ROOMS FOR RENT COL. SAN ANTONIO San Miguel de Allende Mexico Announcements & News
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In central Mexico, San Miguel de Allende is virtually the only place where you will find English spoken so massively that you will not have to learn how to say two words in this beautiful language. If the rest of central Mexico looks interesting then you are going to have to get bilingual and learn to speak Spanish. What happened in San Miguel is beginning to happen where my wife and I have lived since 2003. Gentrification is happening at such a high rate of speed that I see Guanajuato turning into an other San Miguel in less than five years. The locals are beginning to sense the handwriting on the wall and are scrambling to hire Mexicans that are bilingual to accommodate the Americans and other English only speakers who are moving into Guanajuato. This is how it began in San Miguel de Allende. When the word got out that it was cheap to live in beautiful San Miguel de Allende, the Americans swarmed in like locusts. They ran up the prices of everything you can imagine. And soon, the locals became bilingual. They had to in order to offer their services to the Gringo population that now numbers in the tens of thousands. That’s why you can go to San Miguel and live perfectly well (that is if you are Bill Gates rich) and never have a problem with the language. That’s happening now in Guanajuato. There are real estate agencies that are scrambling to hire bilinguals. There is also a fellow, with a website, who will, for a price, negotiate anything and everything for you since he is bilingual. If you do not speak a word of Spanish (a tragedy) and want to move to Guanajuato (an even bigger tragedy) then this guy is your man and he will take care of all of your Spanish needs. I list him for you as a matter of courtesy. I do not know him. All I know is that he offers this service: Want to Buy a House in Guanajuato City? Don’t have any ideas how to approach and deal directly with Mexican People? Afraid of being "abused" because you are not familiar with Mexican and Guanajuato Business Culture, Laws, Locations, Neighborhoods, and Language? Don't worry!, we have the solution for you by offering: REAL ESTATE CONSULTANCY (We are NOT a Real Estate Agency, We work FOR You) Our Services Include: · Arrangement of appointments, directly with Owners. · Visits to the properties. · Simultaneous Interview Translation (English to Spanish and Spanish to English). You can ask about anything that concerns you. · Assessment on area or neighborhood growth potential, accessibility, communications and services. · Assistance in value assessment. · Price Negotiation assistance and advice. · Information concerning repair and remodel. · Advise on Security and Safety issues in relation to locations. · Services for coordinating purchase and the legal process. Price: Free initial interview (10 to 15 minutes). $15 US Dollars per hour, a partial hour counts as an hour, cut off on a daily basis. $15 US Dollars per week to local phone calling to coordinate appointments and search properties. Taxi fees when necessary. (From $3 to $6 US Dollars one way trip). Payments must be made on Fridays. We accept U.S. Dollars, Euros and Travelers Checks, no personal checks nor credit cards. Special rates apply for written translation and other services, please ask. Contact: Hugo Rodriguez. / Phone: 73 22383 (Within Guanajuato City) 011 52 473 73 22383 (From The U.S. & Canada) (+) 52 473 73 22383 (From Other Countries) English, French and Spanish Spoken. We accept U.S. Dollars, Euros and Travelers Checks, no personal Checks nor Credit Cards. I imagine more and more of these services coming up in the weeks and months ahead. I was told recently that the list of gringos waiting for properties is longer than the available supply. It is sad. What will happen is the same identical thing that happened to San Miguel de Allende. The culture will be transformed by most rich monolingual Gringos who cannot, because they want not, to learn Spanish. The wife and I are looking for a place where Gringos would fear to tread as a new home. It ought to be very interesting. by Douglas Bower Article Source: EzineArticles.com |
| Another interesting perspective from Mexonline
Located 60 kilometers north of Queretaro, the colonial gem of San Miguel de Allende, population 80,000, is situated on a hillside facing the Laja River and the distant Guanajuato Mountains. Declared a national monument in 1926, San Miguel is a picturesque city of arched colonial mansions, flower-filled patios, and winding, terraced cobblestone streets. It is particularly beautiful in March, when flowering jacaranda trees are in bloom. Roof top views and gardens of this colonial city It is Mexico's most celebrated artists' community, and has been luring artistically-inclined Mexicans and foreigners (about 3,500 Americans and Canadians) for decades. Instituto Allende, founded in 1951, is an intellectual center and arts academy of renown. There are also many other institutes focusing on arts, literature, and language. Despite this Anglo invasion, San Miguel is very Mexican village. The city boasts a thriving cultural and entertainment scene. Many events (plays, lectures, art classes) are in English. The renowned San Miguel Music Festival (featuring Mexican and international artists) happens each December. A city with six patron saints and dozens of churches, San Miguel hosts a full calendar of religious festivals throughout the year. The town's biggest bash is San Miguel Arcángel, a celebration honoring the town's chief patron saint. The event includes a running of bulls through city streets, traditional dancers, and lots of merriment. It is held each September 29th. El Jardin, the city's main plaza (zocalo) is a great starting spot. You can't miss the city's landmark, La Parroquia, the pink, gothic church on the main plaza. La Parroquia on the main plaza is as recognizable an icon for San Miguel as the Eiffel Tower is for Paris. It is one of a few features that distinguish San Miguel from the state's other colonial city attraction, Guanajuato. For shopping, the city boasts some of Mexico's best craft shops and fine art boutiques. Variety of merchandise is exceptional, as is the workmanship. Its dining scene is top notch. Nouvelle Mexican cuisine, plus a diverse assortment of international dining options have given San Miguel a reputation for having the best "small town" dining in Mexico. Most of San Miguel's sightseeing highlights are clustered around the compact downtown area. This is a wonderful city for aimless wandering along its narrow cobbled lanes. One of the best city views is from the town's Mirador, located on a hill to the southeast of the city center. At the foot of the hill is El Chorro, which spouts a natural spring where the city's women come to do laundry. Further along is Parque Juárez, a shady green belt with ponds, fountains, and benches. If you are looking for an authentic Mexican town with international flair, centuries old history, and a relaxing almost peaceful feeling, San Miguel de Allende is the vacation (or retirement spot) for you. |
| There are a thousand and one descriptions of San Miguel de Allende written over the past decades. Here's one writer's short take:
San Miguel's reputation as an arts center was established by the founding of the Allende Institute. One of its American founders, Stirling Dickson, came to Mexico as a tourist in the 1930s and fell in love with the city. A painter and engraver, he helped inaugurate the institute in 1950 and was its director until 1987. The lovely building housing the school once was owned by the wealthy Canal familiy. Fountains, arcades and courtyards gardens grace the grounds of the campus, which has extensive classroom space, two are galleries, a theter and a library. Students from throughout the Americas take advantage of the art and language classes offered, and the institute also functions as a campus abroad for several American and Canadian art schools. The Centro Cultural Bellas Artes, is also known as the Centro Cultural el Nigromante (its official name) and the Centro Cultural Ignacio Ramirez. It is a branch of the wellknown Instituto de Bellas Artes in Mexico City. The impressive building, which dates from the mid-18th century, was once the Convento de la Concepcion and features an immense, tree-shaded courtyard. It offers music, dance and visual arts classes; a bulletin board lists lectures and concerts given both here and elsewhere in the city. Several murals are also exhibited, including one by David Alfaro Siqueirs. San Miquel is known for the variety and quality of its regionally produced handycrafts. Metalwork -- masks, trays, lanterns, picture frames and decorative objects made of tin, copper, brass, bronze and wrought iron -- and the design of local silversmiths are particularly worth seeking out. Also available are pottery, weaving, sculpture, straw items, hand-loomed cambaya cloth (a material frequently used to make skirts), and folk and traditional art. The colonial furniture is some of the finest produced in Mexico. Open-air Mercado Ignacio Ramirez, the city market, fills the plaza in front of the Oratorio de San Felipe Neri, and spreads onto the surrounding streets. Livestock and fresh preduce share space with inexpensive everyday items and souvenirs at the cheaper end of the price scale. The Mercado de Artesanias consists of vendor stalls in an alley. Pricier boutiques are scatted throughout the downtown area. Art galleries are concentrated around the main plaza, and exhibit openings are big social events. Two that showcase both regional and national talents are Galeria San Miguel and Galeria Atena. |
I’ve written quite a bit about The Ugly American Syndrome. In my columns, print and online magazines, and in every book I’ve written, I’ve mentioned this topic. I get a lot of mail from readers, either praising and agreeing with me or chiding and condemning me. As of today, I think I will begin cutting Americans some slack, especially American expats in Mexico, regarding The Ugly American Syndrome. My visit to the bank today convinced me that maybe I’ve been too harsh and need to lighten up a bit. I think my readers (the chiders and condemners) in San Miguel de Allende might breathe a collective sigh of relief over this announcement. What happened is something that should not have surprised or shocked me. I guess I simply have reached the end of my expat rope—at least today. When I get my quarterly royalty checks from my book publishers, I take them to my Mexican bank and deposit them. Because they are drawn on a foreign account in the States, there is understandably a hold on these checks. I get that and it doesn’t bother me one bit. But here is what I’ve been told ever since I began depositing royalty checks into this account: “There will be a two-week hold on this check.” At the end of two weeks, the wife and I go off to the ATM to check the balance and the funds are not there. We go back to the bank. The bank officer tells us: “Oh, there is always a three-week hold on foreign checks.” We wait another week, go to the ATM, and the funds aren’t there. So, we go again to the bank. “Oh, there is a 22-day hold on all foreign checks.” The next day, we go to the ATM and the funds are not there. We go into the bank: “There must be some mistake. There is always a 25-day hold on all foreign checks.” We wait three more days and go to the ATM to check things out. There are no funds. We drag ourselves into the bank with the wife trying to talk me out of murdering someone. “Oh my, my! There is always a 30-day hold on all foreign checks.” In Mexico, as I have written before, nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, is as it seems. Nothing will work with any degree of logic or reason known to the rest of the world. Here two weeks can mean pretty much any amount of time. In Guanajuato, Mexico, two weeks means many things. It can mean three weeks, twenty-two days, twenty-five days, or thirty days. And let me tell you, each bank employee will tell you something different each time you make a deposit. They will look you straight in the eye and tell you whatever comes to their minds, whether it is the truth or not. What I do not get is just why no bank employee knows how anything works! This brings me to a conversation with an American expat who has lived in Mexico much longer than I have. She said once that what Mexico needs is a Business Manager. These people need a Business Manager in everything that has to do with anything to show them how things work. This is because in all aspects of life, at least in Guanajuato, no one who does anything that has to do with something knows just how it is suppose to work. Trying to do banking in Guanajuato is not the only thing that doesn’t work. I would love to tell you that this is so but I would be lying. Once we tried going to the movies. The theater manager was at a party and was having too good of a time to show up with the keys to the box office to sell tickets. She sent word that someone was welcome to come and get the keys and sell tickets, otherwise we would all have to wait. Can you begin to imagine what would have happened in America when this movie theater manager finally showed up? She or he would have been lynched by the crowd. Here is the really bad thing. This sort of “Qué Será, Será, whatever will be, will be…” service is vastly tolerated all over this country. The Mexican nationals, at least from my observation, seem to tolerate a level of service from providers that Americans and Europeans would not tolerate for a second! Only those who have spent time internationally seem to be perturbed by those of their fellow countrymen who settle for or offer this, “The future’s not ours to see, Qué Será, Será…” service. Well, the next time I see some American tourist or expat acting out The Ugly American Syndrome, I am going to march up to them, pat them on the back, and tell them, “I feel your pain, Bubba!” by Douglas Bower Article Source: EzineArticles.com |
Las PosadasZacatlán de las Manzanas, MexicoLate that first afternoon I joined the Posadas at Hospital San José where children, warmly dressed in well-worn jackets and jeans, had gathered in the chapel. They looked as if they could be the children of the shepherds that were present at the first Christmas.The tourist office, under the archways in the main plaza, was open when I arrived in the small colonial town of Zacatlán de las Manzanas, two hours east of Mexico City. The plaza, anchored by the 16th century ex Convento de San Franciso, was aglow in silvery fog that foreshadowed the magical time I was to spend. I had been told that Zacatlán celebrated traditional Mexican Christmas Posadas, the symbolic journey of the Holy Family from Nazareth to Bethlehem seeking shelter, and I wanted to join in this nine-day festival. The plaza, anchored by the 16th century ex Convento
de San Franciso, was aglow in silvery fog that foreshadowed the magical time
I was to spend.
The Posada (literally inn) tradition began in Mexico in 1587 when an Augustine order requested permission of Pope Sixto V to authorize a Novena, a nine-day Christmas celebration. The Augustinians, who used theater, drama and song in the process of conversion, not only wished to tell the story leading to Christ's birth, but wanted to supercede the Aztecs' twenty-day annual December festival dedicated to Huitzilopochtli, their war god. Bethlehem StarsToday Posadas are often reduced to a single evening but historically it is a Novena celebrated daily from December 16th to the 24th, which of course is then followed by Christmas on the 25th. I came to Zacatlán to experience the Posadas as a Novena, the religious ritual in a provincial setting. Mary Carmen Olvera Trejo, Director of Tourism, was seated behind her desk, wearing a soft, bluish-white, downy sweater, working at her laptop computer, when I entered. She instantly looked up, greeted me, invited me to sit down, and asked, "How can we help you?" I said, "Where should I go for Posadas?" She penciled an outline with directions where I could visit Posadas during the week, in the schools, the churches and also suggested Hospital San José. And in a gesture of good will, knowing that I was alone, she invited me to the Olvera Family Reunion-Posada on Christmas Eve. Zacatlán is a compact colonial town with a huge clock in the central plaza. Red tiled adobe buildings, windows framed with iron grills, and cobblestone streets give the visitor a feeling of history and tradition. I could walk to the Posadas that Mary Carmen suggested. Hospital San JoséLate that first afternoon I joined the Posadas at Hospital San José where children, warmly dressed in well-worn jackets and jeans, had gathered in the chapel. They looked as if they could be the children of the shepherds that were present at the first Christmas. Passing out treats. San Jose HospitalIn the hospital chapel, I sat in the front pew next to a little girl whose rosy cheeks glowed through her dark skin. She sat quietly while her mottled brown-blue eyes carefully examined my camera. The church was a cream colored white with purple drapes. The director, a petit nurse-nun dressed in white and wearing wire glasses, introduced me as a guest. She used the opportunity to remind the children to be on their best behavior so as to leave the visitor with a good opinion. The service began. Children sang the rosary. The chapel was in the center of the hospital with a corridor encircling the chapel. We stood. Four children in the back of the church lifted a plank with an angel, Mary and Joseph on their shoulders. It was decorated with a green pine tree branch and Christmas ornaments. The procession came up the center aisle, turned right and then began a journey around the outer corridor of the inner chapel. The choir and students followed Joseph and Mary and made periodic stops, as did the Biblical Holy Family when looking for a place to rest in Bethlehem. The children continued singing the rosary: Hail Mary's and the Our Father. At each stop, the Holy Family asked for shelter and
was denied. Finally, after a full circuit, in the hospital, the Holy Family found
rest, and the nun dressed in white passed out gifts: oranges, sugar cane, jicama,
peanuts and other treats.
At each stop, the Holy Family asked for shelter and was denied. Finally, after a full circuit, in the hospital, the Holy Family found rest, and the nun dressed in white passed out gifts: oranges, sugar cane, jicama, peanuts and other treats. Young children marveled at their good fortune. I was surprised to see such pleasure from what I would have deemed modest. Church of St. FrancisThe next day at the Church of St. Francis, the largest in town, I encountered a different expression of the Posada. After we entered the church, the doors were closed. The rosary was not sung but a number of journeys were made around the inside of the church, with young men carrying statues of the Holy Family. We stopped at the various niches as if seeking an inn. Mary in blueWhen the procession rested, a verse of the traditional Posada Song was sung. The Posada Song consists of two alternating choruses. First, the Holy Family requests shelter, then there is a response, "This is no inn. Continue on your way. I will not open. You could be thieves." Back and forth, there is a request and a denial. Then it is revealed, the chorus sings, "The queen of heaven is asking for shelter. It is Joseph and Mary, his beloved spouse, who stand at your doors and seek lodging in your house." The climax follows, "Let the doors be thrown open, let the drapes be drawn, for the Queen of Heaven has come to rest." School: Juana de Arca, AtexnaBut it was on the road to El Refugio, a holistic cabin and campground enclave, where I found the most memorable procession. Here was simplicity, faith and tradition among grammar school children reenacting the Holy Family's journey and their quest for shelter. Here was simplicity, faith and tradition among grammar
school children reenacting the Holy Family's journey and their quest for shelter.
As I turned off the highway onto the rutted dirt road at Atexna, children had just left a solitary church and had just started their trek up the road to their primary school. I quickly parked and asked the teacher, Guillermina Juarez Martinez, if I might join the pilgrims. She was happy to welcome me. Joseph dressed in green and gold, Mary wore blue, and Jesus' godmother looked angelic in white. Angels, shepherds, wise men, parents and teachers followed the Holy Family. Solemnly they hiked up the hill reenacting the journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem. I ran ahead and took pictures of the pilgrimage treading on the damp earth road framed with maguey cactus. The procession arrived at the school. A number of students entered, but the Holy Family, angels and shepherds, stayed outside. I was inside with my camera. The Posada Song was sung with the alternating choruses. The door was opened, the Holy Family entered, and students gathered in front of the manger. Joseph in green and gold stood on the right, and Mary with her light blue cape stood on the left, while the godmother, seated in the center, rocked Baby Jesus. Mixing of traditions, Santa and angelGuillermina Juarez Martinez kneeled and kissed the Baby Jesus. Everyone, pupils and teachers followed her example. Then small gifts were distributed and hot punch was served. I enjoyed the pageantry, the processions, the rituals, and the songs. But what I had not realized was that I was yet to experience the love and the essence of the Christmas message. Olvera Family Reunion-PosadaMary Carmen had invited me to the Olvera Family Reunion-Posada. The party was at 7 p. m. Christmas Eve. I said, "Seven or after seven?" I didn't want to be the first to arrive, especially at a family gathering of over 80 relatives. Mary Carmen said, "A partir de las siete." (Any time after 7.) I meant to arrive about 7:30 but I got lost. In the dark I couldn't find the turnoff to the family homestead, and I knew I was within yards. But in the dark, along the road, the Grand Marquis' headlights made every shrub bristle as if it were the sign of an entryway. Luckily, there was a nearby restaurant getting ready for a Christmas Eve Party and the owner was cordial and told me precisely where to turn. I arrived at 8 just in time to join the outdoor chorus singing the Posada Song asking for shelter. When the doors opened I entered into a grand multi-generational family reunion and celebration. Here I found more than the Christmas Posada, the Holy Family pilgrim tradition and a religious service. Señor Olvera, Mary Carmen's father, 83, and family patriarch, dressed in a suit and tie and wearing a short overcoat and a brown beret, spoke to his family. He embraced his wife Julita, dressed in a red coat, and gave thanksgivings for their blessings, and family prayers for those present and absent. Testimonials were spoken for the family's happiness. One by one adult children hugged their parents. There was a gift exchange, a grand feast (with 8 daughters, food was abundant), toasts (even Viva California!), and dancing to salsa, marimba, rock 'n roll, waltz, fox trot and swing. We danced together, in a group, in a line, in a circle, in the center of the circle (nudged forward for an impromptu jig, or whirl). There was a call for "Los Calvos", the bald guys, only two of us, the other being Eduardo, a son-in-law from Aguacaliente, where cock fighting is the annual attraction at the San Marcos Fair, so Eduardo and I pantomimed our interpretation of a two strutting cocks to cheers and applause. Then singing, Mary Carmen led, followed by nearly every guest, some reluctant, needing encouragement, some with good voices like Mary Carmen, some frogs like myself who sang El Rey, but I had to pull Mary Carmen up with me as I was uncertain of all the lyrics, so we ended up a duet. Husbands brought tears, pure streams of joy to their wives, as they sang love ballads, with words like, "My life would be nothing without you, you are my total love, my source, my reason for being," while directing a fixed gaze, eye to eye with the wife. There were other songs and recitations, humorous, or just favorites, more toasts, more dancing, a total spectacle of a loving, endearing, supporting, joyful family, whose patriarch's favorite response to, "Como está?" (How are you?) is, "Yo soy agradecido de haber nacido." (I'm grateful for having been born.) La Piñata and a FuneralI drove home alert, not tired at 3 a.m. Mary Carmen told me to join the family at noon for the children's Christmas Piñata Fiesta. Afterwards, she said, we would join her nephew, his wife and daughter at La Trucha (The Trout) Restaurant for Christmas dinner. When I arrived, plans had changed. We would be going to a funeral at 2 p.m. An elderly aunt died Christmas Eve and in Mexico burial is the next day. It seemed ironic. During Day of the Dead in San Miguel de Allende, I witnessed a wedding, and here in Zacatlán, on Christmas Day, I would be present at a funeral. At noon, the children took turns, blindfolded (a symbol that the only guide is faith), and smacked the piñata. It was a clay pot covered with a 7-pointed star decorated in brilliant red, blue, orange, green, gold, silver, purple and white with paper streamers, which symbolized the Seven Deadly Sins. When it broke, treats gushed out. Children gathered up the traditional gifts: sweet potatoes, jicama, sugar cane, peanuts, oranges, a few small toys, balls and Spiderman figures, caramels and hard candy. After the piñata, the festivities quieted. We still had a funeral and Christmas dinner to attend. The sun was out. I was now part of Mary Carmen's family and we walked up the hill to the original homestead, which was being used for storage. I no longer thought of the fog. Here on a hill outside Zacatlán the weather was warm and the sky crystal blue. Children were taking turns on a swing. The homestead was built L shaped and I photographed the flowers. I took nine photos, all different. We traveled back to Zacatlán for the 2 p.m. funeral. I dropped Mary Carmen and her nephew, wife and child in front of the church, and then continued, looking for a parking place. The funeral was short. But the church overflowed. In a small town, everyone is related. The casket, carried by 6 men, was placed in a funeral limousine and an entourage followed the slow-moving hearse to the cemetery. It was only a few blocks distant. The aunt was laid to rest on Christmas Day. Christmas DinnerWe backtracked past the Olvera homestead, drove to Jicolapa, a small village outside Zacatlán, and then into the quiet green pine forest and onto a dirt road that lead to mountain streams, a trout farm and a restaurant. We had been delayed. We were the last guests to arrive at La Trucha. I felt as if I had returned home to northern Colorado and had just driven up the Poudre Valley River Canyon. We selected our trout direct from the pond. Shortly, dinner, wrapped and baked in tinfoil with herbs, was served. We toasted, clinking bottles of cold beer. We were in a simple wood-framed building in the pine forest next to a stream with turkeys wandering about. Our dining room was more like a giant tree house than a restaurant. It was modest, rustic, and appropriate for Christmas. Christ had been born in a manger. -- Dick Davis |