Guanajato's dance of dark & light
I feel like a record on repeat - or, in this era, an iPod stuck on the same song - nevertheless, I’ll say it again: Mexico is one surprise after another. Was I expecting the worst? Somewhere in my unconscious was I compiling the cautionary tales - the dozens of genuinely fearful enumerations of vacations gone horribly wrong, drug-trade or hijack-related tales of sinister Mexico stories. No, we are not blind to the realities (there are headlines here too) but after two months we feel overwhelmingly persuaded - enchanted, even - by Mexico. The historic town of Guanajato exemplifies just how this country can contain all these contrasts under one large, colorful, shadow-casting umbrella.
In a mineral-rich region, Guanajato was built in service of the many productive silver and gold mines and thus an important, wealth-amassing stronghold of Spanish rule. It was also a site of much oppression of the native Mexican population and, increasingly -- though to a far, far lesser degree -- the mixed Spanish and Mexican mestizo (mixed Spanish and native) class who presided over the mines. In 1810, with the help of Catholic priest, Miguel Hidalgo, both the peasant and mestizos revolted, sparking Mexico’s independence movement.
Today, the hulking torch-bearing figure of El Pípila towers over the city, commemorating the first victory against Spain in the hard-won fourteen-year struggle that followed. El Pípila was a miner who led the famous charge against the town granary, which harbored the Spanish and their riches. Legend has it he tied a flat stone to his back for protection and with a bucket of tar in one hand and a torch in the other, burst through the fortress door. The statue reads: Aún hay otras Alhóndigas por incendiar (There are still other Alhóndigas to burn).
Indeed Guanajato trumpets its victories - it is the birthplace of Mexico’s much-loved muralist, Diego Rivera and you can visit his childhood home. But it acknowledges its dark side. It’s widely known that when the Spaniards reclaimed the city after the rebellion, they retaliated by holding an infamous ‘lottery of death’, in which the names of the townspeople were drawn at random and those selected were tortured and hanged. There is the Museo de las Momias, where you can view a hundred or so corpses on display, including the petrified flesh of babies and ossified wince-worthy facial expressions.
All these things contribute to a complex understanding, for which we are grateful. But this is not what we will first recall about Guanajuato. We will remember the kaleidoscope of colorful houses. The winding, cobblestone streets that dive underground into tunnels you can now drive through (and get terribly lost in, though we were spared). We’ll remember the Spanish plazas with their dense tree canopies and fountains - seemingly every few blocks. The ornate theaters and opera houses built with the excessive wealth of mining barons. We we recall the mobile mariachi bands and their traveling crowds as they sing and story tell their way around the town (one of the most thrilling discoveries we think needs exporting). We’ll remember the incredible craft cocktails of El Midi Bistro where we splurged on herb-infused tequila and sampled our first mezcal. We’ll remember our fellow overlanding travelers, Nynke and Nils, a Dutch couple with whom we spent an evening sampling cocktails (again) and venting to about global politics long into the night.
And I’ll remember leafing through the hundreds of rainbow-colored tissue paper flags in Mercado Hidalgo, in search of the perfect dozen for the one-day party we will throw for our friends at home, where we'll attempt to recount this journey in person. No doubt there will be mezcal and maybe we can organize some mariachi music...until then.
