The city I live in, Monterrey, is just that – a city. Its large, smoggy sometimes, and full of cars driven by 4 Million people. Don’t get the wrong impression, its also tons of fun and hosts the coolest student shag-pad south of the Mississippi. However, in order to round out my Mexican experience, we decided to take a trip to the central part of Mexico, which is dominated by scenic colonial towns, plants you should ask someone reliable about before eating, and Gringos. Pinche Gringos.
The plan was this: Buy a one way bus ticket to Querétaro. Rondevous con Neto (VIP Mexican friend). Find a way to go to San Miguel de Allende. Take Pictures. Find a way to go to Guanajuato. Eat. Make it back to Monterrey in time for Tuesday class.
I saw absolutely no problem with this plan, so I walked confidently in the direction of my dreams and soon arrived at the Monterrey bus station. The preferred means of student travel here in Mexico is by night-bus. This means that for a typical 8ish hour journey, one boards a bus around 10ish and arrives at one’s destination the next morning. This seemed to me like a great idea – I can now look at the 20ish dollars I spent on a bus ticket as 20ish dollars that I spent on a really bad, crowded, loud, no-hot-water mobile hotel. And a bus ticket.
We visited three cities in the weekend, all arrived at by way of bus, which were Quetéraro, San Miguel de Allende, and Guanajuato. As all three places were places I would recommend that one visit, I would like to save you, the reader, a bit of time and money by scoring these cities in terms of their all around performance in accordance with a few refined, pertinent, and completely subjective criteria. On account of the fact that all these places had really cool moderately sized cathedral style churches situated on shaded town squares in which there was unusually tons of people selling things and live music, we will bar these factors from the scoring.
We first arrived in Querétaro, who’s bus terminal was rather large, almost as big an a small airport, or roughly the size of a Wal Mart. There we met Neto, the mystic Mexican masseuse who I quickly became good friend with a few weekends ago when he was in Monterrey visiting his Lady Friend, Daekue, a Belgian friend of mine who was also traveling with us. We ended up getting breakfast at a restaurant whose only signage was “Bisquets”, which is Spanish for “Biscuits
“. I was complaining about the quality of my coffee when a fellow voyager asked me if I wanted to add some of the glass of milk that she had to my cup of disappointment. In an attempt to consume the coffee, I accepted. When she handed it to me, it was warm to the touch. “Hey, uh, dude, this milk is like, uh, warm.” I remarked. She went on to explain that it was “Leche de Vaca”, which is “Milk from the Cow”. Right. Its cow milk. Wait. Is there another kind of milk? Whose milk have I been drinking? “It comes straight from the cow,” she said. Ohh. Its cow milk. Not cow-tube-machine-steel-pasturized-skimmed-nutrient enhanced-drink it so you’ll have strong bones-milk. It had a very distinct flavor. I decided to indulge. I don’t think I could have drank a full glass of it, but the sip wasn’t too bad.
Later in the day, Neto advised me to eat the bottom leaf of a plant that some indigenous women were selling on the street because it would make my mouth go numb (Note: they were not selling this part of the plant). I agreed, in the spirit of trying all things Mexican, and because Neto was going to eat it as well. Juan Pablo, my Chilean roommate, even decided to join in. While I was putting the leaf in my mouth, the little indigenous boy that accompanied the saleswoman started giggling. Children giggling at you while you’re eating a foreign substance is never good. After my tongue went numb for thirty seconds, I felt that sharp stinging sensation that one gets after eating large amounts of pineapple in succession. If you’ve never done that, I’m sure the same feeling would occur if you garnished an ice-cream cone with sand spurs, and ate that. While I was yelling at Neto and telling him how horrible of a person he was, he told me to thank him because now I can do the same to my friends.
Also in Querétaro there is an impressive structure called The Arches. The arches that more or less span the city are what’s left of a large aqueduct, like those of Italy, that previously carried water to a convent. Neto explained that a rich Count fell in love with a nun who had to walk down the mountain every day to get water from the river. The count asked her to marry him, but she said no because she is a nun. She did quip, however, that if he could bring water to the nunnery than she would marry him. Over the next 5 to 6 years, the count spent lots of cashmoney building the aqueducts, and finally water arrived at the sista’s convent. The count was like “haha gotcha, marry me.” But the nun was like “Dude, I can’t, I’m a nun.” And that’s why Neto says not to date Mexican women.
Nearby in Querétaro, there was a large, phallic looking rock called La Peña, a Spanish word who’s meaning I can only infer. We drove out to the village at its base and decided to climb it. I really wasn’t in the mood to climb a phallic rock, but once we got half way up we decided we had to summit. The view of the surrounding area was impressive. When we returned, we dined on a cauldron of meat – steak, chicken, chorizo, more unidentified deliciousness – accompanied by, of course, tortillas. This made the trip up the rock that generated the necessary hunger to produce such euphoric dining very much worth the trouble.
Thus concluded our day in Querétaro, whose scorecard now looks like this:
Querétaro
COW milk: 5 points. City population (largeish): 5 points. Number of gringos seen (minus 50 points for each Gringo sighting): 0. Painful plant dining: – 10 points. Meat dining: 20 points. Aquaducts and mean nuns: 20 points. Neto: 30 points. Rock with view: 20 points. Necessary rock ascent: -10 points (barely vale la peña, ha).
In accordance with my math, which could be very wrong, Querétaro scores a Formidable 80.
Next, we jet(bus)setted to San Miguel de Allende. To add some balanced perspective, here’s what the New York Times has to say about San Miguel:
San Miguel de Allende mixes the best aspects of small-town life with the cosmopolitan pleasures of a big city. It is the smallest of the cities covered here and perhaps the most relaxed, but it offers such a variety of restaurants, shops, and galleries that urbanites find themselves quite at home. Most of the buildings in the central part of the town date from the colonial era or the 19th century; the law requires newer buildings to conform to existing architecture, and the town has gone to some lengths to retain its cobblestone streets.
The part about the cobblestone streets and painted buildings is true, it really is an aesthetically pleasing place, but I’m not so sure about the metropolitan art scene. What the NYtimes write up fails to state is that, due to its popularity among Americans and the popularity generated by the NYtimes, the place is FULL of gringos. I kind of expected this going into it, so the plan was the following:
Step 1: Sight rich gringos. So easy. The gringo sightings start from the feet, which almost always feature white running shoes (I’m guilty of this from time to time) or sperry-style deck shoes with no socks (these are for more localized “I live here”gringos). Other distinguishing characteristics are polo style collared shirts and hiking/safari type shorts or jeans. Not to mention mostly white skin, which stands out.
Step 2: Initiate the conversation. “Buenas Tardes, where are you from.” That was more or less enough to get the ball rolling. Sometimes it ended with a one word answer, sometimes it turned into a thirty minute conversation with a gentleman from Boston who is building a winter home in San Miguel about the stock market, flipping urban houses, the red socks, and tequila.
Step 3: Subtly solicit employment. There comes a point in the conversation at which I would like to extend the opportunity to offer me a job to whomever I am conversing with. I presented my logic as such: “Listen, you’re obviously loaded because you’re living/moving here. I like Mexico. You like Mexico. Give me a job.”
The city provided wonderful sight-seeing, which consisted of the million dollar homes around town, and Starbucks location in the middle of the square. I was sitting on a bench, people watching in perfect weather, looking at my white running shoes and snacking on a churro, when I decided that there is a huge degree of difference between myself and my touristy compatriots. It was at this moment that I postulated the following: There are two kinds of visitors present – tourists and travelers. I am clearly not a tourist – a person who buys souvenirs and doesn’t speak Spanish – because I am a traveler – a person who laughs at souvenirs, speaks Spanish, lives in Mexico, and is on a tight budget. I read the travel book but don’t always use it. I bring a fat black camera along, but only to compare pictures with the last place I visited. I wear white running shoes because I walk where tourists take taxis. Weather or not this has any validity to you, the reader, is of no import, as this is how I will continue justify not being a gringo tourist. Ultimately, to separate myself undeniably and completely, I say this. I drink the water.
San Miguel de Allende
Aesthetics: 10 points. Gringos: -10,000 points.
Our final stop was a quaint colonial town call Guanajuato. Upon arrival, our group of eight was assaulted by a tourist service salesman offering a place to stay and tours. For reasons unknown to me, my companions engaged this man in negotiations about a tour of the city tomorrow while myself and another compañera sat outside, perplexed. This resulted in a planless day for my friend and I as we waited for the others to complete their tourist tour. For this, I deduct ten points for the rest of the team.
The day was great. We started with a breakfast of eggs and chilaquiles, excellent coffee that wasn’t from Starbucks, and a good conversation about the political situation of Puerto Rico. The city of Guanajuato is perfectly situated in between two very steep hills, which gives it the appearance of that white city from the third Lord of the Rings movie, which I have always thought was really cool, and after our breakfast we set out to explore it. We saw the local University – an option to study abroad at – which boasted really cool architecture and a staircase as large as any I’ve ever seen. We walked through the tunnel system which looked like Amsterdam or Venice more so than Mexico. There was an impressive looking cathedral and a very extensive local market.
It was at this market that I wanted to buy some chocolate. As the day came to a close, I entered, running with the information that I had gathered earlier of the existence of locally produced chocolate. I walked up to a stand, pointed to a pile of large chunks of chocolate, and asked how much one was. Cinco pesos. Deal. Careful not to touch the pile with my dirty guero hands, as not to offend, I used tongs and put the chocolate in a bag. I then went outside to rejoin my friends. I sat down, took out the chocolate, and proceeded to take a bite. It was rock hard. I gave it another shot, but I couldn’t help thinking that this chocolate sucks. It was then that a Mexican friend asked me what I had bought. I responded “Chocolate. But its kind of hard.” She started laughing the hysterical laughter of someone who knows something crucial to the situation, but can’t share the information due to excessive laughter. The nature of what I had bought I still don’t quite understand, but its function is to be submerged in punch to sweeten it. I now give you this advice: When buying chocolate in Mexico, ask if its chocolate first.
We rounded out the night and the trip with a few really economical beers at a local bar at which the bar owner gave us a guitar an bongos. An hour and lots of songs later, we headed to the bus station to board our hotel room for the ride back to Monterrey.
Guanajuato
Scenery: 20 points. Food: 20 points. Chocolate: -100 points. Being like the city from Lord of the Rings: 100 points. Good times, good music, and good company: 100 points.
This all goes to say, in short, that if you find yourself in the Middle of Mexico with only one day to spend in a city, that you should go to Guanajuato…unless you’re looking for chocolate.
randallbourquin
Mexico, Dude. 
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