Furniture for sale - Queen and twin beds, kitchen table, desk and more San Miguel de Allende Mexico Announcements & News
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Furniture for sale - Queen and twin beds, kitchen table, desk and more
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| from MexicoDiscovered.com which also has a Discover Mexico magazine.
San Miguel de Allende and Pozos Mexico's most cultured retirement haven - and most popular artistic destination, was declared a Mexican national Monument in 1926. This meant that while other towns pulled down heritage buildings and replaced them with glass and steel boxes San Miguel was off-limits to that form of modernization. Without this single gesture, San Miguel may have become just another slightly decaying backwater - that time and the major highways left behind - instead of the architecturally pristine city we love. But what a National Monument! Its proximity to the nearby silver cities of the Bajio meant that by the eighteenth century it was an important way station en route to Mexico City and an agriculture centre supplying the needs of the burgeoning city of Guanajuato. Spaniards, wealthy from extracting silver, built magnificent palaces here and then enhanced their already enormous fortunes farming the surrounding countryside through huge estates with equally magnificent haciendas as their centrepiece. Further enhancing the architectural splendour are ornate churches and oratorios that owe their existence to the patronage of these wealthy patrons - and the sweat and slave-like servitude of indigenous Indians. Despite the fact that many of the palaces and haciendas were gutted and plundered during the Mexican Revolution in the second decade of the last century, the basic structures were still extant in 1926. It was this slightly scarred and somewhat neglected eighteenth century architectural masterpiece that so enamoured the few foreigners who ventured through here in the late 1920's and early 1930's. Set in the pastoral rolling hills of the Bajio, watered by natural springs, enjoying a spring like climate all year and suffused with a light beloved by artists, how could they resist. One such person was American, Sterling Dickinson who, recognized the possibilities, and founded the now internationally renowned Instituto Allende in 1938 as a place of study for fellow ex patriots. This was the second pivotal action that ensured San Miguel de Allende's future for, with the end of World War II came the United States GI Bill that supplied education grants to returning servicemen. These GIs soon discovered their limited funds went farther in San Miguel and the Institute thrived. A vibrant artistic and cultural society grew up around a still small but permanent expatriate community that serviced their needs. Many of these visiting students never left, instead they became the kernel of a growing artistic community that, generations later, continues to be supplemented by new infusions of artistic talent that also fall in love with San Miguel's special "light". At the same time, many of the wealthy tourists originally attracted by the town's reputation, returned to reside here on a permanent or semi-permanent basis. Attracted by this charming and safe city with a perfect climate they, in turn, became the basis of the well-heeled semi retirement community that San Miguel is today. At the same time other less wealthy (or merely more ambitious) visitors saw the opportunities afforded by this influx and opened even more businesses to serve this expanding tourist and residential market. These North Americans had the desire and the funds to restore the many badly neglected buildings - in accordance with the strict 1926 guidelines - that, today, the town is effectively an eighteenth century wonder with electricity and running water! Well, not quite. The ubiquitous internal combustion engine knows no limits and San Miguel is no exception. Her narrow, winding and often very steep cobblestone streets can soon get jammed with noisy diesel spewing trucks and buses as well as the latest gas guzzling SUVs. Ironically perhaps it is the modern SUV that is the most appropriate vehicle to ply the uneven 200 year old cobblestone streets. Certainly, its 4 wheel drive capability comes in handy when the summer rains hit and the more steeply sloped streets become slick and traction becomes your number one priority. If it isn't, you will soon get used to walking that little bit extra just to avoid the problem of finding that most rare of things in downtown San Miguel - a parking spot. The relationship between the expatriate and Mexican communities is remarkably cordial. One even gets the impression there is only one community. This is born of the fact that the two live side-by-side and both benefit from the other despite the fact that (with the notable exception of a comparatively small number of middle and upper class Mexicans) most expatriates are wealthier than their neighbours. Poverty and crime do exist in the peripheral Mexican areas of town but a strong tradition of volunteer work within the expatriate community has ameliorated many of the resentments such an "invading army" of privileged foreigners could have engendered. Certainly, San Miguel attracts relatively wealthy people, but they don't flaunt it. That is not what San Miguel is about. Any such wealth is generally hidden behind the enclosed walls and high gates of the town - for this is a town that values and encourages cultural and social endeavours above overt displays of wealth. Members of the expatriate community who operate businesses here is one reason the town works so well. They have created jobs and so generated a higher standard of living and quality of life for all San Miguel residents. I was fortunate to meet a number of them - mainly in the real estate and hospitality fields - and was struck by the fact that many of them put as much time and energy into their social and charitable concerns as they did into their commercial pursuits. Dotty Vidargas of Vidargas Real Estate, for example, has lived in San Miguel for 40 years and is one of the driving forces restoring the nearby Santuario at Atotonilco. In contrast, Lane Simmons at Remax Colonial Real Estate became so involved with helping the town's poorer families and abused children that he and his wife have legally adopted two of the children he "rescued". Interestingly, most of San Miguel's realty companies are long established concerns. They know the San Miguel housing market inside out. As part of San Miguel society for decades they are able to impart to potential purchasers that they are buying into a community not just a home. But whether they are house-hunting or just passing through, visitors need somewhere to stay. On the face of it that should not be a problem in San Miguel where the number of hotels, inns and B & Bs must exceed that of any town of comparable size in Mexico. Most, however, are small - with as few as 3 rooms - so don't be too confident you'll find a room without booking ahead! Old favourites in the deluxe class, such as the Casa de Sierra Nevada and la Puertecita must now compete with the intimate luxury of small exclusive enclaves such as Casa Quetzal among many where American amenities meet the best of Mexican design and influence, while less expensive old time landmark hotels such as the Mansion del Bosque remain perennial favourites. Some San Miguelites have "discovered" a new San Miguel at Mineral de Pozos just 45 minutes from San Miguel. Popularly called Pozos it is a protected old silver mining town where many of its old mansions are being lovingly restored. In the main square are two hotels adjoining one another. The Casa Montana is the more recent addition but, even newer is the recently opened Real de Minas B&B. Both are American owned and are just two of the gringo vanguard already settled with established businesses here. Many more will come! |
| To some San Miguel de Allende means history and tradition, to others art or language, to many, just a place to call home. But, to all, there are a some things that make it unique and memorable, here are a few personal favorites…
THINGS TO SEE San Miguel de Allende was, by 1790, one of the richest villages in Mexico, with a population over twice that of New York City at the time. The wealth came from the silver trade, and those that had made their fortunes took it upon themselves to build elaborate mansions, churches and theaters. This past grandeur is still evident, with outstanding examples of most styles of colonial Mexican architecture to be found. Of note are the Templo de San Francisco, Templo de la Concepción (known locally as ‘Las Monjas’), the Oratorio de San Felipe Neri with its interior Santa Casa de Loreto, the Centro Cultural Ignacio Ramirez "El Nigromante” (a.k.a. Bellas Artes) and, without doubt, the Parroquia. La Parroquia de San Miguel Arcángel: The original Parish Church, built in the late 17th century, was of relatively modest design. This changed dramatically in 1880 when the master stone mason, Zeferino Gutierrez was commissioned to create a new facade. A self-taught architect, Gutierrez is reported to have taken the inspiration for his design from drawings and postcards of European cathedrals. The resulting neogothic fantasy, whose soaring turrets can be viewed from almost any spot in town, has made the Parroquia one of the most photographed churches in Mexico. El Jardín: Centered between the Parroquia to the south, colonnades of colonial arches to the east and west and the Presidencia, or historic city hall, to the north, this bustling park is the heart of the city. It draws visitors to sit and gossip on the wrought iron benches shaded by boxy laurel trees, to pause and listen to musicians playing from its central gazebo or to line the stone walls and cheer as one of the town’s many parades passes by. Biblioteca Pública: The English Public library is Mexico's second largest English language library. The rambling building contdecorated reading room, a restful inner courtyard with wireless internet service, a theater offering foreign film and live performances, a computer center and café. It is an not only an important part in the lives of many of San Miguel’s expatriate population but, due to its mandate of enriching the lives of local students, it is also an integral part of the community. El Charco de Ingenio: This privately funded botanical garden and ecological reserve, located on the outskirts of town, is dedicated to restoring and preserving Mexican flora and encouraging endangered wildlife to flourish. The extensive grounds house a conservatory of Mexican plants, with particular emphasis on cacti and succulents; a center where one can purchase plants; remains of an ancient wool mill and an historic reservoir that is home to native and migratory birds. All is linked by a network of paths, with wonderful views of the town and countryside, that are ideal for biking and walking, and allow access for rock climbing on the steep canyon walls. An adjacent Nature Park provides grounds for picnicking and horseback riding. Tianguis: Imagine what would result if you crossed a flea market, a farmer’s market, a 19th century food court and the closeout bin at a discount clothier? If you can’t, you should visit the Tuesday open-air market held by Plaza Real del Conde. Under the shade of multicolored tarps are hundreds of vendors hawking fresh fruit and vegetables, dried herbs, kitchenware, hardware, beauty supplies, clothing (new, used, or remaindered from American retailers), watches, CD’s (some of which might be legal) and everything else in between. Even if you only go for the sights you will no doubt end up buying something. Reprint Permission from "Su Casa"--Your Home in San Miguel de Allende © 2006 Imprint Publishing/Advertising Telephone in San Miguel:152-0493 |
If you read guidebooks or travel articles about México, you will read that Mexicans are wonderfully accommodating, friendly, warm, and generous to strangers. You will be given the impression these people are the “Salt of the Earth” and maybe even virtually Saints. You will be told things like, “Mexicans are helpful to a fault” and “they will be so patient with you trying to learn Spanish.” While this might be true, I have, of late, begun to doubt the multitude of clichés that pour forth from all the guidebook and article sources about Mexico. About 18 months into our expatriation experiment, my wife and I began to wonder what was going on in the heartland of Mexico. The clichés we had read in our pre-expat research were, frankly, beginning to fall apart. The longer we lived here, the more we were beginning to see things that the guidebooks gushed about Mexican’s congeniality weren’t necessarily true. Something wasn’t adding up. Guanajuato is about as much in the middle of the country as it gets. It is truly the heartland of Mexico. Here life is uber-provincial. The dictionary defines provincial as, “a person of local or restricted interests or outlook; a person lacking urban polish or refinement.” I began hearing this uber-provincial stuff more and more as the years went by. I heard this from not only American, German, and Canadian expatriates but also from Mexicans who grew up in other parts of Mexico and who, for one reason or another, ended up in Guanajuato. Certain things begin to happen to us that caused us to begin asking questions. After all, we were still very fresh and green expats who didn’t know much. But we began to ask about this or that once things started happening. I guess it was the first time I was knocked into the street by a Mexican and subsequently hit by a bus that caused me to wonder what was going on. The second time was really what got me to wondering. I was pushed off the sidewalk not once but twice into the path of an oncoming bus and was struck. Not once did anyone stop to see if I was all right. The pushers never bothered to utter one word to me. My wife has also been pushed and shoved off sidewalks. I have a 70-year-old American gringa pal who was pushed into the path of a taxi and was nailed. One just has to ask what is happening in Guanajuato, Mexico. I wish I could tell you. What I began to see long ago was that the Guanajuatenses on the street are practically running to get somewhere but never arrive on time for anything. Although all of Latin American (and Italy) is famous for how they regard time differently than the rest of the world, this has slowly been changing in the more metropolitan areas of Mexico. More and more, Mexicans are beginning to forsake their traditional understanding of what it means to be on time for anything. Not so in Guanajuato. It is just as traditional here as it has been for centuries. Some say the heartland of Mexico is “stuck in the past.” But, what you have are Guanajuatenses running at the speed of light and, I can assure you, to get nowhere fast. They are absolutely not trying to get somewhere on time. It is a cultural affectation here in Guanajuato. They will never, ever arrive on time for anything. This is a total mystery in and of itself. Why are they running? They never arrive on time for anything so what’s the rush? So, you may logically ask, why are they running down the sidewalk knocking gringos into the gutter? I wish I could tell you, but I can’t. I have asked Mexicans because I have the facility in the language to do so. Most of those I have questioned are not from Guanajuato originally. They are here for a job, marriage, or whatever, and have been transplanted from other regions of Mexico. To my amazement, these Guanajuato transplants have told me that they view the people of Guanajuato as some of the rudest, most ill educated, and most ill reared Mexicans in the country. I have gotten emails from Mexicans and as well as been told in face-to-face interviews that they regard Guanajuatenses Mexicans as anti-social. This is amazing. These are Mexicans from other regions talking about their fellow Mexicans. It very much reminds me of those from the Midwest and western parts of America talking about New York. Now, I have to take the word of those who tell me this since the only place I’ve ever lived in this country is Guanajuato. But, I am beginning to take their word to heart and believe what they say, hook, line, and sinker. Our experience bears out what our Extra-Guanajuatenses have told us. Once, I got an email from a Mexican lady in Puerto Vallarta. She had read some of my articles and columns but poo-poo’ed me as a crazy gringo. Then, she and another Mexican girlfriend came traveling through Guanajuato. She said she couldn’t wait to email me and tell me how many times she was shoved off the sidewalk and pushed away from the cashier’s counter in stores. Just this morning, my wife was in line to buy some very delicious tamales. She placed her order and paid the guy. Before the seller could get out of his mouth, “One moment while I get your food” a Mexican lady, one of our congenial, warm, and kind Guanajuatenses, elbowed my wife out of line and cut in front of her. The seller had to be someone from some other part of Mexico because he noticed what happened and told this woman to get in line. A month ago, some college student who thought it was appropriate to lay hands on me and shove me a good one shoved me out of the way in a pharmacy! I wish I could tell you that these are all isolated incidents but I would be lying. The guy pushed me as though I was a piece of furniture that was in his way. The mystery is how Mexicans are supposed to be such kind, generous, and accommodating people to foreigners while in Guanajuato, you are just liable to be pushed into the path of an oncoming bus going at the speed of light. How…how…how is this so? The other day, we were exiting the post office when we saw one Mexican do something to another Mexican. This kid, in his early twenties, walked by a lady who had set her heavy bolsa (a large shopping bag) on the sidewalk while waiting for a cab. This young man kicked the bolsa into the street. It seemed unintentional. He looked briefly and then walked off. The lady took off after him. While she was trying to corral him, a bus came by and squashed her bolsa and all its contents to smithereens. My wife once had to catch an elderly lady who was shoved off a 12-inch-high sidewalk by two girls who seemed not to care a wit that they almost killed one of their fellow countrywomen. Something else that goes on in stores all over the city—another mystery--is something that would get Guanajuatenses killed in America. When you go to meat counter or any place with a counter, Guanajuatenses will shove you out of the way to bark their orders to the hired help, even though the employee was already waiting on you. Don’t miss the picture here. There you are. You’ve just given your order to the butcher for a kilo of hotdogs when some Señora puts her hands on you (or elbows you) and knocks you into the middle of next week so she can be at the front of the line. This goes on all the time, without fail, day and night—and there’s nothing you can do about it! NOTHING! Why they do it I cannot tell you. We have asked and are told that the people of Guanajuato are “malcriados” and “maleducadas” …this means ill-raised and badly-educated. I think the mystery is how did they earn the warm and inviting reputation that you read in all the guidebooks? They certainly could not have meant the heartland of Mexico, especially not Guanajuato! Perhaps it’s the other regions about which the guidebooks have been talking. I do not know! 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 |
I thought I would write a follow-up to my column, “Move Over San Miguel de Allende Here I Come”, since this is the only thing, writing, that prevents from committing murderous acts of rage (Just Joking!) As you recall from the previous column, I wrote how I tried to deposit a royalty check from my publisher and was told the check would clear on four different dates. We were shown, last week, on their computer screen that the funds would be available on the 18th of December. Well, today is the 18th. We marched down to the bank and, of course, in the truest sense of TMO (Typical Mexican Operation) the funds were not available. We went into the bank so I could seize a bank officer and choke him (just kidding!). No, we talked to this guy who thought it cute to mumble at us. He actually told us something entirely new. He said that “the 18th” did not really mean “the 18th” but it meant sometime after 6 p.m. on the 18th but before mid-night on the 18th and…and…maybe even the 19th. CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS? This my dear readers is what we anal-retentive Americans (and “strung-tighter-than-piano wire Germans”) have to deal with when we become expatriates living in Mexico. It would seem, and I could be wrong, that Mexican banks just make up stuff as they go along. There are no policy manuals, procedural steps, no rules, just the “fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants” way of doing things. “Qué Será, Será: What ever will be, will be. The future’s not ours to see. Qué Será, Será.” This is exactly how things are done in central México. I have to tell you though, those from other regions of the country are as dumbfounded as I am. They tell me that this region of Mexico is “stuck in time and history.” They are provincial to the point of having been throw into a time loop and cannot escape the temporal hole they’ve been in since the middle ages. Time forgot central Mexico and no one seems to really care to crawl out of this dimensional morass in which they are quagmired. What are we going to do? I do not know. But, we are looking to other areas of Mexico that may not be like living in a Latino Twilight Zone. My fellow American expat said this: “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.” She has no idea what truth she spoke! by Douglas Bower Article Source: EzineArticles.com |