Pages From Mark's Journal

O.K. I get it. Writing is hard. Sometimes you're just not inspired even when immersed in a unique and exciting culture like here in San Miquel, where anything can happen. What to do? You could dig deep into your psyche and dredge up a little creative poetry that captures the essence of a moment or that tells a story about your Mexican experience. Some creative writing that inspires, repels or just plane lays out the truth of the matter.

Getting ready to throw a treat to the landlords dog below
our balcony. Maybe he'll stop
barking.

That's one option, or as some (who shall remain nameless Susan) might do, you could simply take the easy way out and post a few drawings of the local scenes that you've captured over the weeks. Maybe add a caption below each with a single sentence that sums up the poignant moment.

Just as I was about to enjoy a cup of coffee
at Juan's Cafe, an elderly man begins to
explain to his hard of hearing friend, the
complications of his recent colonoscopy.
Evidently, there was some sort of vein
perforation involved.
"Who's hungry for breakfast?"

While walking the path at the Charco desert
park we came upon what appeared to
be some kind of strange fox/racoon half breed.
Oh yeah, and a bird.























Well, what's good for the goose is good for the gander as they say so I submit in like manner these drawings that I hope will accurately convey my recent activities here in the Corazon de Mexico.

- Posted by Mark

Tripping with the Groove Guru

I am wandering down a sparkling path inlaid with brightly colored tile and glass, my hand sliding along a rail that becomes a snake in my hands. I stroke its colorful jeweled scales as it leads me down a staircase towards an enthusiastic crowd oohing and aahing in amazement. They mill about, munching tamales and eyeing an enormous ice chest filled with champagne, then pointing up towards the trees where a woman balances precariously among the branches, held aloft by silvery balloons.

Through the looking glass...

No, this is not a dream I am having, though it could be. In fact I am wide awake, my senses keened to every nuance, realizing how fortunate I am to be here. For this is the party of parties, the one we will be talking about for years to come- to brag that we were there, along with several hundred, possibly thousands of gringos and Mexicans alike who have donned their finest headwear and shawls, boots and glitter, and enough jewelry to fill the Taj Majal, just for this extraordinary event. The Grand Opening of the Chapel of Jimmy Ray, alter ego of Anado McLauchlin, bearded wonder and artist extraordinaire.

The Casa de Caca.
Most beautiful outhouse in the world?

Behind me a man in a rabbit mask darts among the organos cactuses, disappearing behind a tower built of multi colored wine bottles, inside of which two brightly mosaic toilets sit side by side. Proudly calling itself the Casa de Caca, it seems that even pooping is an art form here.


At the entrance to the 'Chapel' a masked mosaic figure with what appears to be a flaming torch at his crotch rises up above a tiled gurgling fountain, welcoming us to come inside. We meander past hundreds of colored bottles imbedded into the concrete the walls of the building, bright blue and pink walls decorated in mirrored mosaic- where fragments of our own faces stare back at us. Once inside, Anado's artwork prepares to push and pull our minds into places we did not even know were possible. Altars of dolls at the feet of Mayan deities. Mirrored snakes wind past bright pink and blue Buddhas. Voodoo Jesuses. Bull's horns crowning the Virgin of Guadalupe. Bright plastic hearts oozing turquoise blood.

Chapel entrance

Who needs drugs? We are inside the mind and boundless imagination of Anado himself, inside the chapel, the temple, the arteries of the man to whom the word excess does not exist. The man who, along with his delightful partner Richard, enliven the streets of San Miguel in stripes and paisleys and enough beard between them to earn the right to call themselves the twin Santas.

Member of the
Cartaphilus Teatro

In another room of the chapel, photos of nudes by Spencer Tunick, (yes, THE Spencer Tunick- the one who photographs naked people  en masse all over the planet) adorn the walls, framed in tin Nichos. There is a buzz in the air promising the possible arrival of real live naked people. In fact, they do arrive, and no one seems to be surprised at all.


So who the heck is Jimmy Ray? It turns out that Jimmy Ray, alias James Rayburn McLauchlin, is none other than Anado's very own dad. A humble unadorned photograph of him is tacked to the wall by the inside entrance of the chapel, leaving one to wonder what kind of man he was to spawn such an enigma as the one who built this psychedelic wonderland.


So here's to Anado, an inspiration to all who meet him. 
The man who says yes to life, where others say whoa!... 
YES with a capital Y, capital E, capital S. 
And a big fat, pink and blue polka dotted exclamation point.

YES!  

Much more about Anado on his website HERE 

Candelaria

The Candelaria festival is going on again this year and we wandered down to take another look. I wasn't expecting it to be any different than last year but I guess you gotta go anyway.


For those that don't know, Día de la Candelaria, or Candlemas, happens 40 days after Christmas and is when figures of the baby Jesus, or 'nino Dios', are brought to the Catholic church to be blessed. Days before this you'll see families protectively carrying Jesus dolls around town wrapped in colorful little blankets and cradled in the crooks of their arms as if it was a live child. Before this, on Christmas eve, the baby Jesus is placed in the nativity scene. Then, on Jan. 6th. "Kings Day", the baby Jesus is brought presents and finally on Feb. 2nd. the baby Jesus is presented to the church for blessings. The ritual is a fusion of pre-Hispanic traditions and Catholic beliefs. Celebrated by Catholics as the "Feast of Purification" or as the "Presentation of Christ at the Temple." This date also happens to be the half-way point between the winter solstice and spring equinox. Evidently, in Pagan tradition, Feb. 2 is believed to be a time to predict the weather to come, and coincidentally, it's also celebrated as Groundhog Day in the United States. All very interesting but as I like to say "in the absence of rational comes ritual".

The pope loves a virgin

So, getting back to this weeks festival. As if all of the above wasn't enough, as part of a tradition for 56 years in San Miguel de Allende, the City Government through the Department of Environment and Ecology holds a Candlemas fair event in the Parque Benito Juarez. Traditionally this includes the Mexican folk custom of blessing the seeds for planting grain, flowers and vegetables, it is believed that the blessing will achieve bountiful results for future harvests. Addtionally, it's a good excuse to sell a ton of plants.

Seed blessings

For this event, the huge plant sale occurs in the park for two weeks. Over night, the typically tranquil setting is transformed into an open air, mega plant market. I wandered patiently down the narrow isles between the vendors pop-up canopies filled with plants of every variety. Some limited to every cactus imaginable, others to the herbs. Palm trees and giant bamboo tower overhead while streams of young men pushing worn out wheel barrows constantly ask if you need a porter to taxi your purchases to your home or car. I find myself glazing over, waking from my stupor every now and then at the sight of some strangely colorful or oddly exotic new species.

Susan stops frequently to get a closer look and call out the names of the ones she knows. When we pass by another vendor selling herbs she pronounces the Spanish term for each while I repeat as if I won't soon forget. albahaca, perejil, romero and tomillo (basil, parsley, rosemary, thyme). She reaches down and twists the blue/green leaves of mint and then puts her fingers to her nose to inhale the aromas, then to my nose to share the gift like it was a secret between the two of us. I nod, silently agreeing that the smell is wonderful and were it not for our journey here, we would never have had such an exquisite experience. She continues to be amazed at the sights and smells that surround us and I find myself noticing the electrical wires strung between the trees. Strands of cords that provide power for the clear 40 watt bulbs that randomly dangle down every few feet like incandescent fruit, illuminating the orchids and hibiscus. At one point, an industrious plant seller has adapted an outlet between the line and the bulb that allows for watching telenovella's on a portable TV balanced on a plastic stool and charging the battery on his cell phone.

Living with plants

I'm hungry now and remember the Torta stand from two years ago when we were here. It was a vivid memory despite the time gone by. I recall I had a 'Cubana' which turned out to be the 'mother' of all sandwiches. Layered high with avocado, ham, fried egg, cheese, sliced hot dogs, tomato and half a dozen other ingredients. "Quiero torta!"  I said to Susan in my childish Spanish as she was pointing out the ceramic pots shaped like lizards and frogs. She looked at me sadly and we headed in the direction I remembered seeing the stand years ago. I thought I'd have a Coke with it. 

Las Posadas

The Virgin Mary, Joseph, and an itinerant angel
ride down our street in the back of a pick up truck
followed by a small brass band and a crowd of faithful pilgrims, 

in the 4th night of posadas in San Miguel.

La Posada is a reenactment of Mary and Joseph’s search for a place to stay so she could have the baby Jesus, and how they were refused many times before they were finally offered a place in the manger. In the original Mexican version of the story Mary rides a burro, but tonight they are climbing aboard the back of a flatbed truck adorned with palm fronds and tinsel and stars made of glitter. An assistant paints a beard on the young Joseph and arranges his gold polyester robes, while Mary takes her seat on the paper mache burro against a backdrop of glittery stars. An young smirking preteen girl dressed as an angel brings her hands into a prayer position, and off they go.

As the truck lurches forward down the narrow streets we 'pilgrims' all follow behind, some carrying tissue paper stars on poles which bob up and down as we walk. The band strikes up and plays a few stanzas, then the people sing, alternating between the band and the voices, followed by a police car escort to keep the surrounding traffic at bay. At one point an ambulance squeals around the corner toward us with it’s sirens wailing, then upon seeing the procession of people filling the street, abruptly slams on the brakes and backs out to find another route. We wind through the cobblestone streets, singing and chatting, as the grind of the generator on the truck that keeps the spotlight on the holy family sputters on. 'Couldn’t they have used a car battery to power the lights?' Mark asks. But why should they when noise is never an issue here. 

Suddenly a colorful star shaped piñata drops into the center of the crowd from a rope strung between two buildings. A pole and a blindfold appear, and the whole procession stops as a young man takes a few swings at it until it cracks wide open and sweets fly out in all directions and are swept up in no time by children and adults alike. A few block later candy and oranges are thrown from the rooftops onto outstretched hands and unwary heads. 

Finally we arrive at the church and the chorus breaks out into a new song, asking 

for posada/ lodging and being refused again. Tomorrow there will be another posada taking a different route, nine in all, that will eventually lead the weary pilgrims to the manger. Then everyone can place their baby Jesuses into their carefully constructed nativity scenes among the sheep and elephants and wise men and await the arrival of the three kings, who will be carrying gifts for all. 

-posted by Susan

Recovering Catholic

I was born into and raised to be a good Catholic for the first eighteen years of my life. And like a lot of Catholic mothers, I think mine expected I would grow up to be a priest some day. But I didn't, I don't think I ever really bought into the ideas of practicing a faith. All of the rituals and rote behavior I was taught reminded me of the definition of insanity, "repeating the same behaviour expecting the results to be different". Kneel, stand, sit, kneel, stand, sit. Now, as a recovering Catholic it's sometimes challenging for me to be involved or even appreciate the religious activities that are such a big part of the culture in Mexico. The presense of the Church is manifest in everything from the ubiquitous bell toll's call to prayer at the crack of dawn to the yearly blessing of the taxis and animals. And as much as I love the architecture of the old Spanish colonial churches, it gives me the willies to enter as I consider the human suffering that went into building them. When I finally get up the courage, I spend the time inside these weighty structures preoccupied with my anxiety and the desire to feel the relief of getting out. Seeing passersby on the street habitually make the sign of the cross when passing each church (and there are many) makes me realize how ingrained the belief in God and the Catholic system is within the people of Mexico.

As I understand, prior to the Spanish invasion and occupation of this land, the indigenous people had many Gods, each representing different aspects of their daily lives. It's not surprising then that a bridge was needed to unite the conquered people with the one God ideology of the new masters.
As I watch the preparations take place to ready the streets and plazas to rejoice once again the triumph of the appearance of the Virgin of Guadalupe by Juan Diego, I desperately want my cynical mind to allow for the positive aspects in the celebrations.


However, the celebration of the Virgin of Guadalupe is another chapter within my book of skepticism regarding religion and the Catholic church in particular. But, for the sake of my mental health and happiness, I make an effort to focus on the positives. The real joy and elation that the people exhibit is tangible and I notice that I want to be included. My emotions are mixed as I envy their sincere appreciation. I try to quiet my dubious mind as I witness them finding comfort and trust in a deity that exists to protect and preserve their families while I have no such benefactor save myself. I watch from the sidelines as thanks are given for blessings bestowed regardless of circumstances, and hope for the future is rekindled again under the explosions from the castillos that light up the faces and break open the night.
-Mark

Cultural Overdose

Fernando de la Mora and the
Philharmonic Orchestra of Queretaro

Contrary to what I have previously believed, it is actually possible to overdose on too much culture. An evening stroll through the central plaza in San Miguel, commonly known as the Jardin (pronounced hardeen) will usually reward you with such treats as Mariachi bands playing to lovers and families, balloon vendors and other colorful characters, and perhaps a special performance or unexpected parade celebrating everything from saints to taxi drivers.

But last night the Jardin was packed with activity, like a television playing all of its stations at once. As part of the "Festival San Miguel Cantador" an enormous stage had been erected outside the parroquia, where the philharmonic orchestra from Queretero played to a packed audience clapping and bravo-ing from their folded chairs while it accompanied famous tenor Fernando de la Mora himself.

An entire news crew was there to film the event, and newscasters reporting live before the illuminated backdrop of the Parroquia among boom cameras and video monitors. 

I weave through the crowds towards the gazebo, where a circle of young boys, oblivious to the spectacular event that surrounds them, are break dancing to the accompaniment of the pounding rhythms of a scratchy boom box, spinning in circles on their heads, balancing their wiry bodies on one hand.

Meanwhile, led by a police siren and a small contingent of snare drums, a decorated truck featuring several children in costume representing the Virgin of Guadalupe, Juan Diego and others bumped slowly around the perimeter of the plaza, followed by a few hundred ninos in peasant costumes, complete with brightly ribboned braids and carefully painted mustaches. The day of the Virgin of Guadalupe is on December 12th, but why wait until then to celebrate? The parade culminated at the Parroquia and filtered into the courtyard, where photographers awaited with painted backdrops bedecked with Christmas lights and cardboard cactuses. Parents propped their squirming children in front of paintings of the rising Virgin while the cameras clicked and flashed.

Inside the church a smattering of people sang hymns and tourists meandered through the aisles. Church bells clanged away as I watched an old woman in rags bent over two hand carved sticks as she struggled down the steps glancing up for a moment towards Fernando de la Mora, glistening in his tuxedo under the spotlights, his passionate voice piercing the night in a powerful crescendo.

Finally I navigate my way home in a state of complete overwhelm, to rest until tomorrow, secretly hoping that tomorrow will be a quiet, peaceful day with no events, knowing that it will be anything but.

-posted by Susan

A Well Deserved Rest

Not everyone that travels into Mexico has their baggage searched at customs, but we do. Every time.


Disembarking from the crowded plane we shuffle along with the tired mass of mostly Mexican travelers. I'm happy to be off the plane feeling the ground under my feet. It's good to stretch my cramped legs and to breath air that hasn't been breathed before. Immigration stamps our passports and we wheel our baggage to a nearby X-ray machine and hoist it up to be conveyed. It rolls out the other side. Now we play the odds. Before us is a machine that will determine if our bags are to be opened for a thorough and lengthy search or if we simply walk out of the airport to enjoy the freedom of our visitation rights. Press a button and a translucent panel lights up, green light means we can exit immediately but red, not so fast gringo. It's hard to believe that the chances are 50/50. In all the years we've traveled together its always been that we've gotten the red light. This can be problematic because I'm usually packing some strange items in my bag, equipment and ingredients that I use for beer brewing. The inspectors in the past have had to call in supervisors to consult with when discovering some of my more questionable items. This can seriously impact the length of extra time you wait before being released.
Fortunately, the inspector this time was so preoccupied with another travelers box of fake gold bracelets that he performed only a cursory inspection without even noticing the pound of vacuum sealed hops and another couple pounds of malt wedged under my shorts.

Finally leaving the airport we took the shuttle from Leon to San Miguel. The ride, which takes a little over an hour crosses through some pretty dry and desolate county but it's exhilarating and goes by fast when your driver is recklessly swerving in and out of lanes at high speeds and passing slow moving trucks on blind curves.


After arriving in San Miguel and checking into the Antigua Capilla Bed and Breakfast we slept for awhile, walked into town for lunch and then back to the B&B for more sleep. We've stayed at the Antigua Capilla before and were once again impressed with the comfort and beauty of the place. The sun was getting near to setting and I thought it would be interesting to video the sights from the roof top. In my mind, the idea was pretty creative but the final production lacks the brilliance of my imagination. Also, I couldn't find any Mexican music for the background so I substituted what I think is African. Still, it gives a good idea of what it's like to go up and enjoy a beer, relax and plan the next days activities.





 

There are a lot of good pictures of Antigua Capilla at their website, go here to see more.

Mark-