OCTOBER 2018
It was the end of October and we were thrilled to be leaving the rain, wind and gray skies of Provence to return to the brilliant sunshine and blue skies of San Miguel de Allende. After three days of traveling, including a train ride, two overnights in hotels, two flights and a four hour van ride, we arrived at our home in San Miguel, which had been under renovation for the past four months. People said we were brave to have the work done while we were gone. Our contractor had faithfully sent us weekly progress reports and extensive photos, so we had an idea what to expect. The reality was still a shock.
As we pulled up in front of the house, we saw the bright green sign “Obra Autorizada” posted over the doorway. We heard the typical construction sounds of pounding, drilling and blaring Mexican music. We walked in with our suitcases and realized there was no place to sit or stand without getting dirty.
Moving through the house was like navigating an obstacle course of sacks of sand, trays of wet cement, boxes of tiles, buckets of tools, piles of bricks, half-eaten bags of chips and bottles of Coke. Everything was draped in huge sheets of black plastic. A thick layer of dust covered every surface. All the furniture was piled up under plastic. The kitchen was overtaken by piles of buckets, miscellaneous tools and pages of architectural plans. The kitchen sink was leaking and the faucet fell apart when Paul tried to tighten it. A dozen workers were hard at work on every level of the house, including the roof deck.
We made our way through the interior courtyard and were dismayed to see that our gorgeous, recently completed landscaping had taken quite a beating. All our new plants were gray with construction dust and appeared to be in a near-death state. The decorative white rock was strewn all over the courtyard in a dingy mess. The brand new copper fountain was full of dirty water and debris. The outdoor lanterns were hanging by a wire. Patches of dark cement dotted the yellow facade. It was a sad sight.
We finally opened the door to our “home” for the next few weeks, our guest bedroom with the giant mesquite tree growing inside. Because this is located in a separate building, it was spared the brunt of the construction attack. We had piled all our clothes, bedding and sofa cushions here to protect them from the dirt of the construction. It was so crowded that we had no place to open our suitcases. And the room was like a greenhouse. After the season of heavy rains, the big mesquite tree had absorbed a lot of water. There was damage on the walls and cabinets, and the whole place smelled musty. The bedding and towels were damp. We found spots of white mold on our shoes. The wood of our beautifully crafted wardrobe had cracked and warped. This was not a welcoming sight. There was no hot water and, of course, nothing to eat. We dropped our suitcases and went out for lunch to think things over.
In spite of it all, we were smiling. San Miguel is truly a magical place. We are always seduced by the quality of the light, the colors, the music, the sunshine, the spicy food, the friendliness of the locals. We have never felt such a sense of “joie de vivre” anywhere else. We find ourselves walking around with smiles on our faces. We feel at home here. We feel like we belong to a community of warm, generous, interesting people who are open to anything. The possibilities here are endless.
We were especially excited to experience the “Day of the Dead” holiday for the first time. We had heard stories, seen photos and gotten insight into this festival from the movie “Coco.” Now we were here to participate firsthand in the celebration, which is one of the most important events of the year. Our good friends and neighbors, Karin and Willie, had booked our makeup sessions for us and they were going to guide us through the festivities. We were ready for some fun.
On November 1st, our first order of business was to go grocery shopping and to have the workers clear off the kitchen counters so that we could set up a provisional canteen. Willie and Karin very generously drove us to Costco so that we could buy a dehumidifier and start drying out the “tree room.” We organized the room as best we could so that we could open our suitcases (one at a time.) Then we headed off for our makeup session and the real fun began.
The makeup artists at the Pink Room Salon worked on us for over an hour. We perused dozens of photos before choosing the makeup we wanted. We were going to be a traditional “Catrín and Catrina” couple. I decided on an elegant look, while Paul opted for something a bit scarier. We watched in amazement as we were utterly transformed from our normal selves into a theatrical version. Our faces were totally painted. I even had plastic “jewels” clued on in an artful pattern around my eyes. Paul’s black hat and my flower headdress and yellow boa completed the look. We were ready to stroll the streets of San Miguel with all the other “Catrines and Catrinas.”
“El Día de los Muertos” is an annual three-day celebration to honor the dead. The tradition dates back to pre-Columbian Mexico. Legend has it that departed loved ones return to earth once a year to visit with their living friends and families and to nourish their souls with their favorite foods. It is a huge party of colors, flavors, music, chants and dance. In Mexican culture death is viewed as a natural part of the cycle of life. Departed friends and family members are celebrated rather than mourned.
The traditional images of the Day of the Dead celebration are the “catrín” and “catrina,” the king and queen of death. These are skeleton figures elegantly dressed in the style of the late 1800’s. They wear extravagant outfits richly accessorized with big hats and flowery headdresses and very intricate makeup. It is an opportunity to make fun of death.
Once we were transformed into our skeletal versions of ourselves, we took to the streets and joined the parade of thousands of “Catrines” and “Catrinas” strolling throughout the entire city center. This was truly a sight to behold. Everyone participated—locals, visitors, Mexicans, gringos, little kids, grandparents. All the buildings and gardens were decorated with flowers, balloons, ribbons, candles, paper cut-outs and skulls made of sugar.
We visited San Miguel’s two large cemeteries, which were full of Mexican families sharing picnics with their ancestors. They sat on plastic stools around the family member’s tomb, which was profusely decorated with his favorite food and drink. Each tomb was personalized. We saw bottles of tequila, slices of pizza, chocolates, guitars, giant jalapeño cans used as vases of flowers, toys and photos. Many of the families were eating tamales and singing along with one of the many mariachi bands strolling through the cemetery. (At one point we counted fifteen different groups of mariachis.) The tombs of the poorest people were simple graves with rough wooden crosses and handwritten words. It was a very moving experience.
In several of the major city squares we saw dozens of public altars, all richly decorated with marigolds and “terciopelos” (velvety purple flowers.) Elaborate images had been created out of dried beans, peas, nuts, colored sugar and flower petals. We saw public altars devoted to slain journalists and to migrants who had died while trying to reach the United States in search of “el Sueño Americano” (the American Dream.)
That night we went back to our humble “tree room” which was a jumble of storage boxes, suitcases, pillows and cushions. The dehumidifier was humming away and the place was starting to dry out. We were exhausted and wanted to fall into bed. However, first we had to remove our heavy “Catrina” makeup. We had no makeup remover or wipes. The only thing we had was soap and water. This was a challenge. We spent half an hour scrubbing our faces until they were pink and raw. Most of the makeup in the center of our faces was gone. But remnants of heavy makeup remained around our ears and in our hair. It took us a couple of days to get back to normal.
Meanwhile, the construction continued and we gradually regained access to our kitchen. For a couple of weeks we had to eat standing up or sitting on our bed. Then on one sunny day we decided to have a picnic lunch in our front courtyard. We took a small table from the living room and two kitchen chairs outside, and we enjoyed our chicken tacos and guacamole amongst the weeds, sacks of cement and debris in our “garden.”
The deadline of Thanksgiving was looming. We were in countdown mode. We had invited eleven friends and family members. This was our year to prepare the big Thanksgiving dinner for the group. Would we be able to pull it off? We had our doubts, but Norberto, our contractor, had promised us that the house would be “done enough” to host a big dinner party.
Since our kitchen was still not completely functional, we had asked Lily, our maid, to prepare some Mexican specialties such as chile rellenos, arroz mexicano and chayotes. We roasted some turkey parts, made a big salad, composed a cheese platter, and bought two scrumptious pies, one pumpkin and one pecan, from our local gourmet food emporium, Luna de Queso. Paul prepared margaritas and our friend Willie supplied the bootleg mezcal he had brought from his secret source in the campo.
We had invited the guests for 7pm. The table was decorated and the food prepared. The last of the construction workers left at 6:45pm. When the guests arrived, the house seemed clean, tidy and totally organized. We had created the illusion that everything had been prepared long ago. (Soft lighting helped.) We had pulled it off! It was our best Thanksgiving ever. Our return to San Miguel was complete.
Adrift in Provence & Mexico 