Monday, January 25, 2010
Four Faces of San Miguel
Saturday night, after a farewell party for the family Karen teaches for, we headed up the hill to an art opening. It was at the Kunst Haus Gallery, a cavernous, ultra-contemporary (i.e. cold) concrete and glass building situated in the middle of an unassuming Mexican working class neighborhood. It was teeming with people, but starting to thin out when we arrived as the free food and wine had long since been consumed. The crowd was a Who's Who of the San Miguel artiste and hipster communities -- a mix of Mexicans, both from here and Mexico City, and Gringos; mostly young; extravagantly tattooed; and to a large extent, dressed in retro, thrift shop hippie wear. The owner, a German dude, circulated among the artistic acolytes in chic urban black. The snatches of conversation I overheard revolved around new projects and planned openings in New York, Mexico City and LA.
The next morning, we awoke at six to walk the first 5 miles of a planned 9-day pilgrimage hundreds of devout Catholics engage in each January. The pilgrimage apparently celebrates the miraculous healing of a young virgin by a straw doll several centuries ago. (Or something like that.) We, and our Gringo compatriots, were participating as part of a fund-raising effort to help victims of domestic violence. Anyway, we met in the town square before dawn, fortified ourselves with coffee and beignets at our favorite New Orleans-style bar, and joined the procession of backpack-wearing, icon toting families of all ages; marching bands; indigenous dance troupes; and chanting abuelas with bullhorns. As we proceeded out of town, the streets were lined with well-wishers, offering free cups of atole (a hot corn-based beverage), bolillos (hard rolls), bottled water and tamales. It felt like a surreal reinterpretation of the peace marches we attended in the 60's. Along the way, we were passed by a fleet of large trucks toting the pilgrims' gear to their first overnight stop, most likely a church somewhere out in the countryside. As we walked back toward town, the pilgrims we passed typically gave us a "what the hell are you two doing out here on this cow path?" look, followed by a shy (if they were really poor) or cheery (if they were more middle class) "buenos dias!"
Later that afternoon, after a hot shower and an al fresco lunch with friends out in the country, we headed to a small, candle-lit Episcopal church, where, amid a standing room only crowd of mostly older folks, and seated inches from the harpsichord player, we were pretty much mesmerized by a 13-piece chamber group performing Vivaldi's Four Seasons.
We then ended up the weekend by walking over to our friend Roger's intimate little wings 'n beer place to watch the second half of the NFL Championship game, where we let our expat hair down, yelling expletives at the refs and throwing peanut shells on the floor.
What's San Miguel de Allende really like? And how to manage to keep busy? Y'all can draw your own conclusions.
The next morning, we awoke at six to walk the first 5 miles of a planned 9-day pilgrimage hundreds of devout Catholics engage in each January. The pilgrimage apparently celebrates the miraculous healing of a young virgin by a straw doll several centuries ago. (Or something like that.) We, and our Gringo compatriots, were participating as part of a fund-raising effort to help victims of domestic violence. Anyway, we met in the town square before dawn, fortified ourselves with coffee and beignets at our favorite New Orleans-style bar, and joined the procession of backpack-wearing, icon toting families of all ages; marching bands; indigenous dance troupes; and chanting abuelas with bullhorns. As we proceeded out of town, the streets were lined with well-wishers, offering free cups of atole (a hot corn-based beverage), bolillos (hard rolls), bottled water and tamales. It felt like a surreal reinterpretation of the peace marches we attended in the 60's. Along the way, we were passed by a fleet of large trucks toting the pilgrims' gear to their first overnight stop, most likely a church somewhere out in the countryside. As we walked back toward town, the pilgrims we passed typically gave us a "what the hell are you two doing out here on this cow path?" look, followed by a shy (if they were really poor) or cheery (if they were more middle class) "buenos dias!"
Later that afternoon, after a hot shower and an al fresco lunch with friends out in the country, we headed to a small, candle-lit Episcopal church, where, amid a standing room only crowd of mostly older folks, and seated inches from the harpsichord player, we were pretty much mesmerized by a 13-piece chamber group performing Vivaldi's Four Seasons.
We then ended up the weekend by walking over to our friend Roger's intimate little wings 'n beer place to watch the second half of the NFL Championship game, where we let our expat hair down, yelling expletives at the refs and throwing peanut shells on the floor.
What's San Miguel de Allende really like? And how to manage to keep busy? Y'all can draw your own conclusions.
# posted by goots @ 12:06 PM 
