First Two Weeks in San Miguel de Allende

First Two Weeks in San Miguel de Allende

We have already been in San Miguel for two weeks, and it is hard to find the time to write about life here when we are busy living it! Days pass by very fast with school or work in the morning and all kinds of activities in the afternoon.

When Enrique opened the metal door of Laureles 11, we entered a piece of paradise in the shape of a lush Mexican garden. It is a paved courtyard with dozens of flower pots, a palm tree, bamboo hiding the tall walls, two fountains and a summer kitchen at the back. The house felt like home as soon as we crossed the treshold. If we had Gary (the owner)'s artistic inclinations and taste, we would decorate it in the same fashion, I'd like to think. I fell for the terracota tiles that remind me so much of Provence, the rich warm colours and the art everywhere.

Enrique, who manages the property, had been described in airbnb as a discreet, efficient, patient guardian angel. And that is who he is. He drove us to Mega, the big supermarket to do our first shopping. However, he was adamant that we shouldn't pay San Miguel prices to stock up on basics, and brought us to Celaya, 50 km away to shop at Costco. Not exactly a typical Mexican experience, but we came back with a trunk-load of groceries and supplies. It is during that shopping expedition that we found our bikes. As the golf course is a ten-minute bike ride away, Pierre felt that we should brave the traffic and pedal away to Las Ventanas. 

Traffic is actually very tame because of the humongous speed bumps that slow the cars at regular intervals. San Miguel is one of the rare cities in Mexico where there are no traffic lights. Drivers and motorcyclists take turns at crossroads, always giving priority to pedestrians. It would be a challenge to drive those streets paved with round cobblestones. They are so steep and narrow! We heard the cries of agony of a BMW in the residential area where a driver tried to negotiate, unskillfully, a speed bump that belonged to a roller-coaster. We cycled through town once and came home aching and shaking from the effort...
Walking has its challenges too. If the streets were not built with cars in mind, neither were they designed for pedestrians. Sidewalks are narrow and full of obstacles: posts, stairs, ditches. Up and down we go, whether we are in picturesque downtown or in our working-class neighbourhood. 

Pierre's bike is actually too small. Isn't mine fit for Barbie?

The house is located in Santa Julia, a 30 minute walk away from the centre and in a totally different world. This is where Mexicans live, their houses right on the sidewalk with small windows and brick walls from which reinforcing steel emerges. On our small street dogs bark at 6:00 am when Maria, our neighbour, leaves to clean at a clinic, 40 minutes away. There are still vacant lots on Ignacio Allende Street where plastic bags and cans collect. However, because the city doesn't clean the streets, people do. At 8:00 am when I head to school, I wish "buenos dias" to many people sweeping and washing the sidewalks.

Calle Ignacio Allende

We experienced quite a culture shock on our first day at school. We arrived on time, but not the secretary. It was Monday and it was cold, as she explained to us by way of an apology. She started on the many forms required for our registration and eventually sent us off for an evaluation. That didn't take long! When we came back to the office, the line-up had grown all the way to the street. Eventually we were able to bypass the line to watch Carmen spend, literally,  10 minutes working her calculator to give us the fee both in pesos and US$. Students grew impatient. It was cold indeed, 6 degrees and no heaters, everyone shivering from the dampness exuding from the 17th century walls. We were shepherded into a small auditorium where two small electric heaters were brought, and around which gathered several students dressed for the tropics rather than this semi-arid climate. Paulina Hawkins, the director, finally welcomed us and got into an hour-long lecture on the Mexican mind, the design of gardens dating back to the Arab conquest, and the importance of the journey rather than the destination. Indeed! At long last we found our classrooms. The level 2 classroom had not been used for six months and rain water had collected on some chairs. Of course, it was not heated. A young student groaned, slumped in a dry chair and quit after an hour. The remaining eight students, sturdy older bunch, got rid of the wet chairs and installed them in a semi-circle. Our teacher brought a gas heater and opened the window and door, afraid that we would die asphyxiated!

Academia Hispanico-Americana

San Miguel is an amazing city with a vibrant cultural life. There are many things to do every night. Classical concerts, salsa dancing, the latest independent or foreign movies, lectures from Life in the Days of Catherine the Great to Buddhism practices in Sri Lanka, not to mention the many gallery openings. There are over 100 NGOs that organize hot meals for school children, work with women experiencing domestic violence, create educational and cultural programs, and so many more.The heart of the city is the Jardin, a small park facing the main church where people congregate at night. There is always something to watch: a religious parade, kids break-dancing or animals being blessed by the priests. At night babies are wrapped in blankets and participate in their parents' social life. Little kids attend jazz concerts at restaurants, way past Canadian bedtime. 

El Jardin

One Month Later

Today, January 21,  the city is celebrating the anniversary of its great man – Ignacio Allende who, with a group of rebels, started the rebellion against Spain at the beginning of the 19th century. For the occasion all the children in uniform march behind their school band while a few beauty queens, perched on car roofs wave at onlookers. The noise is great. What brass bands lack in harmony, they compensate with decibels. But a tremor rattles the windows. Tanks, trucks with machine guns at the ready, all sorts of men in uniforms pass by. Suddenly it is quiet. Small straw huts glide around a corner. Wait a minute, they walk and guns are poking through the straw. They are the special forces !

The French in me wonders about the benefit of teaching kids to march like soldiers. The Canadian wonders about the beauty queens not wearing seat belts while balancing on car tops. The next day our Mexican teachers question the role of tanks in the drug war. Nevertheless, what a show !

Before Pierre came to San Miguel he had the golfing all organized. The only thing we hadn’t realized was that we were to play with a caddy. So, here we are, on our first game at Ventanas, assigned to Vicente. We are walking. Pierre is carrying his bag and Vicente looks like a sherpa, carrying mine along with a towel and a rake. As I’m strolling around empty-handed, I take the rake and towel from Vicente’s hands. The guys have a fit. What am I doing ? Vicente is going to be the laughing-stock of the caddy community with the señorita doing his job ! Eventually on the second game we find a balance. Now Vicente drives the cart con gusto and we walk. Granted, he does rake after us when our balls land in bunkers, but he doesn’t have to carry my bag anymore.

Everyone should know that Pierre is the Senior San Miguel Open champion for 2014, an honour that he shares with an American colleague. According to Vicente he has to come back next year to defend his title. And I suspect that Pierre has penciled in the date. Next is the San Miguel Ryder Cup where Americans play against Mexicans. Both captains have already asked Pierre to play on their team. And he would have played with the Mexicans, had he not to go back to Canada a week before the tournament. Another case of life interfering with golf.

In this semi-arid climate, the nopal is king. It is a cactus that can grow as tall as a tree. It bears tiny red fruit that is edible along with its ‘leaves’. They are sold at the market by the indigenous ladies who remove their thorns. Beware of a close encounter with a nopal! I still bear a constellation of red marks eight weeks after brushing against one while looking for a stray golf ball. Those leaves, however, when quickly stir-fryed are delicious, bringing a sour note to the tamer vegetables. If cooked too long however, they make a viscous mess that is far from appetizing.

At the end of January I had to face the hard fact that my bronchitis was not going away. I phoned Dr. Silvia Azcarate’s office, asking in my level 2 Spanish for an appointment, expecting to lose some lung tissue before getting one. Not at all, a sweet voice answered me in perfect English. I could see Dr. Silvia at noon the next day. The voice materialized in a very pregnant young woman, daughter of Dr. Silvia. Both of them welcomed me so warmly that I almost forgot the purpose of my visit. Dr. Silvia peppered me with a hundred questions while doing a thorough exam. She apologized for giving me antibiotics, but I required some. I went home with an amazing cocktail of vitamins and such. When is the last time I felt I wasn’t an annoying diversion in my GP’s professional life? Which doctor has ever asked me to give her feedback three days after a visit ?

When we moved in, Catrina had been banned to the shed because the previous renter was frightened by her presence. She didn’t like to wander around the house at night under Catrina’s stare. Her smile gave her the shivers according to Enrique. Well, we agreed that Catrina should come home when Enrique pleaded her case. We stay in bed at night anyway. Enrique gave her a good dusting and, beer in hand, started telling us about his encounters with ghosts. When he related the time he had been assaulted by an eleven year old ghost wearing an emerald green dress, I had to interrupt him. Did it happen in this house? Because up to now I had thought that the rattling at night came from the wind, but maybe… Not to worry, the angry girl had tried to choke him to death in another house. Did he talk to a doctor afterwards, I asked. Why, was his answer. He talked to people familiar with the netherworld. One drew the conclusion that he should use his gift, but the other felt he was soft in the head. So, Enrique shrugged, what am I: a gifted fool? However, since living at Laureles 11, nobody has visited him. A relief for all!