Saturday, July 16, 2011
Thursday, July 7, 2011
The Sounds of San Miguel de Allende
I think it is the right time to discuss the sounds of Mexico. For a gringa, like me, the unusual sounds that one hears on a daily basis require an adjustment in one’s thinking. Back home, I used to get annoyed by the low-level sound of passing cars…. that occasional “swoosh” one hears as cars drive down the adjacent streets. I felt that the sound invaded the peace and tranquility of my garden. I found the noise irritating enough that my husband went to the trouble of installing a small pond with a waterfall in order to mask the sound.
I still recall the first morning that I woke up in my new home here in old Mexico to the sound of a rooster crowing enthusiastically on the roof next door, at approximately 4 AM. The rude awakening brought back memories of a trip to Roatan, Honduras. Just like it was yesterday, I recall quite vividly that the roosters crowed all night long, apparently disturbed by the lights of passing cars. I soon discovered that they were living directly under my cabana and that everyone, except me of course, knew about the roosters and found the situation quite amusing.
Fortunately, my friend, the Mexican rooster soon settled down. But, only long enough for the next surprise. Fireworks began to erupt at about 6 AM. The cacophony of sounds lasted for a full hour. I would soon discover that fireworks play an integral role in Mexican life, a topic for another day, perhaps. The exploding rounds promptly set off the roof dogs, which are inclined to bark relentlessly when any stranger passes.
As the noise finally subsided, I slowly fell back asleep only to be roused five minutes later by the clamorous music of the Sonic gas truck, as it lumbered slowly down the street in hopes of finding some customers. Next came the vegetable man, with another catchy tune blaring from a set of speakers mounted on the roof of his truck ,while he attempted to be heard over the din, shouting on a microphone while informing the neighbors what fruits and vegetables were on special that day. I have to admit that the various tunes are quite catchy and after a few weeks, I actually began to identify which vender was passing. Once again I drifted off to dreamland only to be woken this time by a strange hissing sound; it seemed very close. Too close for comfort. At first, I was unable to identify the source. Could it be a snake? Raising my head off the pillow, and quickly glancing around the room, I saw nothing out of place. Then, framed perfectly in the eyebrow window above the door to my bedroom, I spied a colorful hot air balloon, hovering in the air above my casa. My first thought….“my god, I am naked! I wonder if those people in the balloon can see me?” (Please note that I am not particularly inclined towards public nudity. It never occurred to me that anyone would be capable of seeing past the high wall that surrounds my little house.)
Finally, the gentleman who sells fresh rolls approached the house. He shouts “bolillos, bollillos”…..hoping to attract some buyers. As the dust settled, a garbage truck appeared in the distance.
The garbage men alert the neighbors of their proximity by banging two metal pipes together, waiting patiently as all my neighbors stream from their houses with garbage in tow. Just as everything seemed to settle down, I heard a peculiar whistle. I wondered what it could be. Why it’s the fellow who sharpens knives, of course.
Is it done yet, you ask? Not quite….Soon the carefree sounds of Ranchero music drift into the bedroom. My neighbor, Hector, the local herrero (ironworker) begins his day by switching on his favorite radio station. I think to myself, “must be time to get up! No, lollygagging in bed for you, my dear. The whole of Mexico is alive and well.
I am sure you are thinking, “Lord, it sounds downright noisy in Mexico.” Strangely, I can honestly say that all is well here in my new home. I have become quite accustomed to the din. It has grown to be such a part of my daily life that it rarely disturbs me. I actually find the clamor quite reassuring. The noise is simply a delightful reminder of the vibrancy and joyful celebration of what life has to offer. This is what Mexico is all about.
I still recall the first morning that I woke up in my new home here in old Mexico to the sound of a rooster crowing enthusiastically on the roof next door, at approximately 4 AM. The rude awakening brought back memories of a trip to Roatan, Honduras. Just like it was yesterday, I recall quite vividly that the roosters crowed all night long, apparently disturbed by the lights of passing cars. I soon discovered that they were living directly under my cabana and that everyone, except me of course, knew about the roosters and found the situation quite amusing.
Fortunately, my friend, the Mexican rooster soon settled down. But, only long enough for the next surprise. Fireworks began to erupt at about 6 AM. The cacophony of sounds lasted for a full hour. I would soon discover that fireworks play an integral role in Mexican life, a topic for another day, perhaps. The exploding rounds promptly set off the roof dogs, which are inclined to bark relentlessly when any stranger passes.
As the noise finally subsided, I slowly fell back asleep only to be roused five minutes later by the clamorous music of the Sonic gas truck, as it lumbered slowly down the street in hopes of finding some customers. Next came the vegetable man, with another catchy tune blaring from a set of speakers mounted on the roof of his truck ,while he attempted to be heard over the din, shouting on a microphone while informing the neighbors what fruits and vegetables were on special that day. I have to admit that the various tunes are quite catchy and after a few weeks, I actually began to identify which vender was passing. Once again I drifted off to dreamland only to be woken this time by a strange hissing sound; it seemed very close. Too close for comfort. At first, I was unable to identify the source. Could it be a snake? Raising my head off the pillow, and quickly glancing around the room, I saw nothing out of place. Then, framed perfectly in the eyebrow window above the door to my bedroom, I spied a colorful hot air balloon, hovering in the air above my casa. My first thought….“my god, I am naked! I wonder if those people in the balloon can see me?” (Please note that I am not particularly inclined towards public nudity. It never occurred to me that anyone would be capable of seeing past the high wall that surrounds my little house.)
Finally, the gentleman who sells fresh rolls approached the house. He shouts “bolillos, bollillos”…..hoping to attract some buyers. As the dust settled, a garbage truck appeared in the distance.
The garbage men alert the neighbors of their proximity by banging two metal pipes together, waiting patiently as all my neighbors stream from their houses with garbage in tow. Just as everything seemed to settle down, I heard a peculiar whistle. I wondered what it could be. Why it’s the fellow who sharpens knives, of course.
Is it done yet, you ask? Not quite….Soon the carefree sounds of Ranchero music drift into the bedroom. My neighbor, Hector, the local herrero (ironworker) begins his day by switching on his favorite radio station. I think to myself, “must be time to get up! No, lollygagging in bed for you, my dear. The whole of Mexico is alive and well.
I am sure you are thinking, “Lord, it sounds downright noisy in Mexico.” Strangely, I can honestly say that all is well here in my new home. I have become quite accustomed to the din. It has grown to be such a part of my daily life that it rarely disturbs me. I actually find the clamor quite reassuring. The noise is simply a delightful reminder of the vibrancy and joyful celebration of what life has to offer. This is what Mexico is all about.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Finding My Way
Having landed in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico a full year and eight months ago, I feel it is finally the right time to share the richness of my experiences here. Time has literally flown since leaving my good ol' hometown of Buffalo, New York. I think the thing I miss the most about home, besides my friends, is the green growth of Spring, the leaves just starting to appear on the trees and the tulips breaking through the the remains of last fall's leaves. I miss the first hint of the summer to come, when the snow begins to melt and the temperatures are just starting to be a bit less frosty and all the youngsters put on their shorts and sandles, in hopeful anticipation of what's to come, while the rest of us were still sporting our cold weather gear.
Life is certainly different here. I hardly notice the change of seasons. One just runs into another. People complain that it is chilly here in the winter and I just giggle. It is apparent that the complainers have never experienced the numbing cold of a "true" Buffalo winter. For example, I was attending a party at a friend's house last night and the temperature dropped to 66 degrees. Everyone on the patio ran for their jackets while I toughed it out in my shirtsleeves. I thought back to the days when I was rowing competively with the West Side Women's Masters Crew. We were in Boston in late October, rowing the "Head of the Charles." My crew and I were on the river in our scull preparing for the race, wearing only our unisuits (one-piece jumpshorts that are made of light-weight spandex) with our team colors and a pair of cotton socks. We believed that excess clothing would only slow us down. A women's crew from California rowed up next to us and were clearly astounded at our lack of clothing (note that they were all bundled up like Eskimos). They asked us where we were from and that information seemed to satisfy their curiosity. So, Buffalo winters have certainly prepared me for the small range of temperatures in San Miguel.
Daily life is simple here. San Miguel brings back so many fond memories of my childhood back in Buffalo. It reminds me of a time when people were comfortable letting their children play outside, back before malls and superstores, back when mom and pop stores were where people shopped, back when people went to church on Sunday and family life was the most important thing in everyone's lives. The elderly were revered for their life's contributions and their knowledge. Surprisingly, that lifestyle still exists here in central Mexico. Unlike back home, I know all my neighbors on my little calle. I can walk to the corner and buy farm fresh vegetables, fruit, milk, eggs and bread each morning. Conveniently, the local butcher is two blocks away. I can buy a roast chicken, potatoes, tortillas, and salad for less than the equivalent of four dollars without getting in my car. Every evening, people knock on my door selling warm, homemade gorditas, nopal salad, and crisp, fresh rolls without preservatives . The plumber, who lives a block away, will come to my house and make a repair for ten dollars.
People are clearly happy here despite leading very simple lives. Everyone doesn't have a big car and a grand house yet, they love life. Every weekend brings a new cause for celebration. It seems that there are just a lot more saints here in Mexico. The rich sensory experiences one encounters daily enliven the spirit.
The Mojigangas joyfully dancing in the streets, the enticing aroma of pineapple and pork wafting from the local taco vendor's cart, the rousing bursts of ranchero music streaming from people's homes, the exploding rounds of fireworks bursting in the air, the handsome strolling mariachi in the jardine, and the parades of people dressed in colorful indigenous costumes are the norm here.
That joyous and robust approach to life is what I find most compelling. It is what makes me love Mexico and it's people.
Life is certainly different here. I hardly notice the change of seasons. One just runs into another. People complain that it is chilly here in the winter and I just giggle. It is apparent that the complainers have never experienced the numbing cold of a "true" Buffalo winter. For example, I was attending a party at a friend's house last night and the temperature dropped to 66 degrees. Everyone on the patio ran for their jackets while I toughed it out in my shirtsleeves. I thought back to the days when I was rowing competively with the West Side Women's Masters Crew. We were in Boston in late October, rowing the "Head of the Charles." My crew and I were on the river in our scull preparing for the race, wearing only our unisuits (one-piece jumpshorts that are made of light-weight spandex) with our team colors and a pair of cotton socks. We believed that excess clothing would only slow us down. A women's crew from California rowed up next to us and were clearly astounded at our lack of clothing (note that they were all bundled up like Eskimos). They asked us where we were from and that information seemed to satisfy their curiosity. So, Buffalo winters have certainly prepared me for the small range of temperatures in San Miguel.
Daily life is simple here. San Miguel brings back so many fond memories of my childhood back in Buffalo. It reminds me of a time when people were comfortable letting their children play outside, back before malls and superstores, back when mom and pop stores were where people shopped, back when people went to church on Sunday and family life was the most important thing in everyone's lives. The elderly were revered for their life's contributions and their knowledge. Surprisingly, that lifestyle still exists here in central Mexico. Unlike back home, I know all my neighbors on my little calle. I can walk to the corner and buy farm fresh vegetables, fruit, milk, eggs and bread each morning. Conveniently, the local butcher is two blocks away. I can buy a roast chicken, potatoes, tortillas, and salad for less than the equivalent of four dollars without getting in my car. Every evening, people knock on my door selling warm, homemade gorditas, nopal salad, and crisp, fresh rolls without preservatives . The plumber, who lives a block away, will come to my house and make a repair for ten dollars.
People are clearly happy here despite leading very simple lives. Everyone doesn't have a big car and a grand house yet, they love life. Every weekend brings a new cause for celebration. It seems that there are just a lot more saints here in Mexico. The rich sensory experiences one encounters daily enliven the spirit.
The Mojigangas joyfully dancing in the streets, the enticing aroma of pineapple and pork wafting from the local taco vendor's cart, the rousing bursts of ranchero music streaming from people's homes, the exploding rounds of fireworks bursting in the air, the handsome strolling mariachi in the jardine, and the parades of people dressed in colorful indigenous costumes are the norm here.
That joyous and robust approach to life is what I find most compelling. It is what makes me love Mexico and it's people.
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