So, it was last Saturday that I went on a day trip on "Mexico's Idependence route," aka tourist trail. A rickety blue bus with the words "Transportes Turisticos de Guanajuato" hand painted on the side picked me up at the schoo a little late. I was one of the first to be picked up, and from there we went collecting various other, mostly older, tourists, until the bus was full of their chatter and laughter. (One of the women noticed a big beautiful piece of quartz the driver had on the dashboard. "I have a collection of rocks, and crystals that I use for crystal therapy," he said. He talked a bit about the crystals themselves, called "rosas" because of their petal-like structure. I have one with a drop of water inside," he said. "It has very good energy.") We stopped first to see the very colorful gravesite of Jose Alfredo Jimenez, a famous Mexican singer from the middle of the last century. The memorial consisted of a 15-foot-tall concrete sombrero, around which wound a brilliantly colored ridge of concrete, inlaid with pieces of Talavera tile to mimic the rainbow, representing both a sarape and a mountain range, apparently.
From there we proceeded to the town of Dolores Hidalgo, where, on September 16, 1810, Padre Miguel Hidalgo uttered his famous "Grito de Dolores," the call to action that served as the impetus of the Mexican war for independence. It wasn't really a very lovely town, but we got to see the the house where Padre Hidalgo had lived, as well as the church from which he gave the Grito. But--best of all--we were able to sample the myriad bizarre flavors of ice cream sold on the Dolores plaza. Things such as avocado, rose petal, mole, chicharron, tequila, beer... The list goes on. Admittedly, I was unable to bring myself to try the chicharron flavor, much as I love fried pork skin.
We stopped briefly at the church in Atotonilco, a very tine, very poor village between Dolores and San Miguel. The church, aside from being one of the places Padre Hidalgo stopped to rally his forces, also has a beautifully painted interior. What I liked best about it, though, was that there was a fluffy white cat wandering around inside, winding through people's legs, sitting on the altar irreverently--he obviously owned the place. On the way out, small, dirty children begged for coins...
San Miguel de Allende is known for being very touristy, filled with American ex-pats, and certainly, walking down the street, every other person seemed to be a tourist, and 3 out of 4 tourists seemed to be Americans. As such, the town has many amenities geared toward westerners. The vegetarian restaurant where I ate, for example (I had a large salad and fresh carrot juice--vegetables!), or the little walk-up cafe where I had on organic chiapas coffee. Granted, this means it's all a bit more expensive, too--I paid twice as much for my lunch as I've payed for any other meal here, which, by American standards, was still resonable ($8). I can see why people like San Miguel, though. It's pretty and colorful, there are live mariachis playing on the plaza. There are several art galleries and and kind of upscale funiture/decor-type shops. It's a very comfortable place, in that a good deal has been geared toward toward foreigners and tourists. It's charming, regarless (though I think I like Guanajuato better).
We left San Miguel around 6 or 6:30. Sitting nest to me in the van was an older Mexican woman who now lived in Texas. She was very friendly, and a bit sick from the altitude. We chatted a bit about the importance of being bilingual and various other things before she fell into a light sleep. The van wound its way through the dry, scrubby hills, passing the occasionan greener field, herds of cows, a herd of goats. In the west, the sun slipped behind clouds and the wind of the road blew through our hair.
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