Hills of Colors, Tunnels of Darkness, Mexican Medina – Guanajuato

The only ‘reservations’ in Mexico are a few ghettos

of expatriate norteamericanos.

Kate Simon

School grounds – peaceful – old home of a sculptor

You know you are back in Mexico when, at dawn, you hear more roosters than dogs, more church bells than car horns, and many people singing or playing music.  Folks stay up late, and few get up early.  I just arrived in beautiful Guanajuato, a city nearly at the geographical epicenter of the country.  I am here to learn more Spanish and re-immerse in the Mexican culture I love so much. 

On the flight over, I got a quick reminder of Mexican friendliness.  I sat next to a gentleman who, at first, seemed too sleepy to talk, but we struck up a stimulating conversation that lasted the whole way.  Pepe (nickname for Jose), from Romita, has been regularly going back and forth to the US for work since 1990, supporting his family back home.  He is one of the lucky ones who has managed to earn his US citizenship, so his border crossings are not as difficult or scary.  During the slow season he comes home to see his children, now nearly a year older than the last time he saw them and be with the rest of his extended family.  He doesn’t complain.  He is thankful for the opportunity.  He speaks with sparkles in his eyes, love for his family and country expressed in his melodious voice.  He is looking forward to retiring back home in Mexico, when the time comes. 

People here still take the time to strike conversations with strangers.  People here still take the time to sit down and watch the days go by.  People here still take the time to cook and enjoy tasty food.  People here still take the time to make fun of themselves, not just others.  But to appreciate all of that, we visitors, too, must take the time.  Too many come here and want to import their own ways, denying themselves the many great lessons of this amazing culture. 

The students in my class want to learn the language, but they insist on staying in hotels rather than with families.  Their comments being that they don’t want to interact with the families daily, that they want their own space, complete privacy.  Then they pay for private Spanish tutoring, something I get for free when interacting with the family I live with or random people I meet.  

Passing by church on way to school

Modern art fronting ancient mildewing structures

I live with Josefina, a wonderful grandmother who, like me, has lost her husband and is trying to figure out exactly what is next?  What is life without our loved one, our other half?  She is still highly active for her age and insisted on walking me to school (1.5 km) on my first day.  Yes – Mexicans are generous to a fault, and it is difficult to match their generosity.  

Another church, another street café

the place so quiet this early in the morning

My first week is slow.  I merely want to relearn this country a step at a time, so I don’t get overwhelmed.  I mainly walk around the city, taking in the exuberance of form and color as well as the true melting pot this country is, collecting the many wonderful anecdotes that I can share with you along the way.

Yes – in the middle of the market

The day before this Day of the Dead altar was taken down

Unfortunately, I arrived just a day after the Day of the Dead celebrations, something I’ve always enjoyed being a part of.  The city is recovering from the fiestas and the tapetes (carpets of colored sawdust and/or flowers) and altars decorating the streets are fading away.  Even the old market is still covered with the famous marigolds, their heads now bent down saying their goodbyes until next year.   

Talking about death is assumed to be a sad subject, but this is not the way the Mexicans see death.  Josefina relates a story about siblings whose father died about five hours away from where he lived and, not having the money to have the body shipped over to their town in a coffin, they stole the corpse and drove him home expertly sitting between two sisters on the back seat, hoping check points wouldn’t be asking too many questions.  They made it home safely and without complications.  I tell her about Pomuch, a town in Mexico’s Yucatan Peninsula where locals wash the bones of the dead during this time.  She has never heard of this part of her Mexican culture. 

Singing is heard every night as I live near the famous ‘Callejon del Beso’ the Alley of the Kiss, a bit sad since I don’t have a special someone to embrace on the famous steps.  A very narrow alley (68cm or less than 2 feet wide) where, if you stretched out, you could kiss from a balcony on one side of the alley to another on the other side.  A legend about kissing on the third step bringing you 15 years of happiness, is also part of the allure.  Many couples come here to kiss.  Tours of the area are popular with visitors, I live in the middle of this gentle chaos.  

My view to the left – day time – like an overgrown easel full of colors

Clock tower over the old Hidalgo Market - not designed by Eiffel as often said

My view to the right – night time

University (white) and Basilica de Nuestra Señora de Guanajuato (yellow)

Homes are built on steep hills and the town is nestled in a bowl.  It cannot expand, bounded on all sides.  New growth is happening outside of these hills.  In this town of 80,000, homes seem to be competing for height rather than ground space.  I live in one that has four stories, but what a view!  The upper patio overlooks the old university, the old market, and many of the cities’ other famous landmarks.  It is beautiful, I lucked out.  I had booked sight unseen, trusting all would turn out well.  I asked Josefina about earthquakes here – thankfully there hasn’t been any.  None of these homes are built to withstand the shock. 

The narrow cobblestone streets, many of which can only be used by pedestrians follow the serpentine and steep contours of the San Miguel mountains.  Some have a 30% grade; high heels beware.  I see a woman coming down a sharp decline ahead of me. She is hanging onto the arm of her companion; not sure she could take the same route without his help.  With such tall homes the streets can turn into a bit of a maze (medina), it is easy to get turned around but heading down, will always get you close to the city center.  

Safeguarding brooms and dust pans around the city

Mexicans are nothing if not passionate but visits here are a constant mixture of exasperation and enchantment, so much beauty mixed with so much garbage, so much caring mixed with little attention paid to finishing the job or details, the pathetically mournful also outrageously festive, a constant tension between order and chaos exists.  Mexico is so often thought of as one homogeneous country, yet it is one of the most complex in the world with layers upon layers of languages, religions, civilizations, etc.  A richness that takes a lifetime to learn and appreciate.

‘Our poverty can be measured by

the frequency and luxuriousness of our holidays.’

Octavio Paz

My walk to school in the morning lasts about 20 minutes.  At that time, the streets are quiet as nearly nothing opens before 10am.  I enjoy this time the most, as if having the place to myself with only a few people transporting warm baked goods, in baskets on their head, to the various restaurants and tiendas, sharing the streets with me.  The scenery changes dramatically when I return, packed with people sitting on anything horizontal, stairs, benches, sidewalks, sculptures, short posts, handrails, or walking, running, hailing taxis.  Life happens here!

Teatro Juarez in early morning light

Hasn’t changed much in over 100 years

Museum photo from 1905

Small children heading back from school are covered with old fashion aprons, so are some of the grandmas slowly walking to the market.  I don’t remember the last time I saw someone wear an apron back home.  

Quinceanera picture near the university

Always a riot of colors and forms

A much different style of quinceanera (15 year old girl celebration)

Parking is so difficult to come by that some people have their cars washed just to use up a parking space, not necessarily because they need their car cleaned.   I even see someone painting a car while parked on the side of the road, the dark blue sprays wafting through the air on some of the nearby pedestrians.  No one seems to care, I cross the street to avoid turning blue.  

Heavy load up the narrow alley by hand

Near the park at the base of the hill where I live, I see two men carrying a heavy drier in a box.  They put it down at the corner of the street and ask me if I can keep an eye on it while they go to pick up its partner, a washing machine.  They have confidence in a stranger like me but don’t trust that someone might not steal this heavy box – interesting.  I say yes thinking they probably only need five minutes.  More than twenty minutes go by before they return with the washing machine.  Thankfully I was not in a rush.  From there, it takes four men to carry it to its final destination.  Two younger men have just been flagged to help, for a tip, I’m sure.  

The same two old guys standing by the bridge overlooking a small river don’t hide that they are checking out many of the ladies walking by.  I see them every morning.  I stop to let a pickup with a large statue of the Virgen, not well tied down, slowly go by.  On the other side is a heavily loaded donkey, a dozen or so bags of cement tied to its back.  We are near a primary school and it doesn’t seem to notice the noisy children.  There are many small non-functioning drinking fountains around town, probably used to quench the thirst of people and their pack animals that helped built this city in the past.  

Like the rest of Guanajuato, the University is built on the hill

Many stories tall with a long frontal staircase – long ladder to success?

Most people walk here, even on rainy days.  Owning a car in this city is an exercise in frustration and patience. There are extremely few drivable roads or parking spaces.  The city is designed for walking.  The city’s driving tunnels are renown for being easy to get lost in.  Driving here, in other words, is not for the faint of heart.  Tunnels were first constructed to avoid flooding of the city, but a dam quickly made that use obsolete so now these tunnels are part of an underworld used to divert traffic away from the beautiful cobble streets above. 

As the locals walk, their national past time seem to be drinking or eating while exploring: juices in bags, honeycombs dripping with honey, tacos, ice cream, fruit salads, popsicles, banana chips, etc. 

It is the dry season, but nature decided to give a nice show of thunder, lightning, and rain for my first full day here.  The rainy season isn’t normally until May-Aug.  It has cleared the air; the colors have been revived.  The weather is mild, and as the spirit of the people, almost Mediterranean.  Packed full of homes, the place has in colors and textures what it lacks in greenery.    

Overlooking the city – El Pipila (nickname for gimp or cripple)

Hero of the Mexican Independence (doesn’t look like a gimp here)

Real or legend?  People can’t seem to agree

I happened to arrive during French week at the university.  A pleasant surprise.  I get to see French movies, should I wish to.  I go to three and, reading the subtitles in Spanish, helps me learn a few more expressions.  

Hey son, let me get you out of the fountain…

People watching

My first week is almost over and, although alone, I am enjoying being here for a while.  It is near sundown and the troubadours (mostly music students) are out and about trying to gather business, singing to whomever wants to stop, listen, and pay.  People who follow them around town will be drinking bad red wine offered in special containers in the shapes of frogs or others, kissing on the third step of Callejon del Beso, watching fireworks, and singing along.  Old traditions don’t die easily in Mexico.

The true beauty of Guanajuato as compared to the more famously known and manicured nearby San Miguel de Allende is that it hasn’t been overrun with expats yet.  There are thousands in San Miguel de Allende and only hundreds here.  Guanajuato still holds more of a cultural purity, not as Americanized, but for how much longer?  Enjoy while it lasts.