san miguel de allende-- part 3
3/17/09-- 11:46 pm
SMA-- casa soluna
it rained today, the first rain (and thunder, no less) i've seen here. it was odd and very brief, juxtaposed against a golden sunset. we ran upstairs to the roof and found a rainbow, full and arcing and beautiful, long enough for us to see its beginning and end. no pots of gold, though.
we walked through the streets this morning right as the children were being released from school for lunch, sticky with popsicle fingers and drawling, sun-warmed spanish. i felt disconnected. a girl had a backpack with "new york city" scrawled all over the material. strange to think that nyc is so foreign a concept, that it's something to be revered and printed on accessories in block lettering.
everything here is so vivid. it's hard to get used to after months spent in dreary ohio winter. but it's like the dark-- once you let your eyes adjust, everything is soft, beautiful, different... magical because it's so unfamiliar. the bells are seductive, the streets quiet. time for me to sleep.
3/18/09-- 11:37 pm
SMA-- casa soluna
this afternoon, my dad, megan, and i took a cab up to the house after going to the grocery store, only to find that we didn't have a key to get inside. we tried to pick the lock with bobby pins but after a while, we just gave up, sat on the street, and talked about gossip girl for about an hour until the aunts and my sister arrived.
i'm so beyond lucky to be here. we watched a documentary about retired americans who move to sma and i completely understood their perspectives-- why they wanted to get away, how incredible it is to be in a place where people are kind and genuine and appreciative.
but in spite of this, my cuticles are raw. i'm nervous. seven days and i find out... not that i want to. i'm pessimistic. the distance helps, though. it's refreshing to be out of the fray for a while.
we're going to fabrica la aurora tomorrow. i'm excited.
3/19/09-- 4:27 pm and 11:36 pm
SMA-- casa soluna
just got back from a walk with my dad. we went far outside of the main town limits in a fantastically aimless exploration, ambling down streets, turning in random directions, chasing after a window i had seen while in the taxi back from aurora... and most of it was new territory. here are the things that we saw:
-- a seemingly abandoned house in the middle of renovations (the owner let us in)
-- a woman who told me that if i wasn't a visitor, she would "give me a part in her play"
-- a bull fighter training in the park with a bull head on wheels
-- an urban elementary school
-- the view from a pharmacy (the parroquia was far in the distance and high up on a hill)
-- street dogs
-- decaying doors, doors that looked like hershey bars, doors with chipping paint, doors with gaps and holes, doors with trash bags
-- an old man using his walker to slowly pull himself up a steep cobblestone street
-- a dessert store
-- paper flags
one thing that still feels strange-- although the dogs here look like american dogs, they are not. they are an entirely different culture of dog, a sect that responds to "hola" and "deja" and a litany of spanish commands.
because thursdays are artist residence days in aurora (the abandoned textile mill turned into a series of art galleries), we were able to find juan ezcurdia in his studio. his paintings are so magical. one of them hangs in this house's sala, a depiction of masked angels.
it rained again tonight, a cold, refreshing, mysterious veil of water that descended on the town like an unexpected visitor.
the fountain trickles outside my screen door. dog sounds drift through the sky.
"when i feel alive, i try to imagine a careless life, a scenic world where the sunsets are all breathtaking."
-- beirut: "scenic world"
3/20/09-- 9:46 pm
SMA-- casa soluna
the day started at precisely 9:17 am when my phone alarm blared through the fifth (sixth?) of my consecutive competition dreams. in this one, arcobaleno had been selected for st. paul but because i was in mexico, we were unable to participate. i was glad to wake up-- the dream involved a lot of tears and rushing and guilt and stress. unfortunately, the morning also involved rushing and stress, but to a lesser degree. we quickly got ready, ate, put on 129881209379 layers of spf 50 sunscreen, and started down to the square to meet our guide for a five-hour horseback riding excursion in the mountains.
we ran down the cobblestones (and the strangely exhilirating thing about running on sma streets is that when you push yourself off the ground in a step, you kind of fall down the hill, so the entire motion is part run, part fall, and part fly) with ellie lawson's "down with you" filling my ears. it was one of those moments when you see your life laid out as a movie, all blinding sun and sweeping, panning camera angles. i looked up at the red and orange walls around me and felt happiness and energy, full and helium-like in spite of the fact that i had been forced to awaken about three hours before i would get up on my own.
the head ranchero's name was rodgrigo and he met us as we came careening into the jardin, out of breath and sweating. we climbed into the massive van and drove off, shopping shortly to pick up a burly air conditioning technician named lars who was more than a little hard of hearing. my dad tried to socialize with him. secondhand embarrassment followed for all not involved in the conversation. a snippet of their verbal transaction:
dad: "i'm an orthodontist. you know, someone who does braces."
lars: "i teach." (air conditioning? i'm sorry, but what? he was very nice, though.)
we drove for about forty minutes on what must have been the bumpiest road i've ever been on in my life, not to mention the fact that there were no stoplights or stop signs or any other methods of traffic control. a bus passed us on a two-lane road. occasionally we'd hit a rock and my stomach would drop. megan couldn't stop laughing the entire time, a mix of hilarity and hysterical fear.
finally we arrived at the ranch. right after i got out of the van, i found a rusty old horseshoe in the dust. hopefully it will be lucky. i have yet to find out.
a group of rancheros then led us over to the horses. mine was named araña. he was black and liked to be near the front of the group. that position usually required bursts of uncomfortable trotting that hurt so badly i would have to stand up in the saddle.
i remember the actual trip in a series of multisensory experiences-- the undulating loll and tilt of the horse's step, careful as he made his way across bleached-white stone and sparkling rivers and treacherous inclines; the red-shirted ranchero's beautiful singing voice, thick with vibrato and punctuated by an occasional whistled chorus (the way it filled the mountains and settled in the dust-warm air); sunshine, soft on my closed eyes; a valley filled with goats of all sizes and colors, unruffled by our arrival into their secluded world; the sharp sting of thorns on my shoulder as megan and i veered off the trail mid-canter; cows, standing high above us on cliffs; the quiet peace of the canyon, how difficult it was to focus my eyes on its distant walls-- they loomed like pieces of a movie set, an illusion, a brilliant backdrop; the instinctual freedom and wild exhilaration of galloping; cacti like pin-straight vertical columns; the mountain shacks' "welcoming committee," fierce-looking, vocal packs of guard dogs who prowled along behind wood fences; a child's voice from a pastoral preschool-- "hola, americanos!" when we stopped for the break, i walked bow-legged, used to the horse. a tan-and-white stray dog with glowing, startlingly light-green eyes pinned me with its piercing stare until i fed it half of my crackers. it wouldn't get any closer than to snatch the food out of my hand, and even that took some coaxing. ribs showed through the dog's short fur; its tail was tucked permanently between its legs. i tried to pet it but it spooked and sprinted away if i got too close. i wanted this dog to be happy. i wanted to name it and give it a home. when it panted, it smiled. its eyes danced even when it was afraid.
when the excursion was over, our group ate quesadillas and nopales and rice and potato cakes and fresh guacamole in an open room with bird cages hanging on one wall. their occupants serenaded us in high, scattered voices as we watched videos of ourselves on the trail (a highlight included a clip of my dad practically dragging on the ground as his horse trotted along apathetically-- he almost fell off mid-gallop).
the drive back to sma's colonial center was uneventful. i read and dozed. upon our arrival at calle correo, a street around one-third of the way up to our house from the jardin, we bid goodbye to rodrigo and lars and made the exhausting climb back home. the rest of the evening was spent relaxing and telling stories, reliving the day in its strange, glorious entirety.
my dad has to leave tomorrow to speak in rhode island. we sat on the roof tonight with my sister and watched lightning echo in mountains. still no moon. my dad: "if anyone ever writes something about the moon in san miguel, you'll know that that person has never actually been here." the stars were sharp through the night's chill. our laughter rang out across the sleeping town.
3/21/09-- 2:04 pm
SMA-- casa soluna (roof)
the sun is roasting me alive. i'm sweating-- it drips down onto the ground. i stand on the edge of the roof, leaning on its ledge. "somewhere only we know" blasts through my headphones as i tilt my head back to absorb the sunshine. the sky is luminously blue; the city below glitters and lives and breathes. "this could be the end of everything, so why don't we go somewhere only we know." i am oddly moved. tears melt the corners of my vision. everything is on fire. this world is unbearably beautiful, painful because it is so temporary, so improbable. how did i get so lucky? i never want to leave.
3/22/09-- 10:28 pm
SMA-- casa soluna
megan and i were sitting on the roof and passing a plastic jar of dinosaur-shaped sprinkles back and forth/watching the stars when all of a sudden, a single firework shot up into the sky. this was followed by one of the most spectacular displays of low-budget pyrotechnics that i have ever seen, all blinding brilliance and sparkling color. it was pure magic. i wish i could stop time.
cannons woke me up at five in the morning today, and the blasts continued until six. they, just like the fireworks, are used to announce the arrival and/or departure of "important people," but it would seem that residents of sma look for any excuse to have a party. even this sunday evening, there was a cuban band in the square, surrounded by a large crowd of cheering, laughing, thriving people-- gringos, elderly, teenagers, toddlers dancing with their parents. everyone is so happy here.
3/24/09-- 12:34 am
SMA-- casa soluna
today (well, yesterday) was hot. we went to the market. aunts are taking a cooking class tomorrow. i'm finally caught up on gossip girl-- mugs and i were even able to find tonight's episode online. chuck bass needs to exist in real life.
sma is starting to feel like home, and i'm not sure that i mind.
3/24/09-- 2:34 pm and 11:47 pm
SMA-- casa soluna
arcobaleno is going to the st. paul string quartet competition. FUCK YES.
we went to tio lucas tonight. it's one of my favorite restaurants here. this evening, there was a jazz band that featured a guitar player who sounded like john mayer and an older man who sounded like louis armstrong. he sang and played harmonica. there were star-shaped lights everywhere, hanging from trees and archways and casting tiny triangles of chiaroscuro all over the restaurant. i felt magical. from our table, i could see the sky.
passerby on the street look into our eyes, smile, and greet us without hesitation, in spite of the fact that we are gringos and also complete strangers. it's nice to be around people who are so openly accepting.
small victory-- i was able to converse fluently (and rapidly, i might add) in spanish with the waiter, and i even (drumroll, please...) USED A DIMINUTIVE. this is quite an accomplishment for me.
today was a fabulous day.
3/26/09-- 1:17 am
SMA-- casa soluna
WE GOT IN TO FUCKING FISCHOFF. OH MY GOD. AIJDF:IOFKDJSFOJSO:KFLDFKLJSD:!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i started crying and flipping out on the phone with debbie when she called with the good news. apparently, miracles DO happen. kyle and steph's respective groups also got in. crazy, crazy stuff. i'm beyond excited. this is so fucking unreal. it's going to be insane levels of stressful... we have to learn a whole new piece in about a month and i need to reschedule my US history AP exam but SO WHAT?! IT'S GOING TO BE WORTH IT! oh my god i can't even get over the fact that this is even happening. every time i think about it, i can't stop smiling and i feel like i'm floating. it's blissful. this kind of happiness is so incredible. i want to work hard and practice, because i'm not going to let my friends (and debbie) down. we finally got our chance.
the aunts are planning to buy a house here. they've picked it out, met the neighbors, chose colors, etc. i'm pretty sure my dad and megan's dad will never say yes, but we can dream. this is a place that i want to exist in the rest of my life.
mugs and i walked around by ourselves today. we bought two balloons from the vendors, a giraffe and a hello kitty. i gave the giraffe to a little girl in the artisan's market. since its purchase, megan and i have been taking pictures of the hello kitty in various locations around town, but tonight we put it in a cactus and the needles punctured hello kitty's rubber skin. unfortunately, it is now somewhat deflated, but we made do.
utterly wonderful. this day was full of colors.
no more worrying about whether or not we're going to get in because we are IN!
"life flies by, so you have to embrace it. forget the past 'cause you cannot erase it and live the dream and learn to chase it and when you can almost taste it, it's all come alive."
3/27/09-- 1:24 am
SMA-- casa soluna
we dined in an old-granary-turned-italian-restaurant tonight. there were no menus-- the chef himself came to us with eccentric, sparkling eyes and asked what we wanted him to make. the adults had all sorts of multi-course gourmet food and mugs, emma, and i ate the most incredible homemade ravioli i have ever had, garnished with fresh tomatoes. for dessert, i was presented with four incredible little flourless chocolate cakes.
when our cab driver came to pick us up after two hours (just as we had instructed him to do when he dropped us off at the restaurant), he had showered and put on aftershave. it was somewhat adorable but mostly just creepy. emma blinded him with the flash on her camera. he thought we were very strange.
mugs and the aunts are leaving tomorrow. i have one more day left here. it doesn't feel like leaving is ever something that will be a possibility, let alone a necessity. san miguel feels like home.
3/28/09-- 1:51 am
SMA-- casa soluna
things i've learned--
- from the rooftop, the mariachi bands sound like "elephant gun" by beirut
- spf 10 sunscreen does not protect skin
- multigrain/four-type cheerios should become available in the united states
- juice tastes better when it's from a box
- mexicanos are more patient and tolerant than americans
- the la capilla owl does exist (and is large and tan and beautiful)
- sparkling mexican lemonade is better than lemon shake-ups from the fair
- houses are meant to be painted in vivid colors
- that time does not exist in sma
- what it feels like to be relaxed and well-rested, to have so much energy that sleeping is difficult
- the effects of a smile and a one-word greeting
- that miracles do happen.
the beauty of this place brings me to tears. sometimes i wish i didn't love it here so much-- then it would be easier to leave. it wouldn't hurt so badly.
pero ojalá, regresarémos, san miguel.
3/28/09-- 4:22 am
on the highway to león
the stars have yet to set when we leave. they stud the sky around the highway, a mirror-ilke reflection of drowsy town lights below. i am lulled into a half-sleep.
it feels as if everything is going in reverse. as we drive out and away from SMA, the entire trip unwinds before my eyes like the ribbon of a cassette tape. i catch snippets of memory and static and music and find myself biting back tears. i left a part of me back up on that hill, and that part will always be there, lounging on the roof and feeling the cobblestones under its feet. i envy it. the pain of separation is almost too much to bear.
the sights and experiences of san miguel are beyond my capacity for illustration. it's impossible to describe the town to friends-- i can't quite capture its ambience, the feeling of anonymity... and that, i think, is part of its charm. we live in a world so defined by labels and boxes that to be in a place whose very identity is nebulous and personal is some kind of relief, albeit one that takes a while to set in.
san miguel is many things-- home, my oasis, a secret. i am departing from this world into another, one that doesn't fit quite as well... or maybe just in a different way.