Guanajuato (wa-na-WA-toe) is a wonder. Set in the midst of rolling hills, the city of 140, 000 is an exuberant expression of the glory that was colonial Spain. Built before building codes or the automobile, cobblestone streets follow the contours of the land. Homes tumble up the hillsides in a jumbled riot of multi-colored facades, and single lane tunnels thread their ways below and among the neighborhoods. The effect is charming. Instead of ‘calles’ (streets) the addresses are given on ‘callejones’ (lanes), and my taxi driver had to back down the narrow lane to my homestay location, as the street was too narrow for him to turn onto it.
The trip from Guadalajara – again on the premier bus line – took us from the verdant foothills into a higher and drier terrain, banana plants and papaya trees yielding to more pastoral and drier terrain, much like driving from western Washington to the palouse. The weather here is not tropical – jeans and t-shirts are the order of the day. Instead of a shower each morning and night (in humid, tropical Puerto Vallarta), I’m feeling right at home in weather much like the northwest in July.
My homestay hostess is a woman about my age, Elena, who is very excited about the prospect of becoming a grandmother in February. Her mother and a friend were visiting with her when I arrived, chatting about recipes and baby clothes and neighborhood gossip and I was pleased to see how much I understood. Lots of progress since my arrival in La Paz, even though I have spent a lot of the time with English-speaking gringos. We had dinner and chatted and then Elena walked me into the center of town to show me where I will need to report to the school.
I fell in love with the ‘centro’ at first sight. Much like Guadalajara, the downtown is full of people strolling, selling, socializing, sitting on the ubiquitous cast iron benches. Life happens in the streets, not in front of the TV. Restaurants, coffee shops, wine bars open onto the plaza, and their tables are full of families, young couples, and groups of friends. But where Guadalajara is grand, imposing, with large open plazas and wide boulevards, Guanajuato is intimate and snug, the basilica standing cheek to jowl with the university and right across the lane from the theatre.
After four days of class, I am (as usual) cansadisima (VERY TIRED!). The typical day starts with the call of the propane man in the streets at 6:30 announcing the availability of propane canisters for those whose showers have suddenly gone cold. Since the rooms front on the lanes, it is hard to ignore his plaintive “Ga-a-a-a-z”. I try to squeeze in another 15 minutes before getting up, doing my homework and heading downstairs for breakfast. The walk to the school takes about 5 minutes, and I share the commute with many others hustling all directions.
The town bustles with life throughout the day and night. On the steps of the Theatre Juarez, a mime engages the audience in some improvisational posturing. Wandering mintrels, dresses in Spanish/Renaissance dress actually wander and minstrel in the streets, with a participatory crowd following as if they were pied pipers. Everywhere you look, walls are dripping with cast iron, bas relief, and tilework – it feels like I was dropped into a Shakespeare festival with a Spanish flair.
School starts at 10 (más o menos – we are in Mexico after all), and runs until 2 with one break, during which Sherri (my fellow student) and I slip over to the pasteleria for something sweet and gooey. Back to the homestay for the main meal of the day and some conversation, and then back to school for an hour of culture or history. On Wednesdays we get our culture fix heading to a bar for happy hour. It’s always amazing how much better my foreign language gets after a glass of wine or beer. Friday, ‘culture hour’ is a Spanish language film. And 2-3 times a week there are salsa classes at 8 pm.
Which leaves little time for sightseeing. Nevertheless, Sherri and I have hiked up to the top of one of the surrounding hills for some photo ops, and wandered the lanes and streets staring up at cathedral spires, temple domes and plaques announcing the location of important historical events. The photos I have included here will hopefully give you some sense of the city. A fabulous place – literally the place of fables.
This weekend, Sherri and I plan to visit San Miguel de Allende (an artsy town, although one that has become a virtual gringo home away from home) and Dolores Hidalgo (the home of the Padre del Pais, Hidalgo, who led the initial insurgents in the fight for independence against Spain. I plan to do a second week of homestay here before I fly back to Rockville Maryland.
My reason for flying back to Maryland to help my Dad as he starts chemo. Despite the surgery and radiation he had in late 2010, early 2011, his melanoma has metastasized and new growths appeared on his scalp and in his lungs in December. He is determined to do what he can to fight it and starts chemo today. Various siblings will be hanging out with him to help him out in case of side effects. Once I heard about the reappearance of his cancer, I decided to suspend cruising and work my way eastward with Spanish immersion while we waited for the doctors to come up with a game plan.
