Tonight’s pilgrimage to the Parroquia de San Antonio de Padua was the last before Sunday’s massive Confite de Locos parade.
It was probably the most poignant.
Tonight, pilgrims walked to the church on their knees. There were nearly a dozen. And it gets me every year.
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You know that feeling? Like you are being watched by somebody in the park? Somebody you can’t see. But those eyes …
This morning while walking the gentle philosophy dog, Moppit, in Parque Guadiana I couldn’t shake the feeling there there were eyes upon me.
Well, I wasn’t completely wrong.
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And the Creator said, “epiphyllum oxypetalum, you shall be a cactus, though you do not look like one. Once a year and only at night, you shall bear forth beautiful flowers while the world sleeps. Before dawn your flowers shall wither away, but only before being ravaged by bats.”
The epiphyllum oxypetalum did not understand this curious fate but it knew better than to argue with the Creator.
Perhaps the Creator felt a little guilty because later, the epiphyllum oxypetalum was given a lovely and pronounceable name: Queen of the Night.
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Well, this explains so many things: Anthony de Padua is the patron saint of the insane.
Now the Dia de Locos — or Convite de Locos — isn’t so crazy after all.
Well, yes, it is. Crazy, I mean. Very very crazy. In so many delightful ways.
What better way to honor the patron saint of people who have lost their minds than to assemble thousands of people in costumes that suggest they, too, have indeed lost their minds?
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“Everything is made out of magic, leaves and trees, flowers and birds, badgers and foxes and squirrels and people. So it must be all around us. In this garden — in all the places.” — The Secret Garden, by Frances Hodgson Burnett.
It is easy to get lost in a garden,
No matter how small it might be.
There you are, sitting in full possession of your mind
Ready to conjure great things that will soon become
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The locos danced through the afternoon under a hot and humid sun, made more challenging by the layers of costuming and bulky headpieces. After hours of parading and trance-like dance, catharsis must come, a cleansing, a purifying, exhaustion.
I don’t know how they do it.
Still, as the sun began to dip behind the San Antonio church, the locos gave way to the folkloricos.
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What’s a Sunday morning without a few crazies parading through the neighborhood?
Empty indeed.
We got our share today. The first of three parades around San Miguel de Allende began at the Parroquia an Antonio de Padua around 10 a.m. and danced down Callejohn San Antonio before hanging a left on the Ancha and heading for Centro.
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“The artist is a receptacle for emotions that come from all over the place: from the sky, from the earth, from a scrap of paper, from a passing shape, from a spider’s web.” — Pablo Picasso
Spider webs are beautiful things. Unless you walk face-first into one in the dark of night.
Then, not so beautiful. Or interesting.
My friend Sonny once sat for hours on the floor of our Cape Cod house staring at a spider as it wove a stringy orb behind a door. Sonny insisted he learned a lot from observing the construction of the web.
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Guitarists walk down Callejon de los Suspiros on a warm San Miguel de Allende morning.
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Wow. Talk about landing on your feet, if only for one Saturday.
Last week, the popular Mercado Sano took a hit when an outside electrical fire forced its closing, through this weekend apparently.
What to do with the hugely popular TOSMA market that occupied the back parking and cavernous storage buildings?
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Musings, Magic, San Miguel and More 