bonapartan” uprising and identifying its key features as land reform, the bourgeoisie and unions, U.S. intervention, oil, the Church, the army and massive corruption and fraud.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicD5DuujR_pEv4RsTZPnOORL5qxPf-c6dvRDx9kqfvvvPXnN5NPkJR7CJyFi0sn4OA9YUB35GzXsvmFzvXtJGXQKzHcc6l365mJtfA26KEnYx4G7btmZrMP13num-ze-FOKL1EtA8VvmMK/s1600-h/doloreshidalgo6.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicD5DuujR_pEv4RsTZPnOORL5qxPf-c6dvRDx9kqfvvvPXnN5NPkJR7CJyFi0sn4OA9YUB35GzXsvmFzvXtJGXQKzHcc6l365mJtfA26KEnYx4G7btmZrMP13num-ze-FOKL1EtA8VvmMK/s200/doloreshidalgo6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223666867964025026" border="0" /></a>Mexican literature and art have often taken the Revolution as subject, sub-text or setting. Key works of literature include Mariano Azuela’s classic novel of the Revolution told by a doctor who rode with Pancho Villa’s army, <span style="font-style: italic;">Los de Abajo</span> (The Underdogs); Juan Rulfo’s <span style="font-style: italic;">El Llano en Llamos</span> (Burning Plains and Other Stories), which presents intense vignettes and characters fighting the revolution; and Angeles Mastretta’s <span style="font-style: italic;">Arrancamé la Vida</span> (Tear My Heart Out) the story of a young woman married to a ruthless general twenty years her senior. Of these three, I especially enjoyed <span style="font-style: italic;">Arrancame la Vida</span>, as it offers not only a glimpse into the corruption and violence that sustains power, but also a woman’s struggle for her own independence at a key time in Mexican (and western world) history. It was also the only one of the three that I read in Spanish, which meant it required more work for me, but I found the story most engaging.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJW3GyU5wokxOFLbOjhf-3FFwHts6VM6aCiyT1eW5oP8oh2q8MS6jzg2pzquiHkZGmg2vGPs808NQGMlxDJoUVzBCHtJI5HQ0KJD-e54cFwfhyK8rr5o8V1TUEnhTSDNEYiczhj4JWp3Ax/s1600-h/doloreshidalgo1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJW3GyU5wokxOFLbOjhf-3FFwHts6VM6aCiyT1eW5oP8oh2q8MS6jzg2pzquiHkZGmg2vGPs808NQGMlxDJoUVzBCHtJI5HQ0KJD-e54cFwfhyK8rr5o8V1TUEnhTSDNEYiczhj4JWp3Ax/s200/doloreshidalgo1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223666327122118338" border="0" /></a>Both the Revolution and the War for Independence have deep history in north central Mexico, the region of Hidalgo, Guanajuato, Querétaro and San Miguel de Allende. We made a trip to Dolores Hidalgo, the city where the Mexican War for Independence began on September 16, 1810, then to Atotonilco to visit the church (Santuario) there, followed by a stop at one of the area’s hot springs.<br /><br />We began the excursion in Dolores Hidalgo outside the church across from the Plaza Principal, la Parroquia de Nuestra Señora de los Dolores, where Father Hidalgo gave the Grito de Dolores that initiated the war. We didn’t have an opportunity to enter the church, unfortunately, although I understand it has beautiful altars, although its most attractive feature is its exterior.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPAZLxBJclUw1yt7OlADlaqtYDEp94gsWNaetKvnNAaRtLHEHRt2o4X5vxUQzo4pVR2jMGr_BmAPCclCInqQFaie9NFYSRRpCkchQ0ut9lb8JikVEB5dXs4tRyZVw0QSMeaXma9t8tNS2L/s1600-h/doloreshidalgo2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPAZLxBJclUw1yt7OlADlaqtYDEp94gsWNaetKvnNAaRtLHEHRt2o4X5vxUQzo4pVR2jMGr_BmAPCclCInqQFaie9NFYSRRpCkchQ0ut9lb8JikVEB5dXs4tRyZVw0QSMeaXma9t8tNS2L/s200/doloreshidalgo2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223666423597760626" border="0" /></a><br />From there walked to one of several of the pottery fabrícas where the selection of talavera—a different style from the talavera of Puebla--was overwhelming. Here we watched the artisans, young women and men, paint the fired pottery: everything from sinks and large jardinières to mosaics of the Virgin of Guadalupe, dinner sets, wall ornaments in the shape of parrots, frogs and lizards and tiny dishes.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk54boVBfQ9IW04Pi9TDOApCnSFxxDwOs_71sDXcoCMRmsSwFv54IUf44h8T5SqB7MbbHN2wrQrZjmcVUoMWWZAuw1N3dRAH8xqbriTT_axpHPGZ0Fp_OSrVQFNoewsx3ipVVNjMXrPeVX/s1600-h/doloreshidalgo4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk54boVBfQ9IW04Pi9TDOApCnSFxxDwOs_71sDXcoCMRmsSwFv54IUf44h8T5SqB7MbbHN2wrQrZjmcVUoMWWZAuw1N3dRAH8xqbriTT_axpHPGZ0Fp_OSrVQFNoewsx3ipVVNjMXrPeVX/s200/doloreshidalgo4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223666672905004610" border="0" /></a><br />Father Hidalgo’s home, now a museum—Museo Casa de Hidalgo, was our last stop. The museum, built around a lovely courtyard, preserves Father Hidalgo’s furnishings, while other rooms display important documents and artifacts memorializing the War for Independence, including a replica of the flag of the revolution bearing the image of the Virgin of Guadalupe (the original is in Mexico City.) One large <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVfvkPW1aZVFMK-TsBFc9gcl28tB4KxbUe-i24CVJjDG8uTTZsyd7V0YUShZDu99_3ArMJQZpPzoArR_kGNmh-Vwtr0Ud6kzqP9RNncQ8OdbYBeQk42TIYvm1REawHZbNVN_E0AUldQ8vY/s1600-h/doloreshidalgo8.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 96px; height: 64px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVfvkPW1aZVFMK-TsBFc9gcl28tB4KxbUe-i24CVJjDG8uTTZsyd7V0YUShZDu99_3ArMJQZpPzoArR_kGNmh-Vwtr0Ud6kzqP9RNncQ8OdbYBeQk42TIYvm1REawHZbNVN_E0AUldQ8vY/s200/doloreshidalgo8.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223667159733756226" border="0" /></a>room is filled with funeral wreaths, memorials—even an urn with the bones of a hero. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Stopping for a wonderful ice cream – Besa del angel—we hurried to the bus for the short trip to Atotonilco. The Santuario de Atotonilco i<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgqLHe_-aXH43FD-QXaGtJb8qPibnjDgdzpkpOtAU0OxtHCTCl3nTFpD9CwNw3w6VYP7ro2uU8FInby4ytYJx2uDnEHpvuiBUK0oAVFAj3BDM4uzfpNMEjp4g29wWIi0ZHOKr_TIhCFE5u/s1600-h/doloreshidalgo10.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgqLHe_-aXH43FD-QXaGtJb8qPibnjDgdzpkpOtAU0OxtHCTCl3nTFpD9CwNw3w6VYP7ro2uU8FInby4ytYJx2uDnEHpvuiBUK0oAVFAj3BDM4uzfpNMEjp4g29wWIi0ZHOKr_TIhCFE5u/s200/doloreshidalgo10.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223667362453293586" border="0" /></a>s important in the history of the War for Independence—here Fr. Hidalgo and Ignacio Allende (who was married there) came to take the banner of the Virgin of Guadalupe to San Miguel de Allende. The church also remains an important site for pilgrims and penitents. It is especially associated with images of the suffering Christ, el Señor de la Columna—Jesus at the pillar, bloodied by whipping and the crown of thorns (whips and replicas of the crown of thorns are sold across from the church.) However, the Santuario<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0aulsdhbSFnjfNZgmqiQnzQFVjobagPeJ6nkG3LPqzUE8GfbpHeRZOymKTMSCG6gVpp-KRvipjsHVGX_YZ0iIM-ipRPdQk5aFp7xp6eCkiAeNgNdS_u298JL1b9xco-0h-fmSX1RZD0J6/s1600-h/doloreshidalgo7.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0aulsdhbSFnjfNZgmqiQnzQFVjobagPeJ6nkG3LPqzUE8GfbpHeRZOymKTMSCG6gVpp-KRvipjsHVGX_YZ0iIM-ipRPdQk5aFp7xp6eCkiAeNgNdS_u298JL1b9xco-0h-fmSX1RZD0J6/s200/doloreshidalgo7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223666975792549346" border="0" /></a> also features a beautiful Chapel of the Rosary with a shell of silver sheltering the Virgin of the Rosary. The historical and political significance of the church and its deep religious traditions—both folk and official—make this a particularly fascinating site.<br /><br />The church has undergone recent renovations, but ruins remain behind the<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2QFTmBMmy_T7dBBwSC_K3gODc6Fl6v36tckEiXFNQ8g5UP9dqzIrO8fBYBW7ZLwMEopv5h37aZDwSBK3pdl_UhwZTYngdrOyxKTs-wbCQ_-EBUtXcJmUad-imzOn3NV1BgdiD6qjLCyMt/s1600-h/doloreshidalgo11.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2QFTmBMmy_T7dBBwSC_K3gODc6Fl6v36tckEiXFNQ8g5UP9dqzIrO8fBYBW7ZLwMEopv5h37aZDwSBK3pdl_UhwZTYngdrOyxKTs-wbCQ_-EBUtXcJmUad-imzOn3NV1BgdiD6qjLCyMt/s200/doloreshidalgo11.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223667459014795890" border="0" /></a> church, which are , unfortunately littered with rubbish. When we were there, two painters with easels faced the church through the ruins, an interesting perspective on the religious and political landmark.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-pv9MS-jvFimrg6jy_Mmzu1oUfft8QT5NkhdjoQhNicJs7gcu85SQq3iBz3LT6Spzf2ITM0B5AvIxAepLimD7f_nAFi5vZouN8GZ5WSB2kBS1sElqu5OTr4-VlKSLjXF0A8GvpRyOQZSH/s1600-h/doloreshidalgo12.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 152px; height: 101px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-pv9MS-jvFimrg6jy_Mmzu1oUfft8QT5NkhdjoQhNicJs7gcu85SQq3iBz3LT6Spzf2ITM0B5AvIxAepLimD7f_nAFi5vZouN8GZ5WSB2kBS1sElqu5OTr4-VlKSLjXF0A8GvpRyOQZSH/s200/doloreshidalgo12.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223667549263592754" border="0" /></a>The trip ended with a visit to la Gruta, one of the balnearios—hot springs turned to resorts. I was expecting something like a Yucatán cenote, only with the heat turned up. The hot spring cave was quite different. Instead of a natural pool in a limestone cavern, la Gruta is a series of blue concrete, relatively shallow swimming pools, which grow warmer as you near the interior of the cave that presumably gives the site its name. A small but powerful man-made waterfall pours into the cave, whic<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAzzN6u7QUng5tGwxpTeX2hROJzew6U0SOzwhYASWe1EL8Nvp6TWZcDT2Ed53OT4T83eGZt1Wa66mLzqIAi-TAeywVIF987nMguujcqjSjbCUgsIP1w0RbCzP-I1UFTFsH6yGiJYgAyKON/s1600-h/doloreshidalgo13.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAzzN6u7QUng5tGwxpTeX2hROJzew6U0SOzwhYASWe1EL8Nvp6TWZcDT2Ed53OT4T83eGZt1Wa66mLzqIAi-TAeywVIF987nMguujcqjSjbCUgsIP1w0RbCzP-I1UFTFsH6yGiJYgAyKON/s200/doloreshidalgo13.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223667655304420290" border="0" /></a>h gives an invigorating massage. When the waterfall is off, the inner pool is tranquil and steamy. To be alone in that pool is a spiritual experience.<br /><br />The combination on this trip and the schedule—facilitated because all the sites we visited are close to San Miguel de Allende—made an interesting, educational and multi-dimensional day experience. The last out-of-town excursion organized by UNO for this month’s residency, this trip was perhaps not the most important (culturally, artistically or educationally), but certainly the best planned.Katudi: Kat and Turohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02467449848052893120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937499917037095957.post-45228116417891396692008-07-08T19:06:00.000-07:002008-07-08T19:28:58.580-07:00Climbing the Sun, Glimpsing the Moon<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220830699374928802" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMqAF9A7duh3jQBNopr6YgcdK3Pp6AHoBWp_ltINwMhK0UKL3wBv08V5vmkBMJ0wTV2QjyoCKD1mZT2yY6LrW0GvBw8s2KZtrG7ts-3eUJ7_x_SX1ffP1KJvzHzzj_4DVrry9EvUJsSFom/s200/Teotihuacan1.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>If our trip to Guanajuato was a glimpse, our visit to Mexico’s largest Aztec archaeological site was a glance. Four hours by bus from San Miguel de Allende, a day trip to Teotihuacan requires a very early start and late return. We did neither, although Brenda, Megan and I were at the bus shortly after 6 a.m., as we had been instructed. (We left about 7:45.) It was a pleasant enough drive, though, good for sleeping, reading or writing or just watching the often stunning landscape pass, with a mid-point break at San Pedro, at a tourist rest stop. And, I was glad for this opportunity—although if I had known ahead of time how little time we would have at the pyramids, I would have planned differently. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggKynExt6yUqAQ4l9onv6z8c6Tk6pLKf0jPuje3atwWeXfawAg89x6Yll1P5-_YiIFGDggJR2qwzso9HWznJTU0F4e4eAucH1waRxZd0KgsKbP4VJ_W5Ds5JD1zmp9BTZDuLnV9_YGTjYf/s1600-h/Teotihuacan2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220830823055235506" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" height="100" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggKynExt6yUqAQ4l9onv6z8c6Tk6pLKf0jPuje3atwWeXfawAg89x6Yll1P5-_YiIFGDggJR2qwzso9HWznJTU0F4e4eAucH1waRxZd0KgsKbP4VJ_W5Ds5JD1zmp9BTZDuLnV9_YGTjYf/s200/Teotihuacan2.jpg" width="160" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Our visit to Teotihuacan began with a walk through the "Citadel," a quadrangle formed by four low platforms, and then to the Temple of Quetzacoatl, the feathered serpent, as well as Tlaloc, the rain god, and the mythical crocodile. The crocodile <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh3TmI-LL9SRmdhHC4rAG9aDoHqlxqJOtcD2qG9IaTDctG2tL5gk5U0DBx-8kHHJEn0U-Rafn9CHkmijwUFzv-uuF6hsgaIn3Gt4sHtvoWR5JPYTzwyQyttqKQeM6ujpybPEMpBfpd7t3D/s1600-h/Teotihuacan3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220831002850946946" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="94" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh3TmI-LL9SRmdhHC4rAG9aDoHqlxqJOtcD2qG9IaTDctG2tL5gk5U0DBx-8kHHJEn0U-Rafn9CHkmijwUFzv-uuF6hsgaIn3Gt4sHtvoWR5JPYTzwyQyttqKQeM6ujpybPEMpBfpd7t3D/s200/Teotihuacan3.jpg" width="137" border="0" /></a>reminded me of Copan in Honduras, the first moment of recollection of the many Mesoamerican ruins I’ve visited before. Here, too, we would see the remnants of color, painted frescoes. And, we would hear about the bloody sacrifices of the Aztecs, the usual tourist spiel which tends to overshadow every other facet of Mesoamerican history.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJvUPUM0QVxrOTK5oLfkB58z4LktflwBBz6Z0PnujhL0fCkdFW-VwvwxyLzlTXVrQjEjYY6O1aUkel6Tau561iQLMeHIJFLWlObI7uwt3WXovmdu1lKbn4CVTvSrnvId8QpSDPxRFOf9lJ/s1600-h/Teotihuacan4.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220831191758612226" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="124" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJvUPUM0QVxrOTK5oLfkB58z4LktflwBBz6Z0PnujhL0fCkdFW-VwvwxyLzlTXVrQjEjYY6O1aUkel6Tau561iQLMeHIJFLWlObI7uwt3WXovmdu1lKbn4CVTvSrnvId8QpSDPxRFOf9lJ/s200/Teotihuacan4.jpg" width="194" border="0" /></a>We did visit the “Avenue of the Dead,” as it ran from the Citadel to the Pyramid of the Sun. The Pyramid of the Sun, we had the opportunity to climb. Although I have had to overcome a terrific fear of heights to ascend the Maya pyramids of the Yucatan and Guatemala, the Pyramid of the Sun proved not so daunting because of its stepped platform construction. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQskdhoCDUfT0zB-KQfGzRNMtDZ5nZqRpoe15Grae393o2pRzjOggs3c6PgCtuD4v9qWGMNeQvgaXvIoVCASD8RhUQl1wwWd1ipnjzxS7SORQfnlpzYZO9M-C6iSFM-FWawq9jNPJj9AN9/s1600-h/Teotihuacan5.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220831364891641378" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQskdhoCDUfT0zB-KQfGzRNMtDZ5nZqRpoe15Grae393o2pRzjOggs3c6PgCtuD4v9qWGMNeQvgaXvIoVCASD8RhUQl1wwWd1ipnjzxS7SORQfnlpzYZO9M-C6iSFM-FWawq9jNPJj9AN9/s200/Teotihuacan5.jpg" border="0" /></a>The challenge, to be sure, was sufficient stamina, but the series of stairs did not have the same sense of sheer drop that the Maya ones present. This time I was even able to enjoy being on top, on a wide platform, and on the wide ledges at different stages. The view is indeed magnificent. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEG4m0xMxBucv5Qs92-4zXh7pcxKiqS4_5KocWyOdKB1F5h6HRu5JA60AqGTLYz2-CYw9PCKM5M-trYomwowBbpALXgQ58wlMl6a1YZEYG5uoKL_DTsBVRYprLcTveGppIi03ytExqyHVK/s1600-h/Teotihuacan6.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220831642243321538" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEG4m0xMxBucv5Qs92-4zXh7pcxKiqS4_5KocWyOdKB1F5h6HRu5JA60AqGTLYz2-CYw9PCKM5M-trYomwowBbpALXgQ58wlMl6a1YZEYG5uoKL_DTsBVRYprLcTveGppIi03ytExqyHVK/s200/Teotihuacan6.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />After I descended, I walked along the base <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt0ZWjfOJKtVpZnekc_67753AI7ssb1ximDfZpiJ7LEl_57ZOo6e86i-O3T6qWn8EZ838LQWeF7ldcugKOg2RLVJvVnMNx2UTDC0sIwjU-umngtEsTEdB6r1-hslfmpt-m10IYpfHxDjFj/s1600-h/Teotihuacan7.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220831856098110258" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" height="101" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt0ZWjfOJKtVpZnekc_67753AI7ssb1ximDfZpiJ7LEl_57ZOo6e86i-O3T6qWn8EZ838LQWeF7ldcugKOg2RLVJvVnMNx2UTDC0sIwjU-umngtEsTEdB6r1-hslfmpt-m10IYpfHxDjFj/s200/Teotihuacan7.jpg" width="151" border="0" /></a>and admired the carved stones, somewhat reminiscent of Copan's and Monte Alban’s sculpted figures. </div><div></div><div>I was ready to make my way to the Pyramid of the Moon, when the guides began walking us in the opposite direction. Confused, I asked if we were going to visit the Pyramid of the Moon, and was told we didn’t have enough time, so we were going to the museum. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP_DeR54ysghLM4VCKfZWsEj7NpBBi2m85WQ3GfZTop6nFKgxwlIv5av5Cg9ubeKA5N-QxR7BL5oXmgRYXyer7-O6lev1hyU9lKpzuICiGVxhvC2Ul4wFaJcCHT0JlZlS9jKFLj12L6RbX/s1600-h/Teotihuacan8.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220832267868276498" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP_DeR54ysghLM4VCKfZWsEj7NpBBi2m85WQ3GfZTop6nFKgxwlIv5av5Cg9ubeKA5N-QxR7BL5oXmgRYXyer7-O6lev1hyU9lKpzuICiGVxhvC2Ul4wFaJcCHT0JlZlS9jKFLj12L6RbX/s200/Teotihuacan8.jpg" border="0" /></a>As we walked rain began to pour (Tlaloc was apparently unimpressed with our visit.) Even the vendors who had swarmed us as we walked along were gone. We huddled under the narrow awning of a building waiting to find out if we would be allowed in the museum, until someone finagled twenty minutes for us to spend in the six-room gallery.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHT0Ng9-9jsxji5Gazxe9jlWjRnwYYjKIuKanmhmdDu5ryzam_QMff0YCasjBYOOdtVAU2LWNHC1RmlpOgwsAVkq2sfd_pUzJvAK5MaigzkownCwdoaAxXTASgYJxUoFo9niACjyZQoHha/s1600-h/Teotihuacan9.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220832761530772866" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHT0Ng9-9jsxji5Gazxe9jlWjRnwYYjKIuKanmhmdDu5ryzam_QMff0YCasjBYOOdtVAU2LWNHC1RmlpOgwsAVkq2sfd_pUzJvAK5MaigzkownCwdoaAxXTASgYJxUoFo9niACjyZQoHha/s200/Teotihuacan9.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div> </div><div> The museum houses many fine artifacts and an excellent diorama reconstructing the site. The gift shop remained closed due to the rain.<br /><br />The rest of our time was spent in a restaurant, La Gruta, good food, interesting atmosphere, though cold enough some members of our party were wearing the tablecloths by the end of our stay there. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdiWBBXqInqGI2oU26d42-eYalqaP05plkXkKGZ_VLxJR7DequAo-HrOZLo9pA9IFupeWvQNfOqsHyVOHQXBc5qB1f6R3DdFRWCEErO6wivcpO5qqbx2iTw2TUUAgissaaPLyuWici-7SX/s1600-h/Teotihuacan11.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220833101073797522" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" height="75" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdiWBBXqInqGI2oU26d42-eYalqaP05plkXkKGZ_VLxJR7DequAo-HrOZLo9pA9IFupeWvQNfOqsHyVOHQXBc5qB1f6R3DdFRWCEErO6wivcpO5qqbx2iTw2TUUAgissaaPLyuWici-7SX/s200/Teotihuacan11.jpg" width="132" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu8cOaECwdbjPbGOvU_sQBYhMovO8xzpyDexndkvQYKh0Luvaa6wyU5b74WWF___xCZ_amVw8HR_JUymNIvnUid1WAWG-QqohOqjefUCgstFvKoKLyjCjdEr9rPNIIFEsezAVuwpyQQTj0/s1600-h/Teotihuacan10.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220832937223671938" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu8cOaECwdbjPbGOvU_sQBYhMovO8xzpyDexndkvQYKh0Luvaa6wyU5b74WWF___xCZ_amVw8HR_JUymNIvnUid1WAWG-QqohOqjefUCgstFvKoKLyjCjdEr9rPNIIFEsezAVuwpyQQTj0/s200/Teotihuacan10.jpg" border="0" /></a>For years I’ve wanted to see Teotihuacan, but not had the opportunity because I’ve only passed through sprawling Mexico City to other parts of the country. I am glad to have at least glimpsed it, though sorely disappointed in the time allotted for the visit—and surprised that this tour, like the one to Guanajuato, is a component, and the only pre-Columbian component, of what is purportedly a study of Mexican literature and culture. However! Next time I will make my own arrangements and arrange to spend a reasonable amount of time, without a guide, having done my own research and with a good guidebook. </div>Katudi: Kat and Turohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02467449848052893120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937499917037095957.post-7087623563082756882008-07-05T18:41:00.000-07:002008-07-27T13:13:19.996-07:00Grain and Silver: A Day in Guanajuato<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6YhqDwS_N5qvjImSThgCUTn_C78mUwMChSJ6i9csypXEr1StrMACbf5UIcWTD3u443IVsQc_yA5ABGCuvAki_Hll4vMYEDh_Sl-LG8c0GaCPSI9Xfd5MsDEyy44cbMP3WoBluLi4-_sqI/s1600-h/Guajajuato2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219714211513267218" style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6YhqDwS_N5qvjImSThgCUTn_C78mUwMChSJ6i9csypXEr1StrMACbf5UIcWTD3u443IVsQc_yA5ABGCuvAki_Hll4vMYEDh_Sl-LG8c0GaCPSI9Xfd5MsDEyy44cbMP3WoBluLi4-_sqI/s200/Guajajuato2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><br />On Saturday, June 28, we made a trip to nearby Guanajuato, a city I have passed through before. In fact, I have two photographs from there on my office wall: one of Guanajuato’s colorful buildings <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMT9zT3hDfuNY9F3VUGb4RCJ94AVumkwHmryA9msJIkrSWa9iUuoWC3HS89HOirrq2khWVxTLSquSLHJOH_0zoqdmEIDPkrmdQ_sE__k8s6YIGE1MWhFFXwjy7nedLf5QilSOXE3OgBMu0/s1600-h/Guajajuato1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219712655172186770" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMT9zT3hDfuNY9F3VUGb4RCJ94AVumkwHmryA9msJIkrSWa9iUuoWC3HS89HOirrq2khWVxTLSquSLHJOH_0zoqdmEIDPkrmdQ_sE__k8s6YIGE1MWhFFXwjy7nedLf5QilSOXE3OgBMu0/s200/Guajajuato1.jpg" border="0" /></a>spread across mountains and valleys, which render the view like a cubist painting, and one of the giant statue of Juan Jose de los Reyes Martinez, el Pipila, a hero of the Mexican War for Independence from Spain. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8-OtGyIELU4vHjoaDweF9cGV4vKNII_2jy31VuBnNkDtl9jEAfIShkQ4DiunRlVeHTBxjngg2rZhL_pCXOzgmd3qUyNLJU-qNYSPMOZgAhTJTY48639Uv7UQ2UHVk95dri7p9QWEBWPvA/s1600-h/Guajajuato3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219711164418018802" style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right; width: 94px; height: 100px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8-OtGyIELU4vHjoaDweF9cGV4vKNII_2jy31VuBnNkDtl9jEAfIShkQ4DiunRlVeHTBxjngg2rZhL_pCXOzgmd3qUyNLJU-qNYSPMOZgAhTJTY48639Uv7UQ2UHVk95dri7p9QWEBWPvA/s200/Guajajuato3.jpg" border="0" height="81" width="160" /></a>Our tour began at the monument and its panoramic view of the city. From there we walked down to the town center, across from the impressive Teatro Juarez building.<br /><br />Our tour guide took us into the main church, whose ox-blood dome stands out from above. Like so many colonial churches, Templo de San Diego is lavishly beautiful, in the Mexican baroque style. The church doors are studded with <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJGkMmPkul9W6smtX779mlLAOMyWkH1muVNKNHxonNh4P00MBI02B7uuvEq4mJDzCvXHR_cCpeK7LixGkP4__Ds2cTNKU6W4e5DyP8x4OFRpD1VRew7o3JFNvJlhZZ3xEBGJn_gE4akrX_/s1600-h/Guajajuato4.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219711680072102242" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJGkMmPkul9W6smtX779mlLAOMyWkH1muVNKNHxonNh4P00MBI02B7uuvEq4mJDzCvXHR_cCpeK7LixGkP4__Ds2cTNKU6W4e5DyP8x4OFRpD1VRew7o3JFNvJlhZZ3xEBGJn_gE4akrX_/s200/Guajajuato4.jpg" border="0" height="118" width="188" /></a>grotesques, which apparently serve an atropaic function. As we went to leave, we paused for a bell ringer—a young man who used his whole body to pull the rope attached high in the tower.<br /><br />Our next stop was a governmental building under restoration, the<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR2b5bjryvUt51AvCKt1jwku_w9qJ_EyY3Rk2QOYJo58euj3NPDX3fTJWDMMJb1Hj3GjQFK_-N98_6DFlB9U9C8eU9b3pEH4xtvFeWwzcMvhyn1hCHOkaX3LOqfPcSNrRrJdHNsOzNrlEv/s1600-h/Guajajuato5.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219711980104343234" style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR2b5bjryvUt51AvCKt1jwku_w9qJ_EyY3Rk2QOYJo58euj3NPDX3fTJWDMMJb1Hj3GjQFK_-N98_6DFlB9U9C8eU9b3pEH4xtvFeWwzcMvhyn1hCHOkaX3LOqfPcSNrRrJdHNsOzNrlEv/s200/Guajajuato5.jpg" border="0" height="159" width="116" /></a> state congress building. After admiring the bureaucracy, we paused on Callejon de Besos, the Kissing Alley where a young man recited the tragic story of two young lovers who kissed across nigh-touching balconies above the narrow passage.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1i1YYYqu8NuCxdlJWKv0xAvcr-8ckHPsUAuDkjBrf6zUFT-kra2rfLMzRHFeZf2oE83SCWNiywKTUyIVzuzOpBX4aIuA1ovjXKdCTEjeoV57YsXBwNOMdKJGevc3Ub1sjotuFPJZ3tmnD/s1600-h/Guajajuato8.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219712833431970578" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1i1YYYqu8NuCxdlJWKv0xAvcr-8ckHPsUAuDkjBrf6zUFT-kra2rfLMzRHFeZf2oE83SCWNiywKTUyIVzuzOpBX4aIuA1ovjXKdCTEjeoV57YsXBwNOMdKJGevc3Ub1sjotuFPJZ3tmnD/s200/Guajajuato8.jpg" border="0" height="111" width="179" /></a>At the Hidalgo Market we had twenty minutes to shop before we would continue on to glance across at Alhóndiga de Granarias, the granary, so famous for its role in the war for independence. We stood across from the building, now a history and art museum, as our guide told in five minutes or less the story of a major battle in Mexico’s War for Independence. Here it was that on September 28, 1810, an Indian miner Juan Jose de los Reyes, el Pipila, set the massive gates to the granary ablaze trapping the Spaniards and loyalists inside. The Spaniards would take revenge by executing four of the leaders of the Revolution—including Miguel Hildalgo and Ignacio Allende—and hanging their decapitated heads outside the Alhóndiga for ten years, 1811-1821, as a grisly reminder (Foster 112).<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8J-kYXCK7P-r_7yhy3M01ltBWxdMGGur1x9qkgHbv8ouI1awyVpqL3qO4JwV3bplYAvCmrrjk2HwVuRwGhSO3S-dNYufLyvC5_DhgcQCeMQezNls4l1HpHQCErPulAZRTKjQBfj619HRn/s1600-h/Guajajuato7.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219712388968437986" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8J-kYXCK7P-r_7yhy3M01ltBWxdMGGur1x9qkgHbv8ouI1awyVpqL3qO4JwV3bplYAvCmrrjk2HwVuRwGhSO3S-dNYufLyvC5_DhgcQCeMQezNls4l1HpHQCErPulAZRTKjQBfj619HRn/s200/Guajajuato7.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Today, with a world food crisis, the relationship of that crisis with corn, grain staple of the Americas, and oil, Mexico’s chief export the role of the Granary in Mexico’s War for Independence seems to suggest other symbolic meanings.<br /><br />The last stop of the tour was the house, now a museum, where Diego Rivera was born. In addition to restored furnishings from Rivera’s childhood, the museum houses interesting, if minor works by the Mexican artist well known for his murals and his marriage to the painter Frida Kahlo. Among<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0sOiMwxVuuWpgxWfVrEfZVUguq0HFFh1vPgOVrsxlirR-f5G1QC31-w6qJiLkoTG4aXfvVo92iKQMhEmS-LtpBVUqcqB7-en-Wj6HFEuRkD_1fEFdgcJ57BATsi5otOziUBFY8g5M0d4M/s1600-h/Guajajuato9.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219713022742261186" style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0sOiMwxVuuWpgxWfVrEfZVUguq0HFFh1vPgOVrsxlirR-f5G1QC31-w6qJiLkoTG4aXfvVo92iKQMhEmS-LtpBVUqcqB7-en-Wj6HFEuRkD_1fEFdgcJ57BATsi5otOziUBFY8g5M0d4M/s200/Guajajuato9.jpg" border="0" height="109" width="147" /></a> the paintings on display are portraits, including a nude of Frida, studies of European paintings, and paintings illustrating the Maya <span style="font-style: italic;">Popul Vu</span>. The illustrations of the <span style="font-style: italic;">Popul Vu</span> were most interesting to me because they seemed studies of a pre-Columbian culture that is not a part of Rivera’s native region, but, of course, of his national culture. Juxtaposed with the paintings in European style, the Maya illustrations speak to the complex roots of Rivera’s style and subjects. Our time there was short, though, and a trip to the gift shop was so hurried, I found myself with $20 in postcards (which would not be the most foolish expense of the day.)<br /><br />What we didn’t see on the arranged tour in Guanajuato was what I had hoped we would visit, the mummies for which Guanajuato is famous. The “mummies” are one hundred plus naturally preserved bodies, which were exhumed in the late nineteenth century to make more room in the cemetery. Everywhere in Mexico are signs of dia de los muertos—skulls and skeletons dressed in various costumes and posed in various activities, reminders that this is a culture who depict the dead with a certain irony and a certain pleasure, which collapses the boundaries between this life and what follows. As a writer, the mummies especially interested me, and I would have thought they would interest other writers.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjirvWhdPrZvgav1hVJu0U8zwe6WN06mvo5L0rvyHxBofX0OhNB7R5QXuo0Co8d3i-8g6OTC3qGiD1TPsmhBYb0a7HvCKV2deT1IM0wYFbw3z9E-Yw_rdaS50v2r_oE6_VhYp9WiVePlEgK/s1600-h/Guajajuato12.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219713827118991314" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjirvWhdPrZvgav1hVJu0U8zwe6WN06mvo5L0rvyHxBofX0OhNB7R5QXuo0Co8d3i-8g6OTC3qGiD1TPsmhBYb0a7HvCKV2deT1IM0wYFbw3z9E-Yw_rdaS50v2r_oE6_VhYp9WiVePlEgK/s200/Guajajuato12.jpg" border="0" /></a>Yet, even after I and others expressed the interest, we were discouraged from visiting the mummies. A guide told us that we didn’t want to see that—too macabre—but that we could go, if we wished, on our own by taxi and meet the group later for lunch. Of course, that would mean we would miss the Rivera museum, along with what I would have been quite happy to miss (i.e., a trip to a market where there were no more goods than in the one in San Miguel) or even the cursory nod at the Granary building, which we did not enter. It really didn’t seem an option. I believe that it wasn’t so much our interest (which had not been polled before the trip) or the macabre nature of the site, as the tour’s prearranged agenda, which included a long lunch, that prevented us from visiting the mummies or spending sufficient time at either the Granary or the Rivera home.<br /><br />To add to the disappointment, the bulk of our afternoon was taken up with an expensive lunch, which we could have opted out of—although it would have been awkward and inconvenient, since we had to get back on the buses to go to the restaurant, some distance from the center and near the Valencia silver mine. While the food was good, it wasn’t so remarkable—e.g., characteristic of the region--as to write about, and we were never given a menu at the restaurant, so we had no idea how much we were spending when we ordered. It was, in my estimation, a poor value in both money and precious time. Of course, I am reminded that tourism is Mexico’s third largest source of foreign revenue, but I would have preferred to have spent those pesos in Mexico differently. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi5OGoRfk0RGJppUSUrDTtBZFhnFvZi5NDXuIizAEZNA-5_2eDdDjyr5CVTPZRcR3UJeBptzHljhJ6HYHnBqOL0Q357sqewJ2Egg7oyKtoAMJrVStgk3jauHhZLKhTBpjGTcx3zPfo9ba-/s1600-h/Guajajuato11.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219713516921546754" style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right; width: 193px; height: 125px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi5OGoRfk0RGJppUSUrDTtBZFhnFvZi5NDXuIizAEZNA-5_2eDdDjyr5CVTPZRcR3UJeBptzHljhJ6HYHnBqOL0Q357sqewJ2Egg7oyKtoAMJrVStgk3jauHhZLKhTBpjGTcx3zPfo9ba-/s200/Guajajuato11.jpg" border="0" height="109" width="200" /></a><br /><br />After the lunch check was paid, we could go visit the Valencia silver mine, go shopping again, or visit another colonial church, el Templo la Valencia, a beautiful church in the Churriguresque style, dedicated to San Cayetano. I made the fortunate choice of visiting the silver mine—particularly fortunate because it required little time so I was also able to visit the Templo, too, briefly.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmf9qG6xoLi9anRK9m0zE3PWBKHDtJSuaZ-y64czmJaWgVbw4BXKs8Xbl_MX9uJYxErxFkrJhYXL9weqXemDahBphj-aoCP3VRnJMsGorUdicgRvv4XQeCZvMCUi8gzXrwSXAF1Z33eWdP/s1600-h/Guajajuato10.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219713205924635794" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmf9qG6xoLi9anRK9m0zE3PWBKHDtJSuaZ-y64czmJaWgVbw4BXKs8Xbl_MX9uJYxErxFkrJhYXL9weqXemDahBphj-aoCP3VRnJMsGorUdicgRvv4XQeCZvMCUi8gzXrwSXAF1Z33eWdP/s200/Guajajuato10.jpg" border="0" /></a>Guanajuato is one of Mexico’s silver mining towns and so particularly desirable to the Spanish and later to others (60% of the mines are now owned by Canadians, we learned.) In A Brief History of Mexico, Foster explains, “Zacatecas became the third-largest city in New Spain early in the 17th century; only the capital and Puebla were larger. It would be joined by other silver cities, Guanajuato, Taxco and San Louis de Potosi among them, changing what had been considered by the Aztecs to be barbarian deserts into wealthy enclaves.” We visited one shaft set up with old drills and figures to replicate the workers, but the experience of being in the shaft, descending into the dank, close corridor—while aware we were only going a limited way, with a guide--was more telling than either the guide’s exposition or viewing mannequins bent over the drills. At the end of the shaft is an ofrenda to the patron saint of miners.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNJTaxqGw9mlSjSpJh29Clt84BiaZ10afJQgIHgQc0Rtc4PjFV6Wn0n_UVEgHEj5fWLRU4Gry7o7LsPMot2uc7m0UKISvgm_R-Mu-HvOD85_itLKMhU7k_sTIlL3BNWBrPVsV-HLZaXb3z/s1600-h/Guajajuato6.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219712198976671762" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNJTaxqGw9mlSjSpJh29Clt84BiaZ10afJQgIHgQc0Rtc4PjFV6Wn0n_UVEgHEj5fWLRU4Gry7o7LsPMot2uc7m0UKISvgm_R-Mu-HvOD85_itLKMhU7k_sTIlL3BNWBrPVsV-HLZaXb3z/s200/Guajajuato6.jpg" border="0" /></a>This day-trip tour might be satisfying for someone who wants a very quick walk through of the city, especially for shopping. For me, though, there was much wasted time in a limited time frame, and I felt like a tourist, rather than someone who has traveled extensively in Mexico. The tour didn’t give me a chance to connect with anything – not the monuments of the war for independence or even the Rivera museum, the two prominent stops on the tour. And, I never saw the mummies. But, I did get to glance at the city, the museum and the churches, and to notice a few things—a scroll of iron against the sky, a blue-tiled second story, the pock marks of bullets on the Granary walls. . . . and to know I need to return.</div></div></div></div></div></div>Katudi: Kat and Turohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02467449848052893120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-937499917037095957.post-52987652155388706482008-06-29T10:10:00.000-07:002008-06-29T15:29:08.783-07:00Cohetes<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6xGXZH6KUEwGdwTNjis_udLxuW7DsSPKxgSnxFc0IrMrEcntxtVIWZrUlXTU85i8Zv8CFs1MX_kBhxf09cNks2m5tKgovBo9vSJgnidAg_8LceskD28pGW8UFiaYtPfJAM9JHqrRcuhG/s1600-h/SMA1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217354679450355442" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6xGXZH6KUEwGdwTNjis_udLxuW7DsSPKxgSnxFc0IrMrEcntxtVIWZrUlXTU85i8Zv8CFs1MX_kBhxf09cNks2m5tKgovBo9vSJgnidAg_8LceskD28pGW8UFiaYtPfJAM9JHqrRcuhG/s200/SMA1.jpg" border="0" /></a> <em>Cohetes</em>, fireworks, marked our arrival in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. Our conversation with our landlord for the month was punctuated with loud bangs, which caused us to jump again and again. After an hour or two, we found ourselves saying, “that’s better; I’m getting used to it,” when we only twitched. We soon learned fireworks were commonplace, noise makers customary to local fiestas, and local fiestas happen with frequency. “Every neighborhood has a church and every church has a feast day,” one taxi driver explained, as he drove slowly behind three burros laden with vegetables on the cobblestone street to our house one of those first nights.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY2l-lKWuuvQkSbtluvoNMBfOi1YHbr7_ZfE7wC2z5QDyLadjrPne-OvRBCxU42D0DCH2jbuUTe96SgoijZBKl006EG8VohslRRbEVmX3sDBjt5A27IOlZU5sBssyc8HSYrW89VL7VO26i/s1600-h/SMA5.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217356259678606546" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY2l-lKWuuvQkSbtluvoNMBfOi1YHbr7_ZfE7wC2z5QDyLadjrPne-OvRBCxU42D0DCH2jbuUTe96SgoijZBKl006EG8VohslRRbEVmX3sDBjt5A27IOlZU5sBssyc8HSYrW89VL7VO26i/s200/SMA5.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />He said the street—Cuesta de Loreto--was one of the oldest trade routes in San Miguel de Allende,<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSH9A0un572SytUyyYfBmStyTZx1TQxzh20-OYBqFsW3eq3bLSWb9OIV7ODa88N3CEAmPhdhdCVN3u0m24PBPsHlZR2Ww38XA2yunqtBeflXsz_zteQea5CVLegA62YozxlkT6v2n0aFd0/s1600-h/SMA1+(1).jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217354919445472546" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSH9A0un572SytUyyYfBmStyTZx1TQxzh20-OYBqFsW3eq3bLSWb9OIV7ODa88N3CEAmPhdhdCVN3u0m24PBPsHlZR2Ww38XA2yunqtBeflXsz_zteQea5CVLegA62YozxlkT6v2n0aFd0/s200/SMA1+(1).jpg" border="0" /></a> a city of traders from pre-Columbian times. Gold and silver from the region’s mines flowed through the town, along with other goods. In San Miguel de Allende’s extensive, winding market today we find a range of goods from across Mexico: wool rugs from Oaxaca, silver and gold from nearby Guanajuato and other mining towns, talavera pottery from Puebla, as well as many crafts from San Miguel’s own artisans and flowers, vegetables and fruit.<br /><br />The market is not far from the <em>jardin</em>, the local name for San Miguel’s main plaza, which faces <em>la Parrochia</em>, a spiraling 17th c. rose pink church, its Gothic style unusual in Mexico. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFTCSpfq7JaiQ0d6C4IdkvydUAGwWp93TgGdP1lW0ZZYE1ZcSh1-Iq0WeDmBuDK4GqmeJgMeuJzjlMkCqzXfRVoNmbmiuxyZc-nXQ_6cT53Ive4Ewt_OsvBy6dmm3GL3h7jPpGr_89MQQ9/s1600-h/SMA6.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217356497596324210" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFTCSpfq7JaiQ0d6C4IdkvydUAGwWp93TgGdP1lW0ZZYE1ZcSh1-Iq0WeDmBuDK4GqmeJgMeuJzjlMkCqzXfRVoNmbmiuxyZc-nXQ_6cT53Ive4Ewt_OsvBy6dmm3GL3h7jPpGr_89MQQ9/s200/SMA6.jpg" border="0" /></a>The first evening we were in San Miguel, we ate at a restaurant bordering the jardin, where we could see the brightly lit church and take in the sounds and smells of a Sunday night in the center of town. A Mexican band played in the gazebo; people talked and laughed in Spanish and English, and cars rumbled slowly across the cobblestones.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfuwYiUHqEiY5gi6zGys4PmugOHG22JYnjo-lwLVqW-bYR3x6cn_WknLFMnsfejEYThn6wPh5HDn3ueMOrPQVhrf2ZX8UsgtfTInt1jJy3ZY3qwVDaB7E40_l44uoDVHfM_CS7OfI-PmG/s1600-h/SMA2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217355419896669250" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfuwYiUHqEiY5gi6zGys4PmugOHG22JYnjo-lwLVqW-bYR3x6cn_WknLFMnsfejEYThn6wPh5HDn3ueMOrPQVhrf2ZX8UsgtfTInt1jJy3ZY3qwVDaB7E40_l44uoDVHfM_CS7OfI-PmG/s200/SMA2.jpg" border="0" /></a>We—my friend Brenda and her daughter Megan and I—had walked down to the center that first night in San Miguel, but we took a taxi back up, which would become our habit. It wasn’t just that it was dark at night and the streets relatively deserted, but also that our house in el barrio “Las Palmitas” is uphill, a serious climb we had quickly discovered. We were enchanted by the house, though, a two-floor loft in Mexican style, with big glass doors and windows overlooking an extraordinary garden with cacti the size of trees and a gentle gray cat, Guadalupe. We learned we and our landlord, from south Texas, have mutual friends and acquaintances, and we loved the way he had decorated the house, with folk art and natural materials. It was an excellent place to get away, to write and read and study—our purpose for the month in San Miguel. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiNadeTALnLm_-IXq6pXvhh9DY7PWBivpPj8BwZbVR9DOnYFgosf9YgNUYKAlw9X4k_ddS7kDCW4S18sj8pvzEr47sMCRzLBtIFHGJqzoUK9NO4vVYnFevKENUucDJ92apOg8tKX4LCmNp/s1600-h/SMA2.jpg"></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihT-DzqKXMLZeYN6RdVW9JVchvPgq-yXbO5igKCpHuQFNbRyHwCFtc0l-7ZGhpaqxxVXJwZV3vM1ZRYfzFnk-URUx0t6fK1cZkrSbOoKfFY_USmTtBpy2mOfMFyffeidpFpZZDCS_UqgBm/s1600-h/SMA7.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217356831944155714" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="166" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihT-DzqKXMLZeYN6RdVW9JVchvPgq-yXbO5igKCpHuQFNbRyHwCFtc0l-7ZGhpaqxxVXJwZV3vM1ZRYfzFnk-URUx0t6fK1cZkrSbOoKfFY_USmTtBpy2mOfMFyffeidpFpZZDCS_UqgBm/s200/SMA7.jpg" width="95" border="0" /></a>On Tuesday, we took a walking tour to acquaint us with the city more formally. The tour began <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWCcZTufWYlsEdRnnlSgxCTDiSG-EM5dmJXQ3yNBmL7pkmZ5iIjOuU1Ifm9fZ8Ec-5nbc8IOkMfNHCpdmGI1eKJQHeh8HT8lZyKrCyFPtzi6isV9NTM2V0SYZ6-NN3PLRbj9Qw2_zqG0t4/s1600-h/SMA2+(1).jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217355690220071282" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWCcZTufWYlsEdRnnlSgxCTDiSG-EM5dmJXQ3yNBmL7pkmZ5iIjOuU1Ifm9fZ8Ec-5nbc8IOkMfNHCpdmGI1eKJQHeh8HT8lZyKrCyFPtzi6isV9NTM2V0SYZ6-NN3PLRbj9Qw2_zqG0t4/s200/SMA2+(1).jpg" border="0" /></a>with a walk across to the cathedral and then to the "El Nigromante" Bellas Artes, where in a cavernous room we were surrounded by an unfinished mural by David Alfaro <a href="http://www.artcyclopedia.com/artists/siqueiros_david_alfaro.html">Siqueiros</a>, one of Mexico’s great muralists. In a room of the public library, we viewed another amazing mural; this one by David Leonardo depicts the mythical and cultural history of Mexico.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvIpqcz8NONx1CRdT0zNaxO_QP_F3hQfbs3l5JrSez3iEeCn0wfedbOZ0g_XDo70MV9Ul_oQlC4e6kTbrN4n1iinQ-kRF-0CuRAm4V1NKuWOvUVrNfzbqFi_oyCx8ILT5ef1C39aMUuGAJ/s1600-h/SMA8.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217357040627469730" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvIpqcz8NONx1CRdT0zNaxO_QP_F3hQfbs3l5JrSez3iEeCn0wfedbOZ0g_XDo70MV9Ul_oQlC4e6kTbrN4n1iinQ-kRF-0CuRAm4V1NKuWOvUVrNfzbqFi_oyCx8ILT5ef1C39aMUuGAJ/s200/SMA8.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I have been to San Miguel before, a few years ago, with Turo. Then it was November, and he was showing me a city he had visited several times before to play in jazz festivals. We had stayed down closer to the center, between the jardin and Benito Juarez Park, where we walked winding paths and enjoyed the tropical plants and flowers. In late autumn, it was pleasantly cool though sunny during the day, but cold enough at night that we used the fireplace in our hotel room. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1SoQv70wb5kyILFzGihZLDZ8roWnE3IhDmx6Vim0WXvboMDtR15uKwy49ARUl_Sz8kq7zeBKPLnANcPBeZsIoFtgmjTm6qhwcbyjrd5DpiTLfI2IwidjFuJzXlJMd0GD2AQWD5D49FF35/s1600-h/SMA4.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217356037875379362" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1SoQv70wb5kyILFzGihZLDZ8roWnE3IhDmx6Vim0WXvboMDtR15uKwy49ARUl_Sz8kq7zeBKPLnANcPBeZsIoFtgmjTm6qhwcbyjrd5DpiTLfI2IwidjFuJzXlJMd0GD2AQWD5D49FF35/s200/SMA4.jpg" border="0" /></a>Now I am here in summer and the nights are cool, though the days are warm and sunny. It’s rainy season, they say, and in the late afternoons, the rains often come. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij5PVDJUxKcJS0UVtP3IUv5JbDE4r5M3sbl8D35A6qagYb_PgxNKqPRz2XW0382oMD0WrFeDjOJCWwdxPsGAMcv6kSddVmBtri6befVdZYfNfLHVPb0g8U-BaUuIiJIlk7GZ30XnFbex3U/s1600-h/SMA9.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217357373813002674" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij5PVDJUxKcJS0UVtP3IUv5JbDE4r5M3sbl8D35A6qagYb_PgxNKqPRz2XW0382oMD0WrFeDjOJCWwdxPsGAMcv6kSddVmBtri6befVdZYfNfLHVPb0g8U-BaUuIiJIlk7GZ30XnFbex3U/s200/SMA9.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />One of those first days we were caught in the rain at the public library—a library with an incredible Mexican mural, thanks to the rich history and culture of the local people, and collection of English books, thanks to the large gringo population. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2YgGoJdBy07RHYh3Qsj_4bbbiaxQlV8Gem8qxWE3H2eS-A0GYzvce6tFmGxcivEXOcRyEWvSNfVq-uaLs_O9sPXYj7bkZpsU8aFmLD2Qlu9ZAYKf_W-t8wltsRud8jQPGlIxdW9znDavG/s1600-h/SMA10.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217357553090541186" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2YgGoJdBy07RHYh3Qsj_4bbbiaxQlV8Gem8qxWE3H2eS-A0GYzvce6tFmGxcivEXOcRyEWvSNfVq-uaLs_O9sPXYj7bkZpsU8aFmLD2Qlu9ZAYKf_W-t8wltsRud8jQPGlIxdW9znDavG/s200/SMA10.jpg" border="0" /></a>We watched the rain shower the courtyard and spew from the rain pipes from the roof. When the storm ended, we ventured back into the street, eventually finding our way back up the hills to our summer home.Katudi: Kat and Turohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02467449848052893120noreply@blogger.com0