First Days in San Miguel de Allende

I was constantly forced to remind myself, while walking around San Miguel de Allende, that I was in Mexico, not Spain. It's a very charming city with it's bold colors and balconies a part of every second story window. All the streets are cobblestone and the narrow sidewalks are mostly occupied by telephone poles, it's just as easy to walk in the street except for the traffic crawling by. The city is perched on the base of a hill in a rather broad valley. It is at an elevation of 6500 feet, and the hills leave you gasping for breath. (Please click on the pictures to enlarge them.)

This lady was flattered to have me ask to take her picture. She spent some time adjusting her scarf on her head before smiling up at me. I think her strongly indigenous face and the woven goods behind her remind us that while the architecture may be Spanish Colonial, the people are Mexican. We had heard that there was a large gringo and foreign population in San Miguel; that may be true but it is still overwhelmingly indigenous.

The sidewalk cafes under couverts remind one of the main plaza of Mirepoix (yes, France) n'est pas?

The colonial Spanish who settled San Miguel seemed to have two main goals; convert the Indians to Catholicism, and remove all the gold to Spain. Consequently, churches in San Miguel are everywhere. In the historical downtown, there are no less that five magnificent churches. The gold went to Madrid.

I'm not sure if this traditional dress is worn when they are not selling their goods, but nonetheless, it is very appealing. Native dress, sandals on bare feet and a plastic coke bottle. I am reminded of the traditional house dress worn by French women around Leran. The Mexican women have something similar, but it is a smock worn over other clothes.

We stumbled upon this old gas pump, and I can remember these at gas stations when I was a kid, although the were brightly painted with the oil companies logo. Perhaps you can see that the guage is offering gas at 38 centavos per litre. My mind can't convert liters to gallons and old pesos to dollars, but that was probably a screamin' deal.

Another reminder of Mirepoix, France. There always seems to be a guy caning chairs in the Monday morning market. This guy wasn't at a market but just sitting out on the street plying his trade.

This lady is multi-tasking. Carrying out the garbage and taking her items to the artisan's market.

We stumbled upon a celebration of Cuban culture and dance. This grandmother was watching her grandchild and the dancing troupe at the same time.

I generally ask if they mind if I take a picture, but not always. I asked this street vendor preparing her lunch items, "Un photo, con permisso, por favor?" She stuck out her hand, palm up. No misunderstanding that gesture.

A Few Thoughts About Todos Santos

This was our home in Todos Santos, Baja California Sur, for two weeks. It's a lovely home with a goregeous view and plenty of decks to soak up the sun. We traded houses with a California couple who will venture to Leran in September. We had a relaxing time and spent hours and hours on the beautiful, sandy and lonely beaches of Baja.

Todos Santos translates to English as All Saints. Crowning the doorways and corners of many of the older buildings in "downtown" Todos Santos are statues of quite a few of them. Whether their job is to oversee what's happening or provide guidance to town parishoners, or just enhance photographic interest for tourists, I don't know. One Sunday, we signed up for an Historical House Tour, and our guide Christine took us through some 22 grand old restored buildings. One person in the group, when repeatedly seeing the statues overhead, asked just how many saints there were. Christine had to admit she didn't know. Neither did I except to say "a shit-load". I later confirmed my suspicion: more than 10,000.

Everywhere we went in Todos Santos, there were lots of visitors from South Dakota. We saw lots of California license plates and Baja Sur of course. A few Montana, Colorado, and other western states, but an overwheming number of South Dakotans seemed to be spending the winter in Todos Santos. The mystery resolved itself when we found out South Dakota will send you a set of plates without having to establish residency or even make an appearance in the state, hence a lot of American ex-pats have them throughtout Mexico.

One of the empty and beautiful beaches where we would walk Fergus every day. This one is San Perdito, also known as Las Palmas. Only once or twice did we see people on this beach in the afternoon.

I loved the two guys standing outside the white adobe or stucco building with the incredible olive green trim. The contrast was striking.

The Freida Khalo chair. The sports bar was in a building that was intentionally left only partially restored. The walls in one of the back rooms were in the original lime plaster, badly damaged with huge chunks of exposed brick showing. The owners commented that it retained its charm this way. So right. All the chairs were brightly painted, but Freida was the only one I recognized. There may have been Pancho Villa and Diego Rivera too.

Construction materials for the old buildings included a local brick, which dimensionally was about 50% bigger than our standard US brick. It was most handsome. Wrought iron balconies graced the 2nd floors of most buildings, and no buildings were taller than two stories. Wooden doors were painted in stunning flat colors, shades of blues, greens, lavenders, reds. No one could tell me the specific paint used, but it had the effect of a milk paint.

Outside the Cafe de Todos Santos, hidden under the cascading flowers, are Doug and Fergus. We sat there feeling like we were in a cocoon, and assumed that even on the hottest day, this arbor would provide a welcoming sanctuary.

Most of the beaches we discovered were non-swimming beaches with steep drop-offs and strong undertows. Fergus seemed to instinctively learn to keep a safe distance as the waves came crashing in. But once we found Los Cerritos, with a shallow hard-packed swimming beach, Fergus was nearly convinced to become a water dog. I say, nearly. He would venture out with us, then see a wave coming in and hustle himself back to dry sand. But he did get in (sort of) on a game a canine soccer.

To sum up, Todos Santos for us was all about relaxation. I know, most of you are thinking, isn't that what they already do? Yes, but not at a beach. In 80 degrees in February.

The other part of Todos Santos for us was catching a little sun. Until, if you can believe this, we actually started staying out of the sun and seeking the shade. We wore sun glasses and hats everywhere. On Saturday, we finally had to break the news to Ferg that we were packing up and moving on. One last beach, one last crab fight, and we left for LaPaz for the return ferry to the mainland and San Miguel de Allende.

Short Stop in Mazatlan

We arrived in the hell-hole that Mazatlan has become, about 2:00 pm after a drive from Los Mochis. After a few false starts, including a google map that showed our hotel in the wrong place, we found Hotel San Diego and tried to check in. Despite e-mails showing we were welcome to bring a dog, they were not happy with Fergus. He was too big and too dangerous. Nancy looked at the room and it was dirty and dingy. We had no reason to stay in Mazatlan other than it was halfway to Durango.


It was "carnival" and Mazatlan was humming with activity, and Nancy speculated that we'd have a difficult time finding a place that would take a dog on the eve of "carnival". Mazatlan has road construction with no detours, no barracades, people ignore stop signs, and the poverty, if you get off the Malecon, is depressing. Beggars and con artists clog the intersections. We watched a blind guy and his helper beg at a busy intersection. The blind guy was the one out in traffic. It can't be particularly safe choice, to say the least.


(Incidentally, it is a strange experience to walk the streets of Mexico with Fergus. About every other person reacts with horror when they see him. They give him a wide berth on the sidewalk, and keep their clearly terrified eyes on him as much as possible. On the ferry, the staff was obviously worried that Fergus would tear some limbs off some of the passengers unless lots of distance was kept between he and his victims. In the U.S., and in France that reaction is pretty much absent. All I can say is that Mexicans must have had some pretty bad experiences with dogs, and perhaps it is understandable; there are lots of strays running loose because there are no spay and neuter clinics nor humane societies. Yet lots of dogs are chained in yards for protection.)


So, since Mazatlan was such a horror, we decided to move on to Durango, up in the mountains. What we have found is a delightful, colonial city that sits on the old Camino Real connecting Mexico City with it's once far flung outpost, Santa Fe, in Neuvo Mexico. And it's beautiful. We'll post pictures after we mosey around.

On The Road Again

We're on the road today from Los Mochis to Mazatlan. There is lots to tell but so little internet time in which to do it. When we get to San Miguel de Allende we'll be able to catch you up with our thoughts of Mexico. One thing I can say, is put your fears of a violent Mexico to rest. That is a fiction created by the U.S. media for what purpose I cannot say. Mexico is about as violent as the neighborhood where you live. Adios for now, amigos.

From Nogales to Todos Santos, Baja

Todos Santos, Baja is all about relaxation. At least from our point of view. We are, however, the first ones at the beach each morning, thanks to the pleadings of Fergus. We have more than several beaches to choose from, depending upon whether we want to watch surfers, walk on hard or soft sand, watch whales, or have an almost story-tale entrance through a pathway of palm trees. While we don't have internet connection at our trade house, we are nearly locals at La Esqina, a down-the-road coffee-internet-sandwich-wine-everything oasis place. Right now we're just posting some photos before we head off for dinner. More thoughtful commentary later.

Europe on $5 a Day, Yeah Sure

My "journal' records that I found the countryside between Lisbon and Barcelona very beautiful, meaning.....we caught a day train. I compare the scenery of Spain to that of Colorado, high praise indeed from me. We had hoped to get to see a bullfight in Barcelona but, alas, it rained and the bull fight was cancelled. To this day, I've not seen a bullfight. I remember being very impressed with Barcelona, even though Frommer's 1972 book Europe on $5 a Day seemed to be a little bit underwhelmed with the city. Since we couldn't see a bullfight we did the next best thing and wandered over to this unfinished cathedral called La Familia Sagrada. Of course it is known around the world today as Antoni Gaudi's masterpiece of architecture. It's a UNESCO world heritage site and one of the top tourist attractions in Europe. We, of course, had never heard of it before and I don't think many other Americans had either.


I write about the visit in my "journal" but save most of my words for our single evening in the section of town near the train station. We had found a hotel, one with a shower, although it wasn't in the room, I note. In my journal I remark, "Scott calls it a dungeon. The shower spray merely creates a fog - no water." I remember that shower to this day. The shower head was about eleven feet above my head, and with the water turned on full force misted individual atoms of water that clung to hair on my arms but left my arms themselves dry. By the time the fog reached the bather, it was cold as ice.

I remember broad boulevards with trees shading the wide sidewalks, and it seemed at the time that this had to be one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, and one that was totally undiscovered. Even when we were at la Familia Sagrada, the place seemed to lack tourists. I'm sure this is not the case today.

As dusk fell we wandered out to find some food and wine. We came upon a type of establishment that you may have seen from time to time in Europe but I'd never seen before. In a window we saw a rotisserie grill with a dozen or more chickens slowly roasting away. The aroma was intoxicating and we were immediately hungry. We latched on to a chicken and had a great, almost free dinner sitting at the counter inside. As we were eating, I was propositioned. I was approached by what I called a "middle-aged cutie" who asked only 150 pesetas, a price that I noted "was cheap". Not a bargain, but cheap. I don't know what a peseta was worth in 1972, but I can tell you we went across the street to a wine shop and got a litro of white wine for 14 pesetas, a price I valued at 21 cents. Meaning, if my arithmetic is correct, the lady was offering herself to me for around $2.25. What a delightful city!

The wine shop into which we wandered also deserves some mention because I've never seen anything like it ever again. We wandered into this musty place that had along one deep stone wall, about 30 wooden barrels of wine stacked on top of each other, cobwebs in great abundance. Each barrel had a wooden spigot and the proprietor would pull a glass or a litro of wine of your choice, literally for pennies. There were maybe two or three little tables with a few chairs each. A couple of old Spanish guys in black berets sat there nursing their wine. It was absolutely everything I had imagined back home in Colorado when I dreamed of a trip to Europe. We even had a little conversation in my minuscule Spanish. There is no doubt, we should have stayed for a week or a month, not just an evening. This little neighborhood had everything....women, wine and food. And all of them cheap. Unfortunately, the Eurail Pass was calling us to the train, and after sampling only the food and wine, we left Barcelona the next morning.

From beautiful, seductive Barcelona, we took train along the Mediterranean coast to the city of Nice, France. The Riviera, the French Riviera, the Cote d'Azur, Saint Tropez, Antibes, the most famous coastline in the world. I mention in my journal that on the train ride I caught sight of the Pyrenees, and "they looked pretty big". One of the major complaints I had when I arrived back home was the mode of travel. While trains are a wonderful way to get around, they leave something to be desired. You can travel from the center of one city to the center of another, read, sleep and converse in style and comfort. You can travel along through the Pyrenees, see the Costa Brava and the Rivera through the window, but unlike a car, you can't stop and get out wherever you want. Perhaps, you can get off the train in some small village, but unless you brought your bike with you, you're on foot. I was at this point in the trip, having seen the awesome Pyrenees outside the window, frustrated by going from one metropolis to another metropolis, without experiencing what was in between.

We stayed in Nice in the Hotel Normandie in double room that cost us $6.00. Just for the hell of it I googoled the place and you can see it pictured below. A double room this spring would cost $78. This is the only place in my journal that I give the name of the hotel and the price we paid so this is the only time I can make this comparison.

We took the bus along the coast to Monaco to see the Palace and watch the changing of the Palace Guard. It's quite a spectacle, as you can see in the picture below. We were astounded by the number of tourists who also were on hand to gawk at the sight. We also wandered around the streets, I don't mention whether in Nice or Monaco, but we stumbled upon an open air market, the first I'd ever seen, "which had everything - vegetables, meat, clothes, kitchen utensils, and fruit". We went to a waterfront dive for couscous in the North African style. In this case it didn't mean the just pasta, but the dish with lamb or seafood and peppers and couscous. I mention that we got thrown out of the casino for lack of proper attire. By thrown out, I mean we were asked to leave by a man in a tuxedo. We were still frustrated by the amount of money we were spending. I note that I'd cashed a ten dollar traveller's cheque in the morning and spent the entire amount before we even paid the hotel bill. Imagine! Ten dollars in one day! We should have stayed in Barcelona.

Mais, oui, Monaco est tres belle. But obviously we could not afford it. It was too rich for our blood. And I know at this point we were looking at our stash and wondering how long we could stay.

We took a bus the Maeght Foundation, this strange and wonderful museum and saw modern art. Matisse, Giacometti, Miro, Calder, Kandinsky, Picasso, they were all there. Some people have a little trouble appreciating modern art and make jokes about how long it would take a monkey to come up with the same quality of work, but we came away impressed. We had a good but expensive time in Southern France. But our Eurail Pass kept us on the move, and to avoid spending precious dollars on accommodations, we caught the night train to Rome.

Rome was to say the least, confusing. I can remember getting on a trolley car one evening trying to get to the Trevi Fountain after dinner. The information listed this trolley as going to the fountain so we hopped on. The conductor argued and he wouldn't take our money or let us sit down. Did it go the the Trevi Fountain? Si, si, signore. He was reluctant to let us ride but we were determined to take the trolley. He finally relented, we paid full fare, we sat down, the conductor sighed. The trolley went one block, switched onto a siding and went out of service for the night. The conductor shooed us off the trolley car, smiled and locked the doors as we walked off toward the fountain.

Rome was the oldest city either of us had ever been to, and while breathtakingly beautiful, we were not appreciating anything; we were probably showing signs of travel fatigue and homesickness. I remember almost everything in Rome began to piss me off. Wandering down old, ancient streets we noticed the walls about to crumble. Flying buttresses were constructed out of telephone poles to hold up walls. And the pole buttresses blocked off the streets, which were dirty and strewn with garbage. It wasn't charming, it was depressing.

Scott, being a good Irish boy, wanted to see the Vatican and so we ventured forth on April 14, 1972. We saw La Pieta, which is absolutely marvelous. You can't help looking at the marble and wondering how anyone could take cold stone, a chisel and a hammer and make folds of cloth look so soft and pliable. We climbed up into the cupola for a fantastic view. A view of what, I can't remember and my journal doesn't say. Was it a view of the interior of the Vatican or a view of the city of Rome? Or both? Does anyone know?

A little over a month later on May 21, a disturbed Lazlo Toth took a hammer to the foot and other sections of the sculpture. Pieces flew off and were snatched up as souvenirs, including Mary's nose. It had to be reconstructed from pieces of marble from the back of the sculpture. And now there is a fence around Michelangelo's masterpiece and you can't be as close as you would like.

We'd barely scratched the surface of things to see in Rome, but daylight was burnin', time was wastin' and our Eurail Pass was scorching our wallets. We packed up after two days in Rome and headed for Vienna where I had an old girlfriend and an even older cousin.

To Be Continued