Viva San Miguel

I went to San Miguel for the first time about five years ago when I was studying about 33 miles away in Guanajuato.  My mom had come to visit for Thanksgiving and wanted to go to San Miguel (to be able to report back to her friends that what all the travel magazines raved about the city was true.)  I didn’t really want to go… I was way too busy with school*. I didn’t think mom would be too keen on going by bus and to be honest I wasn’t confident enough in my Spanish to try to navigate around with momma in tow. So, I talked to my friend Adolfo – who had a car – and we hit the road.

* Going out at night to the bars to practice what I had picked up while hung-over in class.

The ride would have gone smoother if Adolfo hadn’t been driving 20 kilometers over the limit… if I hadn’t ignored my mom’s knees pushing through the back of my seat… if I hadn’t been so anxious to get back to the bars.  Later, I learned that my friend hadn’t even gotten permission from his parents to leave Guanajuato. That explained why he never led us out of the shadow of the Parroquia and hurried us through the stores around the main plaza. 

During that same semester abroad I met one of my most responsible and accomplished friends. Autumn is pretty much a rocket scientist who is currently in law school... and she also knows just what it takes to get me to party till the sun comes up.  She and I, along with a handful of other kids, form the XTREME TEAM. We all met in Guanajuato… while taking a break from life so that we could live a little. Since going our separate ways – to California, Colorado, Florida, Tennessee and Minnesota – we’ve actually been lucky enough to find the opportunity to meet up for reunions all over the world.

Autumn’s parents have a gorgeous home in San Miguel.  It is a traditional Mexican hacienda style with the brick ceilings, big open rooms, talavera tile bathrooms and patios with flowers in bloom all year long.  The first time they invited me to stay with them I locked myself in the bathroom so I could throw up all the alcohol that I had consumed while we were out on the town.  Who knows how long it took them to sort through the keys; there was one for every door in the house.  For some reason they keep opening their door to me.

For New Year’s 2011, Autumn and I planned a mini XTREME reunion. The rest of our team members would have been proud even though between each of our crazy nights we had to have at least a full day of rehab consisting of her mom’s Bloody Mary’s and pirated DVDs. Before, after a night of bar hopping all it took was a bollilo and some coffee for us to make it to class. We’re beginning to show our age. 

Autumn took me all through the market where we purchased a Mexican blanket together for the second time. (REMEMBER: It’s easier to bargain when you buy in bulk.)  We had cajeta lattes and churros in a restaurant that reminded me of Spain.  I also nearly pooped my pants while waiting for the bathroom of the churro place… pretty sure the line of people waiting at the door would have gotten considerably shorter had the little girl in front of me dilly dallied any longer.

We wandered through a park with fountains and public art all over the place.  Artists set up along the stone benches and there are jungle gyms next to the basketball courts; there are people everywhere.  I appreciate the family outings that are so much more common here.

Streets are usually filled with people just wandering around and spending time around other people. There are mariachi bands and street vendors… and at most times there are decorations for some holiday or church or saint so the atmosphere is always festive even if you don’t know why.  I love the little old men who sell the bouncy balls and balloons. 

There is a little plaza that has rows of stone washtubs along the walls.  It still has water in the fountain above the tubs but is no longer used as the public laundry.

On New Year’s, just before midnight, they showed digital graffiti on the Parroquia.  Everyone gathered in the Jardin Principal for the fireworks and Autumn and I drove everyone crazy blowing the horns that one of the bars had given out. Everyone was happy when we gave them away to some of the little children who wanted to sell us Chiclets.

I must admit, I had developed a little chip on my shoulder against San Miguel specifically because of the infestation of gringos… as if I am not as white as they come.  But it’s obvious why herds of ex-pats head to San Miguel de Allende.  Apart from the fact that the restaurant servers and shop-keepers speak English – and accept American dollars – the town is marvelous.  But after the amazing New Year trip, I can highly recommend a long weekend to explore.

Check out Autumn’s website: www.whatstheskinnie.com

We are still on the hunt for who has the best story about the points on the piñata... 

process and decay are implicit

The work of Andy Goldsworthy is worthy of acclamation as well as envy.

His intricate sculptures, unassuming at first glimpse, inspire me to appreciate our world that is often under-exalted.

Generally, leaves are recognized at the time of their death. They have their fifteen minutes of fame as they slide brilliantly through the color wheel and then to the ground. 

Andy Goldsworthy  helps us to see the divinity that exists in the normalcy of nature.  The patience and delicacy that his completed pieces emit hint at the obvious respect for the Earth that he surely fosters within.

He gathers the tiniest of leaves and places each one in a specific position only to allow the wind or the river to carry off his offering of beauty.

His larger works are bold and often seem impossible.  I almost hold my breath so as not to send tumbling down the gravity defying boulders perched upon precarious peaks. His archways, often achieved after various attempts and missteps, seem effortless in their stability. He uses no cement, no glue, to ensure the durability of his pieces yet accepts and welcomes the passage of time and what destruction it may bring to the sculptures.

Andy Goldworthy works with what he finds, wherever he may find himself. I am envious of his vast travels that have not only led to his worldwide fame, but also have opened doors to a large range of different mediums. The snow and ice structures are some of the most obviously fleeting that he creates. As the sun warms or the seasons change, the inevitable dissipation of the water molecules transforms the sculptures into living works. Every moment is transient and the only residue left is that which is captured by the camera.

The fact that Goldworthy allows nature to take its course and reabsorb what it has produced, ultimately destroying the art which he spent time to create, makes his work even more precious.

Andy Goldsworthy:

At its most successful, my "touch" looks into the heart of nature; most days I don't even get close.  These things are all part of a transient process that I cannot understand unless my touch is also transient; only in this way can the cycle remain unbroken and the process be complete.

SALE SALE SALE

Just in time for the holidays!

MOVING TO MEXICO SALE

Check out The Loft if you are looking to add some art to your life or walls.  

Use my special blog coupon code to get half off your entire order! 

01blog10

(coupon valid until I get across the border)

out with the old

Word on the street says there's a new band in town offering a righteous new sound.

Click on zombie Bjork to get a dose of the New Pleasure that everyone's lining up for... 

Juicy Art

For some reason this juice company decided that art is important.  La Fundación Jumex now has more than 2,000 works of art and focuses on sharing its expansive and diverse collection with both the Mexican and international public.  Rightly so, for it is often the masses, turned muses, that inspire the modern masterpiece.

Why Mexico?

When I wake up in the morning 

and this is what I see from my window,

from my roof... 

the question doesn't merit a response.

bs

Bar Soap and I have never exactly seen eye-to-eye.

His feeble bubbles, aided by accomplice Washcloth, never quite seem to work up to the lather commonly pushed on television commercials. 

Even when set up with Sponge, and the bath runneth over with suds, there is one dingy memory from childhood that, for me, stains Bar Soap’s reputation…

As a child I was sent to summer camp on top of Lookout Mountain in Alabama.  The lush rhododendron’s essence clung to the morning mist and dew that hung heavy around us; we sat on soggy fallen trees and peered out across Little River into the fog.  As we awoke with song and reverence to the surrounding beauty, the director told us that there were problems with the plumbing. We would be bathing in the river until further notice.

We were no longer asleep. Yay! Hunger pains were swept away and breakfast was forgotten. Bath time was not to be hassled with fear of spiders nor the hesitation before braving the icy low-pressure trickle from the showerhead. Not today!  The river was to be converted into a natural bathing spot just as it was used by Native Americans long before.  I deeply felt that in doing this we were honoring and communing with the previous peoples of the land. 

Though we all donned bathing gear and our suds could be seen along the bank for days, I felt as pure and connected to the Earth as I ever had before.  But then, an older girl came and asked me if I had any liquid soap she could use. No. I had been borrowing the bars from others or merely using the suds that flowed past me as I swam against the current.  The look of disgust that froze her face and the words that flew viciously out of her mouth seemed to personify irony.  “Bar soap is dirty.” I listened as carefully as I could to her explanation of germs, her knowledge surely distorted from some other older girl, I became horrified by the little solid scum breeder.  Thus began a habit of washing the soap before using it.

I have no qualms, though, with sharing a toothbrush.