Our Move to San Miguel de Allende

The trip is uneventful – and feels like a vacation flight with extra luggage. Happily we purchased our tickets prior to Sept. 7 so our weight limit is 70 pounds per bag. (After Sept. 7 the limit is 50 pounds.) All four of our bags are over 50, but only one is over 70 and a little last minute rearranging at the baggage check fixes that problem. We leave Cleveland at 6:30 am, change planes in Houston and arrive Leon before noon. All our bags make it and we are greeted by our driver Ricardo and on the way to SMA.

Great sunny day and the fields are washed with purple and yellow flowers. Unfortunately my plant book is packed in the moving crate, so I have no idea what they are – but they are lovely.

At the house we find chips and guacamole waiting for us, roses on the table and beer in the fridge. What a great welcome.

We complete our errand for the day – dropping off our listing for Juarde, the SMA phone book for ex-pats. October 1 is the deadline for the next edition; fun to know we will be included.

Then we take a siesta. I wake Mike up to answer the door following two or three quick rap rap rap sounds. It doesn´t take long to realize that what I heard were fireworks going off. I forgot. This is Mexico and we hardly know anybody here, so it is much more likely that there would be fireworks than that someone would be knocking at our door.

Some unpacking (Mike is further along than I am) after deciding who gets what closets, etc. Then we head out again.

We are in the midst of the celebration for San Miguel Arcángel (patron saint of San Miguel de Allende). Fortunately we miss the kick-off for the two-day celebration: an hour of loud fireworks from 4:00 am to 5:00 am. We do see part of the cavalcade of horsemen and the Voladores de Paplantla – four men climb a 100 foot pole and slowly descend by twirling down on ropes. The Jardin (the square at the center of the city) is shoulder to shoulder with costumed dancers. It is a giant party. We are looking forward to the 9 pm fireworks and our first night in San Miguel de Allende. It will not be a quiet night.

A boy selling flowers by the Jardin gives us the name of the lavender flower that grows so freely outside town: Mirasol. It looks a lot like Cosmos (maybe is the same flower). Quien sabe? Who knows?

Last night´s fireworks are castillos (reed-built towers about 40 feet tall with spinning, whistling fireworks). For the grand finale the top circle of fireworks goes off and lifts into the sky, heading no one knows where, and landing, no doubt, on some rooftop where the propane tanks are kept. This is Mexico.

I encounter my own surprise when we return home – a scorpion in the hallway. I expect him to skitter away as I do a doubletake. But he just stays put and I step on him – twice, just in case the first time didn´t do the trick. Then I get my slippers. No more walking barefoot around the house at night. And I decide to heed the advice I´ve read and check my shoes before I put them on today.

We walk through the parque this morning. When we were here last year the work was just started on the paths and play equpment. It´s a wonderful improvement and we love the chance to walk side-by-side instead of our typical single file walking required by the narrow ledges that are the sidewalks in town. All the playground equpment is US-standard fare with wood and plastic and a soft sand base so that the kids won´t hurt themselves. Mike and I both laugh at the same time when we see, in a corner of the play area, a pile of discarded wood with nails pointed upward. We wonder if it´s better for the opportunity to exist that kids might get hurt when they play (and therefore they learn to be careful). Do we believe that if our kids get hurt it is the playground designer´s fault?

We watch the afternoon parade – part mardi gras, part indian dances, part Alice in Wonderland. Lots of drums and brass. Our favorites is the troupe with the noisy shoes. Everyone has a good time.

Last night we learn how the towering fireworks are supposed to operate. The top that spun off out of control on Saturday was not the intended action! We watch three more towers. All the spinning wheels shower the crowd (some people bring cardboard to hold over their heads) and then the display moves higher up the tower. One unleashes tenacles of fireworks that spin around, another a sort of crown that spins. And the third some rotating disks. Then the tops spin and lift off like space ships – higher and higher until they explode with a final burst of fireworks.

They also set off traditional fireworks on the square, by simply roping off a section of street and setting up some tubes from which the fireworks are launched. It seems the rule here is that you have to stay at least 10 feet from where the fireworks are set off. I keep moving backwards (and position Mike between me and the blasts) which he, unfortunately, notices that I am doing.

We leave the square along with thousands of happy people. The square is completely trashed.

This morning all is clean and fresh on the square. There is a regular crew of street cleaners who work the Jardin and all the other public places. The streets and walks in front of private dwellings and businesses are cleaned each day by the owners or maids.

Monday night finds Mike at Casa Payo, an Argentine restaurant and sports bar (great hamburgers and strange sausages) for Monday night football. I come across an unexpected treat at the Jardin – the Acapulco Philharmonic is playing at the square. The accoustics are surprisingly good – the orchestra is set up on risers against a huge stone building which must direct the sound in some manner. The 70 or so musicians are in formal dress – it is really quite spectacular to happen upon this free concert. The church bells seems well timed – coming between numbers and interfering only with the conductor comments (which I cannot understand, but have the audience laughing). Not so well timed are the fireworks. I can only suppose that they were meant to come AFTER the concert, but instead they begin about halfway through the last piece. Since it was not the 1812 overture, it had everyone giggling, then laughing outright.

Following the end of the fireworks two men run through the crowd. This seems troublesome to me, but no one else seems to be worried. For good reason – they are the fireworks fellows, madly dashing through the audience to get to the second round which is rigged up to the ironwork in front of the Parroquia (the famous San Miguel church on the square). Everyone applauds as sparks shower down on us and then we all go home.

The language issue is often silly, often frustrating. I look forward to being able to communicate in Spanish. Now it’s part pantomime, part Spanish, part English, part misunderstanding. Luckily Mike took Spanish in high school and college. My French just gets in the way – apparently I have only one bucket where foreign words are stored and the once forgotten high school French keeps popping to the top when I try to remember the Spanish phrases. If it sounds Spanish, I think it must be. Not foolproof. A bientôt surely sounds Spanish, yet what I need is hasta luego.

We manage to figure out what cell phone plan to purchase after “speaking” with a rep from two companies in Spanish (a bit of pictionary thrown in on one), a rep from another company who spoke a little English, and Amelia from PMC (a travel and tourism company) who has nothing to do with cell phones but who does speak English and is such a great help. We’re getting new phones – less expensive than getting new chips installed in our current Sprint PCS phones – and buying service 100 or 200 pesos at a time (it costs just one peso (about 9 cents) when we call one another and there are no other charges). In fact, we paid 285 pesos for each phone and got 300 pesos worth of calls included. That’s a deal! Technology here is the same as in the U.S.; it’s the sales and marketing that are different. We will have plenty of phones – a landline Mexican phone, Vonage internet phone for calls to and from the US, and Mexican cell phones so we can keep track of one another.

Mike and I try to speak Spanish to one another as much as we can. So yesterday when I want to go to lunch, I tell Mike – in Spanish – “I’m hungry. Are you hungry?” At least that’s what I mean to say: “Tengo hambre. ¿Tienes hambre?” literally “I have hunger. Do you have hunger?” But I use the French pronunciation and so it sounds like hombre instead, which means man. This gets a pretty interesting response from Mike. I have to resort to English to get him to understand that but that I really am hungry, not just practicing Spanish. And so then we have lunch.

PS: Happily, “chocolate” is about the same in all three languages. Some things are too important to permit a language barrier to get in the way.

Wednesday is the first day our maid cooks for us. We picked the menu Monday (salad and chicken enchiladas); she shopped Tuesday. Wednesday morning there is a pot of chicken stewing and another pot at a boil with the ingredients for the salsa verde. We sit down to the best enchiladas we’ve ever had. We are dumbstruck with the realization that we can have wonderful meals prepared for us at no greater cost than if we cooked ourselves. Our maid is $65 per week. What an amazing value.

Cable guys come to hook up our internet service Wednesday morning. But some additional work needs to happen on the lines. “Mas tarde” they say – they’ll be back at 4:30. But they don’t come back in the afternoon. Thursday morning I call and they say the crew will be here in 10 minutes. Two hours later I call and they say the crew will be here in 10 minutes. A half hour later they come. They do the same things and say some additional work needs to happen on the lines and they’ll be back at 4:30. At 5:15 I call and am told they’ll be here in 10 minutes. At 6:15 I call and am told they’ll be here in 10 minutes. At 6:30 they arrive and by 7:00 we have internet. Lightening fast internet. I am so thrilled! I know that “10 minutes” in Mexico is never to be taken literally. And, without exception, everyone in this saga – whether on the phone or in person – is friendly and very pleasant. I work hard to be patient and relaxed. It doesn’t come naturally to me.

We have our first experience with a real estate agent looking at available houses in our price range. It is so discouraging to Mike that we agree that I’ll do the house hunting and he will only see any place that I think is a possibility. And I decide to protect my mental health by not looking at any place that I’ve not first screened through pictures or a lengthy description.

Having never lived in a community of expats, we hoped that what we read was true – that people are very accepting of newcomers, conversation flows easily from the “what brought you here” question, and that making friends takes just a bit of time and a welcoming spirit.

It is true in SMA.

...A woman next to me at an internet cafe needs to get past my chair to leave. We exchange a few words. Later that evening we happen to be dining at the same restaurant. I introduce myself and remind her that we were at the same internet cafe. She introduces me to another woman she’s having dinner with and we three chat for a few minutes. The next day the second woman passes me on the street and stops to talk further. She hosts a writing group and invites me to join. I now belong to a group that meets every Monday afternoon.

...Mike and I attend a gallery reception and meet several couples. We really enjoy chatting with one couple – he’s a photographer, she’s a painter. The next day we visit their studio and end up on their rooftop patio chatting away for a great part of the afternoon. They are stopping by at our place on Friday and we’re out to dinner together.

When we last visited here I noticed that people seemed especially friendly until we said that we were only visiting for a month. I understood it then, but wished it weren’t so. Now I find myself feeling the same tug – we’re wanting to build a circle of friends, which means seeking out the permanent residents.

We do the home tour. Every Sunday a group departs from the bibliotheca in buses and tours 3 homes. Name tags show first name and area of residence. We have a good time with SMA on our tags. “So, how long have you lived in SMA?” “Eight days,” we reply.

We have lunch after. I ask Mike for advice on some verb. He doesn’t know the past tense. We wonder if we can get away with present tense only if our defense is that we have decided to live in the moment.

We get up at 7:30 and head for the Parque – about two blocks away. I love the sounds of the town coming alive – everywhere people are sweeping and scrubbing, setting up shop. The streets are not yet clogged with traffic and the diesel fumes have almost faded away.

In the Parque, both of us just waking, we keep finding ourselves falling into single file as is necessary on the town’s narrow sidewalks. Here, however, the new paths are wonderfully wide. After a few rounds we settle into walking hand-in-hand. The park is full of bird sounds, sweeping, and raucous basketball games being played before the day heats up. A sign shows us the spanish: basquet bol. This fits. We already know beis bol and fut bol. And we have learned the translation for Pollo Feliz. Although we’ve not eaten at the fried chicken place – and never will – its prominent location makes it a reference point for directions in the north part of town. Pollo Feliz, we find, isn’t translated for us into Happy Chicken, which is what we expect. The translation we are given is Kentucky Fried Chicken (“go two blocks and turn left at Kentucky Fried Chicken”).

We are meeting interesting people. We find two types of expats: those who are full of life and those who are full of themselves. Those in the latter category have some incredible (I may mean this literally) stories to tell about their lives and accomplishments.

I think we have walked most of the town by now. Our views are shifting. Areas that seemed remote now feel closer; neighborhoods that we would have considered marginal now appear perfectly normal. I comment to Mike that we’re walking in a nice neighborhood – and he points to a house we’d been shown on our last visit here. We had both concluded that we wouldn’t rent in such a rough area – and now it seems a fine spot to live.

We attend a Columbus Day lecture by Guillermo Mendez at Teatro Santa Ana – the small theatre attached to the biblioteca.

Here in San Miguel Columbus Day is marked with a candelight ceremony in the bull ring, reflecting the view adopted by Mexico’s indigenous population that Columbus brought genocide and the slave trade to Latin America. (He did take “Indios” back to Spain to be sold as slaves – against the command of the Spanish Crown, one of several offenses which saw him arrested following his fourth voyage and returned to Spain in chains.)

Our lecturer Mendez clicked through slides of dozens of paintings of Columbus – most of which bore no resemblance to one another and all of which were painted decades after his death. Even more amusing were the slides of Columbus and Isabella – she all thin and beautiful. Isabella, however, had been painted during her lifetime. Those slides reveal a very homely woman.

In Columbus’s time everyone acknowledged the world was a sphere – this despite what I learned in elementary school. There was, however, great debate on what life was like on the other side of the sphere. Did it rain up? Did trees grow upside down? Did people walk on their hands? The Spanish Court had little doubt that Columbus would reach China by sailing west – but most believed he would not be able to return. The trip there would be downhill, but the trip back would be uphill.

One last fact from the lecture: Columbus hit land October 21, 1492. When the Gregorian calendar replaced the Julian calendar most dates were changed, but for some reason the uncorrected Julian calendar date of October 12, 1492 still stands.