Favorite Mexican Cities: Guanajuato

By Marcus Wilder

Side Plaza off the Main Plaza

The main plaza in Guanajuato is high on my list of most pleasant places on earth.

The two or three hundred American expatriates living in Guanajuato live in daily fear Guanajuato will be discovered. I asked an Old South patrician American if there is social interaction with the American community in San Miguel de Allende. His eyes widened. He almost gasped. He did not answer. I took that for no.

Guanajuato is a lovely colonial city an hour’s drive from San Miguel de Allende, less than an hour the other direction from the new airport at Leon. I spent one of the most pleasant months of my life at language school in Guanajuato. I lived with a family. I immersed myself in Spanish. The students at my school were nearly all young people from several countries. They were delightful.

Memories of some of my favorites...Severine the Anarchist…Emma from Belfast…Stephanie the Dutch Girl…Thomas the Dutch Boy...Sophia…Hardy the Charming German [an oxymoron]…bring a smile as I write. Maria the Marxist is school secretary.

For single men, the University of Guanajuato sponsored language school in San Miguel - Instituto Allende - is probably better. Students in San Miguel are almost all ladies of a certain age.

Maria the Marxist and I had many fine debates.

A Nutri-Pollo truck delivered large bags of chicken feet to a meat shop in my street. Chicken feet are heated on a hot griddle until the skin splits then slow-boiled to make bullion for soup. Chicken-feet-flavor is superior to bullion cube flavor.

As I walked home one evening in the Sunday dusk, Stephanie, Thomas, Emma, and a truly beautiful new girl - Haley from Regina - hailed me from the top of the steps of Teatro Juarez. We walked to an Italian coffee house, then strolled through the town to the main market. Outbound, I walked with Haley.

With little prodding, Haley explained why Canada and the United States developed different national characteristics…why plains Indians are superior to coastal Indians…why Canada did not have a Wild West…the details of the U.S./Canada softwoods dispute…why private insurance is not the solution to long waiting lines in the Canadian healthcare system…and more. Haley was a college sophomore.

Returning, I walked with Emma. One of Emma’s great-grandfathers was a Falange (Fascist) provincial minister of rationing in Spain. In her Spanish Civil War course at King’s College in London, Emma read Preston - a Stalinist - but Emma had her facts straight.

A few years earlier, Miss Tillie and I lunched on a tiny balcony above the shaded main plaza.

Outdoor restaurants line one side of the tree-shaded triangular people space. Evenings, mariachis serenade. All Guanajuato seems to come out for an evening stroll. Guanajuato is a city for strollers. Around every corner is another tiny plaza with a shade tree and a park bench.

Guanajuato is a World Heritage Site.

Guanajuato is a city for Mexicans. Guanajuato has not made the adjustments American tourists demand. In Guanajuato, the visitor does not feel the tension of larger Mexican cities. There are no street hustlers. Wah-nah-what-toe, emphasize the what.

In Guanajuato, small children walk to school.

Guanajuato is built on hills. Steep, narrow pedestrian streets - callejones - wind upward from vehicle streets. Women walk up and down these steep, cobbled passageways in spike heels…looking good whatever the cost.

Small men carry heavy loads on their backs. One American told me of seeing a porter carry a huge armoire up one steep callejon. Cah-yeh-hone, emphasize the hone.

Callejon

Saints’ days are celebrated by drum and bugle corps marching through the streets. Corps from rich neighborhoods wear fine uniforms. Corps from poor neighborhoods wear scrambled together bits and pieces of uniforms. All march and play with equal enthusiasm.

Guanajuato has a respected university…all the cultural activity a university attracts.

One side of the main plaza triangle is a church. Steps leading down to the church form a mini-amphitheater. One evening I came upon a group of estudantinas - university musicians dressed in medieval costumes - entertaining a small crowd seated on these steps. Much weaving from side to side and clapping of hands was required of the audience…Mexicans of all classes. An ancient street woman danced a slow, mildly obscene belly dance to the music. The old woman passed a cup. Spectators gave her coins.

 Estudantinas 

Guanajuato has a respected symphony orchestra, mostly music staff from the university. When I was there, the Mexican conductor had just returned from one year with the Philadelphia orchestra. Guanajuato was justifiably proud of him.

The concert hall was being renovated. The concert I attended was held in a 17^th Century church. Acoustics were perfection…not perfect…perfection, a stronger word.

When I arrived, there was a long line.  I got in line.  I was asked if I had a ticket.  I said no. I was told this was the line for people with tickets. I was sent to the head of the line to buy a ticket. Tickets were $8. With my student card, my ticket was $4. At almost the moment I was handed my ticket, doors opened. I was formally ushered inside ahead of the many people who had tickets in advance.

There are only three notable restaurants in Guanajuato. The two I tried were good. I was told the third is uneven. San Miguel has restaurant and shopping advantages.

At the house where I lived were a retired French couple - Alain and Annemarie - students at my school. One afternoon, Alain and Annemarie visited the famous Valenciana church out from town. There were no toilet facilities. The Alain slipped behind an outbuilding to relieve himself. Just at the moment of Alain’s maximum vulnerability, a policeman walked around the corner. Alain was arrested and hauled to the police station.  He was fined the equivalent of $20. Annemarie had access to the Internet. Within an hour, all France knew.

One suspects the policeman lurks where he can see men walking behind that building, something like a speed trap.

There is a standard list of American failings some Americans recite at any provocation…often without provocation. Alain recited that exact list - point by point, leaving out nothing - about France.

Guanajuato means Place of Frogs. Alain told me if one looks from the altar of Valenciana church out through the doors, the distant mountain looks like a frog.

Guanajuato hosts an annual arts festival - Festival Internacional Cervantino - of international high regard. Make hotel reservations at least one year in advance.

At an intersection I crossed walking to school, Tweeter the Cop stood on the sidewalk every morning blasting cheerfully on his whistle at no one in particular. It was good to see a man enjoy his work.

Nahuatl is the language of the Aztecs. Maria the Marxist arranged Nahuatl lessons for me with a Nahuatl chief. I learned perhaps six words. The Nahuatl word for dog is chichi. Many of our words - avocado, tomato, chili - come from Nahuatl.

One Guanajuato claim to fame is the potter, Gorky Gonzalez. Gorky is credited with reviving the Guanajuato pottery industry. Gorky’s product does not impress. I suspect we might never have heard of Gorky had he been Jorge. Gorky is a nice old man.

I attended cooking classes. The teacher, Maria Luisa, uses the simplest ingredients. Maria Luisa’s methods are simple. Maria Luisa’s tools are a battered two-quart saucepan, a medium-sized black steel skillet, a chopping board, and a blender. Maria Luisa’s food is divine.

For stuffed peppers, Maria Luisa does not bake the peppers. Peppers are blackened on a dry skillet. The blackened peppers are easy to peal. The flesh of the peeled, stuffed peppers is uncooked…sweet…crunchy. Maria Luisa’s stuffed pepper filling will stand beside anything top chefs produce.

Luis the Music Teacher had a live-in Lebanese girlfriend. The girlfriend is a belly dancer. The girlfriend was invited to perform for the Guanajuato Lion’s Club. Luis forbad her to go. She went. Luis beat her up. She called police. From there, accounts differ.

The house where Diego Rivera was born is a museum. There is nothing there, but you cannot go to Guanajuato and say you did not see it. The mummy museum is worth some effort to see.

I often saw a tiny man not four feet tall moving about Guanajuato’s steep cobbled streets with difficulty on homemade crutches. He carried a tiny briefcase. I regret I never talked to him.

Fly to Leon. Bus to Guanajuato. From Guanajuato, San Miguel is another hour by bus. This area is the Bajio, the colonial heart of Mexico.

The Mexican peso is cheap now. This is a good time to go.

Learn more about Marcus Wilder, his books, and his travel at NaiveAbroad.com.

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