Well, we’re off to see the Wizard.
Or very soon.
Our bus left at 1 p.m. for CDMX, the airport in Mexico City. Our British Airways flight takes off at 10 p.m. for Edinburgh. There has been discussion over whether nine hours is leaving enough time to make our flight, given the capricious and precarious nature of highway travel in Mexico.
Our first roll of the dice. First of many in the next couple of weeks, I imagine.
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The San Miguel Writers’ Conference and Literary Festival heads into its 20th year with a diverse and impressive lineup of keynote speakers, led by “Cider House Rules” author John Irving. The literary festival takes place February 12–16, 2025, at the Hotel Real de Minas.
There are two components to the weeklong festival — the keynote speaker series and the actual writers’ conference which is a jaw-dropping series of workshops for writers of all sorts, aspirations, and interests.
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Within a month’s time, I have taken two driver’s license tests in two countries and passed both. But not exactly “with flying colors.”
My California driver’s license expired on April 10 and I tried unsuccessfully to line up an appointment to renew it in person. I just turned 74 and needed to take a new photo and the written test (and I incorrectly assumed that I’d need the driving one, too).
The problem was two-fold: My phone number is from Mexico and the DMV will not allow foreign numbers when you try to sign into the system. After repeated attempts and working with a human (I think) who promised to send me an access form to fill out and send back – he/it didn’t — I lost interest.
Continue readingHow can you tell if a parade is about to break out in San Miguel de Allende?
Sadly, if you are a gringo, you’re probably the last to know. Parades and processions, for the most part, are cultural. You may not be connected to the network that announces such things. So, pay attention. Follow these tips and you may end up on the sidewalk watching one of the most unique and exciting things to happen in this city.
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That must have been some party.
Early this morning, the limpia crew was all over the square in front of the Parroquia de San Miguel de Arcangel with brooms, buckets, and tanks of water. The bucketers would scoop and splash water on the stones and the sweepers descend on the water like hungry birds, sloshing it left and right, until only clean damp stone remains.
Splash and repeat. In the early morning breeze. The first in what feels like months.
While this is cleaning writ large, all over San Miguel de Allende in the morning, women (mostly) wash the sidewalks and streets in front of their homes. Same routine — water, bucket, and broom — as they have been doing for centuries.
Why the public square on a Sunday morning? I can’t say.
A messy party? Too much spilled and melted ice cream? Too much dust? In anticipation of the arrival of a wedding princess or social media queen? Simple hygiene?
You just never know, do you?
Unless you ask.
But why spoil the fun?
Hussong’s Cantina on Ruiz Street in Ensenada, Baja, is one of those checklist places that anyone from San Diego had to visit at least once.
An original Caesar salad in Tijuana (or one of the more unsavory attractions), a margarita at the Rosarito Beach Hotel, a stop for lobster and a pitcher of margaritas in Puerto Nuevo, and a night at Hussong’s, ebbing and flowing with the tide of drunken masses.
Now that was a pretty good weekend.
Hussong’s was unique among cantinas. It wasn’t artificially constructed as some faux Mexican fantasy to pull in the tourists with campy decor and T-shirts. Hussong’s holds liquor license No. 2 in Ensenada and is in the same building John Hussong bought and gussied up in 1892.
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A few days ago, I watched a documentary on the human digestive system. One thing these scientists and nutritionists kept repeating when asked about food choices: “Listen to your body.”
OK, what does that even mean?
Since puberty, “listen to your body” has been the siren’s call leading me down a path to only one place, a place filled with regret, remorse, shame — and maybe a little “wowzer!”
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Today was an important one at the Parroquia San Antonio de Padua here in Colonia San Antonio.
Families brought their sons and daughters — boys in white suits, girls in white dresses — for the religious rites of first holy communion and confirmation. I am guessing it was for both, given the range of age and height of the children.
Your heart can not help but swell as you watch the families approach the church. The mothers, fathers, grandparents, and siblings surround the child in white — who is practically floating above the ground. They walk quickly toward the steps of the church where the children gather in white clusters as the parents sit on the walls nearby.
I have come to see these affairs as private family moments and am reluctant to run around taking photos — me the stranger, the gringo, in their midst. I no longer take photos unless I am encouraged or invited.
Today, my friend Jim Gramprie and I were walking up the Ancha toward Mercado Sano and this pickup truck pulled up beside us in slow-moving traffic.
How could you not smile?
I shouted “Felicidades!” and clapped my hands in case my Spanish was more horrible than I imagined it to be. They smiled and waved and shouted “Gracias!”
This happened three more times in the stop-and-go traffic and finally, I couldn’t resist.
“Con permiso, una fotografia?”
They were all for it. especially the two young ladies on their high thrones in the back of the family pick-up truck.
Traffic suddenly picked up and they were on their way — to a beautiful family fiesta, I imagine.
On Wednesdays, I have about an hour between appointments, time I would normally spend sitting in the Jardin with a cup of coffee and a pastry, watching people pose in front of the Parroquia, marveling at how easily alliteration springs from my fingertips.
Not today. Something inside me said I didn’t need the coffee. (The previous three cups?) Or the pastry. (The spreading waistline?) As I reached Calle Hernandez Macias a decision needed to be made.
Ahead of me was the pastry, park, Parroquia, and people. To my left was the Centro Cultural Ignacio Ramirez El Nigromante — Belles Arte for the more mellifluously inclined.
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The story this week is probably what I didn’t get to. Oh, well. There’s something here for everyone, especially the Lord of the Column procession at the end of the week. To repeat what I said below, the procession is moving and wonderful to watch — but — do yourself a favor and walk over to Independencia on Saturday evening and watch as scores of devotees create beautiful murals of colored sawdust in the streets.
In the morning, Roman soldiers, priests, acolytes, processioners and all will walk slowly through the sawdust, sending the art into oblivion. Following behind will be a legion of city sweepers with bags and brooms and within minutes it will all be the stuff of a dream. So, go see the dream being created on Saturday evening.
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Musings, Magic, San Miguel and More 