The Goot Blog

San Miguel de Allende is a Spanish colonial city, originally built in the 16^th century. It’s known and loved for its salmon-colored, Gaudi-inspired cathedral The Parroquia, its narrow cobblestone streets, its brightly colored stucco walls and ornate doors. Aside from the bus and truck traffic, the town positively exudes charm.

Lately, however, we’ve seen a slow, inexorable march toward the 21^st century. As increasing numbers of younger, more affluent visitors from Mexico City, Guadalajara and Monterrey come here for weekend entertainment, the number of minimalist boutique hotels, chic urban lounges and top-flight, chef-driven restaurants have begun to emerge.

This past weekend, we were invited to the grand re-opening of the Z-Club. Located in an obscure industrial back alley just beyond the local glass factory, we were greeted by a beefy phalanx of T-shirt clad bouncers and car jockeys. Once inside, our bodies throbbed to the laid-back, but insistent techno beat. As members of the long-of-tooth tribe, we were among the first ones there, we were able to wander around and get a people-free view of the space. It was a marvel. A long, thin room with elegantly set round tables down the center and a glitzy bar at the rear. Down each side were a series of 10’ x 10’ alcoves, separated by billowing white fabric, containing plush sofas and large coffee tables. The walls were covered with blow-ups of grainy, surreal, black & white photos depicting nude or semi-nude women wearing bizarre masks in rococo settings. The one in our booth featured a somewhat disturbing image of a baby with a snakelike, 2-foot-long penis floating above the reclining masked woman. (I don’t know the artist, but we’re unlikely to have any of his/her work in our home.) To top it all off, a troupe of Cirque de Soleil-esque performers soon emerged and began acrobatically swinging from large rings, trapezes and fabric sheets hanging from the ceiling. As the room filled and the music cranked, they circled the room inviting guests to join them on the now light show infused dance floor. As refugees from Greenville, South Carolina, we were pretty much mesmerized. We sucked down free Bellinis, gobbled up the little baby burgers being passed around on silver trays, and gawked. And then we danced. And then, benumbed by the increasingly loud music and intimidated by the increasingly younger demographic, we bailed around ten. One final memory: In the cab ride home, the radio was playing a Spanish language version of Achy-Breaky Heart. Go figure.

# posted by goots @ 1:21 PM