Documenting the trials and tribulations of Doug Reid and Nancy Procter as they attempt to purchase and renovate a French "fixer-upper" in the foothills of the Pyrenees with new French power tools and a new language.
Sunday, August 6, 2017
A Bus Ride to Town
We took a bus ride into Guanajuato this morning stepping onto the bus a hundred yards from the house. The bus driver had failed to qualify for Le Mans but drove like a man still in the race. The bus was mostly empty and so, rattled like a thousand tin cans along the cobblestone roads and the newer roads filled with topes (speed bumps are everywhere in Mexico, mostly where you don't expect them). The driver lived by the rule "If you can't find 'em, grind 'em" (referring to the complicated gearbox). I never imagined you could drive a beat up old bus that fast on congested, winding, tope ridden roads.
When we got to Centro, there was this sign reminding me to get out my camera.
For a little while the three amigos were in every shot, mischievously standing in front of what I wanted to capture, so I took a portrait.
Some kind of min-drama was taking place in the plaza with a drum and piccolo, a costumed and masked maiden and pirate, un toro, un matador, and some kids.
Near centro was this sign and I took a picture so I could translate it later. It reads "Where any toad is king" and then the original spelling of the town.
From many vantage points, the city looks like this. Houses climbing the hillsides, most built during the silver boom. The only way you can tell you're not in Spain is the American cars and trucks.
An older couple (about the same age as Nancy and I) waiting for the bus home.