Daddy's Version of Guanajuato
After returning to Harrisburg after his week's visit to Guanajuato, Daddy wrote a very personal, and emtirely accurate report to other family members about his experience. In his own words:
"...G. is a colorful town of narrow streets filled with people going some place (usually in a hurry), selling things, playing a violin, trying to persuade other people to let their car through, delivering huge (and heavy) bottles of drinking water, cooking gas, loading some 15-20 bricks on their backs with a wide band running across their forehead and then starting up a perpendicular street, drinking coffee from the numerous restaurants in each block, and on and on. Off of each narrow streets smaller streets and alleys, some so narrow that only one person can get through at a time, climb steeply into the stratosphere. The street running to B&L's goes up so steeply that what you might call the sidewalk is a series of long steps. It goes up about 150 feet, then turns sharply to the right and rises much more steeply about the same distance to B&L, after which it begins to climb seriously. B&L themselves hop, skip and jump through all of this, paying little attention to whether the street goes up or down, while Dottie and I pant and listen to our hearts pounding. When I declined to climb with Louisa to a heroic statue of a famed miner hero of the Mexican Revolution (there's a convenient funicular RR very handy to get to it), she retaliates by inviting me to go back to the house by another route, which could be called the SSS or "street of steep steps," Ladies using it are well-advised to wear slacks.
There is no open ground between houses, except for the occasional alleys, which are all paved over, so any bare ground is virtually non-existent. There are trees in the numerous small squares, totally filling small rectangles of what I suppose is earth, but which is never visible. Except for a few (probably owned by los gringos), all houses, which are almost all rectangular in shape, rather like blocks piled on each other, compete for the title of "most colorful," or "strongest color." House colors are like the food: the hotter the better. Red, yellow and sometimes blue, are the favorites. This applies both to exterior and interior walls. L&B have one wall painted a quiet, restful green. It's nice just to sit and look at it, but meanwhile you can almost hear the other "mas fuerte" colors surrounding it expressing their contempt.
Before arriving, I rather had the idea that G. reached up to a peak; well, it does, but there are several, all outside of town, except for the one at the top of the funicular. So the town itself sort of sits in a bowl with B&L maybe about half-way down the bowl. Oh, I forgot to say: not only are there all these houses, and from L&B's position on the bowl, you can get at good look at houses both below you but also on the other side of the bowl. And also, interspersed among all of these are numerous churches, each with its own set of bells, and each with a slightly different idea of correct time. Or maybe it's a matter of pecking order, but anyway the one closest to L&B seemed to begin first, followed by another a little distance away. Perhaps closeness to L&B determines the order.
L&B's day begins, naturally, with a meditation, performed by a Japanese monk (?), consisting of 20 minutes of kneeling facing one direction, then a walk-around, then 15 minutes in another direction. (I was allowed to sit, and the monk dutifully came and positioned my head properly so that I couldn't see my watch.) Due to confusion, I referred to the process as the Beatitudes, and I apologize, B, for my irreverence. I failed to reach any notable conclusions during my meditation, but I gather that's not really the objective. I've participated in two of these with Barry, the other one in Seattle, and given my age, I'm discouraged to report that the likely number of future such opportunities may be limited. Que lastima!
Well, enough of that, you get the picture. But then the activities. Most of Guanajuato's movers and shakers seemed to know L&B very well, because a bunch of them came almost every night for drinks. I discovered that tequila is not a bad drink after all, though I'm about to drop this report in a few minutes and have a martini just for old times' sake. Also, there were workmen applying "fuerte" colors to the walls, L&B's agent was in and out, as was a dignitary from the city, which is very suspicious of why they want to improve the place. But you should see it, A & R, it just glows. Their major problem is what to do with all the rooms they'll have when they finish fixing it up. My suggestion is extra guest rooms.
One unusual aspect of G. for a town that size is that it has a number of underground auto passages, which run every which way, and reminded Barry of "The Third Man," which I saw years ago but had forgotten the Vienna sewers (Barry reminded me). Oh, and another most unusual aspect: no traffic lights in all of G., and traffic proceeds without horns, with cars stopping continuously to let pedestrians cross.
All this activity was too much, Dottie and I took off (and of course that was required by the 3-day visit rule) and went to San Miguel de Allende on the bus (L&B were beginning to look a little harried). The bus was a startling contrast to US buses: the drivers all wore dark suits, white shirts and ties. The buses were clean and on time, and the agents were available and responsive. They even gave us a free soda and some crackers.
San Miguel, in contrast to G., has lots of Americans, many of them the arty type. Our motel was operated by one of them, who favored us with a collection of his paintings. Truly, I would have preferred that he not have done that. He's been there ten years, and is working up to the lean and hungry stage of artistic success. San Miguel is not as hilly as G., but otherwise has a good many similarities. We walked throuigh part of the town, ending up at the local cathedral, very reminiscent of Ecuadorean Catholic churches, replete with gold and silver. The park in front of the cathedral turned out to be the gringo hangout, and all through town there were a lot more Americans, who have made San Miguel much more of a US retirement community than is Guanajuato.
Another aspect of life in G: at night the whole town turns out for a party: a band begins to play at a small square near (meaning horizontally, you still have to go down and up to get there) B&L's; some danced, some drank beer, some sat around and listened. This wasn't because we were there, it just happened.
Every morning after meditation, L&B take Spanish lessons, though they are both remarkably fluent, so one morning I swallowed my pride and sat for an hour with Carlos. I offered him an hour of instruction in Hungarian in payment, but he politely declined that. But I did remember to tell him about my discovery years ago that Quechua and Hungarian have the same grammatical structure, I forget what the word is, but they both add pronouns at the end of nouns, not place them separately at the beginning. I didn't follow through on that enough to find out whether Hungarians came originally from the Andeans or the Andean Indians from Central Asia. Anyway, I was pleased to find out I can still count to ten in Spanish.
So, anyway, that's the report. Now, for the thank you part.
Thank you, Louisa and Barry. A wonderful experience. Thank you for meeting us at the bottom of your hill--that is, street and lugging our suitcases up to the top of the mountain. Thank you for all the tequila you laid out for me so I wouldn't have to drink the local water. Dottie says thank you for holding her hand goiing up all the mountains (you called them streets) and calling her "Sweetie." In fact, it was a Great Trip. When can we come back?"
"...G. is a colorful town of narrow streets filled with people going some place (usually in a hurry), selling things, playing a violin, trying to persuade other people to let their car through, delivering huge (and heavy) bottles of drinking water, cooking gas, loading some 15-20 bricks on their backs with a wide band running across their forehead and then starting up a perpendicular street, drinking coffee from the numerous restaurants in each block, and on and on. Off of each narrow streets smaller streets and alleys, some so narrow that only one person can get through at a time, climb steeply into the stratosphere. The street running to B&L's goes up so steeply that what you might call the sidewalk is a series of long steps. It goes up about 150 feet, then turns sharply to the right and rises much more steeply about the same distance to B&L, after which it begins to climb seriously. B&L themselves hop, skip and jump through all of this, paying little attention to whether the street goes up or down, while Dottie and I pant and listen to our hearts pounding. When I declined to climb with Louisa to a heroic statue of a famed miner hero of the Mexican Revolution (there's a convenient funicular RR very handy to get to it), she retaliates by inviting me to go back to the house by another route, which could be called the SSS or "street of steep steps," Ladies using it are well-advised to wear slacks.
There is no open ground between houses, except for the occasional alleys, which are all paved over, so any bare ground is virtually non-existent. There are trees in the numerous small squares, totally filling small rectangles of what I suppose is earth, but which is never visible. Except for a few (probably owned by los gringos), all houses, which are almost all rectangular in shape, rather like blocks piled on each other, compete for the title of "most colorful," or "strongest color." House colors are like the food: the hotter the better. Red, yellow and sometimes blue, are the favorites. This applies both to exterior and interior walls. L&B have one wall painted a quiet, restful green. It's nice just to sit and look at it, but meanwhile you can almost hear the other "mas fuerte" colors surrounding it expressing their contempt.
Before arriving, I rather had the idea that G. reached up to a peak; well, it does, but there are several, all outside of town, except for the one at the top of the funicular. So the town itself sort of sits in a bowl with B&L maybe about half-way down the bowl. Oh, I forgot to say: not only are there all these houses, and from L&B's position on the bowl, you can get at good look at houses both below you but also on the other side of the bowl. And also, interspersed among all of these are numerous churches, each with its own set of bells, and each with a slightly different idea of correct time. Or maybe it's a matter of pecking order, but anyway the one closest to L&B seemed to begin first, followed by another a little distance away. Perhaps closeness to L&B determines the order.
L&B's day begins, naturally, with a meditation, performed by a Japanese monk (?), consisting of 20 minutes of kneeling facing one direction, then a walk-around, then 15 minutes in another direction. (I was allowed to sit, and the monk dutifully came and positioned my head properly so that I couldn't see my watch.) Due to confusion, I referred to the process as the Beatitudes, and I apologize, B, for my irreverence. I failed to reach any notable conclusions during my meditation, but I gather that's not really the objective. I've participated in two of these with Barry, the other one in Seattle, and given my age, I'm discouraged to report that the likely number of future such opportunities may be limited. Que lastima!
Well, enough of that, you get the picture. But then the activities. Most of Guanajuato's movers and shakers seemed to know L&B very well, because a bunch of them came almost every night for drinks. I discovered that tequila is not a bad drink after all, though I'm about to drop this report in a few minutes and have a martini just for old times' sake. Also, there were workmen applying "fuerte" colors to the walls, L&B's agent was in and out, as was a dignitary from the city, which is very suspicious of why they want to improve the place. But you should see it, A & R, it just glows. Their major problem is what to do with all the rooms they'll have when they finish fixing it up. My suggestion is extra guest rooms.
One unusual aspect of G. for a town that size is that it has a number of underground auto passages, which run every which way, and reminded Barry of "The Third Man," which I saw years ago but had forgotten the Vienna sewers (Barry reminded me). Oh, and another most unusual aspect: no traffic lights in all of G., and traffic proceeds without horns, with cars stopping continuously to let pedestrians cross.
All this activity was too much, Dottie and I took off (and of course that was required by the 3-day visit rule) and went to San Miguel de Allende on the bus (L&B were beginning to look a little harried). The bus was a startling contrast to US buses: the drivers all wore dark suits, white shirts and ties. The buses were clean and on time, and the agents were available and responsive. They even gave us a free soda and some crackers.
San Miguel, in contrast to G., has lots of Americans, many of them the arty type. Our motel was operated by one of them, who favored us with a collection of his paintings. Truly, I would have preferred that he not have done that. He's been there ten years, and is working up to the lean and hungry stage of artistic success. San Miguel is not as hilly as G., but otherwise has a good many similarities. We walked throuigh part of the town, ending up at the local cathedral, very reminiscent of Ecuadorean Catholic churches, replete with gold and silver. The park in front of the cathedral turned out to be the gringo hangout, and all through town there were a lot more Americans, who have made San Miguel much more of a US retirement community than is Guanajuato.
Another aspect of life in G: at night the whole town turns out for a party: a band begins to play at a small square near (meaning horizontally, you still have to go down and up to get there) B&L's; some danced, some drank beer, some sat around and listened. This wasn't because we were there, it just happened.
Every morning after meditation, L&B take Spanish lessons, though they are both remarkably fluent, so one morning I swallowed my pride and sat for an hour with Carlos. I offered him an hour of instruction in Hungarian in payment, but he politely declined that. But I did remember to tell him about my discovery years ago that Quechua and Hungarian have the same grammatical structure, I forget what the word is, but they both add pronouns at the end of nouns, not place them separately at the beginning. I didn't follow through on that enough to find out whether Hungarians came originally from the Andeans or the Andean Indians from Central Asia. Anyway, I was pleased to find out I can still count to ten in Spanish.
So, anyway, that's the report. Now, for the thank you part.
Thank you, Louisa and Barry. A wonderful experience. Thank you for meeting us at the bottom of your hill--that is, street and lugging our suitcases up to the top of the mountain. Thank you for all the tequila you laid out for me so I wouldn't have to drink the local water. Dottie says thank you for holding her hand goiing up all the mountains (you called them streets) and calling her "Sweetie." In fact, it was a Great Trip. When can we come back?"
posted by Louisa at 2:54 AM
0 comments
