San Miguel de Allende

I first heard about San Miguel a dozen years ago when a customer at the bookstore came looking for literature related to colonial Mexico. He had just returned from a Spanish immersion class there and raved about the city. Soon after, I discovered a beautiful little book, The Doors of San Miguel, which captures the essence of this small city that resides largely behind wide ornamental doors along cobblestone streets and narrow alleys. BTW, I met the author there on this trip, promoting his third book about his adopted home.

He is among an estimated 15 thousand ex-pats who have relocated to San Miguel, many after a study holiday there, as there are several Spanish schools, also art schools, as the area is home to many artists. Once a center of silver mining and craftsmanship, most of the mines have been closed, but the city feels, still, like an overgrown pueblo, trapped happily in history. While there is sufficient infrasture to maintain a modern lifestyle, gentrification is slow and constrained in some measure by residents, Anglos and Mexicanos, who wish to sustain the old-world charm.

The pace is slow, an easy ebb and flow like the steady rhythm of breathing, as locals, expats and visitors meander through town. There is hardly a traffic light or stop sign: instead, at every corner, cars slow down to permit pedestrians to pass or to politely allow another car to turn. The pattern is facilitated by stone speed bumps every half a block or so that keep the pace intact. I never heard a car horn blare, neither a siren nor a harsh word.

Behind the many colorful doors are courtyards overflowing with bougainvillea and punctuated of course by water fountains. Winter is a lot like the desert climate it is - cold mornings and nights, very warm sunny days - the spread was roughly 30 degrees each day. Winter lasts barely three months, so few homes have heat, and even our lovely 2-BR flat, upgraded and with modern comfortable furnishings, had one space heater in the wall that barely touched the surface. We slept comfortably under many blankets, but morning showers were a chilly affair, all the better to conserve water. Waste not want not might be the Mexican motto - I was told that few locals have refrigerators, as they prepare fresh foods daily and only what they need, the few scraps saved for their animals, who wander the streets quietly in search of an extra morsel. Mexicans believe that keeping animals indoors in not hygienic. Nor do they believe much in baths, strictly showers, and they wash clothes in old-fastioned scrubbers or at the lavanderia [laundromat.]

Along the wider sidewalks [most are quite narrow] local farmers bring in fresh fruits and vegetables every day and sell them to passers by in plastic containers or bags, cut up on the spot and fresh for feasting [reminded me of Thailand.] Large open air markets cater to the locals and there is a huge daily artisans market where people work and sell lovely wares. Ton't think that the food or handicrafts are unsophisticated - quite the contrary. Dana and I had wonderful meals and some restaurants as elegant as one might find in Europe, and we bought beautiful jewelry and a few crafts. There is also a very elegant design center housed in an old factory, as impressive as anything you might find in a trendy city in the US.

San Miguel feels small, we walked most of it in our travels, centered by El Jardin, which is less a garden than a plaza with the obligatory and beautiful churches. Provincial in the best sense of the word, but you don't feel it when you're up on a rooftop terrace gazing at colorful hillsides and steeples. Many galleries are tucked along downtown streets, there are several local theater groups, late-night bars, some interesting nouveau cocktails [talk to Dana] many yoga and wellness centers. [Dana connected day-one with the local naturopathic community, which includes organic markets and cafe's, and many state-of-the-art practioners - the best of which seems to be LifePath, utterly gorgeous place and filled with the highest level practitioners and programs.]

I see why so many have settled there, and many are retirement folks, so there is a real sense of a mid-life community. The locals at worst tolerate Anglo's, at best appreciate that they bring money and business to their community. We discovered several cafe's and restaurants owned by Americans, as well as galleries, but they employ locals to keep the peace. Small ghetto-like areas have sprouted where many American/Canadians live, others choose to integrate, and we encountered more than a few Europeans as well.

Besides my daily 4-hour study and homework [by week's end I thought my head would explode, but I learned a lot] we wandered, took a guided historic walk, went on the famous Sunday house-tour which benefits the Biblioteca, enjoyed a staged radio-style theatre production of "It's a Wonderful Life" and a couple of group dinners with fellow students and our ex-New Yorker neighbor. We listened to a flamenco guitar, conversed with many waiters and restauranteurs, made friends with the owner of a new wine bar, and I attended a Hannukah party sponsored by the local Jewish group, which included a half-dozen Mexican families who are converting.

We ate lots of avocadoes and fruit, drank local wines, and enjoyed the quiet sounds of city life beyond our gorgeous wrap-around patio above a busy but not noisy street, as well as fireworks in honor of the Fiesta of Guadalupe. We spent a day in beautiful Guanajuato, the capital of the state, an hour's comfortable bus-ride away, where there is a large university, museums, the Cervantes theater, and an elegant central plaza as anchor; a city constructed above ancient tunnels once meant for water and now used to circulate traffic in and around the city. Beautiful place, few Anglo's there, much more developed and sophisticated, but we preferred the simplicity and spirit of San Miguel.

Although we had access to the internet, we had no television and no phones and instead mostly walked in the evenings or relaxed after full days and warm sun. I think that if you visit this city for a day or two as a tourist, you might find it lovely, but its true charms are in staying put a while and getting the feel of it, which is perhaps why so many settle there. It's a long journey, but worth being there, and I plan to return some time soon - the Writer's Conference is in February and seems to be calling to me!

Enjoy photos at: http://picasaweb.google.com/maple57/SanMigueldeAllende#

Mea Culpa

It's been a while since I posted a blog and will likely be a very long while until I post another. My writing life is very full these days with newsletters, annual reports, public relations material [the day job] and I am also writing a book review blog for a new site, which I'm trying to do every week, so this requires reading as well as the writing. http://www.ocinsite.com/index.php/blog/comments/the_warmth_of_other_suns.

And, I am immersed in writing another novel, which seems to be writing itself, but requires a lot of attention. I've been devoting roughly 2 - 3 hours a day to this story of several characters whose lives intersect although more often metaphorically than in reality, and I am pleased to say I am in the zone. Most of you know I've done this twice before, and each time the writing had a different feeling and a different pace. This time, after many years away from fiction, it is a bit more like jazz - several characters in different decades being written simultandously - more amorphous and in many ways more creative than anything I've done before. I'm loving it. So forgive me this break from the Dispatch - I will return now and then when the spirit moves me - but for now, my "pen" is committed elsewhere. Stay tuned! Cheers.

Book blogger

I'll be posting less often in the near future because I am writing a book blog for a new website. Check it out: www.ocinsite.com. Look for blogs, look for me. Will be fun to write book reviews. Sadly, few newspapers include book reviews any more and it's hard for great books to find their audience. Maybe this will help.

I'm learning to live 2-weeks at a time now, that's the time between refitting my Invalign braces, the latest adventure of mid-life. Teeth too far gone, too much trouble, they need to be corrected. Will take a year. I'm on day 4. It's wierd but not awful. They say it will take roughly 10 months, which means 20 molds. So I'm thinking of my next year in 2-week increments. Not exactly the Zen day-to-day, but close enough. The only upside is that it makes me feel a little like a teenager - does this mean I also get to be perpetually testy, moody and generally obnoxious? Nah, been there.

Cheers, xx

Change happens

I started this blog on the subject of change, personal change, life changes, the changes that alter and mostly improve one woman's journey. It's a broad concept that incorporates lots of thoughts and thus works well for a blogger.

But today I write, and with a heavy-heart, of things that simply don't change. Let's take the human race for starters. Despite all the technological advances and toys at our disposal, we still use very little of our brains, tend to be tribal and barbaric, and we don't embrace change, we pretend. I heard on NPR yesterday that an estimated 60 million men are considered to be descendents of Ghenkis Khan [why only men are tracked is an interesting question] and this might explain some of our natures, were it not that this represents barely 3% of that race.

I read this morning that 1/5th of Americans believe our President is a Muslim, despite a clearly Christian heritage and lifestyle. And that's more than believed before. Has to do with his contention of religious freedom and the rights of private enterprise, related to the Mosque planned for lower NYC. This comes right back to the cradle of civilization, the tower of Babel - human beings clinging to the familiar, from faces and skin color to ideology.

That's almost as bad as the 1/4th of Americans who continued to believe that Bush was doing a good job, right down to the bitter end. On the one hand, we employ a high level of selective memory, and on the other, we project extremists to the norm. Inconsistency is predictable.

I believe in change. I believe in Obama, but he is one man, only a man, not a Messiah, and he needs his people, all his people, to buy into the future if we are ever going to be able to carve out a new way of life. I, usually an optimist, find myself despairing. Human beings, like fellow animals, follow the scent they know, and when in crisis, are reduced to the basist of human emotions. This is not a pretty time.

The bell curve principle applies, but if so, then change by design cannot happen because the curve is always rising to a mid-point, and that mid-point is static unless the whole curve shifts. Thus the principle of status quo remains supreme.

90 years ago yesterday American women got the right to vote. 40 years ago the modern women's movement launched women into a new paradigm. We've come a long way, but those in the know know that we've not come nearly as far as we would like, as just as bad as being shephered into lifeboats with children first, we would be catapulted into stormy waters at the first sign of trouble - evidenced by recent rhetoric that perhaps high unemployment has as much to do with so many women in the workplace. A little like Jews this way, always the scapegoats. And so many other minorities. I am pained over the continued struggles of black women. Lesbian women. They've got miles to go before they rest. All women are not created equal. Even if we were, men are always at the door of the cave.

Change it seems wears blinders when it comes to equality.

Foot in Mouth

This morning was one of those moments... moments we are reminded of our own hubris, or lack of, depending on the circumstance. Just yesterday, I was impressing a neighbor with my very high-minded sense of the world, constructed carefully by watching only PBS news or listening to NPR. [I didn't mention the New York Times as that would have been beyond arrogant to a blue-collar Californian.] He had actually asked me what news I listened to, as he passed my house the other night and, with the shutters on the window at the front-door open to capture the evening breeze, he heard the British accent of the newscaster. Just wondered he asked, perhaps a little embarrased to have eavesdropped. I didn't mention that I hear his baseball games regularly. BBC I answered, and I am fairly certain I raised my chin a bit as I spoke. And then, not satisfied to have simply answered the question, which was sufficient, I went on to tell him that PBS and NPR are my favored news sources because I believe these are the only media that present the case with only a bias towards fully educating the public. I actually said to the neighbor that I prefer these sources as I would never hear about the nasty low-class lives of people who in my view are not news-worthy and, by example, said that I would not expect to hear these two words on NPR: Lindsay Lohan.

Ah, the vicissitudes of life. The lessons the universe hands down to us when we get smug. This morning, I lifted my head, aimed my cable remote at my little TV in the bedroom, through which I am able to listen to several NPR news stations, among other things, otherwise blocked by this crazy hilly SoCal terrain, and nestled back into the pillows to listen for a bit, and then jumped up, truly, as I heard, at the tail end of the lead-in to the morning edition, that Lindsay Lohan will move back to NYC when she completes her rehab!

OMG. Just hours after I pronounced the near impossibility of such a thing, there it is. My trusted high-minded news source succumbs to the gossip of the day. What is this world coming to? More to the point, what was I thinking posturing in this way? Clearly, the message was meant for me - one must be careful before climbing on too high a horse. Humility, that's the ticket.

I turned down NPR and picked up my guide to Buddhism - clearly I need a reset.