San Miguel de America

"Buenos dias!" says a large, rosy-faced, white-haired American man standing in a doorway as I walk by. Before I can respond he says, just as heartily, "That means Good Morning!" I say "I know" and keep walking, then kick myself for not responding in Spanish, "Lo sé" or maybe "Que odioso" or worse. It's the first full day of my visit to San Miguel de Allende, I have a bad cold, and I'm very cranky. Every restaurant I pass is full of North Americans, mostly older, retirees. The waiters automatically speak to me in English. The benches of the Jardin, the lovely central plaza, are mainly occupied by people who look a lot like me, but older.

It's hard to blame them, because the climate is perfect and the living is easy. Even easier since they needn't learn the language beyond a few useful phrases. No doubt there are many who do learn the language and love the culture and try to serve the local community. The influx of money must be wonderful for the town, providing employment and opportunities, improving infrastructure, funding dreams. But they're overwhelmingly visible and they bring their values, for better or worse, changing the character of the place.

Later I spoke, in Spanish, to a Mexican artist who was showing his work along with another Mexican and an American artist in the Lavanderia area of the Parque Juarez. I complained that I came to Mexico to practice my Spanish and everyone spoke to me in English. He said they were showing they were educado, that is, well-mannered, by speaking to me in English. We proceeded to have a conversation in which I spoke in my bad Spanish and he in his bad English, which is how many of my conversations with locals went while I was in San Miguel.

Last year when I was there, it was Semana Santa, the Easter Holy Weeks. Mexicans were on vacation and many were in San Miguel for the holiday, in enough number that I hardly noticed the North Americans. We'd also already spent a few days in Guanajuato and the tiny town of Pueblo Nuevo, where we only spoke Spanish, so I felt emersed in the culture. This time, only on the weekend did San Miguel fill up with a large number of Mexicans, as cars from Mexico City and other places jammed the narrow streets. Girls with sexy clothes, pegada (glued on), guys in black with spiky hairstyles, swarmed the plaza and it got a lot more interesting.

Walking around, feeling very blonde, I knew I'd have to get over my aversion to the American invasion of the place if I was going to enjoy my stay. I'd be there for eight whole days. I met nice people. Among those staying at our B&B were two Quebecoise women who were enjoying Spanish classes at the Instituto Allende, a 70-something ex-New Yorker and ex-opera teacher who used to live in San Miguel, a lovely retired woman from Denver taking jewelry making classes who was later joined by her daughter. And my friends. I arrived late Tuesday night, Jodi late Thursday night, Terri Saturday afternoon, Maddy late Sunday night. Beatriz, from Pueblo Nuevo, joined us one evening, providing a welcome chance to speak en español for several hours at once. The last night I was in San Miguel, there were seven of us enjoying margaritas on the El Campanario restaurant's rooftop patio under the stars and the lights of Las Monjas. We were talking about meeting up again next year. This is how it happens. The living is good in San Miguel.

[Templo de las Monjas from El Campanario's rooftop patio; lights go on at 7pm]

Comments

[Marja-Leena]

I can empathize with your alarm at the take-over of the Mexican culture in that city. It bothers me in a lot of places around the world where the locals' desire for tourism ends up changing the character of the place and the people. Sounds like you did have a good time!